Everyone outside the hotel thinks they know you. They know the stage persona, the voice, the eyeliner, the way you destroy yourself on stage night after night. But only Vi knows what happens after the lights go out—how your hands shake after concerts, how exhausted you really are, how badly you need someone to hold you together before you completely fall apart.
tags: explicit sexual content (18+), rockstar au, singer!reader, guitarist!Vi, tribbing, pussy grinding, clit stimulation, nipple play, biting, spitting, finger sucking, weed smoking, praise and teasing, emotional intimacy, soft dom Vi.
The bathroom in your hotel room smells like weed, steam, and your shampoo. The hot water runs down your body like punishment, barely any pressure behind it, but you’re grateful for every drop anyway because tonight’s show was a slaughterhouse, too many people, too much noise, too much of everything. The microphone still vibrates in your hands even though it’s been two hours since you walked offstage, your throat feels scraped raw from screaming down to your guts, your makeup running because you couldn’t even bother taking it off before the shower, and your thighs ache from jumping under the stage lights. Nobody prepared you for this, for this animal devotion, the roar, the pressure of being the band’s singer, of making every show more epic than the last even while you’re falling apart inside. Outside the hotel there are probably another hundred, another thousand fans, all convinced you’re some untouchable goddess and not a wreck of a human being who hasn’t slept properly in six months.
The only thing you have is Vi. Vi, with her razor-cut hair dyed by you, tattooed arms and easy laugh, waiting for you in bed like you’re the center of gravity of the whole fucking universe. She’s completely naked, legs spread, with that hungry look she never loses. There’s a joint between her teeth and she watches you, impatient and amused, while you walk out of the bathroom, barely drying yourself off, naked all the way to the bed where she’s already turned the lights off. Without saying anything, you throw yourself on top of her, crush her under your wet body, and she takes you in laughing, kissing you slow enough that it feels like slow motion. Vi holds the back of your neck, plays with your lips while her hands slide down your back to your ass, squeezing you and pulling you higher against her.
“You know what killed me today?” Vi asks, pulling back from the kiss, voice rough from cigarettes and screaming.
“What?”
“When you hit that high note a few hours ago. I thought your throat was gonna split in half.”
“I almost threw up,” you answer with a laugh, pressing your forehead to hers. “How’s your hand holding up?”
Vi lifts it, flexing her knuckles, all bruised and dry-skinned from the chords. “It’ll fall off on its own eventually. I’m letting it.”
You kiss her hand and look back up at her eyes, not before stopping at her lips first, of course. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stop you. Vi is always willing when it comes to you, no matter how crazy or ridiculously romantic it is. Taking advantage of that, you keep kissing lower, tracing a path to her middle finger, sucking it gently. Vi sighs at the heat of your mouth, your tongue around her finger, and decides to push her ring finger in too, grabbing your chin so she can talk.
“You know there’s an afterparty, right?” she says quietly, pulling her fingers from your mouth even though she doesn’t want to, just to hear your answer.
You nod. “I don’t give a shit about the afterparty,” you admit. To you, one more party or one less never meant much anyway. It’s all the same in the end. “I’m good here.”
“You sure you’d rather have this than a party with music, food, alcohol?” she asks in that low, dirty voice.
“Mm.” You murmur against her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, soft and lazy, teasing her with a small bite that makes her grab the back of your neck. “You’re better than all that, Violet.”
Vi laughs, flips you over in one sharp movement and leaves you underneath her, her thigh wedged between yours. She leans down, kneading your tits, staring at them like they’re something precious, or like she likes to call them, “her stress balls.” She licks one nipple hungrily, moaning before you even do, enjoying this as much as you, maybe more. Vi takes her time, sucking each nipple one by one, biting right at the edge of pain. She talks with her mouth still against your skin.
“We could be on a yacht right now,” she says, “But you want a stiff bed and hotel sex.”
You pull her hair back and stare into her dark, burning blue eyes.
“You can leave if you want,” you reply, pretending not to care while partly daring her to do it. With a glance, you point at the faint smoke still rising from the joint she abandoned on the nightstand. “Give it to me.”
Vi brings it to her mouth, takes a long drag, then parts your lips with her thumb and blows the smoke into your throat while kissing you. You choke a little, the burn sliding down your chest, your mind starting to float while your hands move on their own, desperate, touching Vi’s body like she’s liquid, like every inch of her skin is charged with static electricity.
Vi lowers her hand to your cunt, just playing, like she could torture you mercilessly all night long. Her finger gets bolder, stroking between your lips where she finds wetness. She laughs under her breath.
