like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots
you got the one thing that i want.
# summary. vi is doing the friendly thing. she’s checking up on you after you rolled your ankle. this has nothing to do with the fact she can’t stop thinking you—nothing at all.
# warning label, eighteen+ only. wc 11k+, older!vi x fem!reader, lesbian level yearning, abby cameo (i couldn’t help myself), gay a$$ sex, fingering, tribbing/scissoring, thigh riding, spit kink, lowkey this is just straight up filth, idk i wrote the smut when i was ovulating, we hate lacey in this household.
# rayne yaps. this is the kinda chapter i’ve looked at for so long that i’m absolutely thrilled to get it away from me. might be the longest smut scene i’ve ever written? been reluctant to post this, it’s been done for like two months. don’t crucify me for that, please. i always get anxiety whenever i post for whatever reason. happy reading! lmk if y’all want more. i have like 15k+ more of this story in the chamber.
series masterlist.
Being a cook, owning your very own restaurant, it's all you thought about during your first two years in college.
A dream you never thought you could be.
Against your will, you did what your parents wanted and picked up your diploma. Walking across the fateful stage, a future they wanted you to have. A business degree is what they pushed you toward to build a better future.
Be better than us, mija.
You deserve so much more than what we could give you.
What they seem to forget is you didn't need much—you wanted their support more than anything—not control, gripping your drive with an iron fist.
After graduation, you abandoned it all to attend culinary school. Disappearing off the face of the planet from all except Lacey. The long hours through the night while working your day job to stay afloat, saving enough to invest in your own future. Not what your parents want, not the expectation of slipping into a conventional life, but what you want.
Even now, it still felt a little too good to be true. But it was your name on the sign. Mel teased you about it—a bit of an ego on that one—the first night only with your closest friends and family. Everyone who believed in you stood by your side when all you wanted was a life that had been easier. A different timeline where it didn’t take all this blood, sweat, and sacrifice.
This isn’t a dream you talked up only for the sake of appearance. It was solid. A building placed on a foundation you built. Something in your life you could always call yours.
The place was a bit more upscale, tucked in a downtown corner where patrons spent more than a pretty penny. An eccentric bar at the center wasn't conventional for a restaurant like this, but it worked for you, and the layout seemed well received by all.
In hindsight, you should have known Lacey never loved you years before she cheated.
She never stepped foot in here once.
Lacey had managed to fuck your senior bartender all the same.
A good friend.
And they had been sleeping together, right under your nose. You thought of the humiliating night, her comment to Violet that made you wanna scream. Even in the fallout, she could never let the obsession go. In all her mistakes, Lacey always found someone else to blame.
Violet did what she always did—cleaned up your mess. All the food you prepped was placed in the Tupperware and carefully stacked in the fridge. The shattered glass on the floor, the knife Lacey stabbed into the wooden cutting board. Everything in your kitchen is clean and tidy. If the fight wasn’t laced into your memory, you could have claimed it to be a mindless nightmare.
Violet had to be the one.
Sevika? Mel? Powder or Ekko?
But you know it was her. The one time she arrives early, and it’s the fight you’d do anything to forget. Lacey spawns you into a wild animal. A version of yourself that transcends from sheep to wolf; a carnivorous jaw wishing to close around the flesh of its victim.
But Violet and I didn't talk. We never did. Besides her charming succession of carrying me up three flights of stairs when I was too injured to walk, it's been nothing but radio silence.
“Are you gonna finally fire her now?” Abby quirks her blonde eyebrow up, wiping the bartop as you roll your sleeves back up, as you enjoy the first lull of the night.
“I don’t have a co-lead for you. As much as I hoped it was an option for you, it isn’t.” Lacey, taking the only other lead, was fucked over by the bartender. Shayne stayed there for a few weeks. Even though it was uncomfortable, her attendance was erratic, and you had no choice but to replace her.
“C’mon, as soon as she started dating Lacey, you had the grounds to fire her.” Abby countered, getting a little too close for comfort.
Abby struggled with establishing boundaries. Partly your fault. Blonde, sweetly muscled, with her whole sweet saccharine act went far. Except, it wasn’t just an act. She really is that sweet, and you’ve fucked her three times because of it. Well, four. Five? Yeah, definitely five. It's hard to forget the time she had you bent over the desk in your office.
Part of her wasn’t necessarily lying. Shayne started dating Lacey six months ago and homewrecked your failing relationship. A cheap screw grew into a quick engagement with a wedding date fast approaching in the wake of autumn.
Summer would blink by, and the dreaded day would be here. The thought alone makes you wanna drag Abby into your apartment until you’re coming apart on her fingers once again. But the last time would be the last. You don't need to catch feelings for someone who works for you.
“Just go check on the shipment in the back, and you might get to leave early tonight.” You’re not talking about your failed relationship again. Or the new one that is constantly being shoved in your face.
Abby does what she’s told, and she doesn’t even question you. You turn around, ready to tend to the next customer at the bar, and you’re faced with your worst nightmare.
“Violet—” A toothpick in her mouth, and a navy-blue baseball cap shielding her vibrant hair. She smiles so gently, like a savior who has found their god-given salvation.
“Mel says you stopped responding to her texts last week and wanted to make sure you’re alive.”
An excuse.
Is she checking in on you now? All because she carried you to bed and let you cry to sleep…why?
What does she want now?
“And you’re here because we’re such good friends.” You start making her a drink. Rum and Coke, if you remember correctly, with a lime impaled on the edge of the glass.
“We could be.”
“Violet,” You look her dead in the eye, “We could never be friends.”
“Why not?” There’s persistence in the way she speaks. Like more is threatening to boil off her tongue unless she gets it out this second, and the more you let your mind wander, the more it chills your core from the inside out. There's no patience within you to deal with another hot head.
“You and Lacey, for starters, were always so competitive, and you hated me because I was her girlfriend in college. Even around everyone else, you would never speak to me. Why would you even want—”
“You think that’s why I never talked to you? Because I was scared of your little girlfriend?”
Lacy wasn’t little. Taller than most, she stands at just over six feet tall. Her lean build and toned abs made her even more attractive. With fluttering eyelashes, she could bat her way into anyone's heart.
For the longest time, you savored that she only wanted your attention, until she didn't. The angles of her face were sharp, sculptured in a way you couldn’t help but look at her.
