[nyxavia]

- nyxavia; goddess of the night.

temporary pinned ?!

roza / lia. 20. sapphic &&. severe vi enthusiast. original character creator. she / her. mdni. 🖤 men dni. filter by kaijucat. gif by me.

[cruxotic]

like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots

you got the one thing that i want. 

#    summary. after violet paints your most treasured night in a new light, you avoid her like the plague, but if there's one thing about her—she's not going to make this easy for you.

#    warning label, eighteen+ only. wc 9k+, older!vi x fem!reader, lesbian level yearning, abby cameo because i lover her, emotional lesbian sex, vi so pussy whipped it's crazy, angst (do i even need to put a warning this is me we're talking about), two women in love.

# rayne yaps.  ngl ,, i was beginning to wonder if i would ever post again. i've been holding this one in the #rayvault for a long time but she deserves a little life outside my ellipsus docs. hopefully this will kickstart something bc ur girl has been struggling hard. anyways, hopefully y’all enjoy.

series masterlist.

Ten years can be a multitude of wonders. It can stretch on for as long as your heart can take. Or it can feel as if it never happened at all. But the memories? That’s what sticks to the wall of your most extravagant nightmares.

Fills in the cracks you try to hide when your own life comes up short. For a memory to cement, it has to be solidified in your core from the inside out. A story for your brain to latch onto. You remembered the entire night now. As if your mind had been protecting you from it all this time.

The glimpses of the shadow underneath the moonlight, the loud moans echoing inside your room in Mel’s home back in college. You have your fair share of poor judgement.

Lacy at the helm of all your indecision.

You did the decent thing, and you thought of your girlfriend first. It came from the lack of attention she failed to give. With your hips circling, a delicate cheek pressed against your sheets, you thought of her. The faceless butch, trapped in the haze of your mind, with only short glimpses for you to latch yourself to.

Each time—you would fall apart like never before, wishing you had a name to cry out to.

Lacey had even caught you once. A searing pain in your chest that you weren’t thinking of her, and she thought you were, yet all you did was think of a woman you would never see again.

Only the whisper of a night you didn’t never forget along with the lies Lacey told wrapped herself in.

It wasn’t the first time—and far from the last—Lacey had fucked another girl. In a drunken rage, you told her proudly that if you wanted to get off, you would think of anyone but her. When your relationship expired, you wish you had told her, or anyone else besides Mel for that matter.

Your lips remain concealed.

A secret you’re ready to take to the grave as long as Lacey remained by your side.

And it had all been for nothing. She already knew.

How on earth did Violet know about something so precious, a secret you hold so near?

"How do you know about that?"

Violet took a step forward, her body infiltratating your space with an innocence that could only be feigned. "Know about what?"

"I only told Mel about that night and I never told anyone else." You sighed, still not quite getting it. "We did not meet that night. I was—"

"Princess, I thought I was supposed to be the brainless jock."

No. It couldn't. It can't be—

"But the next time I saw you, you were with Caitlyn."

"We had a fight before that night. I wasn’t exclusive with her and then I saw you. In your red velvet dress, and then you gave me a night I’ve never forgotten. The next time we met, so much had changed, and you flirted with me in front of Cait. I realized you didn't know it was me that night.”

Violet takes a step closer, a firm hand on your lower back tugging you close, before her lips drop to press against your ear, "That I'd been the one to guide your hips as you used me. My face between your thighs, my tongue inside you deep and slow, the way you like it—I could never forget your voice crying out for more. Begging for anything I could give you."

"You've made your point." You push lightly, hands pressed against her chest, creating some distance between the two of you. The air feels tight, constantly constricting against your throat. A mountain of lies from Lacey Lave's mouth making you feel as small. Just as she intended. A ten year relationship—had it all been a rouse?

"Anyways, Lacey was threatened by it. I may have told her in the heat of a game. She was trash talking and I wanted to piss her off. So, I told her I fucked her girl, got a shiner for it. She got a red card and I got an easy goal to beat her at nationals." You didn't know what to do with all of it. One, that Violet was the woman of your ghostly dreams, the faceless woman buried in your sheets.

Lacey never brought it up. Not even to make you feel guilty about it.

"She never told me it was you."

"No, she wouldn't. She never wanted you to know and honestly I didn't want you to either."

"Why?" The apprehension couldn't be written clearer on Vi's face.

"It wouldn't have done any good."

"Yeah, right. Caitlyn."

"And you and Lacey."

The words escape from her tongue so easily. The secret of the night, your secret, but everyone held the key to Pandora's box but you. Your ex-girlfriend, the woman you couldn't stop thinking about for the duration of your relationship—practically in cahoots with one another. Rightful hatred making them stew, throwing daggers at me in the process. To them, it had been a game. On the field or not, you had forever been placed in the middle of it.

Violet showing up unannounced was definitely out of character for her. The two of you didn't do anything together. The structure of your dynamic depends on it.

Now, the only thing you can see is white flashes, her tongue and how she meled you into the sheets. Warm hands on your thighs dismantling your faith and making you believe in her.

You wish she would get back together with Caitlyn, or get with someone.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Stupidity?” With a playful shove, you push her away from her, and she smiles.

“I still don't believe it’s you.”

Another lie.

You’ve looked at her hundreds of times since then but now you’re seeing her.

“If you need proof, princess, all you have to do is say please.”

She's smiling—you would give much of your pride to bite her lip—and make yourself familar with the iron in her veins.

God, you are every bit of screwed.

“That's never going to happen…again.”

It’s best to leave it here. You can’t let this get any farther. Knowing it was her that night is enough to want to jump her bones. She’s the kind of woman every goes looking for.

You can’t look.

You don’t want to.

Liar.

You’re picturing her lips everywhere; how she kissed you hopelessly that night.

The desperate look in her eyes—she just wanted to be loved—and you couldn't help but wonder if she still did.

Before Vi moved an inch closer, you kissed her cheek. Surprising Violet when you wrapped your hands around her neck, holding her in a warm embrace. “Thank you for checking up on me. It’s sweet.”

Your bid leaves no room for interpretation.

Violet doesn’t say another word watching you leave in silence.

⸻

"Can I tell you something without you freaking out about it?" Mel hands me the joint she's been smoking, offering me a hit.

"Still might freak out about it." You release the smoke from your lungs, "Go on. Lay it on me."

The grass feels smooth beneath your fingertips. A bit prickly, but damp from the rain. You hear Violet snickering in the distance when she's able to kick the ball right past Sev into the goal. In a way, you can finally realize why fields just like this were a second home to people like Lacey.

And Violet.

She's such a show off.

"Violet has been asking an awful lot about you. Who you're dating, the sexy bartender she suspects you're fucking on the side—"

Why is she doing this? "Didn't she end things with Cait recently?”

"I would hardly classify a year recent." Mel takes a beat, “You and Lacey have been broken up for what…a handful of months?”

"Yeah, but we both know my relationship was dead for years."

Mel nods, taking a hit from the blunt, "And you should know looks can be deceiving." She takes a minute, watching your gaze flutter from Violet to back to Mel. "Oh! Did something happen when she drove you home when you got properly knackered at brunch?"

"Not really.” You decide to twist Mel's own words against her. "I need you to keep a straight face, okay?"

"You're scaring me."

"Violet is kind of the woman from freshman year. The one I slept with right before Lacy and I got back together for the millionth time. You know, the woman you called—"

"The ultimate shag of your fucking life!"

"Mel…" Internally sighing you place your head and shove them in your hands to try to save yourself a little of dignity. "Please. Have some decorum."

"You know you’re not the only who spoke about that night. God, this is rich."

"Like it means anything."

Her golden irises shine in the sunlight, squinting at you with a devilish smirk pulling at the corners of her full lips. "It means more than you think, and you should speak with her about it."

Violet looked over at you for one second, smiling throught her perfectly pearly-white teeth. Ever so charming. Part of the problem, her and those bright eyes.

You never really thought about her like this. Now more than ever, you've taken the space foremore. The obstacles immountable.

Mountains of morality gripping your throat. For a while, Mel doesn't speak and neither do you. Welcoming the silence with open arms, you watch her. Flying mop of pink-hair being blown in the wind. The pure joy she has with a ball being passed between her feet—not a single eye on her—but not a soul would be able to tell the difference.

She looks so free, happy. You crave to capture the feeling, keep her warm and safe, making sure not a soul harms the lightning in a bottle.

It's how you felt, with a college degree you never used—but owning a restaurant had always felt more fufilling. More useful in the grand scheme of things.

The late-nights, early mornings, and the overnight shifts full of taking countless inventory felt worth it. It might have been a stupid building serving food, but it's a home you built from the ground up. The culture you created. The passion you felt every time you took over the kitchen. It's the closest you've come to completed fruition.

You imagine it's the same for Violet. For the first time, in a party of four, you're taking in everything she is and you're not sure what to do with it.

"I'm willing to bet you haven't shagged that pretty bartender of yours since you found out about the identity of your mysterious lover." Mel pushes, smirking, again.

You steal the blunt from her hands as you take the last hit, the courage of the cannabis winding you up, maybe enought to ask Violet what's been in the forefront of your mind. Could Mel have some merit in what she speaks of?

Well, of course. It's Mel. She tried to warn you about Lacey for years and you never thought sense of mind to listen. Now, maybe you out to.

"Don't remind me. Abby was practically sizing her up when you sent Violet like a hound ready to sniff out any smell of distress." You snuff the bud on the bottom of your boot.

"I did no such thing, love. If Vi came to visit you, it's because she wants to."

"But she—" How could you not see it for what it was? Were you truly always this blind? "She said you wanted to check on me. Make sure I was alright."

Mel innocently shrugs, a smile you think about hiding from makes it's way to the surface. "I texted you when Vi said you fell. That was me checking in on you. Her showing up at your restaurant is all Vi. I'll give her that. Always a bit cheeky with her women."

"Mel." The look you give her is more than pointed, narrowed in a sense to drown out any confusion racing in your heart. "I'm not her woman."

"Yeah, tell someone who actually believes it." She laughs, the two of you getting up to join them in their antics. Before you get within an earshot, Mel ushers underneath her breath, "You may not be ready yet, and I understand it, but if you want to give anyone an opportunity—she’s more than worth it.”

⸻

Every year, you relish in this time of year. The autumn leaves, the hot chocolate burning every sensation on your tongue. The park benches that would be too damp to sit on, but you would do it anyway just so you could perlong your walk for the sake of fresh air. Going from living to the countryside to the city had been an adjustment, but now you couldn't help but fall in love with it. Taking your walk every Sunday morning, a fresh cup of coffee in your hand.

Abby has been more than capable to take over the reigns on Sundays, and you finally gave into delegation. A necessary pain to relinquish a small amount of control.

You ought to be proud of yourself.

It's the moment of absolute absence of mind when you bump into her—a strong hand stabalizing the coffee in your hand and the other wrapped around your waist. Keep you close, safe.

"Watch your step, princess." Violet's cursed voice ripples out and scorns your weak heart.

Despite all the whispers in your ear, Mel’s attempt to push you in one direction, you avoid being alone with her.

Typically, you're quite good at being alone. Years of being with Lacey taught you that.

No one will love you as much as me.

It’s a death trap of the heart. You wish back then Mel had been the shoulder for you to lean on. It’s not what happened. Deceitful whispers in your ear with a prophecy filled with all your deepest insecurities is the choice you made.

Lacey over everything, yourself included.

As pathetic as it was, Mel’s the only kind of sunshine you had.

She sees your bullshit for all it's worth and can slither through the cracks. A trained python to snuff you out of toxic habits and an avalanche of heartache.

Violet feels more sweet. The sugar rotting your teeth to the bone. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping a beautiful woman from distress." She smiles instantly when you don't pull away, and laughs when you roll your eyes. "Kidding. Well, sort of. I actually live across the street. I guess the sort of thing is prompted when you end a relationship. Living on your own, downsizing, the whole thing. Just signed the second lease.”

"Mhm," You look in her eyes as she removes her arm and walks in pace with you. "How's all of that going?"

"Do you really want to know? Or are you doing the polite thing?"

The gaze feels heavy when you look at her. You do your best to control it. Violet's irises soften when you grace her paranoria with a warm smile, "I really wanna know, Violet."

She's nothing like Lacey, and you want to hate her for it.

"It's awkward, uncomfortable at times. I loved Cait and I was going to propose to her. It seemed liked the right thing to do. We had been together so long, I knew she wanted it. We talked about it, and I was just waiting for the right moment."

You did know, but you had been Caitlyn. Waiting for a commitment while the expiration date passed. Accepting a dried up love instead of what you deserved.

At least Caitlyn didn’t have to deal with the cheating. Vi had always been loyal. To a fault.

Except for once.

"So, what happened?" Violet seemed surprised you’re asking, but recovers quickly.

"I proposed because I thought it's what she wanted. She saw through me, and it killed us." Violet sighs, her breath materlizing in the cold air. "We couldn't come back from it and I didn't want to. We loved each other but not in the way I think we should have. Not in the way Cait wanted. So, I moved out."

Not knowing how to respond, you kept quiet, but Violet kept speaking.

"Caitlyn said she couldn't get over the look in my eyes. Said I was settling—that I wanted something stable like my own family. She told me how I should want more. That I shouldn't be able to contain myself if I was asking someone to spend the rest of their life with me, and that I shouldn't waste it on her. One look, and she knew that I wasn't in love anymore but I would have married her. Maybe have been unhappy five or ten years even down the line, so in a lot of ways, I think she saved us.”

Violet speaks with raw emotion, but she leans into it. The honesty beats her powder-blue eyes into life. Being truthful, leaning into someone else other than herself.

Two weeks later, Violet is heavy on your mind. You think of her entirely too much. Her kindess is a knight lingering in the shadows. Swift on knocking down each barrier protecting your heart. It would be easy to slip in with her and that's the very reason you can't. It's nearly been a year of being alone. And you think about her. Being with her, kissing her—reciting everything you've seen this week that reminds you of the unimaginable blue in her beautiful eyes. Because in her light, you might be deserving of it.

Mel's words ring truer than you wish them to.

You're about to walk down to the coffee shop, the one you always frequent on Sundays when your phone vibrates in your back pocket.

8:37am: care for a cup of joe and some miminal trauma dumping? i can meet you there. my treat, princess.

The walks become a weekly occurence. The beginning of September moprhs into the depths of October with Halloween just around the corner. In the time span, you've gone from meeting at Wolf's Brew, meeting her at the bench outside of your building, to her walking up the flight of stairs—the one you know can't be any good for her knee. Violet inists on it. You loop your arm through hers, the same as every other Sunday.

Each time her gaze falls on your lips, you think she notices the way your throat tightens, because she pulls away like she hadn't looked at all. The moment evaporates until it happens again, and each time makes you dizzer. You're thankful for the cold. Not only because your skin doesn't feel scorching, but because you can't see the strong muscles you'd want to stroke with your tongue. The tattoo perfectly places on the side of her neck has always done a thorough job sending you into a complete frenzy.

Violet looks at your lips again, and your gulp so loudly she lets out the lightest of laughs. "Do you want me to stop?"

You take the quickest glance of her lips, the sharpe intake of her jaw, those adoring puppy eyes. All of the signs eluding to a feeling greater than yourself bubbling underneath the surface, yet you're full of restraint. If anything, you have always had to be. Protection over surrender. Fight over flight. It never occured you may be in the safest hands imaginable.

It’s never worked out that way.

Why would she be any different?

"Stop what?" Innocently, you ask her. Playing dumb is the smart decision. Guarding yourself. It's the only thing in the world you can count on.

"I think you know, princess." Violet turns to you slightly. Cheek against yours, pressing her scarred lip against your ear, "For your sake, we can pretend that I'm not thinking about your lips every time I fall asleep. Or when I get a little lonely and your face is the first and only one to enter my mind. We can pretend I'm not thinking about you every second if that's what you wish."

Did she just—

Violet does pretend. She coasts over the moment like it didn't happen. It's the only thing you think about for a week until you see her next. The cappucino is the same. The pastry Violet buys for you, and your arm linked with hers, all the flirty innuendos she pulls from her tongue like a loaded shot gun. She's terrifyingly perfect. More importantly, she's so entirely patient.

The seasons change and she’s the constant weathering your storm.

The downpour comes out of nowhere, and Violet's apartment is closer. She tries to shield you from the rain as if it were even possible. The both of you rushing into her apartment, entirely soaked. Before you can even speak, she's stolen the words from you. "Let me go grab dry clothes for you to wear. Can't have you getting sick."

The plaid boxers and oversized sweatshirt smell of her. Cotton so soft you think about if her lips could rival it. She even brought you a pair of navy-blue socks fresh out of the dryer. Violet takes your clothes to throw them through the wash. The walls of her place fit her. Painted canvas' where Powder's signature is etched in the corner, a few bands you've heard her speak of, and some family pictures frame hung throughout. Her family truly is everything to her and you smile at the dream.

