──── implied college au, size kink, dildo, pussy spanking, pillow humping, poor vi is yearning, sweat kink, praise kink
Pervert!Vi had a pillow she ground her pussy against every time you posted something on your Instagram because she couldn’t stop playing it on repeat and falling in love over and over again. Moreover, it made her pussh twitch your name in morse code so now here she was, making the sluttiest sounds ever, alone in her room, with her poor traumatised pillow.
Pervert!Vi who slapped her pussy in front of the mirror so she could see how her pussy would look if you were to punish her for being such a dirty girl, touching herself whenever she could at the thought of you.
Pervert!Vi used grotesquely large toys on herself so she could feel the stretch. The burn… every time she sank herself down on the huge dildo, she felt her pussy stretch around the length, she made such loud moans that eventually she had to start gagging her own mouth in fear of the neighbours hearing.
Pervert!Vi who hated how obsessed she was with the scent of your sweat, your musk and your panties. Yeah, the panties that she stole from your dorm window. She would sniff them as she fucked herself, eyes rolled back and jaw set so tight it hurt later.
Pervert!Vi who definitely fantasised way too much about you using her body however you pleased because she didn’t even want herself to be pressured at this point. She just wanted you to be happy with her. She just wanted praise. She just wanted to be told she’s a good girl.
she’s old, rusty and stupidly horny — you bet that cute ass violet vanderson’s fucking her sister’s best friend tonight.
cw # 18+ minors and cismen dni as this contains smut, older!vi + chef!vi so be aware that this contains an age-gap relationship (reader's in her late twenties and vi is in her forties, reader’s also jinxs bestie) doctor!reader, blood and injury descriptions, vi is tripping here i love my girl, switch!switch dynamic cuz i'm a sucker for who's in control and who's not (expect sub!vi and not), scissoring, good old pussy eating, shit ton of flirting, spit, some choking, sweet names, degrading ones — yikes.
listen to some tunes for this one // masterlists // 10,3k words.
side note # in screams of agony, i bring you serpentskirt, a love hate fic i’ve been writing since january 18th acording to ellipsus. i’m not gonna lie but this was a pain in the ass so it makes me happy to finally let it see the light — trust me, i needed to move on, i’m kinda proud of how it turned out despite almost going pussy-bald on how stressing this was. still. hope you enjoy what i personally believe its the perfect blend of yearning and smut,,,, i expect your opinion on this one since its very important babymwah,,,,, #art bellow by entr0phea on instagram!!
vi has experienced appetite before.
eyes who swallow and mouth who irks in hunger, she knows what it's like when you experience desire firsthand, how it settles in her lower stomach like a monster ready to devastate. blends like an injection with her blood, turns her primitive in the closed space of the last drop, stupid.
"you remember who she is, right?"
is it a trick question? does her sister know half of what happened a handful of years before? fresh out of school while she was already finishing uni, ready to escape and move out: violet doubts you told jinx about the big crush you had back then with her so randomly, much less about the fact that she rejected you that very same night since she was already busy fucking a classmate, far from looking at her little sister's best friend with something more than a friendly approach — with this in mind, please care to explain when, exactly did you get this fucking hot?
slowly, she regrets being ten minutes late to a party she almost avoided at first, after so long investing this much time in staying away? karma breathes down her neck and it surely catches vi in a low moment of her life, or at least, guilty enough to curse silently while her sister keeps talking unaware of how stiff she is. shit, how long has it been since she last saw you? six, seven years now? time's an illusion created by men when minutes don't pass like as would: you're careless now, unaware that she still exists, cool.
"my best friend from school, you know her-- braces, weird haircut..." let cupid shoot his arrow twice cause you're far from the girl who once was drunk confessing a teenage crush in the middle of a starry night like a secret from the government — "c'mon be smart."
"i am smart--" vi replies offended, is this some kind of punishment for being late to her birthday party? for avoiding her hometown like it's haunted? "i know who that is. the troublemaker friend you had who followed you everywhere."
"well congratulate her and don't be a fucking asshole. she bagged this big job in the hospital of piltover to be part of the e.r team. it's a big night for her too."
the memory of when you were too drunk blurting out your hopes and desires settles in her brain and it's impossible to let go. pulls the corners of her mouth in an unexpected smile cause she can still go back to the words you mumbled between pouts and cheeky smiles, how she was already tired of zaun and how hot that summer was — you went too hard with the vodka, and she is, still too old for you.
"vi?" it's a knot in the throat when you become aware of her presence, say her name like you're missing one star all along, a new planet announced to the rest of the world. suddenly she turns into an old friend you hold close to your heart instead of that never-before-experienced-lover or your forever wonder. "oh god, how are you? jinx told me you were coming but i thought she was daydreaming-"
it's fast and it turns the air toxic as your arms surround her in an unexpected hug: god she's in such deep trouble. impossible not to freeze as her own arms welcome you back; she has the perfect excuse right? since you've been around each other at a young age you're an indirect part of her life, no? — she hasn't known anything about you in years so it's almost fair.
was it the mini-skirt? the way your hair smells as you're that close? she's a sucker for that kind of things — maybe it was the deprivation of good sex for what felt like a lifetime, or the sound of your voice when you talk so close to her. everything's a menace as your laugh seems to fill the entire place; her space at least, so inexistent at that point it makes vi afraid of having her sister wondering what the hell is going on.
"congrats on your new job, doc" it's nothing but politeness sprinkled with bits of flirting, subtle. "turns out you were a smart-ass after all, huh?"
"seems like it, yes-" is that cockiness in your voice? confidence? "thank you. been working hard for it."
"can tell you did" crooked smile, head slightly tilted to the right, she's been on this game for almost forty years: "you've always been annoying when you want something."
"i'd say determined, but yeah" you're now a very intelligent brat who seemed to have every answer to her playful banter. "you're staying long?"
"not much, your friend here's keeping tabs on me so i doubt that i can't leave before" maybe she should be more grateful of the volatile attention span of jinx already invested in another conversation to know what she's even talking about. "got a lot of work to do and i can't stay that long, the restaurant doesn't work well without me."
"well that's nice. j missed you quite a lot," maybe it's the smile that throws her off as you're called by your friends, when other people claim your attention and she wishes to have it all to herself. "see you around?"
"you call the shots, doc. talk to you later."
problems. she has a lot of problems nowadays to add another one to the list.
a sure inconvenience, but it doesn't stop life from making it considerably hard to pay attention to anything else after that hug, after having you so close, talk. it's only fair when she spends a good amount of time gripping her plastic cup too hard, surrounding herself with people who ask her about the job and how she is only to give back half asserted answers cause she lose the track of what she's saying, too damn tired to pretend she gives two fucks about anything else more than the cute friend of her young sister.
are you aware of how interested someone can be in you? how actively she's following your movements around and waiting for the moment to have the tender pleasure of your attention? just a simple conversation. makes her feel guilty when she realizes who she's lusting over, the inevitable years that separate the both of you: she's entering her forties and you're what? 28, 29? too young.
so vi stays on her side of the line. survival mode. avoid any further interaction cause she's too good to flirt with her sister's best friend, too polite to admit you're attractive. instead she turns the other cheek and forces herself to keep a normal conversation — remember that it's her sister's birthday and not a lesbian speed date event.
and plans would keep going amazing if she wasn't already tired of people, if the hours weren't so long and vi wasn't already moody from before. she kisses her sister's cheek before promising to come back tomorrow when the clock hits three in the morning, and she waves her friends goodbye before fixing her scarf ready to face the cold snow that gathered outside the bar: avoid you. she's fast when zipping up her jacket and pretends she's rushing for an emergency more than saving her own ass, not searching for you when the place's full.
thing is? it would be easier to escape from you if you — the prime headache, weren't outside the bar silently smoking a cigarette, if you didn't whistle loud enough to make her look at you. so much easier if the street wasn't empty and you weren't smiling all optimistic as you walk careful not to fall in the frozen streets.
