𝓭𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓲 .⛧ 22 ✶˖ she/her ♱ south asian ☄ alien lesbian witch · 𖥸· ⛧₊
🀣 currently : making eyes at mizu across a sword ᵎᵎ ✦
🀦 ⋆.˚🎧 now playing come kali come, by lebanon hanover.
requests closed, thirsts/ideas open. sapphic fic writerㅤ♡ mainly blue eye samurai (just mizu), femlock and arcane but i write for any character i feel like, so try your luck !
🀥 byf / rules. masterlist.
✩♬₊˚ COME, KALI. SNAKES IN THE SUN, COVERED IN BLOOD !
content: 2.2k words ! fem reader, sapphic / wlw. pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. part 2 to my prev fic below, tho each part can be read as a standalone. top vi, edging, dirty talk, vi calls you 'princess', a little choking, one mention of hair pulling; fingering, cunnilingus, a bit of manhandling, some inner monologuing and angst. brief mention of past sex work. flashback to how they met.
PREVIOUS PART: home time.
⩩ ♥︎₊˚ ─ you've been needing vi since you first laid eyes on her.
the first time you’d laid eyes on vi, she’d looked more wounded animal than woman to you.
it was your first night at the pit. you sat a good distance away, clinking glasses with a couple of friends who all enjoyed watching brutes throw each other around way more than they should. when some renowned new fighter stepped up for the next match, your friends had grunted, “oh here’s that bitch again. she makes these so boring.” “hmm? hey, i think her winning streak’s pretty hot.” “well, it’d be hotter if she played around with her prey a bit more. she wins a little too easy for me.”
you weren’t that interested, but the change in atmosphere was enough that you had to look up. through the fog of cigarette smoke and hookah fumes, you could see the fighting ring--illuminated brightly by a dozen, dazzling headlights.
and there vi was. she walked the perimeter of the ring with a light-footed pace like her hackles were raised; teeth bared and grit like she was going to use them to win.
with her back to you, you could see the complex patterns inked from her nape to the end of her spine, and when she raised her arms and braced for the signal to start, you saw how her muscles tensed and tightened. you weren’t able to look away till the fight was over and she was out of the ring--cold blue eyes holding no hint of pride in victory within them, busted nose dripping a stream of blood down her lip, flecks of red across her neck and on the swell of her breasts.
you started showing up again and again, after that.
vi interested you, and though you tried to remain nonchalant about it, you kept coming back to see her. watching her fight became a regular pastime to you. not even just a pastime. a sort of guilty pleasure. an obsession. you even stayed for the afterparty that followed the fights. you’d hang around with the other women who were there just to watch or to try themselves out on the dancefloor.
you eventually figured vi was here to fight just as much as she was here to make ends meet. in between watching her as she beat people bloody and swaying your hips for her to see, you mulled over the little information you had on her.
you’d heard of all the stories of her, of course. one of the survivors of the clash between silco and vander. elder sister of the one and only jinx. was recently entangled with an enforcer, joined topside. betrayed all of zaun. bit the hand that had fed her all her life. got fucked over and thrown back into the pit. and here she was.
she fought with bare fists, hair and lips inked the same shade of black, some of it streaking her forehead with sweat, getting worse whenever she wiped her face. the skin over her muscles red with impact and pumping blood, her eyes full of a dead sort of rage. and she kept winning her fights. one after the other, she sent men to the ground. and she looked fucking good doing it.
you heard the other stories too. how she only fucked women. how she fucked them good.
and somehow, you started getting impatient. you wanted vi to notice you. you kept trying to figure something out. devise a way for you to stand out from the crowd; to really catch her eye.
but fuck, it was hard. like a wounded animal, vi seemed to be paralyzed by something that no longer existed. she fought, ate, drank, got lugged home by some fucker. she split her knuckles, spat blood, screamed. and she just didn’t fucking approach you. it was like she was trapped in a cycle. like you had to lure her out, with elaborately laid out traps.
piece after piece of meat for the hungry, wounded and angry, dead-eyed beast.
you told your friends you just wanted a good fuck. you told them you wanted a feel of what she’s got. and it was true! there was nothing emotional here. you didn’t know vi, vi didn’t know you--and you didn’t particularly want someone who’d been lusting after a damn piltie anyway.
but that was what was nagging you. the thing that annoyed you more than anything was that a woman who’d gotten dumped by a topsider was somehow too far out of your reach. you felt you were better than that.