Somehow, her smile was all harsh angles but the softness of her always persists. Every other part of her was masculine; her muscles, the clothes she wore, and the inked sleeve on her right arm only added to it.
No one even knew Lacey was into women when you were in middle school. Young, naive—exploring what you truly liked, and what you didn't. She had one boyfriend for a couple of weeks before they split. Maybe it’s why it was easy for the two of you. There wasn’t an expectation; other forces weren’t at play. She kissed you at homecoming, and the rest became history.
In high school, Lacey was the best version of herself. Her kind acts never held deceit. She took you on dates, held your hand at any chance she could, and matched the corsage to your dress at prom.
All four years, you were invincible at her side. Others around you—family, friends, and people who liked Lacey the way you did—told you it would never last.
Each of them spoke about your relationship, as if they knew you and her. No one else had an inside view of whatever you had together. For you, this was love. The kind of love that swarms you, and you would commit every sin against god’s reign for only a drop of it.
Lots of people look for it their entire lives. Everyone does stupid, idiotic acts to feel it once. Landing themselves in situations where every bit of them is compromised. At the time, you could only feel gratitude.
Glad you met her. Glad she was yours to keep. So happy to be hers.
Lacey Lave, my girlfriend and the love of my life.
High school Lacey—she's unforgettable. The honey in her eyes would sweeten just for you. The teeth in your mouth would ache each time her compliments fell over you, washing away any doubt that still lingered. In all your time of existence, letting go of her, of this?
You couldn't ever imagine it. She's your girl.
Your sweet, beautiful girl.
Then university came around, the ever-growing winter you could never turn away from.
Whatever innocence of heart she had was pacified. With her right by your side, the whispers of your committed high school love would never be seen again. Lacey never left your side, but with so many obstacles in your way, neither of you could be the same.
Sex, sex, and more sex. No more dates—only fucking. No more whispers of I love you, only when she came, only when you satisfied her. Then she would whisper the words underneath the moonlight.
Lacey made you breathe for her without ever asking if you wanted to.
After college, everything about your life revolves around her wants and needs. Leaving your own out to dry. The cheating dug into your ribs—cracking one or two—reminding you she could apply pressure, break you in two, and you would still take it.
An emotional and mental beating for a moment of devotion.
After the fallout, you couldn’t help but question everything you once had accepted as truth.
Could you mean anything without the isolation of her love?
You snapped back into place when you heard Violet speak to you again. “Lacey was a lot more insecure than she let on, princess.”
“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you slid the drink towards her, and she accepted it quietly, but before Violet could answer, Abby was introducing herself.
“Abby, this is—”
“Vi.” There's a sharpness to her voice. Sizing her up, almost looked impressed. Fuck, you need to get Abby away before she starts spilling a little too much information.
“Oh, so you’re the one who strong-armed her up to her apartment after her drunk ass rolled her ankle. Why didn’t you tell me your freakishly muscled friend was here tonight? You should have had me make her drink. We both know I’m a better bartender than you.” Abby winks at Violet with a smirk.
Fuck.
“Abby—” You try to interrupt her. Violet is eating up every second of your embarrassment. Her smile is blinding as she watches you stutter over your words. Trying to come up with a feasible excuse to change the subject, but you’re dumbfounded when she’s looking at you so brightly.
For a second, you think she might glow from the sun. You’ve never seen her look so warm.
“I love that you’re going around telling everyone about me being your knight in shining armor.” Violet chuckles, “It’s adorable.”
“Okay, I’m not going around telling everyone.” You look at Abby, then at Vi. Both of them are smiling, and you’re not sure why.
The damage has already been done, so you leave Abby in charge of the bar before you check in on your customers and relieve your host for the night. With a blink of an eye, it's thirty minutes before closing, and there’s one lone couple in the back booth. Abby helps Jayce clean up the remaining tables and sanitize the booth.
That's when you see Violet finally removing herself from the bar. She stayed and chatted with Abby in between customers for the rest of the night. You’re slightly envious of it. Of her. She can charm just about anyone.
How lovable she is. Everyone is craving to take a piece like she's cotton candy—it should be illegal for someone to be so goddamn endearing.
Even with your friends, each of them loved her through all of college into the last three years since graduation. Yet, she never would get close to you. Always unapproachable when she chose to be, and then she was smothering you with careful hands and a whole heart when she saw fit. Granted, all of it had been for your benefit.
Whenever you were licking your wounds, Vi seems to be the last place you want her.
By your side.
“Gonna report back to Mel? Let her know I’m alright?”
“Mhm, something like that.”
Violet looks so innocent. The cotton shirt, her loose denim pants, heavy boots, and that stupid hat she looks so cozy in.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to.” There’s no snark in her tone, only the warmth of a blinding sun.
“What did you mean about Lacey being insecure? She told me you hated me because of her, and I believed her. I never had a reason not to.”
Violet nods, her bicep bulging from her shirt as she scratches the nape of her neck, like she’s unsure of what to say next.
“I’m sure even Lacey believed that.” Violet laughs in the process, "Or at least wanted to."
“What are you talking about?” You stepped closer into her space, and she stepped into yours. You're close enough that your chest is pressed against hers, and you can smell her scent of oak cologne. It’s lethal enough to taunt you, daring you to spread an inch closer to her space.
“Do you wanna start this now? In front of your bartender, who obviously has a thing for you. Abby might have been talking to me, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you all night.”
“You’re changing the subject, Violet.”
“You can call me Vi. Everyone else does.”
“I’m not everyone else.”
With a shimmering smile, Violet says, “No, you’re not everyone else.”
The words ring too loud in your ear. You don’t even have the heart to focus on anything else but your heartbeat, which rapidly increases. Each beat accelerates when she looks entirely like home. Right here, she reminds you of how Mel always describes her.
In all the years that have passed, you’re finally open to seeing it.
She’s a good person once you get to know her. I swear, love, the most golden heart you’ll ever meet.
Vi shows up when you need her to. She hates it when I say it, but Vi has this maternal instinct when it comes to the people she loves. In a heartbeat, she’ll put their well-being over hers. Make sure everyone in her life is taken care of before she even looks in the mirror to see the shape she’s in—the most actual embodiment of selfless love that I’ve ever seen.