"you leaving this early?" you ask, holding onto your coat to warm yourself from the cold "is the party too boring for the elderly?"
"twas a long trip" vi replies politely, now under the cold light of the moon and the reflection of the light in the snow she's capable of seeing you better, be a witness of the new details on your face: every mark on your skin, every line.
"so you're leaving without even saying goodbye instead."
"i'm not-" is there any excuse? like a teenager that's caught doing something wrong, vi's mouth rushes into a line at the lack of words — "are you supposed to even be smoking that, doctor?"
"this? nah, it should be the last of your worries." why is there something hot about it? about the way you lean against the wall of the last drop, the dim yellow light of the street lamp projected in your face, "trust me. this holds my last bit of sanity together-- do you really have to leave so soon? none of my friends wanted to join me here since it's too cold outside, c'mon. just five minutes. i'll let you leave when i'm done with my cigarette."
"well, it's freezing here your friends have a point" there's no doubt when she never thought twice to accept your words, almost embracing the failure of her plans as she sighs in fake annoyance, turns out she's quite bad when it comes to acting. "go on doc, smoke. i'll join you in your rush of sanity."
that's how she signs her ultimate contract with the devil in the end, when she stays still right next to you, silent, distant, deep in her thoughts: it may be the first time she's talking to you decently, so if the tension's palpable? you are good at ignoring while filling the air with a distinct smell that made her scrunch her nose in disgust.
"so," vi pauses for a second, too bad at small talk. "doctor, huh? always thought you were going to be something annoying like a lawyer."
you hum, and it's the most delicious sound vi can ever hear from over the distant noise contained in closed doors, savors it in her tongue as you speak again — "yeah, found out i really like to help people. be there. i wanted something to feel i dunno, tangible i guess-"
"so you turned into mother teresa, then?"
"shut up" you laugh, she does it too when pretending to be hurt from the push you playfully give her, even when in reality she can barely feel it under so much clothing, "and i also wanted to prove people wrong. i don't think anybody had the faith in me to do something like that."
"all of them can go straight to hell," fuck's sake, is she a five-year-old that can't keep her thoughts private? "people are used to do that, think you're less than what you really are."
"yeah they can go straight to hell, you're so right." man, why are you looking at her like that? pleading eyes, big smile, like some simple words found the path close to your heart and you just remembered why she was your crush back then when you were young. "i'm really happy you're here, vi. jinx missed you a lot and its nice to see her this happy in her special day."
so vi tries to find a rational explanation to why her heart skips a beat the way it does, resting her back close to where you are to the point the mix of the smoke and your perfume installs now in every corner of her mind making it severely difficult to not get invested like she's currently getting that night and wonder, deep down, if that crush you once got is still there gripping to the last bits of sanity that remains: impossible.
"thanks for being there for her," — "i don't want pow to be alone while i'm not here."
"well she has me, and ekko" you add, "she's been my best friend since i can remember, family. i fear she's stuck with me too."
"stuck with you, huh?" her brows furrow slightly at the thought. "poor pow. you two being annoying is something you can never get used to."
"teenage years were crazy" you chuckle. "a fever dream and my peak of embarrassment."
"why so?"
"please, as if you don't remember," how could she not? you're good at roll your eyes and play with the cigarette between your fingers as if it keeps you grounded, still and not nervous at all.
"do i, now? a lot happened while we grew up-"
"so you don't remember when i told you about my massive crush on you?" you question curiously, interrupting midway. "i literally spill my guts to you mid party. awful night, but i would be offended still if you forgot."
you're so casual while saying it, unaware that vi's soul drops in the very same second, almost losing balance as she can feel the heat coming from her insides staining her cheeks, burning her bones with fever as she crosses her arms right bellow her chest, suffering: how can a cigarette last so fucking long?
"i was trying to be polite," she tries to defend herself from your bad look — "you were so drunk it's really a miracle you can remember half of what you said back then."
"yeah, i know. it doesn't count either way" holding the smoke in, you kick the snow that gathers at your feet aware of the weight of her gaze. "sorry if i weirded you out-- i was young and full of hormones back then. adolescence is pretty rough."
you're aiming to play dumb, and she's willing to play along in anything you decide at this point, indulge you a bit, keep feeding that spoiled attitude bubbling like champagne; and the universe itself knows that vi would love to keep flirting there, truly. yet she suffers from the epitome of bad luck when she's trying to avoid the most random accident, unable to answer — so fast it does not give her enough time to blink.
how did you trip? was it the snow? did she get in the way? it doesn't matter when she's trying to save your butt from touching the freezing cement, strong arms that hold you and help you defy gravity before you hit the ground but does not stop your savior from losing balance herself: the pavement's froze due to the weather, and it's hard to stay on her feet as she lands on the snow, somehow avoiding a bigger injury.
"oh god," she can hear you as you get up by her side, kneeling in front of her. "are you okay? did you hit your head?"
maybe it's the doctor part that kicks in, makes vi wonder for a moment. your hands are gentle when you slowly touch her face, gaze searching for her blue eyes in any sign of confusion or pain. it's dangerous, how much she enjoys it even when your hands are super cold, worried about her while you ask a bunch of questions she ignores since it's difficult to pay attention to a single word you say more than the worried look in your face this close.
"don't move, take it easy," you pick the perfect path to your future it seems, cause you're not even half as affected vi is that moment, professional even when her heart's beating loudly in her ears, palms sweating against the snow, stupidly nervous. "talk to me, yeah? tell me how you feel, vi."
"is this how you treat your patients in e.r, doc?" — "you truly a lifesaver."
"how many fingers do you see?" ignoring her tries of flirtation, you're definitely good at doing your job, make sure she's alright, and vi? man, she's loving every second of it, having your eyes scanning every inch of her face while your fingers touch the back of her head, your eyes on her own: there is no need to even ask cause the answer would lack coherence.
it's a fact that the closeness got her speechless for a moment, cause she cannot think about an existent number when you're like that, when your brows furrow in concern and she can notice a wrinkle or two now that she's too close, now that she can smell your nice and sweet perfume again and you're looking at her like she's the only girl on earth.
"hi there, you here with me?"
"uh, three--"
"what?"
fuck. she needs to look again before correcting herself — "fingers. i see two fingers. sorry."
"can i touch you?"
"uh, what?"
"your head, vi" your smile is beautiful even from where she is, still freezing her ass. "i need to see if there's any wound or irregularity in your head."
"oh-- yes, i'm sorry" god, she needs to get a fucking grip.
your hands are already in her head wandering around her pink hair, gently they touch unaware of how devastating it is for a person who has endured solitude as a way of living, how she crumbles and wishes to have further beyond.
"are you in pain?"