Her pink-hair is flattened, a sweet smile greeting you with an open heart. She looks so cozy, in a cropped shirt with the sleeves cut. A pair of basketball shorts that fit her athletic legs perfectly. The small scar on her leg from the surgery is healed, but it sends you back into where she was in your apartment.

The surgery had been fresh. And she had picked up, put weight on her fragile knee when she wasn't supposed to.

"Violet," With tears in your eyes you manage to get out, "The day you carried me. When did you have your surgery?"

"It's not important."

"And I think it is."

"Really, my knee is fine. Who knows if I will ever play again, but it's not going to be because I carried you up to your place. You couldn't even walk properly."

"Even when you thought I hated you—you have always been kind—surely more than I have ever deserved." You gnaw on your lip. Shame filling your stomach with a snap of your fingers. "Why are you so kind? Why can't you make it even a little bit easier to hate you?"

Violet bitterly laughs, "Yeah, right. You were living in bliss before. Not knowing it was me, but I was in agony. Seeing you with Lacey, she never deserved you. At all.”

You don't know why any of this matters. One night, over ten years, and it seems the ghost of the forbidden haunts the both of you.

"I think you've held onto a memory of me that doesn't exist. A dream of me. You've lied to yourself, convincing yourself it meant more than it actually did. It was sex. Really good sex, but maybe that's all it was. Whatever Lacey did to me, it doesn't have to involve you. Me choosing to stay with someone who was entirely fucking miserable was my own retribution. Stop caring about me, Violet. There's nothing going on between us."

The venom in her chuckle is so bitter, it almost makes you laugh.

"Then why are you so afraid to kiss me?" Violet pushes. Her hard edges you once knew so well are back. The fire in her eyes ignited by your ever-growing reluctancy. "Why does your body retreat back into yourself when I get close? You fuck Abby like it's nothing. C'mon princess, I can only be a good fuck, right?"

"Violet, you're twisting what my words. I didn't mean—"

"I'm not Lacey. I'm not going to hurt you like she did." It's a punch to your gut and the blood spills. “Let me take care of you. Alright? You are safe with me and don’t try to bullshit me. I’m not some horned up college kid anymore. I see the way you look at me. How you’ve been looking at me for weeks now.” The flip of her words give you whiplash, and you wonder if that's actually what she intended.

One wrong move. The words scramble in your brain, vines of reason trying to strangle her voice out. Violet stands close, you can see all the freckles scattered across her cheeks. Everything that makes her beautiful scarring you from the inside.

She leans in, her breath ghosting over your lips. "What are you so afraid of? I can handle every gorgeous part of you. God, I want to."

Violet's lips are softer than you remember. You awake in gratitude that she's not rushing this. Letting you lead, her lips move in sync with yours, becoming one force underneath the weight of your desire.

You mark her lips with light whimpers, firm hands rooted into her pink waves. Pouring all the time you lost into her. Into this one kiss, one you'll never be able to forget. Each moment stains you, her hands pressing in your thighs, hoisting you to wrap them firmly around her waist. For however soft Violet feels, you feel protected underneath her touch. Hoping no one could harm you. A tangle of limbs, her heavy breath and with a twist of her tongue, she's sucking on yours. "Fuck, how could I be such a coward and never tell you?"

The secret she carried lies at your feet as she carries you to the bedroom, placing you on the mattress. Letting you sit pretty, in her shirt and boxers, on her bed. Embers of blue fire ignite beneath her eyes, and you can see her fighting against it. "Princess, we can stop this at any moment. You say the word and my hands are off."

"I know." You pull her closer and Violet lets you. Her body stands between your legs. You sit on the edge of her bed, looking up at her through fluttering eyelashes. "Take off your shirt, Vi."

You see her chest practically vibrate, the moan she lets slip when you say the name she's asked you to speak so many times. But only now, do you grant her the wish, along with so many others.

Her smirk is too wide, and you want to smack it right off her. "Why would I do that when you can do it for me?" Giving Violet a pointed look she shurgs, but still she gives into you. "Alright pretty girl, but only because you said my name."

The flimsy material finds it's way on the floor. Along with the rest of any self-control you had with it. Running on instinct, you place a warm hand on her toned abdomen. The hard ridges of her trained muscle twitch with the scrap of your nails digging into the skin. Her pink nipples pierced, not concealed with tape like the first night.

"Oh princess, I'm going to fucking ruin you." She pushes your back to the bed with the power of hips. "And this time you won't have the luxury of not knowing it's me turning this pussy inside out."

Your hips buck against her, begging for any kind of friction. "If you can make me come."

Violet bites into your silence with her lips curving around your neck, down into your collarbones, kissing the cotton of her shirt over your sternum until she's pushed it up, exposing your soft stomach. "You have no idea how perfect I find you, every inch of your skin—I want all of it underneath my tongue." Vi pushes your shirt up, exposing your chest to her.

"V-Vi, my fucking god—" Her tongue circles your nipples, nipping the bud with her teeth, before sucking the rest into her mouth. She teases the ignored breast with a pinch of her fingers, Violet's entire body hums when you arch into her. "You're really good at that."

"Mhm, I know, princess." Violet groans, pulling the shirt from your body, as she kneels your thighs still wrapped around your waist. "Are you ready? 'Cause there weill be no coming back from this. Once I start, I have a feeling you won't wanna stop."

"You're really…confident."

"Yeah, you could say that." Violet leans forward, her breath hot in your ear as she speaks, "There's also no other woman on this fucking planet I'd rather have under me. So, m'gonna make my dream come true and have the most beautiful princess alive squirt all over my hand—just like the first time. Can you handle me, sweet girl? Can you take whatever I wanna give you?"

"Yes." Clinging onto her back, you give yourself something to ground to.

"Yes what?"

Violet wants to here the name you've denied her for so long, and at this point, you'd give her anything to have every inch of her fingers inside you.

"Vi….just fuck me."

After all the waiting, all the walks, all the flirting—Violet slips right in. As if the last ten years of absence didn't exist, as if she never left you and this moment was always meant to be. For the first time, you let yourself admit the ugly truth. Lacey's jealousy stood on solid ground. Nothing on this godforsaken planet felt like Violet Vanderson.

"I hate that it feels so good," You pant as she buries her face into your neck, craving to feel your erratic pulse. "I hate how perfect you fit inside me. You shouldn't be this perfect. So sweet. You're smothering me to death."

"You don't hate me, princess. You hate that you like everything about me." Violet growls into your neck, enjoying the divine music of your moans. With no hesitation, your cunt swallows her middle finger, and your hips follow the rhythm of her wrists, her palm grazing your clit with each pump of her fingers. "I think you won't even need my mouth to squirt like a good girl. I know you'll make a mess with my voice in your ear and your pussy gripping me like a fucking vice."

"Your good girl?"

"Yes baby, my good girl." She sinks another finger, stretching you to the brim, and her thumb rubbing circles on your clit. "Gonna be so good for me, yeah? Show me why you're my sweet girl. Does your stomach have that sinking feeling? Pussy fucking throbbing—I can feel it—every drop waiting to be spilled for me. You can let it all go, princess. I'll fuck every pretty drop out of you, until you've fucked yourself dry and then you know what happens after?"

Fuck….

"My mouth will do the rest of the work. Clean you up real good, and then I'm going to bury my head in those pretty thighs of yours and hope to god you smother me to death."

Violet moans when you let it all go, there's so much happening at once. Your screams, the cries of your name, the claws in her back she'll wear like a badge of honor. The way your entire body shudders and shivers, panting as Violet locks eyes with you. Mouth open as she claims you, swallowing your moans with her eager mouth.

She hasnt stopped, and she won't, not until you're entirely fucked try. You can hear yourself, offering everything you can give, making a mess on her hand and she pulls it all from you like it's easy. You've been chasing the unacheivable feeling, for ten years, you finally don't have to pretend.

"Fuck, I love you."

Violet instantly tenses, not even believing herself the words that spilled from her mouth. She's watching you, carefully. As if she just spooked you and the way you retreat into yourself, shows her she's done exactly that. You want to tell her it's okay. That she doesn't have to mean it. The two of you just had sex again, unforgettable sex, and emotions are high and you understand why those three words slipped out. Every voice is screaming at your head to listen to all the logic bouncing around in your head. You're unable to listen to any of it.

Lacey only told you she loved you after sex. You're creating the same pattern with someone new. Violet is no different. She'll up and leave you. She will cheat on you. You'll never be good enough. You're never enough. Why can't you be?

"Can you get off me, please?" She does, of course she does, she's too nice. She's so warm and gooey, the honey you crave to be stuck at the back of your throat.

"I'm sorry, fuck, I didn't mean for it to just come out like that."

There's tears, so many of them. So much you can't see. Violet only watches as you try to look for your shoes, in embarassingly soaked boxers. God, this couldn't be any worse.

"I-I need to leave." There's hiccups, you're tears are stained your cheeks and Violet looks like she'd rather die than look at you right now. Her own face crumples at the sight of you, but you can see her bite her lip to calm herself down.

"Did I hurt you? Was it too much?" Regret and concern floats in her gaze, but you can't tell if one outweighs the other. "I'm so fucking sorry. Oh my god, I never wanted to cause you any harm. I'm sorry. Can I do anything?"

"Some pants—" Violet disappears into her closet, having another pair of boxers, and a pair of sweats in hand.

She turns away from you, and it's then you realize she still isn't wearing a shirt. Violet gives you the privacy and you stumble over the clothes, and you're just staring at her tattooed back.

The gears and puffs of smoke working as one piece on her back, and in this moment of chaos, she completely grounds you. Even if you're not strong enough, you can't deny how incredible she is. How right now you let her believe she's hurt you in some way because you can't bring yourself to tell her that she activated the Lacey Lave of all triggers. And your hurt cannot see anything else.

Not even the woman you think you might even be in love with.

You tap her shoulder, and her lip is quivering as she wipes her wet cheek and grabs her hoodie to throw on. "I'm gonna take you home, and then you never have to see me again, alright? I didn't mean to hurt you and I can't tell you enough how sorry I am."

The ride is silent, and short. You could have walked but Vi wouldn't allow it. Under these circumstances, you understood why. Never have you seen her like this, so distraught. Quiet as a mouse. You have to say something. "Vi?"

"Yeah?" Her eyes are closed, waiting for you to lay one final burn. Shame coated on her face like an iron fist.

"Violet, look at me."

She winces when you say her name, but you've always thought Violet was more beautiful, more fitting for her never ending bloom. You cradle her face in your hand, year stained and all, wiping away anymore continuing to spill.

"Please believe me when I say this. You did not hurt me, Vi. I enjoyed myself with you but it was overwhelming and I handled it very badly. You're nothing short of perfect, okay? I adore you and I don't want you to doubt that."

Violet simply nods, her jaw clenching as her mind looks to drift away from this conversation.

You add for extra measure, "You're a lot. In the best way possible. I want to make sure I'm ready for it. Please, don't give up on me. I just need time."

"M'not going, anywhere." Violet's voice is hoarse, but she grabs your hand and kisses the inside of your palm. Her lips kiss your forehead next, and you can feel her scar when she does.

And it rips you, the feeling that never dies.

The knowing of being loved so softly, so truly—and you've never wanted anything so badly but you're not sure how to reach for it.

Violet lets you leave in silence. She doesn't push, she doesn't beg when you have nothing to give. She just loves you, and your insides crumble at the thought of someone as righteous as her finding the golden in you.

⸻

Routines for you have always been simple. You did well in university for the same reason. Structure, a schedule, the same days you visited the gym, the day you went to the grocery store, and the day you called your mom every week.

Everything for you remained the same. Adapdatuon has never been your expertise. With all the blood in your veins, you wished for your life to remain the same. The life you have prospers in predictability.

Violet isn't predictable.

She surprises.

The passion in her eyes makes you fall instantly. She commands every ounce of your attention and not because she's greedy, but because you can't look at anything but her.

The idea that she hurt you, sending her into a fit of tears still pierces through you. So much so that it wasn't until Mel reached out to you after two weeks of silence she came with red wine and a cardboard box filled with pizza, fresh from your favorite place in the townsquare.

"Out with it. Please tell me why Vi has been operating around us like she's some wounded pup."

"Us?" You question, but Sev walks through your apartment a few seconds later.

"Is this some kind of intervention?" You grab another glass from the kitchen, placing them on the maghony table in the living room. The both of them dig into the pizza when you're favoring more the the wine tonight.

"No, but Vi is a muzzled dog at this point. Won't spill an inch and I can always count on you." Mel grabs another slice, "Plus, I tried to poke her for it and she got rather angry. Wanker nearly bit my head off for asking. A bit protective if you ask me."

"That's entirely my fault. The whole thing is pretty much." You contemplated how much you should tell them, how much to keep a secret, but none of it felt right. Not when Vi didn't want anyone knowing. "We started hanging out with each other. Every Sunday. I had these walks I would go on. I don't know—we bumped into each other one day and then we just made it a regular thing."

Mel nearly chokes on her pizza, her elegance flying out the window along with the slice of pepperoni on the floor. Sevika took another sip of the wine but she hates it but she doesn't have the gaul to complain about it in front of her wine-snob of a girlfriend.

"So, let me get this straight," Sevika starts and you're terrified for where this is going to end. "You had a weekly date with Vi, every single week and neither of you told anyone."

"It was just on Sundays, sometimes lunch. A dinner here and there. It was hardly anything to write home about."

"And who paid?" Mel asked, her perfect eyebrow arching in a way that accused you to the bone.

"Is that truly relevant?"

"Yes." They both say in unison and for a split second you ponder on supplying wax in your ears so you wouldn't have the unfortunate curse of continuing this conversation.

"Uh, well…"

Fuck, did Violet pay for every single one? Were we dating already?

The walks went on for nearly three months.

There was that one weekend I was sick and Violet brought me homemade soup. A care package of cough drops, medicine, and she sat with me on the couch all day watching movies trying to make me feel better.

All of the moments, every single one, even Vi telling you she loved you for the first time. The frustration she had when you called the one night stand a fluke—everything she spoke of between the two of you stood in an entirely different light.

"I have a theory. Vi was soft launching, trying to caux you into it, you know? If not, she would have spooked you and you would have ran." Mel laughs as your eyes bug out even more, "It's kind of brilliant. You probably fell in love with her already and now, all she has to do really is wait for you to realize it."

"I'm not in love with Violet.

"Right, right." Sev chuckles, leaning into Mel. "And you're avoiding her because?"

"You said it yourself. I'm full of spook."

"Well love, don't be spooked for too long. Vi is the kind of woman others go searching for. Caitlyn would be the first to tell you not to make a mess of things, alright?" Mel kisses you on the cheek sweetly, and you've never been more thankful for it. "So, tell me, how was the first kiss with her since you shagged her?"

"I didn't tell you we shagged."

"Well, no but now you did. You need a better poker face, darling."

Jesus Christ, it's going to be a long night.

⸻

⸻

"Spill, you fucking maniac."

"Hell to you too, sunshine." Abby winks, holding the blunt in her hand.

Her l-shaped couch is cozy, you cuddle up in the corner, her dog, Blayke making home in your lap just as she did every time you were here. An ongoing joke she loves you more than Abby.

"You must really have no one if you're willing to tell me about it."

"I do have people. But they're Vi's people too and—"

"You don't wanna spread whatever the big, bad thing you did." You'd do anything to protect her, and if it means keeping what she confessed to yourself? Gladly, you'll wallow in all of the agony for her.

"It's not entirely bad."

Maybe it was. You couldn't stop thinking of her. Seeing the tears in her eyes, watching her cry and only yesterday could I say it for what it truly had been. A complete, a total misunderstanding. Old habits follow you as broken oaths. You think of her—and those kind eyes that have the capacity to shatter your entire soul.

"Tell me first then, what are you hiding?"

Abby's apartment felt like a distant memory, it always felt cold to you, but fitting for her. The terrace underneath the moonlight provides a nice view, and you think of Violet. What it would be like to be spending the evening with her. Is she eating enough—drinking enough water?

Does she talk about me with anyone? Every fight I had with her, none of them hold as much weight. Could you even call this a fight when you made it clear to her there's nothing to fight over? Crying when she said I love you and too weak to handle any of it.

Love and it's thorns. It takes more blood than you have to offer. The tips of your fingers bleed each time you cry to touch her. Each pressing of her skin against your own is more sensitive—more personable. An aching you haven't quite figured out the answer to. Surely, this is a question you're not meant to answer. You're just supposed to know. Love is love and reluctance is rejection.

Once you've struck gold, held a feeling so entirely precious, bronze and silver feels geep beneath your fingertips. There's no runner up—only the one who wins.

"I've never seen you like this." With a smile on her face, Abby takes a swing of her beer. "So in love."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Your voice is pointed, reeking of desperation. Picking at your chip nail polish, you take another hit, "I think I would know if I was."