and as the weeks blurred, you started needing her to need you.
you didn’t consider yourself anything like a revolutionary. you weren’t a genius and you weren’t necessarily fueled by the desire to somehow avenge the undercity.
but you’d gone through a lot. perhaps not stillwater, but you knew that it didn’t only take years in a stone box to drive a woman crazy. your own life full of fuck-overs and hardships had put a good pint of patriotism and dignity in you. and somehow, the fact that someone like vi who had arguably suffered so much worse than you had, was so enamoured by a topsider--an enforcer, of all topsiders--made you so angry.
you saw vi as a powerful asset. not a herald or a beacon like jinx was, but something. something for zaun that was definitely not for piltover to craftily thieve away. there was a certain hint of betrayal that everyone tasted in their mouths when they looked at vi. it was strange to acknowledge how you felt--but you suppose you wanted to reclaim vi.
and as you watched vi fight, memorizing her moves, lost in the way she sucked spittle back through her teeth as she got up from the painted concrete, you saw her as what she really was: a weapon, carved out of zaunite stone with the loving hands of piltover’s cruelty.
she was gorgeous. a piltie could never see her the way you saw her. and you wanted her to see that.
your efforts are not without eventual success, though it was an arduous affair to get to that point. one night, after a barely-there win, vi finally makes her way to you at the end of the night.
“hey.”
you blink up at her, discreetly aware that your friends are fleeing their spots at the table you were sharing with them. “. . . yes?”
“mind if i sit here?” vi says, already pulling a chair out to take a seat right next to you. you’d raised a cracked cup of water to your lips, and you watch her from over the rim as she sits and rubs a bandaged palm at her chin, wiping blood off. she’s caked with sweat and grime, and her left eye is darkening with a bruise. she smells of beer already, and now that she’s up close to you, you catch the scent of cheap dye--something like ink or paint.
you can suddenly hear your pulse in your ears. oh. she's so hot.
“so, you here for the dancefloor or for me?” she breaks the momentary silence.
you don’t remember how the conversation went from there, really. all you remember is that eventually, vi had come back with you to your place. and you’d helped her clean up a bit--sudsy water and your last clean rag on her, half a roll of bandages for her split knuckles--before you were on each other.
vi pressed you to your sheets and ate you up like she was starved.
your clothes are all off within minutes, pulled off by vi’s wandering hands. she’s stripped bare, too, only gauze and bandages covering her. her mouth searches you, your arms pinned to your sides by her unyielding grip on your wrists.
she kisses you up and down, sometimes soft and sometimes harsh, taking deep breath after breath of your skin into her lungs. she does this till you’re jittery, edging you till you’re so sensitive that you’re ready to explode. kissing, biting, nose nudging at your folds and tongue licking at your softer spots. covering you in inky kiss marks. rubbing it into your sheets.
you moan for her, whine her name, too embarrassed to just ask her to hurry the fuck up and make you cum--and you lay there and let her eat you up.
you blush when she tells you how she knows you’ve been staring at her. you want to sink into your squeaky mattress and hide when she tells you you’ve got a lot of princess attitude, waiting so patiently till vi came up to you herself.
“i’ve seen the way you look at me. y’ into me, princess?” she hisses into your chest, strong fingers wrapped around your throat. her other hand cupping your pussy, she slowly coaxes the air out of your lungs. gets you to beg for her before she slips her fingers in you.
this wasn't how you had planned for it to go. you'd wanted to do more. you had wanted to do the fucking. you wanted her to feel good at your hands.
you’re embarrassed by how easily she makes you fold, but she’s so hot. she's too fucking good at this. and she’s giving you exactly what you want. what’s a lonely, touch-starved bitch to do? “vi, fuck.”
“you’ve been wantin’ me for a while, huh?” she taps your cheek, one hand squeezing the plush of your right tit while the other toys with your cunt. “mhm,” you whimper. “weeks.”
and the lidded look she gives you as she increases the pressure of her thumb on your clit is enough to make you see white.
that’s how it had started. a dance of nothing and nothing between you and vi. nothing as in, you didn’t know what it was, really. and nothing as in, you didn’t know what you wanted it to be.
your intention had been to claim vi for yourself. to show her that pretty things existed down here in zaun, too--that she should see how piltover has fucked her over. to convince her to stay down here where people were her family and places were her home.
but as time went on, and as the number of entanglements between you and vi kept increasing, it started feeling more and more like vi had claimed you for herself instead.