"well, not really."
the world turns silent for a moment, her mind finally stays shut and the moment seems eternal in the pages of her head. fuck. fuck-fuck-fu--
"i think you're okay," can you realize how she's flirting with you and not caring about anything else? how she's looking at you now that you're busy touching her? "it was just a scare."
"you think i'll live?" you laugh at whatever she's saying and it has no right to be that delicious; not even pretending to be normal when you stare at her eyes checking on the size of her pupils: were you always this composed? this professional. "tell me the truth doc, i can handle bad news."
"you'll live, unfortunately" funny. it's the alcohol who makes the pink-haired stick her tongue out in response. — "don't hit your head again, though. try and keep your old ass out of the emergency room, can you?"
"dunno ma'am, i suffer from bad luck in this city."
"then i'm afraid i'll be seeing you around more than i want to, huh?" are you flirting with her too? she's having trouble to tell as you offer her a hand to stand up from the floor. blame it on her head. "thanks for staying with me while i smoke."
gentle, your voice's like a kiss on the cheek, a reward. it may be awkward for a second and vi's unexpectedly happy when she can notice you're nervous, nervous as you go from one side to another, as you play with the ring in your index finger, as you avoid looking at her as if you were back to being seventeen and she's still that cool uni girl too busy to pay attention.
"it wasn't so bad," even if her ass hurts and she will get a bruise or too. "thankfully i got you to take care of me, doc."
now this fucks with your head entirely, when she kisses your cheek goodbye this time and shoves her hands inside her jacket, watching you leave like it was the worst vi experienced in her life.
"are you going to stay in the door or going in?" the girl teases you when you stop mid-way the entrance — "can't keep the door crowded, an emergency can happen. you know that stuff."
"going in," unsure, you have to turn back to look at her one more time. "i'll see you around, right?"
it's just a simple question. not that deep. not that important-- yet the way you say it? makes her gulp the saliva contained in her mouth cause it's the tone you use, how your fingers grip the wood of the door nervous of the outcome, nothing but you gathering enough courage to admit you want to see her again somehow. subtle. almost a delusion of her own mind.
"you bet, peach." she likes your smile almost too much, how some words can lighten up the entire night. "take care of yourself for me and don't go falling around in this bad weather, yeah?"
lesbian things are happening lately.
vi can tell.
now.
it's actually funny when vi's in the emergency room two days after.
the place is full, the heat is on and she can swear she's paying some kind of punishment due to the miserable crying of a random kid for the last 40 minutes while she's there installed in the uncomfortable black chair of the waiting room with her sister, holding onto her arm with a new white cloth she was given by one of the nurses like her life depends on it.
it was all an awful joke.
i mean-- she was helping jinx with some house stuff vi could totally explain. sane. it didn't hurt that bad but still she wanted to get checked out either way cause — well, she would love to see you again, and it's clear that she does not know how to put it in words like a normal person would, ask for your phone or admit she's interested, so instead? she's at the hospital.
bleeding.
cause she's a noble knight. the most helpful sister.
and she kinda needs stitches.
so she remains optimistic the first hour: it's a big emergency room and the place is chaotic, but she chooses to believe that she can find you amidst the chaos, that somehow you'll end up being her doctor; by the second hour though? she knows it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, that you may be busy, that it may be your day off, anything to make her remember why she hates coming back to the city so much.
hours seem eternal before she's finally called, still holding onto the bloody cloth now seated in a stretcher that's much more comfortable than the chair from before.
"pow, you're making me nervous like that-- i'm fine," she's thankful for the silence before her sister insisted on walking from one side to another — "they're not going to come any faster if you burn a hole in the ground."
"i know, but i'm both worried and bored," jinx later adds, a dangerous combo. "m'gonna go find my girl. maybe i can speed things up."
"wait no--" it's too late when jinx's already leaving to admit it's a bad idea, invisibly cuffed to the hospital bed as the silence finally fills the room and vi can enjoy a moment of silence without side quests: turns out enduring the waiting room was the first part of the task, now she needed to wait for the doctor to appear.
ten, fifteen minutes, she knows her sister has the attention span of a sardine so there are strong chances of vi being left behind for an iced coffee and something nice to eat, yet minutes don't matter when someone is waiting outside the door — someone whose voice can be recognize from before.
"good evening miss--" holding on to some papers in your left hand, she can't help but check you out as the black ambo uniform seems more than comfortable for 12-hour shifts, pretty even."vi? what are you doing here? what happened?"
"hi- uh, i was helping out pow," stupid. her brain turns stupid with you near and it's much worse to admit how she made a huge mistake to you than to anyone else — "she wanted the chimney to work so i was you know, chopping some wood."
now. you're worried, she can tell when your brows furrow and your eyes scan the blood on the cloth she was using, you're quick to disinfect your hands again with alcohol gel and enter the action under your big glasses, get on her side.
"let me see," you ask before inspecting the wound. "well you gonna need stitches, but i need to know if anything's infected here, was it with the old axe?"
"yes,"she can handle pain, always been good at the uncomfortable — yet nothing prepares violet for watching you in your zone, when you scan every inch of her teared skin under gloved hands and a serious expression while she's there feeling dumb as fuck.
"who's idea was this?" you ask, going back to the computer on the left, already writing orders for the medicine you need and creating a new tab for vi's medical records to include the incident that just happened. "cannot think of a worse idea than chopping wood with a rotten axe."
"me," it makes her blush when admitting it, and while you talk with the nurse, vi's actually happy you're distracted enough to not realize how she's already hiding under a pile of shame. "i was doing okay until powder distracted me."
"so all of this was your sister, huh?" it's all an effort to distract her from the pain, but standing there in front of her with your hands in your waist like you own the entire piltover hospital? she'd let you do anything you want without saying a single word while you wait for the nurse to come back. wait for hours. "i'll numb the zone with lidocaine, yeah? it will take a couple of minutes, i'll check if it's infected and after that? you're good to go home with some stitches."
"what if it's infected?" the pink haired ask curiously while looking at the dried blood on her forearm.
"it's not a big deal," you reply calmly. "the wound's not deep, so you would need some strong antibiotics instead of surgery. nothing alarming."
"i trust in your judgment, doc" she's too optimistic to even think about surgery, cause there's no other doctor in the place vi would trust her life with. "i'm happy you are here-- i mean. for good luck purposes."
"good luck purposes," you repeat her words with a laugh. "i like that."
and the universe must know vi would like to keep talking, flirt until it's evident and she cannot longer hide the adrenaline of being interested in somebody, even if it's the hot friend of her younger sister who mind the world — it's definitely too young for the population to approve; yet it's impossible when the nurse's interrupting any try to keep on talking and the pain of the needle takes her for surprise the moment she's applied lidocaine to numb the entire zone.
flirting at what fucking cost?
"thank you nellie" you say, and vi may be biased but you're made for it, to offer that calm smile that says everything's okay, keep being professional while she's in cloud nine trying to keep her shit together, not be insanely ridiculous. "good news. your arm's not infected so you won't need antibiotics, only stitches."
"at least something nice."
"so. you ready for me, miss vanderson?"
"please be kind--"
so she's blushing again to the point that big ass needle you hold is nothing against her own sabotage, inevitable when she's staring at you. you are fixated in her arm, in doing a good job — so she's allowed to look, right? not be very subtle about it, she's stuck in that problem cause while you work vi's invested, invested in your lips there under the white lights, in that fucking uniform, in every detail, mark, scar as if roles were reversed now and she's the one pinning after someone that's out of reach.