"You wouldn't. Not if you're in your head comparing it with whatever fucked up shit Lacey put you through."

"What does that have to with anything?" You hate the rot in your bones, the disease Lacey placed in your system. Every ill-spoken word raises graveyard of your own ashes, the voice of all your demons come in the night, in the terroizing face of her crimson hair and honey-brown eyes. She's there to sneak on you—a thief in the night threatening to steal every bit of joy you have ever held close.

As much as you would love to admit she's no longer in your system, you feel it in the silence you let Violet feel. The distance she created when you couldn't say those three little words back. How you didn't even alow yourself to imagine a life where Violet could somehow want a relationship with you, a soul so entirely broken.

With Abby, everything had been easier. No emotional connection, a battered heart in a vault, where no one could touch it. True to Mel's words, Violet had stolen it from you. And it's far too late to take it back now. You've let yourself want, need even, and you know nothing could be more deadly.

"Fuckin' everything." Abby can't help but smile at the pure ignornance etched in the pursed line of your lips. "You think just because you're free of Lacey, all of it changes?"

"Now you're just being a dick."

"M'not trying to. Would you just listen to me?" Tucking your calves underneath your thighs, wrapping yourself in the blanket she threw around you on your way out.

"Fine. Speak."

'"Lacey put you through hell. But you can't hold onto it. All the expectation you're putting on Vi? You're pinning her to the cross Lacey placed. Has she ever done anything to make you believe you can't trust her?"

"Well no—"

"Then don't making her pay for your ex-girlfriend's sins. S'all I'm saying."

"You don't even know what happened."

"Oh, I definitely do."

"How could you possibly know?"

"Remember the night she dropped by at the restaurant, after you rolled your ankle?"

"Yeah?"

"Her drop by wasn't as innocent or harmless as you think."

⸻

She loves coming here, granted she has only been here a few times, and your grand opening being one of them. Vi remembers Lacey's absence, and your struggle with it. Like most things, it was easy for you to brush it off. Focus on what really mattered to you, and Vi hasn't seen anything more beautiful.

A real smile.

You didn't force it.

Vi wonders if you even could.

Seeing you in the midst of your dream, watching as you held onto a passion you found from the ground up. It was more than admirable, and Vi never had felt so envious of someone else's purpose.

Vi had her purpose, even considered herself lucky enough to carry the weight of her dream in her chest—light as a feather—but her knee gave out on her in the last olympics. The greatest heartbreak of her life. It feels like a wound that couldn't stop opening. The moment before you die, and you think of this one thing, one event, one person. It's the biggest regret, it stands out when it shouldn't and you can't let go of it.

The last bell has been rung, the note of her last career game has been sung—and she has nothing left. A relationship unable to harbor the weight of her failure. Vi knew her career was something special. More than some could ever have and play twice as long as she did. Maybe now, even in her heated sorrow, her legacy would be protected.

She wouldn't be an aged-out soccer player who couldn't get her ass off the field. Holding onto to your dream like a kid with their emotional support blanket. She walked away with grace, and she did have Cait for a time after her increasingly public fallout. Now, she didn't. Eight months of loneliness, not making her physical therapy appointment, the mental therapy sessions she was missing.

The headlines drenching her in blood.

Everywhere she turned to online patiently awaited her return.

The goat isn't finished yet. Vanderson would never go out like that.

She'll be back stronger than ever.

Vi is 32. Her career is over. No more gold for the "goat".

"She could have warned me my competition is a football legend."

Vi smiles, the compliment is endearing, and even finds herself for a moment worth of the title. However fleeting the feeling comes, it decides to land home for more than a few seconds.

"I'm just a pain in the ass to her. An old college friend she could never get rid of." You hate her so much it hurts, and for the first time, Vi believes herself to be a true masochist.

Vi takes note on how big Abby is. A soft face, a smooth jaw, and a field of freckles coursing every inch of her body. That's the only soft thing about her. Her physique almost seems unreal, built like all she does is chop wood with an axe deep in the woods.

Vi feels insecure around the woman you're clearly having sex with and wondering if she could ever measure up. If you even want her to.

"Yeah, I've seen her college friends." Abby does a double take, "You're clearly not just a friend."

Vi plays with the frayed edges of her cap, catching eyes with you before you shake your shoulders, rolling Vi's presence clean off your body. Trying to anyway. "Neither are you."

"No, so go ahead and ask me. I'll allow you one question."

Calloused hands wrap around the chilled glass, the drink you made for her—you didn't even have to ask what she wanted—you knew.

"How much of a chance do you think I have with her?" Vi is so sweet when she asks. In all truth, she doesn't need to know how Abby fucks you. How pretty Abby thinks you are, all the ways she's had you on whatever surface. Abby throws the bait, but she won't take it. Whatever is going on has very little to do with her, and all she wants to know is what you could be with her.

Your Violet.

It’s clear now it’s all she wants to be.

Now more than ever, her belief lies with you. Maybe it's taken her ten years to accept, but she's always been yours to have. From the very first night, it's all she's been—a thorn of roses for you to pluck. Prick her any way you like.

Vi would happily bleed for you.

"I can see why she likes you." Abby lets the confession roll off her tongue like a precious sin.

With a twinkle in Violet's eyes she asks, "And why is that?"

"You're confident, but not too cocky where you'll push her into something she doesn't want. You're checking in on her, not sending her texts like her other friends probably did. Which tells me all I need to know." The blonde-haired woman disappears for a bit, spending a good half hour on the other side of the bar, before retreating back in front of Violet. Watching her watch you.

Vibrant lilac pen in your hair, tucked behind your ear—chewing on the cap in your mouth and you must have felt her stare—you're zoning in on Vi before you shake yourself out of it. Heading in another direction entirely.

"She's not you know—my girlfriend," Abby strolls over, picking up Vi's empty glass. "And she hasn't called me in the middle of the night in two weeks. Funnily enough, about the same time she rolled her ankle with you."

"Look—"

"Don't. I know when I've been beaten. She'll realize what's happening soon enough." Abby smiles, "Let me know if y'all ever want a third."

The unanswered question floats in the thin air for the remainder of the night. Vi isn't cruel enough to put Abby in a position to hear a stranger pin after the woman she's been fucking. All of it feels beyond her reach, and far beyond how she should act for her each. She's over thirty—Vi shouldn't be acting like some lovestruck teenager who is having a crush for the first time.

Then she stops herself, and she sees you clearer than ever—you are the teenage crush.

The dream Vi couldn't stop seeing every night she fell to sleep. The one she felt guilty about. The person who made her wonder if the sinking feeling in your stomach could be some malicious joke, or if it could be the real deal. Ever since she's been with Cait, she's never gone there. Lacey and Caitlyn—she had never been so grateful for either one of them.

Until she saw you drunk at brunch, crying over Lacey, she never felt it. Not with anyone else before you.

It made her body physcially sick to see you hurt. Tears staining your cheeks, the way your lip quivered and crumbled beneath the weight of your emotions. Mel soothing you enough where you could breathe again. Vi clenched her fists underneath the table, knuckles turning white as she tried to not find Lacey and yell at her for every vicious comment she ever made to you.

She never wants to see you hurt—when you hurt yourself on the asphalt—Vi became entirely a goner. Cradling you in her arms, with this look in your tempting eyes. Vi thought about it for weeks and weeks. If she died right then, it would be the last thing she thought of. The moment before you die, and you see your life.

As pathetic as anyone could be, Vi would see you.

Her teenage crush, a stupid one night stand she would never get over. It all could mean so much more to her. She wants to keep chasing this feeling. Your kindness, your laughter, and the way you're skin glows in the sun with a bottle of champagne flowing through your veins. You are her sun-kissed dream and Violet's always been a bit of a masochist for a little burn.

Being here, in the place you loved more than life itself, it seemed to be the only logical move. The first one she could play without entirely seeming like an obsessed freak.

I'm going to get her this time.

The woman of my dreams.

[grotesquevi]

she’s old, rusty and stupidly horny — you bet that cute ass violet vanderson’s fucking her sister’s best friend tonight.

cw   #     18+ minors and cismen dni as this contains smut, older!vi + chef!vi so be aware that this contains an age-gap relationship (reader's in her late twenties and vi is in her forties, reader’s also jinxs bestie) doctor!reader, blood and injury descriptions, vi is tripping here i love my girl, switch!switch dynamic cuz i'm a sucker for who's in control and who's not (expect sub!vi and not), scissoring, good old pussy eating, shit ton of flirting, spit, some choking, sweet names, degrading ones — yikes.

listen to some tunes for this one // masterlists // 10,3k words.

side note  #   in screams of agony, i bring you serpentskirt, a love hate fic i’ve been writing since january 18th acording to ellipsus. i’m not gonna lie but this was a pain in the ass so it makes me happy to finally let it see the light — trust me, i needed to move on, i’m kinda proud of how it turned out despite almost going pussy-bald on how stressing this was. still. hope you enjoy what i personally believe its the perfect blend of yearning and smut,,,, i expect your opinion on this one since its very important babymwah,,,,, #art bellow by entr0phea on instagram!!

vi has experienced appetite before.

eyes who swallow and mouth who irks in hunger, she knows what it's like when you experience desire firsthand, how it settles in her lower stomach like a monster ready to devastate. blends like an injection with her blood, turns her primitive in the closed space of the last drop, stupid.

"you remember who she is, right?"

is it a trick question? does her sister know half of what happened a handful of years before? fresh out of school while she was already finishing uni, ready to escape and move out: violet doubts you told jinx about the big crush you had back then with her so randomly, much less about the fact that she rejected you that very same night since she was already busy fucking a classmate, far from looking at her little sister's best friend with something more than a friendly approach — with this in mind, please care to explain when, exactly did you get this fucking hot?

slowly, she regrets being ten minutes late to a party she almost avoided at first, after so long investing this much time in staying away? karma breathes down her neck and it surely catches vi in a low moment of her life, or at least, guilty enough to curse silently while her sister keeps talking unaware of how stiff she is. shit, how long has it been since she last saw you? six, seven years now? time's an illusion created by men when minutes don't pass like as would: you're careless now, unaware that she still exists, cool.

"my best friend from school, you know her-- braces, weird haircut..." let cupid shoot his arrow twice cause you're far from the girl who once was drunk confessing a teenage crush in the middle of a starry night like a secret from the government — "c'mon be smart."

"i am smart--" vi replies offended, is this some kind of punishment for being late to her birthday party? for avoiding her hometown like it's haunted? "i know who that is. the troublemaker friend you had who followed you everywhere."

"well congratulate her and don't be a fucking asshole. she bagged this big job in the hospital of piltover to be part of the e.r team. it's a big night for her too."

the memory of when you were too drunk blurting out your hopes and desires settles in her brain and it's impossible to let go. pulls the corners of her mouth in an unexpected smile cause she can still go back to the words you mumbled between pouts and cheeky smiles, how she was already tired of zaun and how hot that summer was — you went too hard with the vodka, and she is, still too old for you.

"vi?" it's a knot in the throat when you become aware of her presence, say her name like you're missing one star all along, a new planet announced to the rest of the world. suddenly she turns into an old friend you hold close to your heart instead of that never-before-experienced-lover or your forever wonder. "oh god, how are you? jinx told me you were coming but i thought she was daydreaming-"

it's fast and it turns the air toxic as your arms surround her in an unexpected hug: god she's in such deep trouble. impossible not to freeze as her own arms welcome you back; she has the perfect excuse right? since you've been around each other at a young age you're an indirect part of her life, no? — she hasn't known anything about you in years so it's almost fair.

was it the mini-skirt? the way your hair smells as you're that close? she's a sucker for that kind of things — maybe it was the deprivation of good sex for what felt like a lifetime, or the sound of your voice when you talk so close to her. everything's a menace as your laugh seems to fill the entire place; her space at least, so inexistent at that point it makes vi afraid of having her sister wondering what the hell is going on.

"congrats on your new job, doc" it's nothing but politeness sprinkled with bits of flirting, subtle. "turns out you were a smart-ass after all, huh?"

"seems like it, yes-" is that cockiness in your voice? confidence? "thank you. been working hard for it."

"can tell you did" crooked smile, head slightly tilted to the right, she's been on this game for almost forty years: "you've always been annoying when you want something."

"i'd say determined, but yeah" you're now a very intelligent brat who seemed to have every answer to her playful banter. "you're staying long?"

"not much, your friend here's keeping tabs on me so i doubt that i can't leave before" maybe she should be more grateful of the volatile attention span of jinx already invested in another conversation to know what she's even talking about. "got a lot of work to do and i can't stay that long, the restaurant doesn't work well without me."

"well that's nice. j missed you quite a lot," maybe it's the smile that throws her off as you're called by your friends, when other people claim your attention and she wishes to have it all to herself. "see you around?"

"you call the shots, doc. talk to you later."

problems. she has a lot of problems nowadays to add another one to the list.

a sure inconvenience, but it doesn't stop life from making it considerably hard to pay attention to anything else after that hug, after having you so close, talk. it's only fair when she spends a good amount of time gripping her plastic cup too hard, surrounding herself with people who ask her about the job and how she is only to give back half asserted answers cause she lose the track of what she's saying, too damn tired to pretend she gives two fucks about anything else more than the cute friend of her young sister.

are you aware of how interested someone can be in you? how actively she's following your movements around and waiting for the moment to have the tender pleasure of your attention? just a simple conversation. makes her feel guilty when she realizes who she's lusting over, the inevitable years that separate the both of you: she's entering her forties and you're what? 28, 29? too young.

so vi stays on her side of the line. survival mode. avoid any further interaction cause she's too good to flirt with her sister's best friend, too polite to admit you're attractive. instead she turns the other cheek and forces herself to keep a normal conversation — remember that it's her sister's birthday and not a lesbian speed date event.

and plans would keep going amazing if she wasn't already tired of people, if the hours weren't so long and vi wasn't already moody from before. she kisses her sister's cheek before promising to come back tomorrow when the clock hits three in the morning, and she waves her friends goodbye before fixing her scarf ready to face the cold snow that gathered outside the bar: avoid you. she's fast when zipping up her jacket and pretends she's rushing for an emergency more than saving her own ass, not searching for you when the place's full.

thing is? it would be easier to escape from you if you — the prime headache, weren't outside the bar silently smoking a cigarette, if you didn't whistle loud enough to make her look at you. so much easier if the street wasn't empty and you weren't smiling all optimistic as you walk careful not to fall in the frozen streets.

"you leaving this early?" you ask, holding onto your coat to warm yourself from the cold "is the party too boring for the elderly?"

"twas a long trip" vi replies politely, now under the cold light of the moon and the reflection of the light in the snow she's capable of seeing you better, be a witness of the new details on your face: every mark on your skin, every line.

"so you're leaving without even saying goodbye instead."

"i'm not-" is there any excuse? like a teenager that's caught doing something wrong, vi's mouth rushes into a line at the lack of words — "are you supposed to even be smoking that, doctor?"

"this? nah, it should be the last of your worries." why is there something hot about it? about the way you lean against the wall of the last drop, the dim yellow light of the street lamp projected in your face, "trust me. this holds my last bit of sanity together-- do you really have to leave so soon? none of my friends wanted to join me here since it's too cold outside, c'mon. just five minutes. i'll let you leave when i'm done with my cigarette."

"well, it's freezing here your friends have a point" there's no doubt when she never thought twice to accept your words, almost embracing the failure of her plans as she sighs in fake annoyance, turns out she's quite bad when it comes to acting. "go on doc, smoke. i'll join you in your rush of sanity."

that's how she signs her ultimate contract with the devil in the end, when she stays still right next to you, silent, distant, deep in her thoughts: it may be the first time she's talking to you decently, so if the tension's palpable? you are good at ignoring while filling the air with a distinct smell that made her scrunch her nose in disgust.

"so," vi pauses for a second, too bad at small talk. "doctor, huh? always thought you were going to be something annoying like a lawyer."

you hum, and it's the most delicious sound vi can ever hear from over the distant noise contained in closed doors, savors it in her tongue as you speak again — "yeah, found out i really like to help people. be there. i wanted something to feel i dunno, tangible i guess-"

"so you turned into mother teresa, then?"

"shut up" you laugh, she does it too when pretending to be hurt from the push you playfully give her, even when in reality she can barely feel it under so much clothing, "and i also wanted to prove people wrong. i don't think anybody had the faith in me to do something like that."

"all of them can go straight to hell," fuck's sake, is she a five-year-old that can't keep her thoughts private? "people are used to do that, think you're less than what you really are."

"yeah they can go straight to hell, you're so right." man, why are you looking at her like that? pleading eyes, big smile, like some simple words found the path close to your heart and you just remembered why she was your crush back then when you were young. "i'm really happy you're here, vi. jinx missed you a lot and its nice to see her this happy in her special day."

so vi tries to find a rational explanation to why her heart skips a beat the way it does, resting her back close to where you are to the point the mix of the smoke and your perfume installs now in every corner of her mind making it severely difficult to not get invested like she's currently getting that night and wonder, deep down, if that crush you once got is still there gripping to the last bits of sanity that remains: impossible.