“You’re sick,” she mocks. “Concerts turn you on?”
“You turn me on, idiot.”
Now it’s your turn. You slip your hand between her legs and rub her clit with practiced rhythm, pressing slow circles, feeling the heat build while Vi curves toward you, mouth at your ear, breathing hard.
“Come on, doll, I know you love making me cum. Do it,” she begs, and the fragility in her voice catches you off guard.
You answer with the same touch, picking up the pace without going too fast, searching for the exact spot that makes her shake. Vi kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulders, biting everything she can until you feel marked and feral. Before letting her enjoy your fingers too much, you switch positions, climbing on top of her, pressing your pelvis against hers until your cunts line up, heat and slick mixing together, your clits searching for each other.
It’s slow at first, just brushing, grinding, feeling the pulse of your bodies and the sway of your hips, sticky skin sliding together, slick overflowing between your thighs. Vi guides you with her hands on your waist, tattoos shining under the dim light, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.
“That’s it, baby,” she murmurs against your neck, already lost in the feeling of you against her. “So good, so fucking good. Don’t stop.”
Vi forces you to grind harder, to crush yourself against her like you could eat her whole.
“Fuck, Violet.”
“Ah, there it is,” she teases quietly, breath brushing your skin. “That little voice. I like that one.”
You bite her shoulder just to shut her up for a second, but she only laughs against your neck, completely entertained by you.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“Then stop making such pretty sounds.”
There’s no sound except your bodies slamming together, Vi’s muffled moans, your ragged breathing, the dull thud of your heads against the headboard, hot crushed tits and the smell of sex filling the whole room. Your mind goes blank, only movement and hunger exist, the need to grind her down until she surrenders, until she cums first.
But Vi is stubborn. She holds on like a champion. So you take control, hook her legs over your shoulders, spread her wide and line your cunt up with hers higher, closer. Then you start grinding again, slower this time, your clits rubbing together, swollen pussy lips slick and hot, heat climbing like a fever.
You look down at her, your pace slowing more and more, like you want to feel every tiny tremor running through her body. Vi’s cheeks are flushed, lips shiny and swollen from all the kissing, and she’s still smiling at you in that insolent way that melts you.
“What?” she murmurs, still rubbing against you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
You don’t answer right away. You just brush a strand of hair stuck to her forehead aside and run your thumb over her bottom lip, soft, almost tender.
“Open your mouth, my love.”
Vi does it without questioning you, staring up at you, trusting, like she’d let you do anything to her as long as it was you. The gesture is slow, intimate, more vulnerable than anyone would ever expect from her. And when your spit falls onto her tongue, slow and warm, Vi lets out a quiet sound that tightens something in your chest more than between your legs. Her fingers sink into your thighs as she swallows without looking away.
“Again,” she whispers, rough and needy. “Please.”
The way she asks makes you kiss her before answering. Your mouths crash together wet and messy, sharing breath and taste without caring about anything else. There’s no disgust, no shame, just hunger and affection tangled together in a way that can’t be separated.
Vi cups your face while you keep grinding together, slow but desperate at the same time. Every kiss feels like she wants to swallow your moans, your soft laughs, even the air from your lungs.
You’re close, too close, orgasm bubbling low in your stomach, but you refuse to cum before she does. Vi looks wrecked, mouth open, begging for more, repeating “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” so you keep going, grinding your cunts together until suddenly her body arches and she cries out, rough and animal, pure pleasure. Heat explodes between you, soaking everything, and only then do you let go too, your legs shaking while your body collapses onto hers.
You stay there for a moment, breathless. Vi strokes your hair, your cheek, kisses your eyelids.
“Now it actually feels like we had a party.”
“We’re disgusting,” you say, but you’re laughing.
“Does that bother you?” she asks, with a hint of vulnerability.
“The opposite.” You kiss her cheek, her forehead, her mouth. “I want you exactly like this. With everything you come with.”
“You wanna skip rehearsal tomorrow?” she asks, grinning with that wicked spark in her eyes. “Stay here all day, fuck and write songs.”
“Otherwise what the fuck are we rockstars for?” you say, kissing her, and inside that kiss, it feels like the whole world fits.
Inspired by Alphonse Mucha's "Byzantine Heads"
It was the first piece from him that popped into my head when I think of this two. Also finally completed them so damn heppi, forced myself to pick up the wips and finished it after 4 months later :'D
( 🗯️ ) 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.