Give her a chance. There's more that meets the eye with that one. I promise you'll love her.
Not that you would admit it to another living soul, those words had flown off of Mel’s tongue when you were bad-mouthing Violet. You hadn’t even meant to. The words flew off your tongue when Lacey had gotten upset at the harsh words thrown her way. Now you imagine they could have been manipulated into something they weren’t—it could be why she safely had you under her thumb all these years.
Only hearing one side of the story and taking it for granted.
It was the last time you ever spoke ill of Violet. She never even gave you a reason to. Part of you, however small it may be, whispered in your mind that you might have been wrong about her. This entire time, the soul with cold intuitions and a greedy heart was the very person you poured everything into.
“Do you always walk your customers to their vehicles, or do I need to consider myself special?”
“This is actually a premium service, Violet. You should consider yourself extremely lucky.” The summer heat slices you. You’d like to think it isn’t the way she’s inspecting you through her hooded eyes, adorned with something you’re having a difficult time placing.
It slips in moments, sticks like a gravity in others, but the sweetness of honey is as potent as the stars shining in the midnight sky. The disguised feeling of want has been there before, when Violet couldn’t help but steal glances the entire time when she patched you up.
Curiosity begs to know if she caught you, catching her, but this could be better.
You’re not in any position to know what more could mean.
“Oh, I should?” Violet nods in appreciation, leaning against the hood of her jeep as you stop in your tracks. Not an inch closer, but not moving to leave either. Stuck between a hard place and something softer.
The evidently relentless opinion she had of Lacey, as Violet knew her better than you did. You who spent years with someone you knew better than the back of your own hand. An inside joke you hadn’t been aware of, only it was more than that, it was something you suspected not only Violet had been keeping you from, but your entire group of friends right along with her.
You thought of Sev, Mel, and even her sister Powder, with whom you got along a lot better than with Violet. Even Vander, who made you feel special the Christmas you were snowed in and couldn’t travel, welcomed you into their home like it was nothing. The feeling of being something more, your value soaring through the roof, by someone who hadn’t really even known you up to that point.
Vander and Powder had even gifted you a beaded bracelet, which you still wore on your wrist. A physical reminder you were accepted into somewhere, just as you are, even if it was only for an evening. Your fingers fidget with the blue and pink beads, trying to muster up the courage to ask the question that’s threatening to flow off your tongue.
“What did Lacey say to you? Clearly, she did something; otherwise, you wouldn’t have called her insecure.”
Violet crossed her arms over her chest, slightly flexing the muscles in the process, cocking her head, waiting for you to continue.
“It’s really not rocket science.”
If anyone else has said those words to you, you might have slapped them for being entirely condescending. Violet spoke as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. That if you looked only a little harder, you would find what you’re looking for.
“Do you really not remember me? The first night we met?"
“Remember you? Your girlfriend pummeled me into the ground. Cait tackled me for flirting with you. How could I ever forget it?"
“That wasn't the first time we met."
───
Freshman Year, Piltover University. Ten years ago.
Parties came, went, and traumatized Vi to a point she didn't even know why she was here. This has never been her thing. It had been Cait's—a new girl she started seeing—everything had felt right enough.
She's beautiful, intelligent, and daunting in a way that Vi likes. They had a huge fight a few weeks ago. Ever since then? Radio silent. That was a breakup. Or was there even anything to break up? Neither of them had defined anything over the months.
Late-night booty calls, post-sex hair stroking, and cuddling didn't seem to define their relationship, but meeting her mom over coffee on a Sunday did. It was a pure coincidence, but Vi still met her.
She would do the right thing. Cait was here—she would make things right. There's nothing her smile couldn't fix. Caitlyn always told her how much she loves her smile and her puppy eyes, or that's what Cait likes to call them.
Of course, she found her outside. After searching the massive house, she found her on the deck outside. Cait couldn't be more beautiful. She couldn't help but look at her.
Endless beauty with her angelic curves, a mystic-blue Vi found herself lost in. Cait likes to look at Vi when she buries herself between her thighs, and Vi couldn't think of anything better.
The beginning had been nothing but innocent devotion. But it didn't lie in overwhelming hearts—golden purity of the best intentions—none of that. Every time she reached for Caitlyn's number, it would be past midnight. A heavy beat when she aches at night.
Caitlyn came running each time. Eager, ready, and she would be waiting to pounce. Vi would give in to her every need; whatever mood either of them felt, would be satisfied. She makes sure of it.
Until the girl with honey-blonde hair, kissing along Caitlyn's neck, and Vi was even more surprised to see her lean into it. Cait’s thighs spread as the mystery woman slides her fingers underneath her pleated skirt. The moans came quickly—high-pitched and heavenly. Beyond sinful, really. Vi wonders what she would do if there were an interruption to leave her lips.
Stop.
That's supposed to be me.
You couldn't even wait until I made up my mind.
You're just as selfish as I am, Cait.
Is she better than what I can give?
Vi flees the scene, secretly hoping she could somehow erase the memory. She wishes there had been more alcohol in her system. Caitlyn's betrayal didn't feel thick in blood—but it sent an unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Jabs to her ego, she might be able to dissect later.
Sliding her way through sweaty bodies, she finally was able to find herself back in the kitchen, with three shots lined up.
Is she really doing this? Acting like the poor innocent bystander who just got cheated on? Vi, you never made things official—no need to get your boxers in a twist now. Caitlyn doesn't owe you a thing—and neither do you, really.
"Are you going to finish them all by yourself?" Her head peeks at the sudden voice, and fuck, she nearly whimpers, but suppresses the intrusion with a bit of her bottom lip.
Until this, until whoever you are, came strolling around—Vi would have considered herself lovesick for Caitlyn Kiramman, to a point where it actually hurts her. She's had her own part to play.
Unwilling to talk about what they mean to each other. But the fear creeps up, and Vi is useless when the stress of a future that can't be controlled confronts her.
It's what she thought she knew. She likes Caitlyn,and her heart still hammers at the sight of you.
Above all the truths filled with irrefutable certainty, your beauty would be one of them. Crimson-blood dress, velvet and smooth, with a slit on each leg reaching to the apex of your thighs.
Two golden chains keep your top in place as they loop around the back of your neck. The gold detailing on your corset is in the form of crimson flowers, complementing the golden mask concealing the upper half of your face.