"thanks for being there for her," — "i don't want pow to be alone while i'm not here."

"well she has me, and ekko" you add, "she's been my best friend since i can remember, family. i fear she's stuck with me too."

"stuck with you, huh?" her brows furrow slightly at the thought. "poor pow. you two being annoying is something you can never get used to."

"teenage years were crazy" you chuckle. "a fever dream and my peak of embarrassment."

"why so?"

"please, as if you don't remember," how could she not? you're good at roll your eyes and play with the cigarette between your fingers as if it keeps you grounded, still and not nervous at all.

"do i, now? a lot happened while we grew up-"

"so you don't remember when i told you about my massive crush on you?" you question curiously, interrupting midway. "i literally spill my guts to you mid party. awful night, but i would be offended still if you forgot."

you're so casual while saying it, unaware that vi's soul drops in the very same second, almost losing balance as she can feel the heat coming from her insides staining her cheeks, burning her bones with fever as she crosses her arms right bellow her chest, suffering: how can a cigarette last so fucking long?

"i was trying to be polite," she tries to defend herself from your bad look — "you were so drunk it's really a miracle you can remember half of what you said back then."

"yeah, i know. it doesn't count either way" holding the smoke in, you kick the snow that gathers at your feet aware of the weight of her gaze. "sorry if i weirded you out-- i was young and full of hormones back then. adolescence is pretty rough."

you're aiming to play dumb, and she's willing to play along in anything you decide at this point, indulge you a bit, keep feeding that spoiled attitude bubbling like champagne; and the universe itself knows that vi would love to keep flirting there, truly. yet she suffers from the epitome of bad luck when she's trying to avoid the most random accident, unable to answer — so fast it does not give her enough time to blink.

how did you trip? was it the snow? did she get in the way? it doesn't matter when she's trying to save your butt from touching the freezing cement, strong arms that hold you and help you defy gravity before you hit the ground but does not stop your savior from losing balance herself: the pavement's froze due to the weather, and it's hard to stay on her feet as she lands on the snow, somehow avoiding a bigger injury.

"oh god," she can hear you as you get up by her side, kneeling in front of her. "are you okay? did you hit your head?"

maybe it's the doctor part that kicks in, makes vi wonder for a moment. your hands are gentle when you slowly touch her face, gaze searching for her blue eyes in any sign of confusion or pain. it's dangerous, how much she enjoys it even when your hands are super cold, worried about her while you ask a bunch of questions she ignores since it's difficult to pay attention to a single word you say more than the worried look in your face this close.

"don't move, take it easy," you pick the perfect path to your future it seems, cause you're not even half as affected vi is that moment, professional even when her heart's beating loudly in her ears, palms sweating against the snow, stupidly nervous. "talk to me, yeah? tell me how you feel, vi."

"is this how you treat your patients in e.r, doc?" — "you truly a lifesaver."

"how many fingers do you see?" ignoring her tries of flirtation, you're definitely good at doing your job, make sure she's alright, and vi? man, she's loving every second of it, having your eyes scanning every inch of her face while your fingers touch the back of her head, your eyes on her own: there is no need to even ask cause the answer would lack coherence.

it's a fact that the closeness got her speechless for a moment, cause she cannot think about an existent number when you're like that, when your brows furrow in concern and she can notice a wrinkle or two now that she's too close, now that she can smell your nice and sweet perfume again and you're looking at her like she's the only girl on earth.

"hi there, you here with me?"

"uh, three--"

"what?"

fuck. she needs to look again before correcting herself — "fingers. i see two fingers. sorry."

"can i touch you?"

"uh, what?"

"your head, vi" your smile is beautiful even from where she is, still freezing her ass. "i need to see if there's any wound or irregularity in your head."

"oh-- yes, i'm sorry" god, she needs to get a fucking grip.

your hands are already in her head wandering around her pink hair, gently they touch unaware of how devastating it is for a person who has endured solitude as a way of living, how she crumbles and wishes to have further beyond.

"are you in pain?"

"well, not really."

the world turns silent for a moment, her mind finally stays shut and the moment seems eternal in the pages of her head. fuck. fuck-fuck-fu--

"i think you're okay," can you realize how she's flirting with you and not caring about anything else? how she's looking at you now that you're busy touching her? "it was just a scare."

"you think i'll live?" you laugh at whatever she's saying and it has no right to be that delicious; not even pretending to be normal when you stare at her eyes checking on the size of her pupils: were you always this composed? this professional. "tell me the truth doc, i can handle bad news."

"you'll live, unfortunately" funny. it's the alcohol who makes the pink-haired stick her tongue out in response. — "don't hit your head again, though. try and keep your old ass out of the emergency room, can you?"

"dunno ma'am, i suffer from bad luck in this city."

"then i'm afraid i'll be seeing you around more than i want to, huh?" are you flirting with her too? she's having trouble to tell as you offer her a hand to stand up from the floor. blame it on her head. "thanks for staying with me while i smoke."

gentle, your voice's like a kiss on the cheek, a reward. it may be awkward for a second and vi's unexpectedly happy when she can notice you're nervous, nervous as you go from one side to another, as you play with the ring in your index finger, as you avoid looking at her as if you were back to being seventeen and she's still that cool uni girl too busy to pay attention.

"it wasn't so bad," even if her ass hurts and she will get a bruise or too. "thankfully i got you to take care of me, doc."

now this fucks with your head entirely, when she kisses your cheek goodbye this time and shoves her hands inside her jacket, watching you leave like it was the worst vi experienced in her life.

"are you going to stay in the door or going in?" the girl teases you when you stop mid-way the entrance — "can't keep the door crowded, an emergency can happen. you know that stuff."

"going in," unsure, you have to turn back to look at her one more time. "i'll see you around, right?"

it's just a simple question. not that deep. not that important-- yet the way you say it? makes her gulp the saliva contained in her mouth cause it's the tone you use, how your fingers grip the wood of the door nervous of the outcome, nothing but you gathering enough courage to admit you want to see her again somehow. subtle. almost a delusion of her own mind.

"you bet, peach." she likes your smile almost too much, how some words can lighten up the entire night. "take care of yourself for me and don't go falling around in this bad weather, yeah?"

lesbian things are happening lately.

vi can tell.

now.

it's actually funny when vi's in the emergency room two days after.

the place is full, the heat is on and she can swear she's paying some kind of punishment due to the miserable crying of a random kid for the last 40 minutes while she's there installed in the uncomfortable black chair of the waiting room with her sister, holding onto her arm with a new white cloth she was given by one of the nurses like her life depends on it.

it was all an awful joke.

i mean-- she was helping jinx with some house stuff vi could totally explain. sane. it didn't hurt that bad but still she wanted to get checked out either way cause — well, she would love to see you again, and it's clear that she does not know how to put it in words like a normal person would, ask for your phone or admit she's interested, so instead? she's at the hospital.

bleeding.

cause she's a noble knight. the most helpful sister.

and she kinda needs stitches.

so she remains optimistic the first hour: it's a big emergency room and the place is chaotic, but she chooses to believe that she can find you amidst the chaos, that somehow you'll end up being her doctor; by the second hour though? she knows it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, that you may be busy, that it may be your day off, anything to make her remember why she hates coming back to the city so much.

hours seem eternal before she's finally called, still holding onto the bloody cloth now seated in a stretcher that's much more comfortable than the chair from before.

"pow, you're making me nervous like that-- i'm fine," she's thankful for the silence before her sister insisted on walking from one side to another — "they're not going to come any faster if you burn a hole in the ground."

"i know, but i'm both worried and bored," jinx later adds, a dangerous combo. "m'gonna go find my girl. maybe i can speed things up."

"wait no--" it's too late when jinx's already leaving to admit it's a bad idea, invisibly cuffed to the hospital bed as the silence finally fills the room and vi can enjoy a moment of silence without side quests: turns out enduring the waiting room was the first part of the task, now she needed to wait for the doctor to appear.

ten, fifteen minutes, she knows her sister has the attention span of a sardine so there are strong chances of vi being left behind for an iced coffee and something nice to eat, yet minutes don't matter when someone is waiting outside the door — someone whose voice can be recognize from before.

"good evening miss--" holding on to some papers in your left hand, she can't help but check you out as the black ambo uniform seems more than comfortable for 12-hour shifts, pretty even."vi? what are you doing here? what happened?"

"hi- uh, i was helping out pow," stupid. her brain turns stupid with you near and it's much worse to admit how she made a huge mistake to you than to anyone else — "she wanted the chimney to work so i was you know, chopping some wood."

now. you're worried, she can tell when your brows furrow and your eyes scan the blood on the cloth she was using, you're quick to disinfect your hands again with alcohol gel and enter the action under your big glasses, get on her side.

"let me see," you ask before inspecting the wound. "well you gonna need stitches, but i need to know if anything's infected here, was it with the old axe?"

"yes,"she can handle pain, always been good at the uncomfortable — yet nothing prepares violet for watching you in your zone, when you scan every inch of her teared skin under gloved hands and a serious expression while she's there feeling dumb as fuck.

"who's idea was this?" you ask, going back to the computer on the left, already writing orders for the medicine you need and creating a new tab for vi's medical records to include the incident that just happened. "cannot think of a worse idea than chopping wood with a rotten axe."

"me," it makes her blush when admitting it, and while you talk with the nurse, vi's actually happy you're distracted enough to not realize how she's already hiding under a pile of shame. "i was doing okay until powder distracted me."

"so all of this was your sister, huh?" it's all an effort to distract her from the pain, but standing there in front of her with your hands in your waist like you own the entire piltover hospital? she'd let you do anything you want without saying a single word while you wait for the nurse to come back. wait for hours. "i'll numb the zone with lidocaine, yeah? it will take a couple of minutes, i'll check if it's infected and after that? you're good to go home with some stitches."

"what if it's infected?" the pink haired ask curiously while looking at the dried blood on her forearm.

"it's not a big deal," you reply calmly. "the wound's not deep, so you would need some strong antibiotics instead of surgery. nothing alarming."

"i trust in your judgment, doc" she's too optimistic to even think about surgery, cause there's no other doctor in the place vi would trust her life with. "i'm happy you are here-- i mean. for good luck purposes."

"good luck purposes," you repeat her words with a laugh. "i like that."

and the universe must know vi would like to keep talking, flirt until it's evident and she cannot longer hide the adrenaline of being interested in somebody, even if it's the hot friend of her younger sister who mind the world — it's definitely too young for the population to approve; yet it's impossible when the nurse's interrupting any try to keep on talking and the pain of the needle takes her for surprise the moment she's applied lidocaine to numb the entire zone.

flirting at what fucking cost?

"thank you nellie" you say, and vi may be biased but you're made for it, to offer that calm smile that says everything's okay, keep being professional while she's in cloud nine trying to keep her shit together, not be insanely ridiculous. "good news. your arm's not infected so you won't need antibiotics, only stitches."

"at least something nice."

"so. you ready for me, miss vanderson?"

"please be kind--"

so she's blushing again to the point that big ass needle you hold is nothing against her own sabotage, inevitable when she's staring at you. you are fixated in her arm, in doing a good job — so she's allowed to look, right? not be very subtle about it, she's stuck in that problem cause while you work vi's invested, invested in your lips there under the white lights, in that fucking uniform, in every detail, mark, scar as if roles were reversed now and she's the one pinning after someone that's out of reach.

"does it hurt?"

"don't feel a thing, love."

who cares about pain when the shape of your smile may or may not be imprinted in vi's memories? afraid she would miss something if she dares to blink, clear now about her intentions even when she doesn't have to admit it out loud: yes she's interested in you, yes, she wants you like this, so close she can smell the notes on your perfume, so close vi can tell you're nervous. there's no point in dismissing what's clear, in denying she's seated in a hospital bed, wishing-- begging, you'll look up and notice she's centimeters away from giving up the nice behavior she insists on pulling up.

you do your work in silence and vi's inevitably absorbed by it, not even wincing when the needle pierces her skin over and over again and she's attacked by a weird feeling running down her spine when the thread stitches the parted skin together. your chest follows a path in controlled breathings, and vi's eyes can't help but follow the inviting path of your neck, that necklace that hangs over your uniform and makes her waste time wondering how the charm would settle in your chest, half romantic half perv.

"you don't have to risk your health to have some time with me, you know that, right?"

there's no time to panic, and it makes her shiver even under your gloved hands, a smile that pulls the corner of her pink lips upwards in an unexpected smile. midway through the stitches, you face now turns her way to demand an answer, yet the only thing vi can think about is the lame reply of:

"so you think this is for you?"

"is it not?"

the game's immediate. the sudden tension, the way the air turns hotter the moment you respond and it's fun, it's interesting, stimulating in ways vi thought they were lost for the next eternity. you're a little monster and she can almost feed on it.

"if you're so intelligent peach, then please enlighten me: what do i have to do so i can have you more to myself?"

"you can do something else more than just look at me for starters," you reply before going back to the stitches you were working on, making her chuckle at your response — you're far from the shy kid who blurted out some teenage crush, medicine makes you grow guts. "i mean, you've been doing it since jinx's birthday. like you'd eat me for breakfast but can't seem to do anything about it. bit boring."

"interesting. so you want me to make a move on you?" a dumb smile takes over vi's mouth, impossible to keep it shut. "you do realize i'm way too old for you, right?"

"how old are you? forty? forty-five?" you question. "that's not old."

so she'd love to respond, say something in return since you decided to be such a smart-ass, but her sister's coming back with a cup of coffee before vi could think of a decent reply and you're greeting her without looking cause you're too fixated on stitching her skin like an embroidery set.

get in the fucking line.

"i was looking for you," the blue-haired says sipping on her drink. "i wasn't going to accept any other doctor so i was outside fighting for my sister's rights."

"we're a bit full today--" you explain as you finish the last stitch, turning to look at your friend as if you weren't shamefully flirting with her older sister mere seconds ago. "but there you go. stitched. i will cover it down but when you get home? let it breathe for a while, yeah? it's an open wound. clean it, protect it, change pads every 4-5 hours."

"sure thing doc."

god, that damn nickname.

the process after is annoying, boring and a waste of time when vi wants to keep talking to you, go further and beyond with her sacred flirting tries, make you zoom out just like she does when you fuck her brain up: make you useless as a way of revenge.

an hour later powder holds a good amount of papers as she walks close to her sister. hands in her pocket, vi's surely disappointed about the fact that you disappeared the rest of her visit, not seeing you again after you explained the painkillers she needs to take and clearly — ruining her plans of finally asking you out.

it wasn't so bad right? you're old enough to reject her if you feel like it, she's old enough to be salivating over her sister's best friend.

"turns out she was really busy," her sister rants as they reach the exit. "good thing is her free day tomorrow, i can't imagine the kind of stress she goes through working here every day."

dates. dates. dates.

"vi!" she think she's going delusional after hearing your voice until powder calls your name surprised, an un-gloved hand that reaches her arm to pull her aside: did you run after her? man, bless this patient-doctor confidentiality cause it makes immediate sense in her brain somehow when jinx stays behind, "you forgot this."

she didn't. the medicine you hold does not belong to her but vi takes it without even thinking twice. shove it in the back of her jeans pretending it was something quite important to have a doctor going to the waiting room on her own free will.

"how kind," she replies instead with a warm smile despite the new pain in her arm as the lidocaine dissipates. "what would i do without you?"

takes you off for a minute, as if you're going to have a headache due to how hard you keep thinking about it — "i dunno. would you have a date with me?"

"yes, gladly." pathetic, she can't even pretend to be cool these days.

"friday night?"

"sounds good to me."

"my place?"

"got yourself a deal, doc."

"amazing," you say with a victorious smile."bye j, see you around."

it's fast and you go directly to the point (is it possible to like you even more?) — even when you turn around to go back to the restricted area and she stays there planted in the same spot afraid of growing roots until she dares to remember where she is and how to act normal again, breathe, walk, act as if she's not affected by your ideas, your direct questions, you.

"what did she say?" her sister asks curiously as they leave together, almost running to catch up with vi's fast steps as they reach the car.

"nothing. something about the antibiotics."

"ah sucks, you have to take medicine--"

"at least i got all my fingers, s'not that bad…"

"well that's a way of seeing it sure."

violet vanderson's a filthy. fucking. liar.

she's a rare optimist when her fist finally knocks the door.

standing outside feels like an eternity before you finally open, nervous like a teenager facing her first date ever before registering the chaotic scene developing — apron tied to the waist, she's sure there is food in your hair and dried something on your shoulder.

"is this a bad timing?" vi asks curiously as she takes a look inside your apartment, small, cozy while a warm light falls to stain your white walls just like she imagined.

guilty smile, you shake your head in denial as you wipe your hands in the fabric of the apron.