"does it hurt?"
"don't feel a thing, love."
who cares about pain when the shape of your smile may or may not be imprinted in vi's memories? afraid she would miss something if she dares to blink, clear now about her intentions even when she doesn't have to admit it out loud: yes she's interested in you, yes, she wants you like this, so close she can smell the notes on your perfume, so close vi can tell you're nervous. there's no point in dismissing what's clear, in denying she's seated in a hospital bed, wishing-- begging, you'll look up and notice she's centimeters away from giving up the nice behavior she insists on pulling up.
you do your work in silence and vi's inevitably absorbed by it, not even wincing when the needle pierces her skin over and over again and she's attacked by a weird feeling running down her spine when the thread stitches the parted skin together. your chest follows a path in controlled breathings, and vi's eyes can't help but follow the inviting path of your neck, that necklace that hangs over your uniform and makes her waste time wondering how the charm would settle in your chest, half romantic half perv.
"you don't have to risk your health to have some time with me, you know that, right?"
there's no time to panic, and it makes her shiver even under your gloved hands, a smile that pulls the corner of her pink lips upwards in an unexpected smile. midway through the stitches, you face now turns her way to demand an answer, yet the only thing vi can think about is the lame reply of:
"so you think this is for you?"
"is it not?"
the game's immediate. the sudden tension, the way the air turns hotter the moment you respond and it's fun, it's interesting, stimulating in ways vi thought they were lost for the next eternity. you're a little monster and she can almost feed on it.
"if you're so intelligent peach, then please enlighten me: what do i have to do so i can have you more to myself?"
"you can do something else more than just look at me for starters," you reply before going back to the stitches you were working on, making her chuckle at your response — you're far from the shy kid who blurted out some teenage crush, medicine makes you grow guts. "i mean, you've been doing it since jinx's birthday. like you'd eat me for breakfast but can't seem to do anything about it. bit boring."
"interesting. so you want me to make a move on you?" a dumb smile takes over vi's mouth, impossible to keep it shut. "you do realize i'm way too old for you, right?"
"how old are you? forty? forty-five?" you question. "that's not old."
so she'd love to respond, say something in return since you decided to be such a smart-ass, but her sister's coming back with a cup of coffee before vi could think of a decent reply and you're greeting her without looking cause you're too fixated on stitching her skin like an embroidery set.
get in the fucking line.
"i was looking for you," the blue-haired says sipping on her drink. "i wasn't going to accept any other doctor so i was outside fighting for my sister's rights."
"we're a bit full today--" you explain as you finish the last stitch, turning to look at your friend as if you weren't shamefully flirting with her older sister mere seconds ago. "but there you go. stitched. i will cover it down but when you get home? let it breathe for a while, yeah? it's an open wound. clean it, protect it, change pads every 4-5 hours."
"sure thing doc."
god, that damn nickname.
the process after is annoying, boring and a waste of time when vi wants to keep talking to you, go further and beyond with her sacred flirting tries, make you zoom out just like she does when you fuck her brain up: make you useless as a way of revenge.
an hour later powder holds a good amount of papers as she walks close to her sister. hands in her pocket, vi's surely disappointed about the fact that you disappeared the rest of her visit, not seeing you again after you explained the painkillers she needs to take and clearly — ruining her plans of finally asking you out.
it wasn't so bad right? you're old enough to reject her if you feel like it, she's old enough to be salivating over her sister's best friend.
"turns out she was really busy," her sister rants as they reach the exit. "good thing is her free day tomorrow, i can't imagine the kind of stress she goes through working here every day."
dates. dates. dates.
"vi!" she think she's going delusional after hearing your voice until powder calls your name surprised, an un-gloved hand that reaches her arm to pull her aside: did you run after her? man, bless this patient-doctor confidentiality cause it makes immediate sense in her brain somehow when jinx stays behind, "you forgot this."
she didn't. the medicine you hold does not belong to her but vi takes it without even thinking twice. shove it in the back of her jeans pretending it was something quite important to have a doctor going to the waiting room on her own free will.
"how kind," she replies instead with a warm smile despite the new pain in her arm as the lidocaine dissipates. "what would i do without you?"
takes you off for a minute, as if you're going to have a headache due to how hard you keep thinking about it — "i dunno. would you have a date with me?"
"yes, gladly." pathetic, she can't even pretend to be cool these days.
"friday night?"
"sounds good to me."
"my place?"
"got yourself a deal, doc."
"amazing," you say with a victorious smile."bye j, see you around."
it's fast and you go directly to the point (is it possible to like you even more?) — even when you turn around to go back to the restricted area and she stays there planted in the same spot afraid of growing roots until she dares to remember where she is and how to act normal again, breathe, walk, act as if she's not affected by your ideas, your direct questions, you.
"what did she say?" her sister asks curiously as they leave together, almost running to catch up with vi's fast steps as they reach the car.
"nothing. something about the antibiotics."
"ah sucks, you have to take medicine--"
"at least i got all my fingers, s'not that bad…"
"well that's a way of seeing it sure."
violet vanderson's a filthy. fucking. liar.
she's a rare optimist when her fist finally knocks the door.
standing outside feels like an eternity before you finally open, nervous like a teenager facing her first date ever before registering the chaotic scene developing — apron tied to the waist, she's sure there is food in your hair and dried something on your shoulder.
"is this a bad timing?" vi asks curiously as she takes a look inside your apartment, small, cozy while a warm light falls to stain your white walls just like she imagined.
guilty smile, you shake your head in denial as you wipe your hands in the fabric of the apron.
"no, please" almost ashamed you fully open the door to give her an entire glimpse of your personal life, silently inviting her in. "thought it was a good idea to impress you with risotto. it's not working currently."
it delights her, head that tilts backwards when the smile transforms into a laugh she cannot contain now noticing the dried rice in your clothing, the messy bun and the face of guilt. she takes off her jacket since the cold's cruel on the way to your place only to leave it on a chair nearby:
"you want me to take care of it?" she's a chef, right? with a known restaurant back where she lives — she definitely should have no problem with it. "the rice, peach. i can help you with the food."
"no please, don't want to make you feel like i'm taking advantage of you," you quickly reply worried. "we can go out, i know a good place nearby."
"nonsense," vi says instead as she gently takes your hand, pulling it slightly forward as she searches for the kitchen where the smell is coming out. "you're not taking advantage of me. i want to teach you how to do it."
at this point? god, she wishes you would take advantage, do anything that implies your good. letting go of your hand, she hovers over the rice casserole with a furrowed brow — half smile of contentment when it takes the famous chef no longer than a minute to actually notice what is wrong with your dinner tries, turning to look at you with a pleased expression.
"c'mere, i see where you are wrong," the pink haired mumbles, and she could very well explain it out loud from where you are standing currently, yet she refuses to keep that nonsense of not being interested any longer as her hand finally finds your waist and she uses little-to-inexistent force to pull you closer, so close you can feel her breathing subtle and barely there against the back of your neck. "that's not the correct rice for what you have in mind love, nor the right temperature."
her words are similar to a kiss, tender and bruising to the soul. no one's looking when her body drags itself closer to you so there is no space left and pretend she's fixing the rice you did before even when she knows, damn well, that it has no way to be fixed truly.
the skin of your waist feels hot under vi's fingers and it makes the chef volatile, lost in the seconds she's able to get by luck.