vi was erratic. it would feel as if you were fixing her--like she was finally moving on from whatever had happened to her up there; then she would disappear for days. and she would come back battered, worse. sometimes she would sleep in your bed and it would make you happy, till she mutters a name alien to you in her sleep. “caitlyn. cait.”
and it makes you see red. you tell yourself you don’t love this woman. you tell yourself you just want her to forget that bullshit. you tell yourself this is your own little way of keeping your home and its people safe from the ignorant, cruel toying of the luxurious topside. but as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, you can’t deny yourself of it anymore.
vi makes you soft. she makes you want.
sometimes she’s weak in your arms. sometimes, right after she’s done fucking you and done pulling your hair while you eat her out, she’ll be sighing into your chest, muscled arms wrapped around your waist as she sleeps on top of you.
she makes you feel like you belong. like you have something here. which is fucking funny, because that’s how you want to make her feel. but you doubt you’re doing it successfully. you feel like the tables have been turned on you.
it’s fucking annoying.
you keep telling yourself that this won’t end well for you. you keep wondering if you should just ask vi to pay up. you remember clear as day, how you used to turn sex into a source of income. you remember how you made anything into a job. how you scavenged, leeched, fucked, killed, whatever--but that was when you needed money for a place to live in. when you needed food and water and clothes and a bed and you had nothing and no one and no means.
you just really hated the thought of being used. and you didn’t know what made you feel it worse--letting vi come and go like this for nothing, or to ask her to pay you like you’re someone up for hire.
“what do you think of me?” you ask vi, as the two of you lay together, mouths close enough to exchange breath. “i think you’re good, princess.” vi says, like it’s easy for her. “real good to me.”
and somehow, that was good enough for you to keep going. you were good to her. became her pretty princess. her good girl. her distraction, her safe place, her home. whenever she wanted it, you laid her head on your chest and lulled her into a dreamless sleep with the beat of your heart. you traced the tattoos on her back with your fingertips, kissed her hair, told her she has nothing to fear. you told her you would never leave.
“promise?” “promise.”
until of course.
one night, vi just up and left. you had asked her if she would come again. and she had said she probably would. so, like a loyal little dog, you waited for her--a sinking feeling in your heart telling you that she was gone. that you’d failed, that your stupid little feelings were for nothing and did nothing.
and of course, she didn’t come. you heard of some news here and there. vi reunited with her sister. vi was doing some crazy shit. vi went back to piltover. back to her. it made you so angry. so, so fucking angry.
zaun nearly came apart at the seams. there was a revolution. like a storm that floods the trenches and takes everything with it. leaving the land bare and clean, up for restoration.
you, lost. alone. heartbroken and seething with humiliation and disappointment. left to pick up your pieces and rebuild yourself.
and the next time you saw vi, she was entirely changed. and the sight of her made you sick to your stomach like nothing ever did before.
You'll never see Hange at more peace than when they're slurping the fuck out of your clit.
You're a fucking mess right now. It's been hours. And this hasn't been light work, okay. Head from Hange is never light work.
They know your body so well it's scary. That plus the fact they didn't play around when it came to eating only made things worse for you. Every suckle of your clit, every kiss to your slit was for a reason. To get you to cum on their tongue.
No one else could make you cum as hard or as many yes as Hange could. Let this be someone else and you'd probably be sitting here bored out of your mind. But Hange had made you cum at least five times already...and they were aiming for a sixth.
Your body was shining with sweat, and the air around you two smelled of sex. You felt sticky everywhere, but especially between your legs.
Hange really knew how to make a mess out of you.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you sat up on your elbows, eyes looking at the Commander between your legs. "Baby i-", you want to say something, beg for a break. The plea is hot on your tongue
But they look so perfect right now. Life has just been so stressful on them lately. It broke your heart to see them forgetting to eat and sleep.
They honestly looked more relaxed than ever right now. Eye shut as their strong hands press your knees to your chest, keeping you in place so you have not even a hope of escaping. Their tongue is laving at your sensitive core. Hange's jaw had to be aching by now. But you'd never be able to tell, they looked like they were in heaven servicing an angel.
When Hange hears your voice they shake themselves out of their daze, resting their cheek on the plush fat of your thighs. Deep brown eyes peer up at you.
They were just as messy as your cunt, a filthy mixture of your juices and their spit running down their chin. Not that they really cared. They just wanted you to stop talking so they could get back to eating.