"no, please" almost ashamed you fully open the door to give her an entire glimpse of your personal life, silently inviting her in. "thought it was a good idea to impress you with risotto. it's not working currently."

it delights her, head that tilts backwards when the smile transforms into a laugh she cannot contain now noticing the dried rice in your clothing, the messy bun and the face of guilt. she takes off her jacket since the cold's cruel on the way to your place only to leave it on a chair nearby:

"you want me to take care of it?" she's a chef, right? with a known restaurant back where she lives — she definitely should have no problem with it. "the rice, peach. i can help you with the food."

"no please, don't want to make you feel like i'm taking advantage of you," you quickly reply worried. "we can go out, i know a good place nearby."

"nonsense," vi says instead as she gently takes your hand, pulling it slightly forward as she searches for the kitchen where the smell is coming out. "you're not taking advantage of me. i want to teach you how to do it."

at this point? god, she wishes you would take advantage, do anything that implies your good. letting go of your hand, she hovers over the rice casserole with a furrowed brow — half smile of contentment when it takes the famous chef no longer than a minute to actually notice what is wrong with your dinner tries, turning to look at you with a pleased expression.

"c'mere, i see where you are wrong," the pink haired mumbles, and she could very well explain it out loud from where you are standing currently, yet she refuses to keep that nonsense of not being interested any longer as her hand finally finds your waist and she uses little-to-inexistent force to pull you closer, so close you can feel her breathing subtle and barely there against the back of your neck. "that's not the correct rice for what you have in mind love, nor the right temperature."

her words are similar to a kiss, tender and bruising to the soul. no one's looking when her body drags itself closer to you so there is no space left and pretend she's fixing the rice you did before even when she knows, damn well, that it has no way to be fixed truly.

the skin of your waist feels hot under vi's fingers and it makes the chef volatile, lost in the seconds she's able to get by luck.

"is there a way to fix it?" you ask before she gives you a bit of space, "or do we have to start all over again?"

"oh you messed it up badly, i'm afraid." dramatic, not entirely true, she just wants to see your face. "but don't worry sweetheart. i can handle it."

so she tries not to look your way when you sit next to her, up in the counter to have a full view of what she's doing and vi has a hard time not wanting to think about it — it's hot as fuck.

not many times in your life you can have an award-winning chef in your kitchen trying to fix your mess, walking around like she owns your place more than you ever did. she puts on the purple apron you used before, and your eyes wander on their own inevitably as you help her tie it on her back: all is fucking trouble.

it would be better if you weren't a pervert all along. if you weren't salivating as her muscles flex each time she moves your wooden spoon resting in the pan. you are that kid again with a massive crush as you swallow the saliva contained in your mouth, risotto. what a good thing it is to fail at making risotto.

"i will steal those mushrooms," she's concentrated and there is something hot about it as you're there, installed next to the greatest chef you know. maybe its the kitchen fire that keeps making you feel warm, or the pink-haired who keeps adding stuff to the casserole to save your ass.

"smells good," you praise, hoovering over to smell the vapor coming out. "you really are a top-star chef, huh?"

"wanna try?" she asks, not even looking at you before adding, — "open up." kinky, it is a wild ride still. turbulent as your lips part on their own and your eyes close to make this fucking sound it makes the chef hold on her breathing for a second as you savor the taste of a simple mushroom risotto. what's crazy here? the way vi cannot get a grip of attention in anything else other than your lips opening for the spoon, how your face distorts and what's supposed to be close to a moan.

"any thoughts on it? feedback?"

"you do risotto's back in your restaurant? holy shit, vi" you look up to her face and it does things to her, so much her thumb works on its own when it goes up to the corner of your mouth to wipe the excess of food there, makes you hold your breath as she takes the rest of the food back to her mouth to eat the crumbles.

"i do, but a fancier version."

"it tastes amazing," you say, licking your lips. "no feedback, i want a full plate please."

it feeds her ego, clearly. she's so normal with it, throwing species, smelling how its going — "its impossible there's nothing you want to change, no dish is perfect love."

"you're just pushing me to say something."

"c'mon. be brutally honest."

"then be careful with the salt," your comment makes her laugh before she's tries the risotto on her own, looking at you with a furrowed brow as you show your hands as a sign of innocence — "you told me to be brutally honest."

"yeah, but you're talking out of your ass" vi says not looking at you as she tries the risotto again. "'cause well, i haven't add any salt, that's what you poured before."

that's where it messes with her head. the intimacy of it. the way you laugh at her stupid jokes and her double intended comments, hands gripping the edge of the counter, messy hair, you let your guard down when she does and my god — it's just what vi needed, that injection of adrenaline that keeps her body awake through the course of the seconds, interest, that damn tension that comes every time she stares at you more than she should.

the smell fills the kitchen, makes it warm and inviting to be in, maybe that would explain why she installs between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as she reaches the plates you signal over your head. close. aching to trespass that miserable space left behind she left to be educated.

"you hungry?" she dares to ask.

"starving."

appetite.

how was it again? violet vanderson's used to experience the devastating appetite.

when minutes later she's full and resting your legs over hers, a simple touch that makes vi's mind run wild with imagination: twenty minutes alone with you means an eternity of longing, of craving something forbidden, unsatisfied hunger.

"what are you thinking about?"

can she be honest right now? not really, not when her hand rests on your upper leg and her thumb constantly rubs on your naked skin, when she doesn't give two shits about the cold risotto whose remains lie now on the table long forgotten.

"you're usually bad at cooking risotto or is it a general thing?"

"this would be offensive, but most of the time i'm too tired to cook or live," you reply before eating again, savoring each bite. "you'd be surprised but take-out works wonders if you know how to choose the place."

"so you're not much of a party girl either, i see."

"after a 12-hour-shift? all i crave is my bed, i have no time to flirt so i just go straight to the point."

"that's why you invited me to a date where i have to cook?"

"yeah. you can say that, thankfully you accepted it cause it would be extra-crushing to be rejected for a second time" it's crazy how you lack inhibitions now, how any trace of shame is now gone to the point vi can hardly tell you were full of it when you were younger. "most people would say no thinking it's just a code to have sex but to be honest? i cannot think of dressing up to go outside with this weather going on, plus fridays are always brutal."

a fake moan, vi's fist closes right over her beating heart before her eyes follow in a pained expression — "so you don't want any sex? i'm hurt, peach. i feel misled."

"please, as if you're not too cool for me."

"cool?"

"michelin chef who lives far away from here and never comes to visit? that's pretty cool."

"so that's what you think of me, huh?"

"you always knew i found you out of my reach," you comment as you finally finish the risotto — "i'm positive you thought the same too."

"well, uh, you talked too much about the lord of the rings back then."

"fuck off. you cannot say eowyn's not hot," her brows furrow as you prove your point: still a nerd deep down. "i don't know, i was young and you were so confident about liking girls, of being you despite what people think-- meanwhile i was trying hard to believe i wasn't a lesbian at all, you can't blame a girl for a crush."

"for the record, i think you are far too cool now."

"do you?"

"you saved my arm," vi replies showing you the covered injury that landed her in the emergency room. "that's a cool thing to do, doc."

"i studied for that, tons" you laugh at her remark, staring at the white bandages that cover half of her arm. "how is it, by the way? pain too bad?"

"amazing since i have the best doctor in town to take care of my ass" it's a beneficial position at this point cause you're far too comfortable to look at her covered arm, stupidly close to where she is seated, tangled legs, vi's grip still on your thigh with no intentions of leaving. "you'd be surprised by the benefits that it can have."

"you shouldn't be forcing it so much-- the risotto, the date…"

"yeah? you think so?" do you even realize how close you fucking are? are you doing it on purpose? your body leans against her own and it's a heat that turns impossible to control: she's wearing a tank top for christ sake and you're on a black shirt she's sure you wore at work earlier thin as parchment paper. "cause all of that was your fault, you know? the date you invited me, the risotto you messed up, you're the one inciting me to do things when i should be resting."

she's not bothering to hide it now (never did), that flirt, that constant back and forth as you seem to have an answer for everything. it's tangible and there is no point to regret it cause well —, you're flirting back right? allowing her to touch you like that, with that half smile pulling your lips upwards in a charming smile even after you're tired. it may be the most relaxed date vi has ever experienced in her life, and weirdly enough the best, so when she's using her index finger to pull you closer to where she is, it's nothing but the cherry on top; the sweetest dessert and what both deserve.

it hooks on your shirt and you don't pretend to be surprised about it, about the reveal of desire, the rush of blood that leaves goosebumps on your skin when her mouth blends with your own and her tongue invades it like it's now enemy ground: that's a real moan, one that comes from vi's mouth to crash against your parted lips. messy, there is too much saliva, infinite desperation that somehow she craves more than the perfect kiss, instead, vi finds herself aching for the flawed, the contained chaos and the imperfect.

"go home then and pretend it didn't happen."

you're a cheeky bastard. you know she doesn't care about the bandages on her arm, about anything else other than getting lost in the moment, in the smell of your skin as you strip off that stupid shirt you've been wearing for so long.

"i may be a little rusty in this field," vi says looking at the cute bra you choose to wear, so red it's clear she's ashamed of saying it out loud. "be gentle with me, please."

the words come out on their own, the movie that keeps playing in the background, the smell that comes from the kitchen from a steamy casserole that still contains the warmth-- god there's tenderness in your touch, kindness in your kisses so much that she can be intoxicated with it after choosing a life of solitude and silence, after being too tired of having another person around. your touch is the one that surprisingly alleviates all worry, all bad.

you'd take care of her, right? cause fuck, she's your long-time crush, no? nice ass, delicious back tattoo. you can be anything she wants — happy to comply, happy to kiss her neck, happy to just notice how she holds her breath in when your tongue circles against that damn spot in her clavicle making the pink-haired sure you'll leave a hickey behind. suddenly your weight presses her down against your comfy sofa and it's a handful of real moans now, moans that keep so far from the fake ones she did before in a joke, ones that leave her throat dry only to turn you on.

how many times have you got your life crush there moaning for your kisses? hand on your waist, fighting to pull you closer and finally unhook your bra? even after a long shift, even when your bones are a weight that's annoying to carry, you kiss on the flesh to leave a mark, take her time in pleasing her cause you heard from jinx she's been having a rough time lately and she deserves it, right? when you get on your knees and you pull on her muscle tee upwards to kiss on her lower stomach making her shiver, you're a soldier to her pleasures, to simply keep going.

she encourages you, cause who's violet vanderson to ever deny any show of caring? her legs open to make space for you, and she gives you a pillow to put in your knees cause she knows how annoying it can be when the carpet sticks to your knees. knows.

"straight to the point, doc?" looking down at you, she's blushing as you unbutton her pants, helping you to finally get them off as they were always decoration of the floor.

"straight to the point," her arms rest behind her head and her muscles flex when you hit a sensitive spot gifting you such a nice view you can't pretend not to be checking her out — you want her like that, comfortable, relaxing, hazy eyes that stare at you almost as a dare, invested in every future move you make.

it's ridiculous. she's been slowly melting in a nice velvety sofa thanks to those heaty kisses you leave behind for the last fifteen minutes and it seems she cannot get tired of them, of how vi can see the saliva you leave behind on each proof of devotion: it's near pathetic to admit how she's been dreaming about you since her sister's birthday, stuck on your lips smoking that cigarette, that cloud that follows you around and only pushes her in.

so your touch becomes a vital need, a contagious disease when her whole body shivers and her hips buckle forward in need of having more of your face. she can't really complain about it when your tongue's invading her with practiced ease, pushing the chef to the edge of the seat so she can rest her legs over your shoulders and gift you the most comfortable access to her still covered cunt: turns out violent vanderson's a fucking needy mess who will cream her underwear before she's even touched.

when was the last time she had her pussy properly eaten? god, turning vi stupid even when she was relying on her five senses, a loser who soaks her underwear to the point its no longer usable. a mix of your saliva and arousal stains her inner thighs as she rubs herself against your mouth desperate to have more of your lips assaulting her covered cunt, soaked in every bit, somehow trying to make her underwear disappear so she can drown in the direct contact of your lips sucking her clit instead of the overwhelming torture of damn cotton.

"don't be rude-- please-" she trains on the gym every fucking day: why is she sweating like that? the image of having you there in your knees so eager to please fucking her brain entirely, soft voice that begs to be touched until you're pulling the fabric to the side and there it is — salty, it fills your mouth with a feast of flavors, pink and soaked hair from a pussy that's inviting you to take what you like, spread her out using your fingers, get dirty.

you take your time with her, cause you have it, right? you can have violet for the rest of the night. you can steal every breath when your tongue fucks her just right, nose rubbing on her g-spot on each try to go deeper, make her turn into a blabbering mess.

"fingers, ah--" it takes her a while, sensitive and overwhelmed and still greedy "can you like-, god…"

"you gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?" the way you say it turns her on more than it should, and her body betrays her when it keeps moving with the help of your hand now placed in her ass.

you're gentle at first, want to prepare her as a couple of fingers spread her cunt so you can slowly sink them until you're deliciously deep, sure she can feel you in that spot she needs. your tongue rubs on her clit without fully touching it, and vi's sure her brain-cells are close to combust, a constant movement she forces herself to continue on each motion her hips make: always full of your fingers, rubbing on that spot inside she now decides to love.

"there you go- s'good right? let me train this pretty cunt so i can fuck you better with another finger, yeah? god-- how can you look this hot, vi."

you're going to be her pending doom, the handsome devil that stalks every thought even when you don't try cause the way you look between her legs? demonic. hands gripping on her sides to pull her closer to your mouth, eyes staring back at her own, your tongue seems to go in full motion with you fingers and shit — how do you make it so good? what the fuck are you doing down there to make her feel this nice?

swollen clit, your fingers curve inside to the point and fuck-- vi's losing it, hand holding you close to her cunt so she can use you how she wants to, loud and erratic moans praising on your skills, on how good you are at eating her soaked cunt to the points its all over your cheeks.

"mmf-m'gonna cum like that--," rough voice, it's so nice to see her like that when she's usually so composed, so serious. her body moves on its own and her face finally distorts when finally reaching her peak, leaving her legs shaking, it's an arrow that's shot to the chest and steals the air from vi's lungs as you use a hand to spread her folds and take care of the mess you've done between the chef's legs.

she wants to keep going, adrenaline injected into the blood flow before vi pulls you up to her lap interrupting all tries to stay nested there in her cunt — it's all fun and games but deep down it's a fight for who's in control, isn't it all? even out of breath, hair sticking to the sides of her face as a lazy smile appears on her face: are you glowing? is it the sweat that makes your skin all shiny under the lights of your apartment? fuck-- crazy how vi starts to need you under her.

"you okay up there?" she asks instead, thumbs helping you to clean your cheeks in the last act of chivalry.

"i am" you reply, leaning against her touch to get more of the warmth of her hands. "are you, rusty lady?"

"think i am--, that was some heavy activity doc, thought i needed some rest."

"you rested. on the sofa. that was-- very low effort for you" it's a good point, and vi cannot think of a clever reply when your kisses are distracting her to form a thought on her own. "are you in pain?"

who the fuck cares about pain when you begin sucking on her thumb? making sure any trace of her stays on your mouth rather than your cheek or her hand — maybe it's the adrenaline of the moment, the rush of endorphins that run to leave vi full of the dopamine she lacked when she ends up turned on once again as if she wasn't chaotic already getting wet in your living room.

 "mmhm no, no pain-- does it taste good?"

"yeah, wanna try?"

she likes to be this filthy, mouth wide open, tongue up before her head's tilting backwards and shit: it should be illegal, a capital sin when you hoover just how you did when she was cooking before to now gather a decent amount of saliva and simply spit against her parted lips; it's her, right? mixed with your very own personal taste, a blend that stays there imprinted on her brain and makes her malfunction cause it's not something that common to have a pretty girl there willing to spit on her mouth after eating her brains out.

desire is radical, desire is unexpected and a curse cause there's no such rational thought when vi's pulling on your jeans with the insane need of fucking you to the verge of tears, no fight for dominance now as you shimmy out of your clothes already feeling sticky. desire is raw and turns her desperate, the vision of a person who once cared for comfort and now pushes you roughly back to her lap.

"where's your room?" so yeah, she wants to fuck you properly, pointing the closed door with your index finger, your underwear already rests in the floor midway before she's throwing you in the good-queen-sized bed, bad jokes, horny comments, vi has no trouble to move you around and put you in the position she wants you to be, one hand on your ankle while the other's on your waist so it takes little to no time to understand her intentions with no need to say a word.

she pushes you down when she places herself on top of you, tangled legs, vi simply fits against you without much effort so it becomes a sight there laying in the comfortable sheets, sweaty body, her tits bounce every time her hips rolls against yours so her mess is now your mess and the shapes of your body and her own blurry to the point of the erratic and you can't tell now about anything else more than the sounds you two make on each movement, when finally becoming one.

it's wet, fills the room so it's hot, so your breathing reduces considerably and you finally let her do the job, keep rubbing her soaked pussy against yours so it leaks to the bed and stains your clean sheets. loud moans, vi's ego's inflated with the pride of making you act like that, resting your weight over your elbows so you can spread yourself wider, give her more space so the contact can be even more devastating.