The masquerade-themed party, courtesy of Mel Medarda.
But those eyes? The permanence of you? Vi couldn't run if she wanted to.
Somehow, by whatever creator exists, she's granted to live on the same plane with you.
She didn't know how she'd gone this long without knowing who they were. An entire semester on campus, and she had never met you, yet had the indecency to not wait for you.
How fucking dare she?
But her impatience was easier to swallow when your gaze devours her like a succubus, painting the tip of her ears pink. Her chest is painfully warm, and she chooses not to speak, and gifts you with one of the shot glasses.
"Bottoms up, babygirl." You wink at her. Vi can feel herself coming undone. Strong shields, Caitlyn tried to break, and you have done it with a single gaze.
Vi watches you take it, hardly even flinching. Your laughter fills with sunshine when you notice the slight grimace on her face.
"I can see you're not much of a drinker," Vi wants to groan at your wicked grin. She's really not; her face contorts as she swallows. Forcing herself to take a deep breath when you place the lone shot between your tits. "But maybe I can entice you."
Up until this point, Vi could cast this off as innocent. It's a shot with a goddamn breathtaking girl. She could keep it to herself. She could dream about your luscious thighs wrapped around her head, the slight curve of your plush lips when you smile, and the swell of your breasts pushed up by the corset.
You're exquisite and everything anyone could ever need—and if Caitlyn had just been alone, Vi wouldn't have wandered in here. But now the promises they made to each other after they had sex didn't really mean much. Not when there were someone else's fingers fucking Caitlyn. Someone else making her moan, another name to scream. The pitiful part of Vi wished it could still be her.
She's a wolf off their leash. A craving for fresh blood, of any part of you she can get. She was loyal, maybe her heart still could be, but her body couldn't help having a chemical reaction to you.
Yeah, right.
This is only chemistry.
A feeling wired through her bones that she has no control over. This is only science, an archaic craving ignited into an animalistic need.
What the hell are you doing to her after five minutes?
"Trying to get me drunk, princess?" Vi takes a step closer, a firm hand on your hip as she reaches for the salt on your left. Innocently, you nod, but your eyes tell a different story. "Gotta make sure the salt sticks, don't we?"
With one arm, she lifts you on the counter, careful not let the glass slip from your perfect breasts, she plans on having in her mouth tonight.
If Caitlyn wants to fuck around, so be it. All Vi can do is follow the rules. The beer she had before walking in here, the tequila, and the sticky feeling in her boxers are doing all the thinking for her.
For the life of her, Vi doesn't know what you've managed to do, but she's never reacted this contagiously over a soul before.
"We really can't have it falling off. It would certainly break protocol."
Vi licks a strip from where the shot glass falls until her tongue curls around your neck, biting at your ear. More than anything in the world, she enjoys the whine released from your lips.
You don't move an inch when Vi goes and grabs a lime from the bowl, and you're waiting for her to say anything. So, she does. "Be a good girl and bite for me."
No questions asked, you follow her command. Vi lets the salt fall on the top of your breasts. For longer than she would let herself admit, she's gaulking, but before you can say a thing, Vi has made it her mission to command all your attention.
Vi tastes your skin once more, every grain of salt finding her tongue, before she dips into the plush push of your perfect tits. Happily acceptingthe burn down her throat. Like she's done a thousand times before, she takes the lime from your mouth and sucks.
She’s sure to make a show of it for you before she places the lime back on the counter. The salt, the acidic taste coating her tongue, the burn of the tequila swelling in her chest—hooded eyes making their mark on her.
More than anything, she knows she's had too much to drink and seen one too many girls touching her girlfriend, who clearly isn't her girlfriend. What else is she supposed to do when she hears the phantom moans—Caitlyn's ringing in her ear.
It could be the desperation leaking, the jealousy taking root in her heart. Or it could be you making an everlasting effect on her. She needs to erase Caitlyn's moan with yours. She needs something else to listen to.
"I'd give you a solid eight."
Vi smirks, "Not a ten?"
"Nope." Your lips smack, your gloss so shiny. Vi wants nothing more than to have you on her lips. "You'll have to earn it."
"Then let me earn that ten." She leans in and delicately whispers in your ear, "My mouth can be very persuasive, princess."
Vi, you have to give me space. You're suffocating me. We're freshmen in college. How are you so sure about me—about us? If you're honest with yourself, this isn't what you want. What if you meet someone else and you feel more? Want her more than you could ever want me? You can't even say it. Be my girlfriend. It's all elementary, and you can't even see it. Can you? How could I possibly trust you when you don't have the gall to commit only to me?
She was committed to her, but apparently, Cait couldn't say the same.
Caitlyn's fatal line surges Vi forward, colliding her lips with yours in a way only poetry could hold. Each line is tuned to explain every second of a fresh awakening.
The gentle reminder of what it means to be desired in a way that doesn't have to mean anything. You're just a woman she'll never see again.
Nothing more than one night—even if Vi can sense the trance she's in.
When your head bumps against the cabinet, you pull her closer by the lapel of her jacket, smoothing your hands over her chest. Hands of fire making home on her abdomen. Vi is thankful she opted out of a shirt; only her suit jacket conceals her chest.
With a flick of your wrist and your talented tongue in her mouth, you unbutton her until the tape is revealed, the material concealing her breasts and every inch of abs is on display. Vi is looking at your cleavage again, the rapid rise of your chest devouring her into another level of depravity.
Pulling from Vi's lips, you look down, enjoying the dark-pink happy trail—it disappears into her trousers. It's light, even a bit dusty and scattered, but the way your fingers pet her skin tells her you like it.
Honestly, she revels in how you're looking at her. Outlining the rugged ridges of her muscles on her stomach—it feels nice to be the attraction for once. "Or is this what you want? To keep touching me?"
The edges of your eyes widen, and Vi laughs—here you are. The genuine parts of you, Vi can't wait to sink her teeth into.
Almost immediately, Vi gives in. Helping you out, she unbuttons her pants, but you pull down the zipper.
A bush revealed, and you moan at the sight of her, you fucking moan. With your attention divided, she pulls at the black ribbon of your corset that loosens around your bust.
"You can do whatever you like with me." Vi kisses you softly, her tongue reaching out to rim your upper lip, not quite slipping in again. "I'm a bit greedy, princess. So, if you want to fuck your pretty fingers inside me. I'm not going to refuse."