"is there a way to fix it?" you ask before she gives you a bit of space, "or do we have to start all over again?"
"oh you messed it up badly, i'm afraid." dramatic, not entirely true, she just wants to see your face. "but don't worry sweetheart. i can handle it."
so she tries not to look your way when you sit next to her, up in the counter to have a full view of what she's doing and vi has a hard time not wanting to think about it — it's hot as fuck.
not many times in your life you can have an award-winning chef in your kitchen trying to fix your mess, walking around like she owns your place more than you ever did. she puts on the purple apron you used before, and your eyes wander on their own inevitably as you help her tie it on her back: all is fucking trouble.
it would be better if you weren't a pervert all along. if you weren't salivating as her muscles flex each time she moves your wooden spoon resting in the pan. you are that kid again with a massive crush as you swallow the saliva contained in your mouth, risotto. what a good thing it is to fail at making risotto.
"i will steal those mushrooms," she's concentrated and there is something hot about it as you're there, installed next to the greatest chef you know. maybe its the kitchen fire that keeps making you feel warm, or the pink-haired who keeps adding stuff to the casserole to save your ass.
"smells good," you praise, hoovering over to smell the vapor coming out. "you really are a top-star chef, huh?"
"wanna try?" she asks, not even looking at you before adding, — "open up."
kinky, it is a wild ride still. turbulent as your lips part on their own and your eyes close to make this fucking sound it makes the chef hold on her breathing for a second as you savor the taste of a simple mushroom risotto. what's crazy here? the way vi cannot get a grip of attention in anything else other than your lips opening for the spoon, how your face distorts and what's supposed to be close to a moan.
"any thoughts on it? feedback?"
"you do risotto's back in your restaurant? holy shit, vi" you look up to her face and it does things to her, so much her thumb works on its own when it goes up to the corner of your mouth to wipe the excess of food there, makes you hold your breath as she takes the rest of the food back to her mouth to eat the crumbles.
"i do, but a fancier version."
"it tastes amazing," you say, licking your lips. "no feedback, i want a full plate please."
it feeds her ego, clearly. she's so normal with it, throwing species, smelling how its going — "its impossible there's nothing you want to change, no dish is perfect love."
"you're just pushing me to say something."
"c'mon. be brutally honest."
"then be careful with the salt," your comment makes her laugh before she's tries the risotto on her own, looking at you with a furrowed brow as you show your hands as a sign of innocence — "you told me to be brutally honest."
"yeah, but you're talking out of your ass" vi says not looking at you as she tries the risotto again. "'cause well, i haven't add any salt, that's what you poured before."
that's where it messes with her head. the intimacy of it. the way you laugh at her stupid jokes and her double intended comments, hands gripping the edge of the counter, messy hair, you let your guard down when she does and my god — it's just what vi needed, that injection of adrenaline that keeps her body awake through the course of the seconds, interest, that damn tension that comes every time she stares at you more than she should.
the smell fills the kitchen, makes it warm and inviting to be in, maybe that would explain why she installs between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as she reaches the plates you signal over your head. close. aching to trespass that miserable space left behind she left to be educated.
"you hungry?" she dares to ask.
"starving."
appetite.
how was it again? violet vanderson's used to experience the devastating appetite.
when minutes later she's full and resting your legs over hers, a simple touch that makes vi's mind run wild with imagination: twenty minutes alone with you means an eternity of longing, of craving something forbidden, unsatisfied hunger.
"what are you thinking about?"
can she be honest right now? not really, not when her hand rests on your upper leg and her thumb constantly rubs on your naked skin, when she doesn't give two shits about the cold risotto whose remains lie now on the table long forgotten.
"you're usually bad at cooking risotto or is it a general thing?"
"this would be offensive, but most of the time i'm too tired to cook or live," you reply before eating again, savoring each bite. "you'd be surprised but take-out works wonders if you know how to choose the place."
"so you're not much of a party girl either, i see."
"after a 12-hour-shift? all i crave is my bed, i have no time to flirt so i just go straight to the point."
"that's why you invited me to a date where i have to cook?"
"yeah. you can say that, thankfully you accepted it cause it would be extra-crushing to be rejected for a second time" it's crazy how you lack inhibitions now, how any trace of shame is now gone to the point vi can hardly tell you were full of it when you were younger. "most people would say no thinking it's just a code to have sex but to be honest? i cannot think of dressing up to go outside with this weather going on, plus fridays are always brutal."
a fake moan, vi's fist closes right over her beating heart before her eyes follow in a pained expression — "so you don't want any sex? i'm hurt, peach. i feel misled."
"please, as if you're not too cool for me."
"cool?"
"michelin chef who lives far away from here and never comes to visit? that's pretty cool."
"so that's what you think of me, huh?"
"you always knew i found you out of my reach," you comment as you finally finish the risotto — "i'm positive you thought the same too."
"well, uh, you talked too much about the lord of the rings back then."
"fuck off. you cannot say eowyn's not hot," her brows furrow as you prove your point: still a nerd deep down. "i don't know, i was young and you were so confident about liking girls, of being you despite what people think-- meanwhile i was trying hard to believe i wasn't a lesbian at all, you can't blame a girl for a crush."
"for the record, i think you are far too cool now."
"do you?"
"you saved my arm," vi replies showing you the covered injury that landed her in the emergency room. "that's a cool thing to do, doc."
"i studied for that, tons" you laugh at her remark, staring at the white bandages that cover half of her arm. "how is it, by the way? pain too bad?"
"amazing since i have the best doctor in town to take care of my ass" it's a beneficial position at this point cause you're far too comfortable to look at her covered arm, stupidly close to where she is seated, tangled legs, vi's grip still on your thigh with no intentions of leaving. "you'd be surprised by the benefits that it can have."
"you shouldn't be forcing it so much-- the risotto, the date…"
"yeah? you think so?" do you even realize how close you fucking are? are you doing it on purpose? your body leans against her own and it's a heat that turns impossible to control: she's wearing a tank top for christ sake and you're on a black shirt she's sure you wore at work earlier thin as parchment paper. "cause all of that was your fault, you know? the date you invited me, the risotto you messed up, you're the one inciting me to do things when i should be resting."
she's not bothering to hide it now (never did), that flirt, that constant back and forth as you seem to have an answer for everything. it's tangible and there is no point to regret it cause well —, you're flirting back right? allowing her to touch you like that, with that half smile pulling your lips upwards in a charming smile even after you're tired. it may be the most relaxed date vi has ever experienced in her life, and weirdly enough the best, so when she's using her index finger to pull you closer to where she is, it's nothing but the cherry on top; the sweetest dessert and what both deserve.
it hooks on your shirt and you don't pretend to be surprised about it, about the reveal of desire, the rush of blood that leaves goosebumps on your skin when her mouth blends with your own and her tongue invades it like it's now enemy ground: that's a real moan, one that comes from vi's mouth to crash against your parted lips. messy, there is too much saliva, infinite desperation that somehow she craves more than the perfect kiss, instead, vi finds herself aching for the flawed, the contained chaos and the imperfect.
"go home then and pretend it didn't happen."
you're a cheeky bastard. you know she doesn't care about the bandages on her arm, about anything else other than getting lost in the moment, in the smell of your skin as you strip off that stupid shirt you've been wearing for so long.