"good fuck-- you're such a greedy slut," a guilty smile, are you even aware of your existence anymore? when the bed hits the wall in the most annoying sound and her hand closes around your neck to keep you controlled, are you aware of your fucked-self? aching to keep you still as she forces your breathing channel, your cunt on each movement. "there you go, be good and touch that pretty pussy for me, yeah? help me out."

trembling hands, your fingers circle against your clit in slow motions, already overwhelmed when vi's leaning to spit directly to your working fingers, lubricating your g-spot so you can go faster, combine your movements with her own until you're moaning her name, praising the skills of your lover like they're sacred, a new religion to follow.

relentless, she doesn't stop until your body's rigid, limbs cramped before you reach the most delicious orgasm, sensitive cunt, it's a shared chaos that stains your inner thighs in a delicious mix vi suddenly crave to taste.

"well fuck--" it's a problem now, officially. her thoughts betrayed her so now she's lusting over her little sister's best friend to the point it becomes real, real as the warmth your body radiates when you crawl under the bed seeking for contact, a silence that weighs down the meaning of having a new shared secret, intimacy neither of you searched for. "so much for being rusty, liar."

do problems matter anymore? if powder gets mad because she fucked her friend, so what? it's a connection her sibling cannot control as vi laughs at your remark, leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder with the weird need to stay instead of leaving early like she usually does whenever someone's interested in her.

"i am rusty, you're just kind."

so maybe that's the last thing she needs, get all complicated like that, mix up her feelings with your own. she has a restaurant in another city, a life outside zaun and lots of money problems to take care of — so maybe she doesn't need a younger girlfriend that messages almost too much, who keeps her fucking horny all of the time.

"m'gonna take a shower in twenty minutes-- do you think we should order junk food?"

her face betrays her when she listens to your words, quickly shaking her head in response — "no fucking way. i think you should be saying goodbye to delivery apps for a while, peach."

she needs to stay, right? it would leave her arm in danger as she kisses you once again, always close: who would take care of her injured body?

so how was it again? ah. sure.

violet vanderson has experienced appetite before, plenty of times to be honest, but now she has a younger girlfriend to take care of it, more bills to pay and a very angry sister.

[minieskirt]

i loved vi seeing her gf's boobs for the first time and being all gentle and sweet but give us the lustful reaction too 🤲🤲🤲 <3

still picturing vi with your body perched in her lap, butch-handling you by the meat of your waist to get you comfortable so she can run her hands and her eyes over you. vi's pretty blues trace over your form with a bitten back smile, worshipfully studying you. it doesn't take long for heat to settle in the pit of her belly when she realizes she's literally eye level with your tits.

she swallows thickly, looking like a puppy waiting for permission to act. it's so obvious to you what she wants but is holding herself back from… for some reason. you give her the subtlest nod and she stops hesitating.

vi's biceps wind around your waist and squeeze. her head juts forward, mouth latching onto the peak of your tit. her tongue flicks up and down, in a circle, lips suckling your nipple as her hand immediately kneads your other breast. you watch as her eyelids flutter with a sense of comfort and your pulse jumps. vi likes this. mouthing at you like a damn baby and as you pet her messy hair gently.

or… letting tfem vi fuck your tits. rock hard just watching you sink onto the carpet at the edge of the bed and kneel between her legs, but she's practically drooling precum as you grab your boobs and squish them together. you don't miss the way she's white-knuckling the sheets as you slip her throbbing length between your tits. she bucks instantly, fucking upward into the tight channel you've made for her.

vi watching you duck your head and dribble spit onto her cock to keep it wet. vi cupping the back of your neck for leverage as her upward thrusts grow shakier and more frantic. digging her fingertips into your skin as she finally cums, painting your skin with her load. she really likes that ♡

[lesmerri]

・𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋・

SUMMARY: You are Fratboy!Vi’s girl and she makes it very well known to everyone and yourself that you are hers.

CONTENTS: Nsfw, mdni, headcanons + smut scenes, modern au, college au, vaginal fingering, marking, finger sucking, semi public sex, partying, possessiveness, established relationship, oral sex, strap-on’s.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Merri’s Notes. . . Vi art is by @/blkfairyy0 on x !!

FRATBOY!VI who comes up to you the second she sees you arrive at a party. Hugging you from behind, a red cup in one hand and her other sliding around your waist to rest on your stomach. Who kisses the side of your jaw, your neck, your cheek—you know she’s drunk but you can’t help but smile and lean into her.

FRATBOY!VI who tries to act cool when the others tease her about being a softy for you but can’t help but blush because they’re right, she is. 99 out of 100 percent of the time you are wearing her jacket, but that’s mostly because she likes seeing you in it. And totally not because she likes seeing other people see you in it.

FRATBOY!VI who is obsessed with making you feel good.

Your hips buck up as Vi’s palm smacks against your clit, two of her fingers knuckle deep inside of you and pounding into you regardless of your squirming.

The wet sound of your cunt could almost be drowned out by the music coming from the small speaker on the desk if she didn’t have you so wet and worked up.

Her legs stay hooked over yours to keep your legs spread and open for her and she rests her head on your shoulder from behind you. “You feel so fucking good baby,” Vi breathes into your ear, her free hand sliding up your bare chest to palm your breast, rolling the nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “So wet for me, god…”

You drop your head back against her shoulder as she attaches her lips to your neck again, your chest heaving beneath her hand. “Fuck Vi, please…”

Vi pulls her face away from your neck, looking over your shoulder to watch as she pulls her fingers out of your, soaked with your slick, and pulls them up to spread it around your swollen clit.

“Please what, baby?” Vi pants, the sight of you all flushed and writhing against her turns her on to no end, her nipples hard against her shirt and boxers damp against her cunt.

“Let me cum,” You whine as you turn your head to look back at her, you hand reaching down to grab Vi’s wrist to guide her fingers back inside of you but she just takes her hand off your chest and grabs your own, lacing her fingers with yours.

“I’ve got you, darling.” Vi catches your lips in a kiss, a little awkward due to the position but that doesn’t stop her. She relishes in the slight falter of your lips as she pushes her fingers back inside you and picks up her rhythm again.

You don’t even get through the next song before you’re pulling your lips away from Vi’s with a gasp, your legs tensing as you grind your hips into her fingers with every thrust. “Vi, fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Vi—“

“Yeah?” Vi keeps the same speed, only changing so her palm grinds into your clit harder. “C’mon then baby, come for me.”

Your eyes roll back as pleasure crashes over you, your back arching against Vi’s chest and your cunt clenching around her fingers. Your hand tightens almost painfully around Vi’s where they’re still linked against your chest.

Vi fucks you through it, letting you ride out the high as she murmurs into your ear how beautiful you are when you come apart for her. She only slows down once you slump back against her, chest heaving, eyes hazy. The most gorgeous sight she’s ever seen.

FRATBOY!VI who is the CEO of the middle finger. Someone teasing her about you? Middle finger. Someone telling her to knock off the pda? Middle finger. Someone being an asshole to you? Nah, that’s an attempted punch in the face, usually being pulled back by you before she gets kicked out of college for breaking the assholes nose.

FRATBOY!VI who always has her arm around you in public. Slung around your waist to rest on your hip, sometimes shoving her hand in your pocket to keep you close. An arm around the back of your neck, resting on top of her jacket that’s sitting around your shoulders.

FRATBOY!VI who is always sleeping half naked in the summer. When you sleep over, you wake up to her in just her boxers. Either being held against her, an arm wrapped around you and her bare chest pressing against your back or she’s sprawled out on her front, tattoo’s out in the open for you to trace as she slowly wakes up beneath your touch.

FRATBOY!VI who isn’t always the one in charge during sex. Sometimes you like to boss her around a little and sometimes all the time she likes it.

Vi groans, her hands tightening on your hips as you trail your hand down her abs and into her boxers. Fingers sliding through the wetness and stopping to rub circles around her throbbing clit.

You lean forward, littering kisses down her neck from where you’re straddling her on the couch in the corner of her room. You pull your hand out suddenly making her curse and lift her head from where it was leaning against the back of the couch.

“Baby, what…?” She pauses as you slide off her lap, shoving your fingers in your mouth and moaning at the taste of her as you sink down to the floor between her legs.

“Up.” You pat the side of her hip, your thumbs hooking into the waistband of her boxers to pull them down.

“Fuck,” Vi curses, lifting up for a second to shove them down her legs and kicking them off her onto the floor, a visible wet spot on the front of them from the affect you have on her.

You don’t even give her a second before you’ve placed your hands on her thighs and attached your mouth to her clit, sucking it into your mouth and burying your nose in the hair surrounding it.

Vi moans in surprise, her hand immediately coming down to your head as her other clenches the arm of the chair. She pushes her hand through the front of your hair to move it away from your face so she can see you looking up at her, eyes fluttering shut every now and then as pleases little hums leave your mouth.

“Shit, you’re so pretty like this,” she pants, a small whimper leaving her lips against her will as your tongue flicks over her clit just right.

You pull back slightly to lap up the wetness seeping out of her, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as you go before burying your face in her heat again. You wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.

FRATBOY!VI who wears her strap to a party under her clothes just so she can fuck you against the counter in the bathroom. Who loves being able to see you get more fucked out as she pounds into you in the mirror opposite.

FRATBOY!VI who, despite the image she has as a fratboy, loves the softness. Cuddling with you in the morning, watching you as you do your makeup, staying on call with you as long as you both can into the night whenever you don’t sleep together.

FRATBOY!VI who had girls all over her before you. Still does. Except now, she has the dull throbbing marks on her neck to show she is very much taken that she doesn’t even try to cover up. Not caring about who sees them.

FRATBOY!VI who loves when you ride her strap. Seeing you on top of her, tits bouncing and moans coming from your mouth every time it bottoms out inside you, she could cum just from the sight of you. Who grabs your ass in her hands to help you along when you start to falter as your orgasms builds up.

FRATBOY!VI who watches you beat all the others at beer pong. Who sits on the couch with a drink, one arm slung over the back of it where you were previously sitting, listening to the cheers from the surrounding people and the groans from the guy you were up against.

“That’s my girl.”

── .✦ ARCANE TAGLIST ・ @angryoilslick516 @cutflwr @ryleeluvslottiematthews @starlight-miyo @gigi83738283 @vxtanne31 @dizzy-dyke @minaaminaa8 @pvrnowitch @babyd0llyy @fortunxa @thatredheadloserlesbian

Comment on this post or send an ask to be on my taglist !

[0migott]

Saw a trend a few days ago and i couldnt resist drawing pitfighter vi in the same pose♥️

[marioandluigigi]

( 🗯️ ) thinking about… being married to firefighter ! vi

( 🗒️ ) content warnings : pairing : firefighter ! vi 𝔁 wife ! reader ; nsfw content ; mentions of injuries ; fluff ; guided masturbation ; nipple play ; finger sucking & finger licking ; nudes + modern au ;

firefighter vi ! who always kisses your head before a shift at the firehouse. her shifts usually start super early so she’s almost always gone by the time you wake up. not that, that matters to her, she’s been kissing your head before work every day since the two of you started seeing each other.

firefighter vi ! who twirls her wedding ring around her ring finger whenever she feels nervous or uneasy. whether it’s a slow day at the station or a super busy one, thinking about you always seems to quiet down her racing mind.

firefighter vi ! who calls you out of the blue every day, the moment her break starts, she’s immediately dialling your phone number and calling home. firefighter vi ! who says every day without fail that listening to the sound of your voice is the best part of her day.

firefighter vi ! who always brings you lunch when you’re working. and even when you’re not, if you happen to live close to the station, she’ll go out of her way to have lunch with you.

firefighter vi ! who always sends you photos in uniform with the helmet on because she knows it drives you crazy. sometimes, she’ll sneak into the bathroom during her break and take photos of herself with the jacket open and nothing underneath, just to send them to you while you’re at home or working ( she honestly prefers it when you get them while you’re out of the house, the thought of you having to contain your reaction while in public never fails to turn her on )

firefighter vi ! who has a picture of you in her wallet, firefighter ! vi who looks at said picture whenever she’s feeling nervous or unsure of herself, she uses your face in her wallet to remind herself to keep fighting and to come back home, safe, to you in one piece.

firefighter vi ! who always calls you whenever she’s sent out to fight a dangerous fire :( she hates disturbing you, hates hearing your broken voice over the phone and the worry in your tone. but, she hates the thought of not making it out of the fire without telling you ‘i love you’ one last time, even more.

firefighter vi ! who ( against her will ) is in one of those beefcake calendars. firefighter vi ! who blushed like crazy when you came to the station and bought every single one of them ( you wouldn’t want a bunch of strangers looking at your girl all sexy and half naked after all )

firefighter vi ! who is always riled up after a shift, it doesn’t matter if it was long, short, dangerous or boring, thinking about you is what gets her through the day. thinking about you without any clothes on is what gets her through the dullest moments of her work day. which results in soaked panties and an insatiableness for you that can only be tamed by her fingers in your mouth… or your cunt.

you were lounging on your couch staring at the tv, you couldn’t even tell what channel was on, your eyes had dried up from the lack of sleep, but you needed to stay awake, you wanted to stay awake. you hadn’t seen vi all day and it was honestly wearing you down. plus, you knew she was just as desperate to see you, given the not so innocent texts that she’s been sending you all day long.

you wanted to wait for her, be good for her but… as you open your text messages to check if she has sent you anything else ( like the time she’d be coming home ) you’re immediately met with the last photo she sent you— vi, in her uniform, complete with that yellow helmet of hers. but, with a detail that had you drooling into your screen, her jacket was completely open, her perfect nipples hard and peaking under the fabric for only you to see, her happy trail forming a path between her belly button and her pussy.

the more you stared, the wetter you got. the more you wanted to wrap your lips around her nipples and graze your teeth over her flesh, to mark her up so everyone ( including those girls who always hit on her while she’s on the clock ) know that she belonged to you and that you belonged to her.

you run your fingers over your chest, circling your nipples the way vi would, you feel your nipples protrude against your blouse, waking up slowly but surely. but it’s not the same, your missing the callouses on vi’s hands and your missing her taste too. you continue your path down your own body, trailing your fingers over your stomach until you reach your clit, circling the little bundle of nerves, once, twice, until you’ve gathered enough wetness on your slit in order to plunge two of your digits inside yourself, you moan and throw your head back against the couch cushions, raising your other arm up in order to maintain eye contact with the vi from the photo on your screen. what you wouldn’t do to have her fingers inside of you, right now. you let out a breathy sound and close your eyes for a second, imagining vi on top of you, plunging her calloused fingers in and out of your hole while her breath fans across your face.

but, apparently it was a second too long because you missed the ‘clink’ of your front door opening while lost in thought… and lust. heavy boots stomped through the floor of your house in the direction of the living room. you hear vi’s grave voice calling out your name when suddenly it stops, both her footsteps and her voice calling out for you, the noise replaced by a naughty whistle that travels from her parted lips and into your waiting ears.

“so this is what you do when i’m not around? huh?” vi asks, sarcasm coating her deep voice.

you’re petrified, your fingers still inside of you while you attempt to control your breathing and make it as even as possible under the circumstances. your phone is still in your hand, vi’s photograph still shining on your face.

vi takes a couple of steps forward until she’s hovering over you, her scent fills your nostrils and almost makes you moan all over again, a mix of sweat and that body wash of hers that she’s worn since the day the two of you met.

“i didn’t tell you to stop, now, did i?” vi taunts, getting closer to you. “what were you thinking about?” she asks, she’s so close that you can feel the heat of her breath on your cheeks.

“you.”

“me, huh?” vi questions, her air of aloofness and nonchalance completely intact before her eyes move from your flushed face to the photo on your screen— her photo. “mmmh.” vi muses. “should i be jealous?” she asks, cockily.

you turn your head to look at her only to receive a sound of reprimand in return. “no, no, you were having so much fun with photo me, i’m not gonna be the one to ruin your date.”

“vi!” you complain.

“look at the phone.” vi repeats, her voice leaving zero room for argument. “so…” she starts. “what were you thinking about?” vi asks, again, this time pushing for more details.

your fingers are still inside yourself, not moving just… there. “you… fucking me.” you respond, a little more breathless than what you would like to admit.

“I see… was i good?”

“yes.” you breath out, moving your hips just a little in order to curve just how uncomfortable you are.