"You're—" Vi watches as you struggle for the rest. Your breasts are giving away, revealing themselves as she thumbs over your nipple, tugging just enough to pull another moan.
"What am I?" You’re teasing her. God, she might come for you right here. No one deserves to be this fucking perfect.
"I have no fucking idea."
At least you’re honest. I can do with some honesty.
"Two options." You're playing with curls on her bush now. Vi can't help but think you're waiting for her to buck in your hand. "You can touch me as it pleases you. Or my tongue can fuck you until you're absolutely spent. Too sensitive to take anymore. Mhm, that’s how I like my pretty girls but I’m a generous woman…so, which one would you like?"
Vi watches as you release your corset, pushing your breasts right where they belong.
Did she fuck up?
Maybe dirty talk isn't your thing. It certainly wasn't for everyone, but she would put money on you staining your panties this very second if you were even wearing any.
Taking your cue, she buttons her pants back on, but you lock your legs around her waist, pulling her closer to you. "We're not doing this here. I want you all to myself."
There's no light in the room. It's pitch-black, with only a single sliver of moonlight. No stars. You're brighter than both. Vi discards her mask, and you do the same. Even quicker, Vi shoves your hands away so she can eradicate your corset this time, throwing it in some deep corner of the room.
Do you know Sevika or Mel? How did you know exactly where to take her? She knows this is one of the guest bedrooms in Mel's home, but how do you? There's not much time to think about it, for her to contemplate unanswered questions.
Your dress goes next. Little to nothing to protect you—Vi knows what she's doing. If Caitlyn wasn't proof enough, she is already well aware of what her tongue does. What she can do with a deep stroke, a thrust of her wrist, a flick of her tongue on your clit.
It's not what she's concerned about. It's what you're going to do to her. She hasn't had this—someone eager to touch her. To please her, to fuck her so undeniably well. She sees it in your eyes, and it’s the only thing she can see, along with shadows highlighting your silhouette.
Vi keeps the tape on her chest, but everything else comes off. She sits on the bed first, and you hesitantly sit on her lap as she beckons you forward. "Do you want to touch me first?"
With no hesitancy, you whisper, "Yes."
"Then you'll be a good girl and do as I say."
With ease, she maneuvers you to straddle her left thigh. You're already whimpering, quietly into her ear. Vi wants to give her name to hear you cry out, but it's better this way. One night of orgasms—one night of control—and then the two of you would be free as a bird.
"Princess," She gives the curve of your jaw feather-kisses. "You're going to be so good for me. Please use me to get yourself off. Be as loud as you want. Or as quiet. Bite me. Scratch me. Whatever you want, but you're not fucking me until I hear you come. Is that understood?"
"Yes, I understand."
Fuck, you're perfect.
Vi takes control immediately. Guiding your hips in a slow rhythm, her fingertips pressing gently into your skin. She doesn't want to overwhelm you yet. Taking her time with you is precisely what she wants. Only when you've moaned a couple of times does she start kissing you, truly kissing you.
It wasn't rushed and forceful like before. It's deep and with purpose. Each stroke of her tongue is deliberate. When she sucks on yours, your hips buck harder, pressing more of your weight into her thigh, flexing the harsh contours of her quads. Vi shifts from sucking to biting on your lip until she draws a bit of blood.
Not even flinching for a moment, you dig your fingers into her hair, trying to gain any semblance of sanity. The desperation is rising from within. You're getting louder, and Vi keeps losing herself in your moans—pretty little cries begging for more.
She presses her blunt fingertips on your hips harder; the friction feels too much for you. Your head is buried in her neck now, but your hand won't stop pulling on her hair. It shifts, the pull reaches the nape of her neck as you ride her like a bull.
"God—I can feel your muscles flexing, every curve—ohhhh f-fuckkkk."
An anguished cry of an angel. Vi craves to be your savior.
"You like my muscles, huh?" Her canines dig into your neck enough to mark you momentarily, "Maybe if you keep being good for me, I'll let you ride my abs too."
"Yeah, baby?" You're losing it now. Vi takes pride as you look at her in the dark; your eyes are the only thing she can make out, and she groans when she feels your slick dripping off her thigh.
"Mhmm. But I really want you to ride my face. Want you to look down at me with your pussy in my mouth, my tongue fucking your pretty hole. Need to see those thighs shake for me, and then if you're good, I might let you turn around so you can fuck me while I'm swallowing every bit of you."
"Goddamn—you're as cocky as my girlfriend." Even with your Freudian slip, you keep on fucking yourself on her.
"Well, it's a good thing mine is fucking someone else downstairs, or I might have the heart to stop this." Another lie, but Vi can tell you’re too blissed out to give it any thought.
For some reason, the indirect mention of Caitlyn sends Vi reeling, so she naturally thumbs at your clit. Tight-pressured circles that have you practically screaming in her ear. There are claws at her back, digging into her shoulder blade when she pinches your clit.
Vi knows you’re done for when your moan travels an octave higher—grinding harder until she can feel every drop soaking her thigh. You’re holding onto her tightly, threatening never to let go.
It's a perfect sight to see. Vi can't help herself as you fuck yourself on her thigh, leaning into the single finger playing with your clit.
"God, you're so filthy." There's so much admiration in her tone. Vi doesn't even care to hide it. "All this for the girlfriend or me you're cucking?"
Your giggle sounds like a shooting star. "She's fucking around, so. Can't be that serious about me."
"Who wouldn't be serious about you?" Vi doesn't wait for an answer. She stands up and cradles you in her arms, laying you on the bed with ease. She pulls off your sticky panties, and you sigh with entirely too much content. "Tell me when you want to stop, princess. I'm only getting started."
──────
Lacey would kill you and the god-fearing, bewitching butch you dragged into your bed.
It all started an hour before you stepped foot in the kitchen. You called her five times, only for someone she'd been fucking to answer the phone.
The moan slices you, the one you know so well, before there's a voice you don't recognize, "Lacey will call you back. S-Shittttt, that feels so fucking good, Lace. Make this pretty pussy yours." And the lines go dead.
You've caught her so many times. The other girls in your private messages. They always begin the same.
Hey girl, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but if I were you in your shoes, I would want to know.