"i may be a little rusty in this field," vi says looking at the cute bra you choose to wear, so red it's clear she's ashamed of saying it out loud. "be gentle with me, please."
the words come out on their own, the movie that keeps playing in the background, the smell that comes from the kitchen from a steamy casserole that still contains the warmth-- god there's tenderness in your touch, kindness in your kisses so much that she can be intoxicated with it after choosing a life of solitude and silence, after being too tired of having another person around. your touch is the one that surprisingly alleviates all worry, all bad.
you'd take care of her, right? cause fuck, she's your long-time crush, no? nice ass, delicious back tattoo. you can be anything she wants — happy to comply, happy to kiss her neck, happy to just notice how she holds her breath in when your tongue circles against that damn spot in her clavicle making the pink-haired sure you'll leave a hickey behind. suddenly your weight presses her down against your comfy sofa and it's a handful of real moans now, moans that keep so far from the fake ones she did before in a joke, ones that leave her throat dry only to turn you on.
how many times have you got your life crush there moaning for your kisses? hand on your waist, fighting to pull you closer and finally unhook your bra? even after a long shift, even when your bones are a weight that's annoying to carry, you kiss on the flesh to leave a mark, take her time in pleasing her cause you heard from jinx she's been having a rough time lately and she deserves it, right? when you get on your knees and you pull on her muscle tee upwards to kiss on her lower stomach making her shiver, you're a soldier to her pleasures, to simply keep going.
she encourages you, cause who's violet vanderson to ever deny any show of caring? her legs open to make space for you, and she gives you a pillow to put in your knees cause she knows how annoying it can be when the carpet sticks to your knees. knows.
"straight to the point, doc?" looking down at you, she's blushing as you unbutton her pants, helping you to finally get them off as they were always decoration of the floor.
"straight to the point," her arms rest behind her head and her muscles flex when you hit a sensitive spot gifting you such a nice view you can't pretend not to be checking her out — you want her like that, comfortable, relaxing, hazy eyes that stare at you almost as a dare, invested in every future move you make.
it's ridiculous. she's been slowly melting in a nice velvety sofa thanks to those heaty kisses you leave behind for the last fifteen minutes and it seems she cannot get tired of them, of how vi can see the saliva you leave behind on each proof of devotion: it's near pathetic to admit how she's been dreaming about you since her sister's birthday, stuck on your lips smoking that cigarette, that cloud that follows you around and only pushes her in.
so your touch becomes a vital need, a contagious disease when her whole body shivers and her hips buckle forward in need of having more of your face. she can't really complain about it when your tongue's invading her with practiced ease, pushing the chef to the edge of the seat so she can rest her legs over your shoulders and gift you the most comfortable access to her still covered cunt: turns out violent vanderson's a fucking needy mess who will cream her underwear before she's even touched.
when was the last time she had her pussy properly eaten? god, turning vi stupid even when she was relying on her five senses, a loser who soaks her underwear to the point its no longer usable. a mix of your saliva and arousal stains her inner thighs as she rubs herself against your mouth desperate to have more of your lips assaulting her covered cunt, soaked in every bit, somehow trying to make her underwear disappear so she can drown in the direct contact of your lips sucking her clit instead of the overwhelming torture of damn cotton.
"don't be rude-- please-" she trains on the gym every fucking day: why is she sweating like that? the image of having you there in your knees so eager to please fucking her brain entirely, soft voice that begs to be touched until you're pulling the fabric to the side and there it is — salty, it fills your mouth with a feast of flavors, pink and soaked hair from a pussy that's inviting you to take what you like, spread her out using your fingers, get dirty.
you take your time with her, cause you have it, right? you can have violet for the rest of the night. you can steal every breath when your tongue fucks her just right, nose rubbing on her g-spot on each try to go deeper, make her turn into a blabbering mess.
"fingers, ah--" it takes her a while, sensitive and overwhelmed and still greedy "can you like-, god…"
"you gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?" the way you say it turns her on more than it should, and her body betrays her when it keeps moving with the help of your hand now placed in her ass.
you're gentle at first, want to prepare her as a couple of fingers spread her cunt so you can slowly sink them until you're deliciously deep, sure she can feel you in that spot she needs. your tongue rubs on her clit without fully touching it, and vi's sure her brain-cells are close to combust, a constant movement she forces herself to continue on each motion her hips make: always full of your fingers, rubbing on that spot inside she now decides to love.
"there you go- s'good right? let me train this pretty cunt so i can fuck you better with another finger, yeah? god-- how can you look this hot, vi."
you're going to be her pending doom, the handsome devil that stalks every thought even when you don't try cause the way you look between her legs? demonic. hands gripping on her sides to pull her closer to your mouth, eyes staring back at her own, your tongue seems to go in full motion with you fingers and shit — how do you make it so good? what the fuck are you doing down there to make her feel this nice?
swollen clit, your fingers curve inside to the point and fuck-- vi's losing it, hand holding you close to her cunt so she can use you how she wants to, loud and erratic moans praising on your skills, on how good you are at eating her soaked cunt to the points its all over your cheeks.
"mmf-m'gonna cum like that--," rough voice, it's so nice to see her like that when she's usually so composed, so serious. her body moves on its own and her face finally distorts when finally reaching her peak, leaving her legs shaking, it's an arrow that's shot to the chest and steals the air from vi's lungs as you use a hand to spread her folds and take care of the mess you've done between the chef's legs.
she wants to keep going, adrenaline injected into the blood flow before vi pulls you up to her lap interrupting all tries to stay nested there in her cunt — it's all fun and games but deep down it's a fight for who's in control, isn't it all? even out of breath, hair sticking to the sides of her face as a lazy smile appears on her face: are you glowing? is it the sweat that makes your skin all shiny under the lights of your apartment? fuck-- crazy how vi starts to need you under her.
"you okay up there?" she asks instead, thumbs helping you to clean your cheeks in the last act of chivalry.
"i am" you reply, leaning against her touch to get more of the warmth of her hands. "are you, rusty lady?"
"think i am--, that was some heavy activity doc, thought i needed some rest."
"you rested. on the sofa. that was-- very low effort for you" it's a good point, and vi cannot think of a clever reply when your kisses are distracting her to form a thought on her own. "are you in pain?"
who the fuck cares about pain when you begin sucking on her thumb? making sure any trace of her stays on your mouth rather than your cheek or her hand — maybe it's the adrenaline of the moment, the rush of endorphins that run to leave vi full of the dopamine she lacked when she ends up turned on once again as if she wasn't chaotic already getting wet in your living room.
"mmhm no, no pain-- does it taste good?"
"yeah, wanna try?"
she likes to be this filthy, mouth wide open, tongue up before her head's tilting backwards and shit: it should be illegal, a capital sin when you hoover just how you did when she was cooking before to now gather a decent amount of saliva and simply spit against her parted lips; it's her, right? mixed with your very own personal taste, a blend that stays there imprinted on her brain and makes her malfunction cause it's not something that common to have a pretty girl there willing to spit on her mouth after eating her brains out.
desire is radical, desire is unexpected and a curse cause there's no such rational thought when vi's pulling on your jeans with the insane need of fucking you to the verge of tears, no fight for dominance now as you shimmy out of your clothes already feeling sticky. desire is raw and turns her desperate, the vision of a person who once cared for comfort and now pushes you roughly back to her lap.