"....you were saying sweetie?" They speak, and Hange's voice is rough and low. Sending a deep shiver down your spine.
You blinked back the tears daring to fall past your lashes sucking up your complaint. If a bit of overstimulation would help Hange calm down, you'd sit here all night.
"Nothing baby....." you say, one of your shaky hands coming to card through their mop of brown hair. Gently, you push them back to your slit, watching as they eagerly get back to eating, easily getting a good rhythm again.
Hange was like a fucking lost puppy. All they did was follow you around all the time. Carrying your bag and your books, offering their credit card whenever you demanded it. They were so easy it was pathetic.
Oftentimes, you wondered why you even kept the Loser around. Sure, they did your homework for you, and waited on you hand and foot. But if you flashed your tits at any nerd, they’d do the same thing. There was no reason you couldn’t ghost them and get them to fuck off.
It was only during moments like this that you remembered why Hange was so, so nice to have around.
“G-God, you’re pathetic," you moan.
Both of you have done it before. You let Hange squeeze your tits sometimes and kiss on you a little if they got you an extra good grade on an assignment. But you’d never let them go below the belt.
Hange had come over to do your homework like normal. But you hadn’t been wearing anything but a tiny baby tee and a thong. And they hadn’t been able to focus on anything but your ass since they got here.
You had yelled at them, of course, for staring at you like a piece of meat. And they had apologized, and promised that they’d get back to work…if you let them touch you.
It hadn’t been mindblowing at first. Just kissing and awkward touches.
But… this assignment was a ten-page-long paper…and it was due at 11:59. And it was currently nine at night. Time was ticking, and you couldn’t handle your grades dropping down to a B or else you’d fail the whole class.
So you had agreed to Hange’s ministrations, not without letting them know they were an absolutely disgusting perversion for this.
But as soon as Hange slid your panties off, their eyes just darkened. And they had folded you clean in half, your thighs pressed to your chest, stretching deeply.
And they hadn’t let off your clit since they had gotten down there.
Fuck, they were sucking the shit out of you. Their tongue sliding through your slick folds, and dipping over and over again inside of you. Hange’s tongue was ridiculously long; it made no sense. You’d literally never liked being tongue-fucked before this, but Hange’s got you clenching so hard.
When they got bored with that, they easily replaced their tongue with those stupid, thick fingers. Two sliding inside your tight little hole. Crooking upwards right into that special spot that nearly has you doing something embarrassing like whining Hange’s name.
But it was getting increasingly hard to hold back. You didn’t want to boost their ego to make them think that they ever had a chance at this again.
And then their tongue licks up to your clit, latching on and sucking on it. Deep and long sucks. The squelching sounds your cunt makes are just fucking disgusting.
You know you’re wet, you’re soaking fucking wet, and you feel it. Slick is just oozing out of your cunt, right down Hange’s wrist. And like the nasty little shit they were, they break from your clit just for a second, to lick the slice slipping down their hand.
“You’re so nasty!” you groan, “Just a fucking pervert!”
Hange wishes they cared. Because right now, they were in fuckcing heaven. You tasted fucking perfect on their tongue. Salty and sweet at the same time. And it was making them ridiculously hard.
They can’t help but hump their cock against the plush zebra print sheets on your bed. Their jeans are sporting a wet spot from how much pre-cum is leaking from their twitching cock.
“You’re disgusting,” you tell them, “Like actually, I-I can’t believe I’m letting a fucking L-Loser eat my pussy.” Your voice goes all high-pitched at the end when HAnge speeds up their fingers, pulling off of your clit with a wet pop.
“You’re complaining a lot for someone who’s soaking her own sheets,” Hange snarks, voice hoarse.
And Embarrassed, and irritated, you reach down and roughly yank at Hange’s hair/
“Shut the fuck up,” you say, “Or I’ll make you stop”
That puts hange right back in line. Their mouth snaps shut, and you hum in approval.
“That’s what I thought. You're gonna stop talking now?” you ask, staring at them.
And Hange gives you a big grin. Their eyes were wide with lust as they lowered their head back down.
“Yes, Mommy,” they say.
And you raise an eyebrow. It was all you could do to hide the deep spike of arousal that hit you.
“G-Get back to eating,” you moan, desperately pulling them closer to your cunt.
And Hange goes right back to munching, holding your thighs down with one ridiculously strong hand while the other one keeps fucking in your cunt. Really pounding your poor little hole now.