Two years of tug and war, your high-school sweetheart—the woman you couldn't give up on tore your heart to shreds every single time. But you let her, you can't let go. You didn't want to. There's an infinite amount of forgiveness when it comes to the people you love, and Lacey abuses it.
The phone call is different. Hearing one of her conquests was another thing entirely. Mid-fuck.
You cleaned yourself up in the bathroom and headed straight towards the kitchen. Sevika had sent you there to bring back a couple of shots, but that's when you found three full shots and someone you knew would piss Lacey off.
The mystery girl. She's bigger than Lacey. Shorter, but she’s more toned, all pristine muscle and gorgeous freckles. If you're honest with yourself, the most breathtaking person you've ever fucking seen. The suit she's wearing looks tailored for her—Mel’s words of affirmation ring in your head.
If Lacey's going to get hers, make her pay for it.
Whoever she is, she made you come harder than you ever have, miles past whatever the hell Lacey’s ever done—and she hardly even touched you. With her on your bed next to you, she made sure her touch was permanent. Every moment would be severed in your mind, the haze she inflicted on you would surely drown in.
You feel the ring on her finger, the sterling silver chilling as she fucks you with it. She's slow at first, inching her finger in until she feels you clenching around her. Entirely consumed with a curl of her finger that makes you cry out in bliss. "Tell me your name."
"Why would I do that?" She presses another inside, and instantly, you clench, more than once, around her.
"Thought you would want me to scream it." With your back now flat on the mattress, your feet contort in ecstasy when she pushes your thighs apart with her outstretched knee, making sure there's not a thing in her way.
"Oh, I do, princess." She swears when you grip onto her stomach, nails sinking in. "But it's so much hotter knowing you have no idea who I am. All the terribly filthy things I can do, the ways you'll let me have you tonight. Tell me, with fingers like mine, is something as trivial as a name going to stop you from getting fucked?" Her mouth kisses along your neck—the way she fucks is relentless.
"Please."
She doesn't know you would play so dirty. It's not her fault. It's the beauty of a one-night stand. She doesn't know you at all. So, you use it to your full advantage.
"I'll answer your question if you answer mine." She hums with an open invitation for you to speak.
The chuckle she releases is sinful. "And how would we test that theory, princess? The way you're clenching around me right now might be the first indicator."
For a second, you thought she might stop her fingers for a moment, but she doesn't. She only thrusts harder.
"T-There's a, shit, um, this—” You hear her chuckle as you try to find the words through her magic hands.
"You were saying…"
The moonlight starts to come through, and you can see the shadows of her face, a glimmer of her eyes, but it fades just as quickly as it comes. You're left with the deepened shadows of the night, a glimpse of the moon, and her fingers curling against you once again.
With each flick of her wrist, she reminds us how little control you can maintain. In complete honesty, you don't crave the control. Every part of you itches for another touch, another orgasm, any part of her you can obtain—you'll take with open arms.
The need for whatever this may be is far greater; whoever she is, you want this.
"You're diabolical." Exhaling a deep breath, but it has more so the muse of Persophone’s most treasured moans. "If you could let me finish—"
"Princess, you're gonna have to be more specific." She leans over, biting your nipple with her sharp teeth, making you whimper even further. "Would you like to finish your thought, or would you rather have me finish for you?"
Dear fucking god. She's the devil haunting my every dream.
"My friend, Jayce. He's an e-engineer s-s-student and he g-gave me a g-gift last year. This device he calls the hexstrap, and—” Her palm grinds against your clit, and all you can do is buck and struggle to get through your sentence. "H-he is r-really smart, you know? But um, fuck yeah—he made it where the person wearing it can f-feel. You can feel my pussy wrapping around you, coming for you, clenching around you, and you can get off too."
She suckles on your breast, perfectly flicking over it as she laves in every moan you release. "Oh yeah? You want me to feel you? Is that it?”
Her lips capture your response, her tongue leaving your breasts alone before she’s entangling the muscles with your own. You're bucking your hips—you never want this to end. Never want her to escape from you.
"Godddd—"
"You know," She pinches your clit—hard. "I want nothing more than to hear you scream my name. When your chest is heaving, gasping for air, and the only pretty little thought in that brain is me. But what I really want? To fuck your pretty face in the mattress, have you come all over me. Gonna let me take this pretty ass from behind?"
Her teeth latch onto your breasts, marking and claiming territory you give into her freely. It takes a few more thrusts of her fingers, canines breaking your skin, and you're short of breath. Your body is whole, falling into it.
In and out. In and out.
Making a move to close your legs, to squeeze your thighs into the weight of her hand, but she's too strong. You settle for knotting your hands into her roots.
"Look at me." She speaks with so much authority. You're nearly there. With every beat of your clit, you can feel her touch vibrate your senses against each swipe of her calloused fingers.
Even if it's dark, the vulnerability of not being able to close your eyes, to head to her every command is insatiable. The sharp edges of her jaw you can see, and you smooth it over with your fingertips. She leans into your touch, preening when you grip tightly on her angled chin.
You almost kiss her again, and it feels more like a betrayal than her fingers between your legs. You didn't feel guilty about fucking her. About telling her about the strap you hadn't even told Lacey about. None of it—but the stuttering of your heart when she kisses you? It's more emotionally charged than you know what to do with.
A harsh buzz, and your loud ringtone breaks some of the tension between you and the mysterious woman, making you see the stars behind your fluttering eyes. The light illuminates her face again—God, she really is the most beautiful person. Her fingers don't stop, she kisses the tip of your nose, and reaches over for your phone.
"Is this her?" The woman asks, and you barely give a nod.
"Well, wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would we?"
It takes all of two seconds for the apologies, the accusations to fly off your lips before you could even get a word in. You're expecting a weak excuse for a dismissal. This is how the best sex of your life dies.
Lacey is screaming on the other end, and you press the mute button, readying yourself to apologize. But she kisses you, moaning in your mouth, making you feel the vibration in her chest. Tequila-scented lips claiming you with your girlfriend's voice in your ear slut shaming you to hell.
For the first time, you deserve it, and you couldn't fucking care less.
"You're going to have to be quiet, princess." She stretches your cunt with another finger. You've lost count of how many she's fucking you with. The only thought you can latch onto is how full she makes you, the burn of the stretch, and the pleasure that immediately follows. "Be a good girl and argue with your girlfriend while I make you come."