"where's your room?" so yeah, she wants to fuck you properly, pointing the closed door with your index finger, your underwear already rests in the floor midway before she's throwing you in the good-queen-sized bed, bad jokes, horny comments, vi has no trouble to move you around and put you in the position she wants you to be, one hand on your ankle while the other's on your waist so it takes little to no time to understand her intentions with no need to say a word.
she pushes you down when she places herself on top of you, tangled legs, vi simply fits against you without much effort so it becomes a sight there laying in the comfortable sheets, sweaty body, her tits bounce every time her hips rolls against yours so her mess is now your mess and the shapes of your body and her own blurry to the point of the erratic and you can't tell now about anything else more than the sounds you two make on each movement, when finally becoming one.
it's wet, fills the room so it's hot, so your breathing reduces considerably and you finally let her do the job, keep rubbing her soaked pussy against yours so it leaks to the bed and stains your clean sheets. loud moans, vi's ego's inflated with the pride of making you act like that, resting your weight over your elbows so you can spread yourself wider, give her more space so the contact can be even more devastating.
"good fuck-- you're such a greedy slut," a guilty smile, are you even aware of your existence anymore? when the bed hits the wall in the most annoying sound and her hand closes around your neck to keep you controlled, are you aware of your fucked-self? aching to keep you still as she forces your breathing channel, your cunt on each movement. "there you go, be good and touch that pretty pussy for me, yeah? help me out."
trembling hands, your fingers circle against your clit in slow motions, already overwhelmed when vi's leaning to spit directly to your working fingers, lubricating your g-spot so you can go faster, combine your movements with her own until you're moaning her name, praising the skills of your lover like they're sacred, a new religion to follow.
relentless, she doesn't stop until your body's rigid, limbs cramped before you reach the most delicious orgasm, sensitive cunt, it's a shared chaos that stains your inner thighs in a delicious mix vi suddenly crave to taste.
"well fuck--" it's a problem now, officially. her thoughts betrayed her so now she's lusting over her little sister's best friend to the point it becomes real, real as the warmth your body radiates when you crawl under the bed seeking for contact, a silence that weighs down the meaning of having a new shared secret, intimacy neither of you searched for. "so much for being rusty, liar."
do problems matter anymore? if powder gets mad because she fucked her friend, so what? it's a connection her sibling cannot control as vi laughs at your remark, leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder with the weird need to stay instead of leaving early like she usually does whenever someone's interested in her.
"i am rusty, you're just kind."
so maybe that's the last thing she needs, get all complicated like that, mix up her feelings with your own. she has a restaurant in another city, a life outside zaun and lots of money problems to take care of — so maybe she doesn't need a younger girlfriend that messages almost too much, who keeps her fucking horny all of the time.
"m'gonna take a shower in twenty minutes-- do you think we should order junk food?"
her face betrays her when she listens to your words, quickly shaking her head in response — "no fucking way. i think you should be saying goodbye to delivery apps for a while, peach."
she needs to stay, right? it would leave her arm in danger as she kisses you once again, always close: who would take care of her injured body?
so how was it again? ah. sure.
violet vanderson has experienced appetite before, plenty of times to be honest, but now she has a younger girlfriend to take care of it, more bills to pay and a very angry sister.
Vi x art student reader? Vi finds reader’s sketchbook and it’s full of drawings of Vi, full profile and little studies. Maybe she asks Vi to model for her and then they have sesbian lex in her studio?
Also maybe pathetic service top vi?
Anything for my princess
Wc: 1.5k
Warnings: Service top Vi, overstimulation, oral, biting (slightly), scissoring.
Rooming with Vi was not what you had expected, from looks alone you had assumed the athletic girl would be messy, loud and rowdy. But she wasn't. Not at all. When you first arrived and heard you, an art student, were being paired to dorm in a room with an athlete, you almost decided not to go.
But thank god you did.
Because this girl was the hottest butch you had ever seen in your life, not only did it make you little lesbian heart happy, she made your stomach AND pussy flutter each time she looked at you. And Vi was a sweetheart. Always offering to clean up the room even if you had left it a mess, offering to throw you laundry in with hers, even though she only had half a basket, she noticed when yours was piling up.
So when you developed a little... well it wasn't a little it was huge, a big fat crush on Vi. You didn't know how to handle it, so, you did what you did best. You drew her. Over and over again. Until you had two notebooks full of sketches that were ALL Vi.
~~~~~
Vi being the sweetheart that she was, decided to clean up your side of the dorm room while you were out. Picking up and folding all your clothes, tidying away all the random things you owned, making your bed. And most of all, your trusted art supplies. When she accidently knocked your notepad off the bed and it landed with the pages open, she did NOT expect to see a sketch of her. Flipping the pages, all she saw was her face again and again...
"Vi I'm back and I brought us Thai food- shit." You stumble, coming to a halt when you see Vi sat on your bed, looking through your notepad. You could have been mad and shouted at her, but when you noticed she'd practically tidied your whole space, you couldn't bring yourself too. "These are really good."
Vi lifts the notepad, finally meeting your eyes. "Though you could've picked a better subject. I'm pretty boring." She chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks flushed slightly red.
"Well... your always here, it was easier to draw you." Lie. You couldn't stop drawing her that was the problem. You walk in and sit on your bed, opening up the containers of Thai food. "Come on let's eat."
Vi settles back on the bed and puts your notepad down, digging into the food with you. For a while you sit in... relative silence until Vi breaks it. "I noticed you only draw me sat in this room, maybe I look better in different lighting."
You look at her as if she'd grown 3 heads. How in the world couldn't she see how hot she was? "Then you should come down to the studio and be my subject. If you have time..."
Vi always had time for you.
~~~~~
Sitting on a stool with a full white backdrop, her red hair stood out beautifully, her muscles on display in that white tank top she loves so much. One leg was perched up on the foot bar of the stool, the other on the ground, her hands covering her crotch. She wore baggy black jeans that tightened perfectly around her juicy ass, not that you were looking when she walked in...
"So I just... sit here?" Vi asked almost bored. So she start to play with her carabiner that was hooked onto her belt loop.
"Yes, just stay like that." Your eyes flick between her and your notepad as you sketch her, changing pencils every now and then.
"God art is so... borning. No offense, but I couldn't just sit still for hours." Vi blushed slightly, realising it might come across a little offensive.
"That's why you play sports right?" You raise an eyebrow teasingly, as you look her over once more before dropping your gaze back to your sketch.
"Uh huh, always gotta be doing something with my hands, and honestly my mouth I don't shut up. I could never be an artist." Vi shrugged, shifing slightly on the stool, her ass was starting to get numb she'd been sat there for 30 minutes already. "I could give that mouth something to do- oh my god forget I said that."
You look down, tugging the skin off your bottom lip. Why the fuck did you say that? It was only made worse when you heard Vi break out into laughter. Looking up you see her stand up and start walking towards you. "I think... I like where your brain was headed..." she reached you and took the pencil and notepad from you, placing them on the desk.
"I think that we shouldn't do this-" you were silenced when Vi lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing, taking a seat in your original chair. "What are you doing Vi?.."
"Shutting up."
~~~~~
"God you taste like heaven... I might never stop..." Vi mumbled into your cunt as she lapped up your juices, swirling her tongue around your clit.