“Oh fuckkkkk,” you whine, “G-God, yeah, right there!”
“S-Shit, you’re gonna make me cum”
The very thought only seems to invigorate Hange. And you can’t help but feed into the Loser.
“Yeah, you like that. You wanna make Mommy cum?”
They get this dazed look in their eyes, nodding furiously, nose nuzzling the curly hairs atop your mound.
“Then do it, Loser, make me cum, h-hurry-”
Your eyes cross before you can even finish. You want to hold eye contact with Hange, so you force yourself to focus. And when you do, when you see the sexy, needy way they’re staring up at you, you can't help the way your cunt starts to pulse.
You feel your orgasm build up from deep inside of you. Winding up endlessly until you finally burst.
You let out a whimper as Hange’s pace doesn’t stop working you through your peak. Your cunt is spasming and squirting right on Hange’s face. It’d be mortifying if Hange didn’t look utterly delighted as they open their mouth, tongue out, and everything as they slurp up your juices, delightedly.
It feels like you’re floating forever before you finally manage to sit up. Hange’s already up beside you. Kissing on your neck.
You roll your eyes at him.
“Seriously? Did you fucking nut in your pants”
Hange smiles, “Oh, I so did”
“And you’re proud of that?”
“It would be more fun if I could do it inside you….” They hum.
“Go finish my work, pervert!.....and maybe I’ll think about it”
— been thinking about doing this event & eventually decided yes & that this will also be a milestone event ! reached a follower count that I'm proud of despite being very inactive. thank you to everyone supporting my account & posts, lesbians & non lesbians !
— if you want to join this pride event (sapphic only fics) let me know, i'll list any submissions into this event on this post ! i want to use this as an opportunity to uplift & show appreciation for lesbian/sapphic writers. all that is needed to submit is a fic of any character you want, again sapphic, & tag the post with ‘#BENI’S PRIDE EVENT !’ & i’ll link your fic & @ you in this post. any genre or trope is welcome !
love you all & once again thank you, mwah <3 first post for this event will be out soon :3
content: this is femlock and sapphic / wlw. masc lesbian reo x female reader.
the night air feels almost icy when you step outside, a sharp contrast from the warm, thick stillness of the event hall that you'd just escaped.
reo walks out of the hall with you. her lavender eyes low and lidded as they observe you, your shoulders rising a little with the shiver that courses up your limbs.
the exposed swathes of your skin glow in the golden lights outside the building, revealed elegantly from between the slits in your clothes, so lovely against the darkness of the late night around you--so lovely, she almost reaches out to touch you.
reo craves your touch like nothing else, really. she loves you. has loved you for the longest time. it's just that you seem to be having a bit of trouble noticing it, and more so when it comes to loving her back.
as reo takes off her suit jacket and gently wraps it around your shoulders for you, you lean back into her warmth and sigh. the exhale of air is tense with irritation, and as you turn your head away, reo catches a glimpse of your face--your pretty, pretty face laced with frustration and hurt.
“hey now,” she says lightly, voice soft. placing a hand over your shoulder, mildly annoyed that her own jacket on your back separates her fingers from your skin. “what's got you upset enough that you wanna leave so early ‘n go home?”
“i got stood up, dumbass.” you scoff. “didn't you see me sitting there alone, without a date or anyone with me?”
she had seen you. she watched you looking around anxiously all night, watched you shrink further into your seat with each half hour that passed, and she’d wanted so badly, to go and take the empty seat next to you. she’d watched you as you watched the couples on the dance floor, bodies pressed together as they twirled around hand-in-hand to the lax beat of the slow songs on loop.
she had wanted to take your hand and lead you to the center. had almost gotten up to go do it.
put her arm around your waist, pull your chest against hers, have your chin rest on her shoulder as she leads you into the rhythm, smelling your hair and your perfume as she breathes in. she'd close her eyes, melt into the moment. enjoy the feel of you in her arms for a few minutes, before letting you go. and then spend the rest of the night pretending she didn't want to pull you back in and kiss you senseless for good.
it hurts, but not as bad as it used to. so reo clears her throat and opens her mouth to tease rather than to confess. “aw, such a shame. maybe that's what happens when you decide you're coming here in my car, you know? should've gotten him to pick you up.”