Unmuting your phone, you apologize to Lacey, and immediately bite your tongue as you take the intention curl of her fingers. Under the radar of your focus, she slithers down your body and buries her face between them.
She's making a game of it.
Dear god, you've never been so eager to play.
It's the first time she's allowed herself to taste you from her mouth, that tongue. You can't recover from this. The thirst for her mouth to stay put, using her free hands to lay flat on your stomach, anchoring any movement to fuck your hips into her face. She doesn't let up for a moment, and you cover the mic to let yourself groan.
Free of consequence.
"Are you even listening to me?" Lacey shrills out in annoyance.
You really wish she would shut the fuck up.
"Yeah, I am, but you're being a cunt about the whole thing." You grumble through clenched teeth. There's a moan your mystery fuck is trying to pull, and fuck is she close to letting it release. With every swipe of her tongue, every pump of her fingers, you're unimaginably close to your restraint shattering.
"Do you even hear yourself? You're my girlfriend, and you're treating me like this?"
Lacey won't talk about the woman she was fucking. She knows that you know, but she bets on your inability to bring it up. The fear of confrontation and your need to be kept by someone trumps all.
And she would be right.
"Ohhh—godddd." The woman trapped between your thighs chuckles. Your eyes widen, realizing what happened.
"Did you just moan?" Fucking Lacey.
"Heels. My heels. I—um—fell." You stutter out, hoping to silence Lacey's doubts.
"You know what? I'm done with your bullshit tonight." The call ends, you throw across the room, the glass shatters, but you’re too fucked out to give a damn.
"I'm almost sad your girlfriend won't get to hear this." The pink-haired goddess spits on your cunt, smearing her saliva on your clit before she sucks you into her mouth. Her tongue flicks over your swollen clit, until your back arches off the mattress.
"Harder." You plead.
Then she gives her fingers a final push inside, curling over in that spot you desperately need her to. The entire world melts away when you lock eyes with her, the hooded gaze, the apparent desire pouring out of her. This is holy matrimony.
There's so much more you want to know about her. What shade of blue does she become under the reflection of the sun? Could you make her melt in daylight—with only a warm whisper of her name falling underneath the curse of your breath? For this infinite second, you allow yourself the pleasure of imagining it.
In your drunken haze, the glaze of tequila shadows the future you have always known and trades for another. What would it feel like to be wanted in love beyond chaos? Mel tells you what you don’t want to hear.
Chaos isn't love, darling. Stability is the true equalizer of tranquility. I hope you do find it one day, but I'm afraid it won't be with the woman you love so much.
The entire day had been wine-fueled, the bitter but slightly sweet taste of red coating your tongue, and the terrible nightmares in your mind. The sad thing about it? You couldn't really remember the specific occurrence Lacey had done that month—that week. You do remember the hurt. The ache in your bones when she apologized. The swell in your chest tightened when she promised it would all be a one-time thing.
I'll never hurt you again.
Lie after lie. Since the beginning of university, the entire dynamic you had with commitment and gentleness turned into ash and resentment in your mouth.
Why can't you taste the nurturing honey of a love taken care of?
You hated yourself for wanting it with someone who might be the wrong person. You had imagined yourself with one person; you let yourself be with her alone. There has been no one else. Not even in your most miserable moments had you even reached for another person to keep you company—keep your bed warm at night.
You had always wondered. The question you would always ask yourself…isn't this normal? Other people in long-term relationships have doubts…don't they?
Wavering confidence diminished with each stroke of her tongue. The sinful thrust of her hands. You could feel her smirk radiate from her body when you spin curves away from the mattress.
"You're so perfect for me, princess." She groans into your pussy, and the final one awakens every existing nerve ending in your body. "Yeah, pretty girl, fuck my face, just like that. Give it all to me.”
The pressure on your stomach doesn't try to push you down. No. She lets you do whatever you want. It's not about control anymore; this is entirely for your pleasure. You didn't know how wonderful it could feel. When the other person is making each action with you in the forefront of their mind, out of all the possible outcomes, you didn't consider yourself being the center of attention as a possibility.
This curse of a woman lets you fuck into her face as she sucks, slurps, on every single drop. Your slick coats her tongue, her lips, and it dribbles off her chin. Your whining doesn’t hinder her; it only seems to fuel the impulse she has with you. As if she's been starved for her entire life, and the first taste she savors is you.
This should end here.
Don't take this any further.
Once your body halts the tremors—the unimaginable shaking—her lips make their way up her body. You're thankful you've had so much to drink, and so has she.
You can't remember how perfect this is. How tremendous that the aliveness of her silences your fear. This memory needs to remain in a complete fog when you're driving before the first break of light, unable to see anything else, chasing for the first inch of the beaming sun.
"We can stop right here, princess."
"But you haven't—"
"Watching you was enough. I don't wanna keep you away for too long." She speaks so softly, and her touch gliding over your hips is just the same. Calm. Serene. The opposite of Lacey
You’ll beg for more of it. “You're not keeping me if I want you to have me."
The weight of her body presses against you; you can feel her soaking bush on your skin, and she finally removes her fingers. Sighing with a desperate groan, you lead her fingers into your mouth and suck your slickness off her skin. Continue to let your tongue roll over her skin, moaning as you push your hips against hers.
“It’s inside the drawer on your left.” You pull her directly on top of you, grinding into her pretty bush. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
“Trust me. You’re the furthest thing from my regrets.” Her hips push your body weight down, you wrap your legs around her waist, fisting her hair when she whines in your ear. Urgency drowning in her movements, her lips gliding and soaking in your cum.
“Can you get off like this?” You whisper into her ear, enjoying the shudder in her body. She seems to be too lost to make her lips move, but she nods her head, grinding against your body. If she won’t tell you her name, you’ll have to make do.
You whisper your name in her ear, “That’s what I want to hear, tonight. My name on your gorgeous lips until it’s the only thing you can remember.”
“Okay—yeah.”
She’s more vocal than you would have given her credit for. More needy too. She moans your name, groans when she picks up the space of her hips, moon crescents pressed into your hipbone by the blunt of your fingertips. She lets you hear everything. It’s when she unwraps your legs from her hips, pushing your knees on either side of your head, and a languid drop of saliva hangs in the air until she smothers your dripping cunt with it.