“mmm, and what did i do?” vi asks, her eyes moving from your hips to your face before tilting her head down and blowing hot air into your ear.

you shiver at the sensation, curling in on yourself before gathering enough brain power to answer her previous inquiry. “you touched me right there.” you say, before jerking your head down, motioning to your chest.

vi trails her calloused hands over your stomach, slowly, before pinching your right nipple, making you jerk off the couch. “right here?” she questions, circling your nipple with two fingers before pinching your other bud.

you jerk your head back and stare up at the ceiling. “yes.” you moan.

vi takes your reaction as encouragement and sneaks her head under your shirt, running her tongue over the flesh of your breasts, licking and sucking until you’re panting like a dog. it’s only when you clench your legs around your own digits that she grazes her teeth over your sensitive peaks. “like this?”

“mhm.”

vi emerges from under your top and locks eyes with you. “what did i do next?” she questions, her clear eyes boring into your skin.

you’re having a hard enough time breathing without choking on your own saliva, you don’t know how you’re supposed to focus long enough to answer her million questions but you do it anyway, something about the tone of her voice is making you want to be good for her. “you put your fingers in me.” you confess.

vi looks amused, and beyond cocky, she trails her index finger over the skin of your face, swirling it around your cheek before stopping and pressing two digits against your sealed lips. “then why aren’t you?” she asks, lifting both her eyebrows before plunging her fingers into your mouth.

you moan at the fullness and close your eyes while your tongue laps at her digits, hungrily, you move your own fingers inside yourself curling them and uncurling them while moving your hips up and down in chase of relief. you open your eyes, momentary, in order to stare at vi’s blue ones, her lips were parted, her cheeks red in fascination and lust. the couch starts scratching the floor with the sheer force with which you’re moving your body against your hand, until something inside you snaps, your movements become sloppy and uncoordinated while black spots fill your vision, you bite down on vi’s fingers, making her let out a groan in appreciation before you’re coating your own fingers with your release.

vi sighed, appreciatively, before removing her fingers from your mouth and plopping them into her own, lapping at your spit like it was a bottle of cold water after a hard shift. “good girl.” she praises, meeting your lips with hers in a sloppy kiss.

firefighter vi ! who is the definition of ‘happy wife, happy life’ she’s completely whipped for you and everyone knows it, including her coworkers who tease her endlessly about it, not that she minds it too much, it’s true, after all. plus, she’s proud of everything that she has built for and with you.

firefighter vi ! who, sometimes ( more like all the time ), comes home battered and bruised because she refuses to let anyone else’s hands touch her skin. she’ll come home, take off her uniform and plop herself, wordlessly, in front of you, you know this dance by heart by now. so, you simply reach for the first aid kit that’s stashed under the counter and start cleaning up her bruises and putting ointment on her burns.

vi isn’t one for open vulnerability, at least not in front of others. but, when she’s with you, sitting on the counter while you tend to her bruises and run your hands over her sweaty head of hair, she lets herself relax, she lets her eyes squeeze shut and her head tilt back while your hands tend to her battered flesh, sometimes she’ll even let little sounds of relief escape her parted lips, telling you, without words, that you’re doing a good job.

firefighter vi ! who’ll come home, late at night, and lay next to you completely clothed ( uniform and all ) after a hard shift.

it was way past 2 a.m. when you felt the bed dip beside you, you couldn’t see your wife, you could only see her ginormous fire jacket. you roll over under the covers and run your fingers over her pink hair, removing it from her eyes.

vi remains motionless, her eyes dazed and clouded over.

“vi what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

vi sighs, deeply, but refuses to move from her spot atop the covers. “can you just…” she starts, uncertainty coating her otherwise smooth voice. “hold me?” she finishes.

“of course.” you answer in kind, before opening your arms for her and letting her get comfortable in your arms.

taglist :

@natsguitar ; @turnersx ; @starrbelliedboy ; @dramagodesss ; @userhotd ; @lesmerri ;﹙ to join ⚘ ﹚

[lesmerri]

Y O U W I L L S E E

PAIRING: Boxer!Vi x Reader SUMMARY: Your fiancé is a boxer meaning she works out a tonne in the gym and at home. You like taking advantage of it and she likes indulging you.

CONTENTS: Nsfw, mdni, smutty headcanons, ab riding, manhandling, rough sex, needy!vi, oral sex, vaginal fingering, strap on’s, just a mini post (that I can expand on if you’d like !!)

BOXER!VI who is easily the needy one in your relationship.

BOXER!VI who always has a tight grip on your hips as your straddle her waist, a trail off slick glistening on her abs where you’re grinding down against them. Her hips thrusting up slightly as she leaks onto the sheets beneath her, getting needier and needier at the sight.

BOXER!VI who can feel your eyes on her whenever she decides to work out at home. Purposely flexing her muscles and pulling her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her face, angling herself just right so she can watch your eyes move down her body, across her abs, down to her happy trail and back.

BOXER!VI who gets home all hot and sweaty from training but that only makes you want her more. Sinking down between onto the floor in front of her and trailing your hands across her thighs, feeling them tensing up under your touch. Watching her throw her head back as you lick a strip up her slit to tease her making her groan impatiently.

BOXER!VI who can pound you into the mattress with her fingers or her strap until you’re trembling beneath her, leaving scratch marks down her arms and over her biceps as you clench around her. Who is able to keep going as long as you can take it due to the hours of training and working out.

BOXER!VI who comes home to you after a match only to find you lying on the bed naked, one hand pinching your nipple and the other two fingers deep in your cunt. The clip of her fighting playing on repeat on the tv opposite the bed.

BOXER!VI who puts on a front of being in control when she’s hovering above you, strap heavy in her hand as she trails it up your slit to tap it against your clit. Who can’t quite hide the needy look in her eyes as she looks up at you waiting for you to let her slide inside.

BOXER!VI who punches the bags extra hard, her hair sticking to her forehead, on days you send her dirty texts during her training. Wrapping the tape around her hands extra tight and taking advantage of all the equipment to try and distract herself from just leaving to come home to you.

── .✦ ARCANE TAGLIST ・ @angryoilslick516 @cutflwr @ryleeluvslottiematthews @starlight-miyo @gigi83738283 @vxtanne31 @dizzy-dyke @thatredheadloserlesbian @minaaminaa8 @pvrnowitch @babyd0llyy

Comment on this post or send an ask to be on my taglist!

[fawnsgun]

i saw vi on ur masterlist and i had a thought and i NEED you to hear me out omg

okay so vi and her shy gf havent been dating for very long, maybe a month, but they had been getting into sex territory. super vanilla, and vi was always soft dom, barely even able to call herself a dom, and theyre not bored but SOMETHING is missing. well vi starts to notice little mannerisms and such and realizes her gf is more into kinky stuff and decides to try it out (bc she’d do anything for her baby 🥹) and literally canNOT go back. she loves domming and being super rough while also worshipping her girl and gets super into it oh my GOD 🤤🤤

𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝒄𝒘; smut, MDNI (est!vi, dom!vi, spanking, fingering, strap-on use, orgasm denial); 𝒘𝒄 0.8k words 𝒋𝒖𝒏𝒊 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔; ₍ᵔ.˛.ᵔ₎ hi hi, i know i've been gone for sooo long but here i am and i hope u enjoy this one as much as i did when i was writing it! also, vi is like my guilty pleasure (divider cr. to @cursed-carmine )

𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔

The bedroom’s filled with the soft but insistent sounds of damp skin slapping as Vi ever so carefully drives the harnessed dildo into your glistening cunt, the position is safe and familiar. Your hands are braced on her back, ankles crossed around her lower back to hold on. The breathing of the two of you comes a little breathless but nowhere near labored.

“Baby.” Vi whispers into the tiny space which separates your faces, drawing your attention back to her. “What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” She whispers against your skin, placing a delicate kiss to the soft skin beneath your jaw.

“I just - I’d like to try something new.” The words make her eyes snap up to meet yours, hips faltering while the dildo is still buried in your glistening pussy. “What kind of new, baby?” Her breath fans warm and softly against your skin, gaze fixed on yours as if you’re the sole reason she even draws breath in the first place.

“I don’t know.” You whisper but Vi knows, she can tell from the way your ankles tighten on her lower back, how your breathing picks up in anticipation. One of her hands sneaks upwards, catches your wrists to pin them above your head. The dilation of your eyes is enough to have her hips snap once, driving the dildo into your cunt once more. The action, the very hungry gaze of hers makes your heart beat faster, the blood in your veins spike in heat.

“You want me to be rough?” She whispers against your lips, her hands tightening around your wrists as if the answer could be anything but a fat yes. Vi lifts herself off you just to flip you onto your belly. Both of her hands clasp your hips to lift them, one hand slips down the curse of your ass and up your spine to press your upper body to the mattress. “My girl likes it rough?” She chuckles to herself as one hand comes down on your ass, the slap ringing through the hazy heat of the bedroom. A gasp leaves you as your fingers grip the sheets for purchase.

“Yes…god, yes.” You whisper more to yourself but you’re sure she heard, judging by the way she slips two fingers through your glistening folds, pushing two fingers into your spongy walls. She sets a pace, relentless and rough as her other hand comes down on your already reddening ass. “Count for me, baby.” She murmurs but the demand comes through clear, it sparks fire in your veins.

You hum in agreement but she’s not satisfied as she stills her administrations.

“Use your words, sweet thing.” She says, the tone of her words is almost patronizing, a little like she’s pitying the mess you are - she’s not, she’s more than proud to have made you in a quivering mess.

“Yes, Ma’am.” You murmur into the sheets, thighs shaking with the effort of staying the position she had manhandled you into before.

“That’s more like it.” You can practically see the smirk which probably graces her features as she plunges her fingers into your cunt once more. Her digits move into your pussy at an unrelenting pace as her hand comes down on your ass once more.

“One.” You manage with the planket fisted in your hand, your breathing coming ragged and undone.

“You get to come at five, not sooner, do you understand me, sweetheart?” She curls her fingers to underline her words, demanding and so so hot. “Yes, Ma’..am.” The room is filled by the obscene sounds of her fingers driving into your cunt and your ragged, breathy moans. Another slap comes down on your ass, stinging and hurting so good that your body jerks for a second.

“T-two.” you gasp. “You better stay right here, baby.” She warns once, driving her hand down once more for good measure. “Th-three.” You choke the word out, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as the sting settles, her assault on your cunt stays paced and unwavering.

“Please!” You pant as her fingers slip free from your hole to draw tight circles over your clit, the motion just being too much to not give yourself to the inevitable peak of your orgasm.

“No, no, baby - hold it.” She calls lazily as her hand comes down once more. “F-F-Four.” You choke out. You’re a mess, a sobbing, shivering, mindless mess. The very sight draws a breathy chuckle from Vi.

“Awh, my poor girl - can’t even talk right anymore.” She drawls with faux pity.

“One more, sweetheart - then you can come.” She whispers more to herself but it rings in your head like the very promise of salvation. You suck it in, your will yourself - to no avail. “I can’t!” You cry out but before another plea leaves you, her hand drives down once more, the final time.

“Come for me, baby.” She whispers but it makes no difference, you weren’t going to hold it any long anyways. The orgasm shoots through you like a lightning bolt, fast and mind altering. Your body jerks, a scratchy cry leaves you as the very peak of pleasure curses through every nerve ending your body possesses.

And Vi knows, no she’s sure of it - vanilla is no option ever again.

[requiemdesreves]

Vi and her giggly girlfriend! 18+ mdni

This is what nights are for.

You think, watching your bra lie fallen over the back of Violet’s bedroom chair, tangled with her work shirt, the flowered socks she wears because you bought them for her, and the dress you tore off yourself a while ago. Your ass sinks into Vi’s tense thighs, her open, strong leg holds you, corners you, and the sticky sweat of her ripped jeans almost presses the texture of the seam into the backs of your knees. Your back arches toward her.

It’s been almost twenty minutes since Vi kissed you for the first time tonight. It was, as always, a direct kiss with no nuance, the kind that doesn’t give you time to close your eyes before the impact. And even though at first you only wanted her to hold you, to let you rest your head on her shoulder and watch one more episode of that show, you knew your girlfriend wasn’t going to leave it at that. She never can. If it were up to Vi, life would be one long chain of kisses, bites, hands on tits, and fucking, fucking, fucking.

But when she catches your mouth, when her tongue pushes into you and barely bites your lip, you can’t resist. Never. You start by returning the kiss softly, but soon it slips out of your hands and you end up chasing her tongue, pulling her loose hair, pressing yourself closer to her heat, until Vi growls, satisfied, and tightens you with a boxer’s arm behind your waist. You feel her ribs defined under the tank top, her other hand sliding up and down the curve of your back until it slips between your ass, rubbing you against her in a way that isn’t exactly subtle.

The thing is, every time Vi kisses you like that, you get a fit of laughter, and the idiot knows it. You get nervous, your mouth trembles, and as soon as you start laughing, Vi gets mock-annoyed and bites your neck to shut you up.

“What’s wrong with you now?” she says through her teeth, her voice hoarse and damp in your ear. “Am I that funny or what?”

But all you can do is hide your face in her neck, trying to swallow the laughter while she shakes you a little on her leg.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you blurt out, half-choking, your cheek resting on Vi’s hard collarbone. “It’s just—you tickle me.”

Vi leans in and bites your earlobe, slow, just enough to make it burn.

“Where do I tickle you?” she asks, sarcastic, sliding her hand between your thigh and hers, her palm covering your whole ass. “Here? Or here?”

The pressure of her fingers forces your legs wider, and you feel the immediate heat at the center of your cunt, which had already given in a while ago but now pulses and soaks the cotton of your panties. Vi feels it, of course, and points it out with another satisfied growl.

“You’re soaking wet and still laughing,” she says, biting your jaw. “Didn’t they tell you that gets cured by fucking?”

“No,” you answer, in a stupid voice. “I just found out.”

Vi grabs your cheeks and kisses you so hard she smashes your teeth against hers. Her lips are rough, insistent, but her tongue licks from your gums to your palate like she wants to taste all of you. Her hands, always big, go from your face to your neck, from your neck to your back, and by the time you rest yours on her shoulders, you don’t have the strength to push her away. Vi could break you if she wanted, you think, but she just holds you, just keeps you in her lap, pressed to her until you run out of air and pull away with another burst of laughter.

Vi stops, her face inches from yours, staring so hard you have to look away.

“What’s wrong with you?” she repeats, but now serious. “You don’t want this? You really don’t want it?”

You feel the discomfort fluttering in your chest. You don’t know if it’s guilt or embarrassment or that stupid nervousness you get when you feel like someone loves you too much.

“I do,” you confess, covering your mouth with your hand, still dying with laughter. “But it just… I don’t know, it makes me laugh. You make me nervous, Violet. Always.”

Vi frowns, but her mouth curves into a small smile.

“Why do I make you nervous? You’ve seen all this before,” she says, gesturing to herself, shifting her torso to jostle you in her lap. The movement makes you slide over her thigh, and the friction sends a shiver of pleasure through you, so sudden you let out a small moan.

She catches it immediately. “See? Not so bad.” She pinches your ass. “Then don’t laugh. Moan like normal people.”

You shove her back with both hands, but she catches your wrists and twists your arms behind your back, pulling you toward her so your tits press tight against her chest. The brush of your hard nipples against her makes you shudder. You feel Vi’s heat seeping through every inch of bare skin. She bites you again, now at your collarbone, and trails kisses in a straight line down to the swell of your breast.

Your breathing starts to change, coming out in jerks, broken by pleasure and embarrassment. But Vi isn’t teasing anymore, now she’s serious, focused, like eating you is a matter of life and death. She lets go of your wrists and in one smooth move pulls your panties down, rolling them to mid-thigh. The cold air on your wet cunt makes you shiver, but what really leaves you speechless is the way Vi opens you with her fingers, slow, methodical, like she’s been waiting all day. Her fingers explore your fold, part your lips, and you feel her wet fingertips sliding over you, touching only outside at first and then, with a couple soft thrusts, slipping in and out of your hole with almost insulting ease.

“Does this make you laugh too?” she asks, and pushes two fingers in without warning.

The sensation splits you in two. You cry out, involuntarily, and Vi covers your mouth with her free hand.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it,” she whispers, pressed to your ear. “Quiet, I don’t want the neighbor coming to gossip.”

You can’t even breathe, much less talk. Vi’s thumb circles your clit while, at the same time, the fingers inside move back and forth, hitting exactly where it feels best. Sweat slides down your back, your legs go numb, your heart is in your throat, your head spins.

When you think you’re about to lose control, you let go and the laughter comes back, but now mixed with moans and broken words:

“Vi, wait… ah, wait. You’re gonna kill me.”

But Vi loves seeing you like this. She’s told you before, but now you see it on her face: the pride, in the way she pushes you harder against her fingers, in how she licks the sweat from your cheek and whispers filthy things in your ear.

“You love it,” she repeats. “Don’t you love it?”

You have no choice but to nod. And when Vi lowers her head and takes one of your nipples fully into her mouth, sucking until it’s red and wet, you lose what little control you had left. You convulse, and with the last thread of your voice you let out a choked laugh that turns into a cry. Your whole body trembles over Vi’s leg, you feel the orgasm rush in waves, soaking the fingers inside you and the hand that won’t let you go.