“who wouldn't pass up the chance to pull up to a grand party in your car?” you laugh, and though it's a humourless laugh, it eases reo's heart a little anyway.
but your next words tighten it right back, as you nudge yourself out from under her arm and take a few steps forward, beginning to pace as you talk. “you. tall, sexy and rich. pretty eyes, pretty car, a gun at your hip and a rose in your pocket. you're the real deal, y’know?”
reo knows. being the upcoming CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate did make her the real deal. the stuff of manhwas and romance dramas, she was real--an untouchable money maker full of allure, with a sleazy smile and her heart on her sleeve.
and it's a shame that it seemed to be all that you wanted her for. people often joke about how she could have as many trophy girlfriends or wives as she pleased. you're stunning! you're rich! you're such a smooth talker! you could get anything you want, mikage.
but in reality, she is the trophy girlfriend. to you--if one could even call it that. and she doesn't mind.
because oh, reo loves you. she loves you like nothing else, almost pathetically so, and as long as you want her around, she doesn’t mind. she can take it.
as long as she can be here for you, as long as she can comfort you and protect you, and listen to your angry ranting and wrap her suit jacket around you when you're cold. as long as she can drive you home, and pick you up the next afternoon and hand you your favourite flowers and your favourite chocolate before asking you which city you'd like to have lunch at, and where. as long as you'll keep turning around and giving her that look, brows furrowed and lips twisted so cutely in reprimand whenever her voice softens a little too much with the taste of your name on her tongue.
“alright.” there's a full minute of silence between you both before reo answers belatedly, realizing that you had paused your talking, waiting for her to respond with something silly or some smart quip back.
that’s how she usually helps you shake it off--but tonight, with how she's longed for you the whole time and how upset you seem to be over someone that isn’t her, she doesn't have the energy for it. so she says it again, a fraction of her hurt leaking into the crack of her voice. “alright.”
“hey,” the heel of your shoes clack against the marble steps as you forcefully turn towards her. “don't you act hurt right now.”
“yeah? and why the fuck not?” the snap is out of reo’s mouth before she can hold back--and she feels the blood drain from her face instantly. “i’m sorry, angel. didn't mean t--”
“and don't,” you hiss, pretty features hardening and eyes going cold as you meet her gaze. “fucking call me angel. or anything, actually! i hate it.” the weight of your words hit her way harder than your fist that lands on her chest, a dull knock at her sternum that forces her to take a step back.
you hate it? it's one of the only things reo has. teasing, sickly-sweet petnames that she can call you and pretend she's just doing it for fun when she means every word.
“i hate you.” you spit, then.
“w--what?” reo stutters, feeling panicked upon seeing that your eyes are filled with angry tears, glittering white-gold in the lights overhead. “stop that--” she catches herself before she can call you love, and hesitates to reach out and bring you in for a hug. “stop it. what’s going on with you?”
she wonders if you maybe had too much to drink. she had admittedly let you pour a few more shots than you usually get, because she thought it might help you loosen up. that has clearly backfired on her now.
“i’m sorry.” you whisper then, posture slumping. walking back into reo’s warmth, you rest your forehead against her collarbone. “i’m just really upset. i don’t understand why i’m so impossible to love. not even love, actually. why does no one want to get to know me?”
reo doesn’t know what to say, because she can’t tell you that every drop of blood in her body sings your name. the wind picks up a little, and her eyes sting with the cold. just the cold.
“reo,” she feels your brows move, knows you’re frowning down in the direction of her shoes. your fist still held against her chest, and she worries that you might feel her accelerating heartbeat and question it.
the night is quickly getting colder, and she can see you're shivering again despite her jacket wrapped around you. she wants to take you to her car, but she's not really sure you'd want a ride from her anymore. “reo.” you repeat, and she's compelled to answer. “i'm here.” instead of what is it, angel?
the restriction was so new, yet reo already felt tired of its ache.
your fist relaxes for a second, but only to grab at her vest and pull the fabric into a fist again. “if we turn, like, thirty five years old and find ourselves still single, can we marry each other?"
what?
reo wants to laugh. she looks down at your hand as you clench your fingers tighter around her vest, wrinkling it in your grip. she looks at your empty ring finger, and thinks--darling, i could marry you right now. i love you.
she laughs a little at the absurdity of it before she answers. “sure. now let’s get you home.”
good pride my children on the phone <33 day 10 pride month and within the past week, i have been put through more homophobia than i have ever experienced before. and now someone somewhere in my building is playing that julia wolf song on piano and it's giving me war flashbacks