You’re so wet, dripping with cum, you don't need it. Your dream girl is ever the showman.
For a second, she slips back into calm and confident. “Hold your legs there. Don’t move an inch.”
You’re confused, but more importantly, so turned on.
She steps into the moonlight, and you watch her remove the tape concealing her breasts. Blush-pink nipples—pierced with a silver barbell on each one. They’re perfect—goddamn exquisite. Actively, you drool, the desire dripping out of more than one opening.
Slithering back to the mattress, each of her thighs spreads wide when she sits in front of you. With a firm hand, she pushes your legs further, “Once I come, then we’re getting out this magical strap of yours.”
“What—”
She giggles, before her pussy, her clit—body, soul, and mind—all slide with your own before the rest of the world fades into nothing but substance. From how tonight started, you didn't peg her for the vulnerable type. There could be a feeling, maybe a moment you’re missing, but she doesn't give you much time to think.
Mind-numbing, sex. Fucking amazing sex. Sex so incomparable, she’s making everyone you’ve ever been with (Lacey) look like an inexperienced virgin who needs a gentle hand to lead. She’s making it look easy with her weight on top of you, her clit pressed on yours in pure ecstasy as she takes what she needs.
You desperately need her to come apart—you wanted to watch it—and fuck, you want to fall right there with her.
“Are you gonna tell me your name now?” She doesn’t respond, but she acknowledges the words with a smirk.
“Are my tits not enough for you?”
Everything about her is enough. The arch of her spine digs in, her thrusts are faster, and her head is thrown back with a line of curses flying quickly out of her mouth. Your name slips out again, and she watches you grin widely.
She’s close—her abs flexing—her body tightening, and she's getting louder. Obscenely, glass-shattering loud.
“Oh god—your pussy—fucking soaking me—keep on dripping for me—yeahhhh.”
“You’re such a brat, being so fucking loud. It’s like you want your girlfriend to hear you fucking someone else.”
The merciless butch groans with your name ringing on her tongue.
“Keep talking—fuck, need you to keep going.”
“Yeah? What’s there to talk about? Aren’t you going to be a good girl and come for me?”
The desperation from her rattles, her grip is tight as she shifts her weight, maneuvering one of your legs over her shoulder, the leverage enough to rattle both of you. The control you wormed in your grasp was nothing more than short-lived, as it heightens the limits of your imagination. A stranger who has no idea what you like, what you don’t, but she’s picking at all the right straws, in the complete dark of what lies on the other end.
“Oh, I’ll be good, but you first, princess.” She taps her finger to your lips, squeezing your cheeks together with some light pressure on your chin, “Open.”
You know what’s coming, what she wants; her eyes communicate it. That’s why you do it. Giving in to whatever fantasies play in her mind, you’ll give it to her. If it’s the last thing she needs—you’ll do anything to make it a reality.
The languid, wanting spit lands on your tongue. If she spat in your face, it would only have turned you on. She rewards you with her tits in your face, not letting them go to waste for a second. Your body is half bent, nearly breaking, but you’re more sucking on her nipples like she's actively lactating.
Another dream for a different day.
The power of her hips is enough—her cunt crying for retribution with every thrust. She pulls her breast away from your mouth. Two seconds away from turning into a total brat with the mere thought of knowing she could handle it before the woman speaks underneath the softness of her breath, “Keep your eyes on me.”
As if you could look anywhere else.
The invisible string you could feel with her—it couldn’t be explained. Reason and love? It didn’t quite align when her forehead met yours, sending you a subliminal message to listen. The silence cut through, and for a split second, you convinced yourself the beat of her heart could be heard over the rapid thump of your own. With each fleeting moment, it threatens to burst.
She needs this one. This is how she wants it. Soft moonlight bathes her skin, and the treasure of gold repainting her legs. But the real kicker was how much she got off on watching your reactions. Knowing she was doing something good—making you feel good. Letting you feel every curve and swell of her lips. The tickle of her bush against your skin.
You’re almost certain this is tethered to something besides you—but the way she’s looking at you fucks with you more than you’re willing to admit.
Calloused hands slip into your grasp, pinning the left and right on each side of your head, but the roll of her hips is relentless.
You do your best to follow her gentle order, even when the only wish you want granted is to close your eyes, pretend you aren’t enjoying sex with someone else so much. The intimacy corners the guilt—why are you feeling so much?
The comparison between the only other person you have to compare her with, before you can see the shift in her crystal-blue eyes. She’s struggling to keep it at bay.
The imperative need to finish first is again evident in every clench of her jaw. Hunger boiling over, the wolf haunting her dilated pupils, growing with every sinking second.
Control slips like a mask she removes when she wants. The vulnerability is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why you do it. But your lips lean in, licking your lips, before you lock them with hers. Moaning in her mouth, your tongue massaging with hers, that’s what does it for her.
She’s sentimental and sexy.
God, you hope you never see her again.
The cry of her comes paints your walls golden, each moan she lets out is derived from a place of passion you place in your pocket. Only with a few more thrusts, you’re falling into her—two entities morphing into one.
“Love my pussy so much, huh? I bet you do, princess.” She releases your hands from her punishing grip to pace your hips the way she wants, holding you closer as you use her to fuck you through your high. “Gonna make sure every time you fuck your little girlfriend, it's going to be me you’re thinking about.”
You pull her hair, nails digging into the root as she gazes at your beauty through the haze of her pussy-drunk blues. It’s unforgettable. She’s extraordinary, and you know the woman you don't even know the name of will haunt you. For every second you’ll be away from her would be a disgrace to living, a haunting of love never lived.
She’s depraved; A heathen cries of pleasure laced in your name. You won’t be able to let go of her.
How perfect a one-night stand could be. How would you come to learn that this doesn’t happen one any night…with anyone.
The leap in your chest when she kisses you good riddance shouldn’t be the symphony of an angel’s eulogy.
Her blinding-white wings cloud your judgement. Her shadow leaves quietly in the night. The swipe of a hand, mistaking your ring for hers, goes without dispute. It flees to an owner it hadn’t yet deserved.
One you hadn’t even known you claimed—but she would choose you. And the fruition of Violet’s souvenir wouldn’t come to prophecy for years to come.