Vi waits for you to finish. She lets you rest your forehead on her shoulder and strokes your back with long, slow movements, like she knows exactly what to do to keep you from falling apart completely.

“See? You liked it,” she says, softer now, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t play hard to get, I know you.”

You feel a warm sweetness in your chest, and the laughter that was nervous before now comes out loose, happy, like your whole body just gave in.

You cling to Vi and kiss her, no laughter this time. She holds the back of your neck, takes a deep breath, and says, in the most ridiculous tone possible:

“You wanna go to sleep now, or are you gonna let me keep fucking you?”

The laugh bursts out loud this time. You know Vi is joking, but you also know she could, if you wanted, spend the whole night like this.

“Let me rest a little longer,” you say, settling in her lap, your face buried in her neck. “Then it’s my turn.”

And when you cover her in kisses, when you pull down her pants and have her open under your tongue, you know that’s exactly where you want to be.

✦ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @riotstemple29, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @myrlovestrees, @cherry-kissesxox, @caitvisthirdmember, @visalcoholstore, @poeticrenaissance, @mxchi-mxxn, @mwahbabe, @sevikas-whore, @gh00styyy, @cutflwr, @gabrielthethird, @lonerslug, @sasseffect, @celinealways , @mairisms, @lilas712, @mseilishmwah, @monroesg1rl, @love-bites-and-poetry-burns, @rawrspacecat, @macamilarofe, @bb-cookiee, @thatredheadloserlesbian, @lobotomymutt, @rudymoon, @naexdreams

[butch-ramblings]

(flirting) I could worship you in ways that would make churches look useless.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

please stop posting fics written by ai

as someone who has been trying to develop good writing skills through fanfic for six years now I can’t tell you how disheartening it is to see others completely disregard any talent they might have and the talent of writers they’re interacting with by posting fics written by ai. when you post something a bot has written and you claim it as your own writing you are not showcasing your skill, you are being deceitful. it takes two minutes to make ai write you a fanfiction but it takes actual writers days, weeks, months, or years to finish their projects — projects that have soul, more of it than anything an ai could write. if you want fandom content written by artificial intelligence go on c.ai or chai or create bots for people to use themselves but don’t dishonestly rebrand it here.

[grotesquevi]

congrats on getting hotter!! don't forget to put some ice in those bruises!!! [ song + series masterlist ] wc: 2.1k

to be fair? you don't give two shits about your birthday.

even when you're being hugged by your older brother and your best friend keeps cheering on you for turning thirty, there's something annoying about gaining a year of wisdom and having to endure any kind of celebration: everyone sings fun songs about getting old while eating cake while you just crave your bed for the next fourteen hours — mid cake, you usually tend to suck it up like a true lover-of-getting-old cause lola is there.

your niece lola.

it means a significant change of attitude thanks to a twelve-year-old who was born from your idiot relative and stole your heart, the kid who consumes too much media and loves to bring you beautiful drawings you hang there in your fridge like there's no bigger pride than your niece's art. talks too much, looks like the girl version of your brother, hugs you as if there's no tomorrow and she didn't see you less than two days ago: of course you'll suck it up for her, anything for the kid.

"happy birthday, creep." deep down mitt knows how much you hate it too as he kisses your cheek to bother you further beyond, loud, it makes you scrunch your nose in disgust as he proceeds with more unneeded contact. "hey what's that-- what happened to your face?"

"nothing," refusing his touch, you try to push him away before you can see the stain of makeup smeared there on his thumb, a concerned look on your brother's face as his hands expose now your face to the accusing light of the kitchen. "can you be a little more gentle? it hurts."

"you told me you won't do it again." the cheap makeup is the main source of all your troubles as he pointed out that awful bruise already forming in your left eye. "don't play dumb with me, you know i'm talking about the fights."

"you're worrying lola," not true, she's busy searching for plates so she can try the cake they brought for you. "c'mon now. it's my birthday we can talk about this next week."

"why haven't you told me you have money problems again?"

"cause i can fix my own problems, mitt" — "i'm a little behind with some bills in the covet. it's nothing. you don't have to worry."

a side eye look from clementine staring there like a ghost, an annoyed one from your brother: lies linger there in the air but you're not capable of doing anything more than offer a reassuring e smile to prove how you really have it under control and you're not already knitting more lies to make everyone in the room pretend they believe in you.

"did you lose?" that's another punch in the ego when the question is thrown, cause deep down? mitt already knows the answer. the cruel fucker just wants to hear you say it.

"no. second place."

how are you so full of shit? not even making it to the fourth place, the lie does not stop the disappointment that exudes from your sibling as you are once again, aware of your failures: you're losing the legacy your father left, trying to win illegal fights that only get your ass kicked to infinity and on top of that? you can't afford some take-out food since there are lots of other priorities. bills keep gathering there on your desk and you barely have enough to deal with rent while maintaining a place that's slowly falling apart.

"don't look at me like that. i'm doing what i can to keep dad's gym alive."

awkward. why do you have to make things so awkward?

invading your living room, mitt does not insist for a while when it's her daughters time — everyone sort of knows the birthday is just a facade to make her happy and keep lola's brain busy with planning something fun as a birthday celebration.

"i made you a draw," the kid explains while pointing the thick paper she used this time comfortably seated in your lap. "this is vi, okay? and that's her little sister jinx. they hug cause they've suffered a lot."

"that's the show you talked to me about, huh?" you ask curiously — "arcane right? that's so sick, lo. i love it."

"yes. and this is you," another draw. she seems concentrated while showing you the gifts she made for you, a new handful of drawings to hang, friendship bracelets and some stuff she made in her pottery classes you love more than any other gift. "do you like it, anty? i think it's cool."

"too cool. this will make everyone jealous, right clem?" you kiss her cheek cause she can fix all your troubles, and squish her face until she's giggling at how much you're annoying her, escaping to sit right next to your best friend and take a bite from the served cake.

fucking awkward.

even when your brother's not talking about the subject, you know he keeps thinking about it in the roots of his brain, stressed and worried from something that's out of his control.

you never said anything about your brother's choice, never doubted mitt's desires to be a lawyer and not follow your father's path to a life of suffering after boxing, never made him feel bad as you were the one who's left with the family business, stuck. a job you get not because you want to, but because you never had the opportunity to choose another thing for yourself.

family.

you're proud. proud and a fucking asshole who refuses to say is struggling out loud, who cannot bear the shame to say how much she needs financial help from someone more than the bank. it would be easier if you wouldn't be a total disaster when it comes to an actual fight, if you were closer to your family and allowed yourself to admit you're in trouble for once, accept you cannot do everything by yourself as if you have nothing to prove.

"why you haven't told me?" he takes the moment when your niece takes your friend to see your fridge, not wasting a second to keep talking about stuff he does not care. "i'm serious here, how much money do you owe?"

"god-- can't you just give me a break one night? it's not much," when the clock hits ten, you sure lack of your usual patience, so what is it that gives away your tired-as-fuck-outfit so your brother would go to hell? maybe your annoyed tone, the bags under your eyes with little to no make-up left to cover it, the bruises when you're too lazy to try to fight any of his witty remarks with even more words. "i am good, can't you trust me with this one?"

"i just worry about you. hope you notice sometime."

when he finally leaves you alone, the rest of the night is pure delirium. happens so fast it's midnight and your eyes fall on their own as you're kissed goodbye multiple times. dirty dishes on the sink, the window's still open as mitt leaves and your friend opens up the wine bottle she brought earlier thinking you would drink until failure.

"what do you mean you don't want to go out?"

"i'm afraid i will pass out first drink." deep down you feel like an ancient grandma who just turned eighty. "next week and i'll be on my best behavior, i promise you."

"you owe it to me big time," turns out you owe a lot to everyone lately. "but yeah, rest. you look like shit."

"how very kind of you."

"i'm joking, you're very hot" she replies instead while kissing you goodbye. "i'll text you later, yes? please go to bed."

it's one in the morning when you light up the joint in a cozy pajama. when you enjoy the silence there buried in the most amazing couch, it is almost a ritual as you turn on the tv and finally do nothing — a reward even after doing so much. you pour more wine down your cup and search for something to watch more than the last four movies you've been repeating.

and everything's fine, would be fine until you come across that show, your niece's special, arcane.

you turn on the first episode and you wonder, deep down, if it's suitable for a girl who's turning thirteen in a few months, if your brother's failing once again at his dad job. it's surely not for kids her age and you'll do a much better job if your mind's not tired as it is now, barely understanding shit of what's going on in the screen: group of kids stole something important, there's some rare parkour going on, they lose everything.

tons of color, you get why lola loves it so much. it's interesting and suddenly you're in your second glass of wine, joint consuming on the ashtray, overly invested in this narrative — rooting for this blue-haired girl, her big sister and that cool kid who seems to know everything about the town. you're tired, yes, so when you fight destiny until the third chapter? you deserve a prize for the effort, for gripping the glass so tight afraid of staining the carpet, for understanding what the hell is going on in your tv.

by the fourth chapter? you're out. even when you try to resist you are no match for your eyes as they close on their own and you become unaware of your surroundings, of the fact that you left the window open and there's cold air making its way inside your small apartment. your muscles give up entirely and you finally sleep, relax after a stupid amount of aspirin, let the glass slip away not caring if its going to leave a huge stain.

whatever. in the dream world everything's better. your bones finally settle into a position you can't resist and the couch becomes better than a bed would ever feel, it's warm and by now you should be dreaming — sure your back will resent it a little tomorrow, but does it matter when the pleasure is immediate? you're snoring and probably drooling, so when the tv turns off? you pay no mind to it.

you're in your so-called paradise. dreaming about your problems being solved and having so much money you can share it with everyone: a television can turn off on their own, right? when netflix's showing that message on the screen with the classic 'are you there still?' but there's no one around to press continue, it happens, it may turn off.

the night's never silent in the city, much less with the window open — is that a rational explanation of why you can't hear that weird noise that's coming out of the tv? like it's trying to turn itself on again but electricity's not powerful enough to do it.

the wine's dry and attached to the carpet now, a new addition to the decoration that's noticeable when the television finally turns on, a task it completes lighting up the entire room. a bright white light exudes from the screen, and it takes a minute or so to bug you completely; makes you whine at first, annoyed of waking up: what fucking time it is? man, is it morning already?, how did the hours pass so quickly?

takes you a minute to register its night still, how the moon hangs up in the dark sky and what is currently happening is, certainly weird.

it blinds you — really blinds you, not like when you're driving in plain night and there's a car coming from the other side of the road with full high beam headlights, that's why you don't see it at the right time, when it all happens.

is the tv malfunctioning? it's an ancient thing, so maybe it's her time to die and you're witnessing her ascending to the afterlife. maybe you're too sleepy. either way you try to stand up so you can turn it off, a plan you let go when you become aware of the hand that's emerging from the screen making you crawl away from the tv.

is the wine full of hallucinogens? the weed too strong? hell, are you finally embracing the stress of life to the point you now see things? your eyes open wide as the world seems to glitch.

your heart's on a race with itself, and your breathing turns erratic after. goosebumps, shivers going down your spine as you look up to the stranger standing now in your room; you'd like to defend yourself, maybe fight for survival — are you going to get robbed? what the fuck? your vision is blurry, you feel a bit dizzy…

well holy. fucking. shit.

it's the worst fucking moment to faint and do nothing.

taglist — @cinnamongirlsev, @ne0nspr1te, @cruxotic, @collectivespit, @kamaluhkhan, @mxchi-mxxn, @sevikas-whore, @cherrybomb61, @lemonpoppys33dmuffin, @angelynn-nicole, @nooneher3, @cutflwr, @violetlanesluvr, @mewl3tte, @ar1-angel, @starrysetup22, @sapphicarribean, @sawaagyapong, @carolinelahmy, @nyxavia, @rhian88, @drunkelliewilliams, @snooptoru, @vi-alldayeveryday, @minaaminaa8, @tobesolxvely, @kanadadryer, @lonelysirenstears (there's still some space so you ask me in the comments to be added!!)

[solitairians]

happy friday the 13th/valentine's day double feature to all goths, emos, vampires, horror enthusiasts, reanimated corpses, romantics, weirdos, freaks, lovers, and everyone else who may celebrate

[kahelno]

day idk of seeing what i can get away with on tumblr dot com

[bevsi]

alysa liu!!!

[tobesolxvely]

nsfw; this adult content creators!au has been plaguing my thoughts for days. +18, mdni; masturbation, pxrn, y'know the deal

Vi posts at 11:47 p.m.

Peak engagement. She knows her analytics like the back of her hand. Her thumbnail? A low angle shot of her leaning back in a chair, arms behind her head, a cocky smirk, her tattoos and abs on full display. The caption: “enjoying the view? 😉”, it’s cocky, short and effective.

Within minutes, her notifications start flooding in. She does her usual routine— post the video, watch the numbers climb, skim the comments, ignore the desperate ones, and smirk at the bold ones.

Vi leans back in her chair, tipped on two legs, knuckles flexing absently. She clicks through trending tags, half out of habit, half out of boredom.

She scrolls lazily. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Overly polished studios, amateur couples. She’s about to give up, when something catches her attention.

The thumbnail isn’t flashy, no dramatic pose. Just a young woman sitting cross-legged on a bed, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder. The title is simple: “come sit with me tonight?”.

Vi snorts softly. “Cute.”

She clicks.

The video opens with you adjusting the lens, laughing under your breath. Not that forced pornstar laugh she’s used to by now, but a real, soft, even a little embarrassed one.

Vi’s chair drops flat to the floor.

You sit on the bed in the exact same position as the thumbnail, and for a second, nothing happens. You’re just sitting there, head tilted slightly.

Vi’s brows knit faintly. Most creators perform immediately— smile big, move fast, hook viewers in the first three seconds.

You start by talking directly to your viewers, voice warm and a little teasing. Vi scrolls down, the sound of your voice fading into background noise as she looks at your stats.

Your follower count is way smaller than hers, but your comment section? They’re devoted. Her reach is definitely bigger, but your retention rate and engagement ratio is insane.

A soft moan spurs her out of her thoughts.

She instantly scrolls back up.

You’re leaning against your headboard, eyes half-lidded as one of your hands disappears into the pair of boxers you’re wearing.

Her throat tightens.

You’re not rushing or exaggerating any motion, any sound. You move slowly, your expression soft, like you forgot there was a camera at all. Your breathing shifts and your lips part just slightly, the only thing cutting through the silence are your soft moans.

It has to be intentional. While other content creators jump and try to grab attention since the get-go, you’re making people lean in. You’re holding them down by controlling the pace, the mood.

Vi realizes slowly, with a creeping awareness that slides under her skin, that she hasn’t looked away once. She hasn’t even blinked.

When you glance straight into the camera again, her breath catches. It’s like you’re staring straight at her, at whoever’s watching, and inviting them in.

“Fuck,” Vi muttered, her eyes glued to the screen. To you.

Your fingers slid inside, and Vi is marveled at how wet you sound. Her fingers mimicked the motion, circling her clit through the fabric.

“Are you touching yourself, too?” you ask in a husky voice.

Vi didn’t need to be told twice. She shoves her shorts down, her finger finding her clit, slick and swollen. She matches your pace, her breath coming in ragged pants.

The video’s audio and her own quiet moans mingled in the room. On screen, you’re no longer staring at the camera. Your head is thrown back, back arched and cries growing louder.

“God, s’fucking hot,” her fingers start working faster, and her thighs start trembling as her orgasm builds.

When you finally come, body shuddering, Vi follows. The video is still playing softly in the background, but Vi doesn’t move. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm. She feels… empty. Not in a bad way, but in a way that demanded to be filled again.

With a flick of her wrist, she clicks on your username— onlyangel. Your profile is clean, almost minimal, no desperate captions screaming for attention. Just you centered in every thumbnail, like everything else was designed to orbit you.

The most recent video is titled “late night study break”, with a thumbnail of you in an oversized university hoodie and smiling at the camera.

She clicks it without a second thought.

A couple of minutes later, Vi slumps back in her chair. Her body was a live wire, oversensitive and desperate, but she couldn’t stop. Her fingers hover over the trackpad, the videos’ titles like a siren song pulling her deeper into a rabbit hole of you.

Vi was mesmerized, completely and utterly hooked. The sun was cresting the horizon when the last video ended, and she was a mess— sweat-slick, exhausted, and buzzing with a strange, possessive energy.

She stares at your profile page, at the grid of your face in various states of bliss and an innocent façade. Her eyes drift toward a single word under your profile picture: Follow.

A beat passes.

It’s a professional boundary, a line she shouldn’t cross. She had collaborated with other creators before, but this felt… different. You weren’t just performing; you were an artist building a connection that felt more real than any scripted scene she’d been a part of.

And fuck it, she wanted to be a part of it.

Before she could second-guess herself, she clicks.

The word changes instantly. Following.