Your hands were tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, further into your soaking pussy as she ate you out right there. "Vi... you already m-made me cum twice- fuck..." your back arches when she stuffs two long fingers into your needy hole, curing them upwards to hit that special spot.
"And I'll keep going until you can't cum anymore baby..." she sucks your clit between her lips, your slick dripping down her chin as she kept going, alternating between licking and sucking on the sensitive nub.
"Vi I'm- oh god I'm gonna cum again..." she adds a third finger, curing them upwards and timing her thrusts perfectly with her licks until your gushing over her face for the third time.
"Good girl... give it all to me baby." Vi cleans you up wih her tongue, licking up and down your slit, parting your folds as her drinks down your release. Pushing her head away you sit up, looking down at her.
"Let me look after you now... it's only fair-"
"No. Your my pillow princess baby, be a good girl and lie back down okay? I'm gonna make you feel so good..." she kisses your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to your pussy again.
"But Vi you need to feel good too, it's not fair..." you protest, pouting at her. If anything, you pout would get you what you wanted and you knew it. "That's unfair you little tease you know I can't say no to that pout..."
Vi stood up and clumsily unbuckled her belt and undid her jeans, pushing them down until she was in just her boxers and tank top. "Top too... I wanna see your muscles." You whine, and because Vi can't say no to her princess, she complies, pulling it off to reveal her perky tits and peirced nipples. "Fuck Vi... your not supposed to be able to get hotter."
You sit yourself up on your elbows, watching as she nearly topples over getting out of her soaked boxers. "What can I say? I'm naturally this way princess."
You giggle as she does the goofiest little spin, biting down on your bottom lips when you get a very clear very of her ass. "Fuck... Vi I need you-"
"Shhh.. I've got you princess shuffle back a bit." You shuffle back until your lay full on the table, Vi climbs up, hoisting one of your thighs over hers as she shuffles closer until her pink bush and puffy folds are right above your own soaking wet cunt. "Vi please..."
With one swift motion she grinds down, your clits bumping together you buck up into her. "Fuck that's it princess... good girl." Her hips rock back and fourth, making you moan over and over as her larger, harder clit glides over your already oversensitive one. "Vi... I'm not gonna last long... oh god..."
You could feel the slight roughness of her pink bush, which only heightened your arousal, soaking your cunt more if that was possible. "Don't hold back princess give it to me come on..." Vi moaned wih you, her juices mixing with yours creating an obscene wet squelch each time her hips grind down.
"Faster... Vi faster please..." your hips buck up to meet hers as you hump eachother, your nails biting into her biceps, sure to leave a mark.
"Good girl there we go... let go baby..." Vi grunts into your ear, breathing heavy as she holds back, the minute you pussy touched hers she nearly came. But she had to make you finish first.
It didn't take long, after a few more perfectly aimed thrusts and hip bucks the pressure in your spine spread and tingle throughout your whole body as you let go. "Fuck fuck fuuuuck Vi oh my god!!" Your back arches as you squirm beneath her, and that sight alone paired with the feeling of you gushing over her cunt triggers her own orgasm.
"Fuck your so beautiful princess... fuck..." Vi bites gently on your shoulder as she humps into you, riding out her own orgasm. The whole time ypur both coming down she holds you firmly in her arms, whispering small praises and compliments in your ear.
After a while she sits up, helping you upa nd back into your clothes, except your panties. "Vi, you can't keep those they're victoria secret!" You giggle when she clips the to her carabiner, skipping around the studio like they're her personal trophy. "Why not? It's like the perfect accessory!"
You shake your head and tidy up your art supplies, to which Vi carried your bag, claiming it was too heavy for a princess like you to carry. "What? Is pizza on you too tonight?" You ask ashe takes your hand, leading you both back to the dorms. "Anything for my princess."
— ✩₊˚.⋆☾ PAIRING southern!vi x citygirl!reader / 2.5 k words
— ✩₊˚.⋆☾ SYNOPSIS When you inherit your grandmother’s farm in the heart of Georgia, the last thing you expect is Violet Lane—your rugged, maddeningly charming neighbor with a slow drawl and a smirk that could bring anyone to their knees.
What starts as a simple favor—a little help with the land—quickly turns into something far more dangerous. Because Vi isn’t just good with her hands; she knows exactly how to unravel you, one lingering touch at a time.
And resisting her? Well, that might just be impossible.
— ✩₊˚.⋆☾ WARNING smut (minors DNI)
— ✩₊˚.⋆☾ AUTHORS NOTE hey babes, i'm super late with this but it's my first time attempting to write actual smut. I thought you might enjoy this as a thanks for 400 & 500 followers. thanks babes, love u
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Moving into your grandma’s old flat in Georgia wasn’t exactly on your bucket list this year. But when she decided she was done with the ranch—tired of the early mornings and aching bones—she signed it over to you and packed her bags for a nursing home.
And now, here you stand.
Hands on your hips, staring up at the massive oak tree out front. It’s old, gnarled, and overgrown—a mess of tangled branches just waiting to drop and split someone’s skull open.
"Surely needs trimmin’, ma’am."
The voice is smooth, warm, dipped in something slow and syrupy. You whirl around—and nearly forget how to breathe.
A woman stands there, tipping her hat with a lazy smirk. Pink hair peeks out from beneath the brim, catching the golden light just right. One hand rests on the belt of her worn jeans, and the way she carries herself—easy, confident, like she’s got all the time in the world—makes your stomach flip.
Jesus.
Since when did you have a thing for Southern women?
"Violet Lane. Pleasure. Call me Vi."
She pauses, giving the tree a once-over, and for a moment, you swear you catch a sharp cut along the edge of her jaw—like she was carved from something wild and unyielding.
"Shimmer Farm’s mine." She nods down the road, and just like that, it clicks.
Your new neighbor. And, quite possibly, your newest problem.
You finally manage to clear your throat, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. It’s too damn bright, or maybe it’s just her.
"Bonnie’s my granny—left all this to me." You gesture vaguely at the ranch around you, hoping the motion hides the slight tremor in your fingers.
Violet—or Vi, as you’re already calling her in your head—gives a short nod before leaning against the white fence. The wood creaks beneath her weight, but all you can focus on is the way her flannel stretches over her arms—sleeves rolled up just enough to show off tanned, sinewy forearms and biceps that look like they could throw you clean over her shoulder.
Jesus. Get a fucking grip.
"She mentioned it—nice lady." Her voice is slow, deliberate, dipped in molasses, and you find yourself watching her like she’s something out of a dream.
Of course, she’d know your granny. They were neighbors.
"Tell you what, city girl—I’ll trim it for ya'."
She pushes off the fence with a lazy sort of grace, nodding toward the tree.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “What? No, no—you don’t have to.”
You shake your head quickly, hoping she’ll back off, because if she gets any closer, you might just lose the battle against your absolutely feral urges.
But Vi just smirks, the kind of smirk that’s all trouble, all slow-drawled confidence that makes your stomach flip.
"Nonsense, sugar. ‘S what we do ‘round here."
And then—she winks.
You stand there, completely useless, as she turns and strides back down the driveway, hands tucked in the pockets of her beat-up jeans.
All you can do is stare after her, mouth slightly open, and hope to God nobody catches you drooling like a love-struck teenager.
Vi returns not long after, carrying a ladder, a hedge trimmer, and—oh, hell—without the flannel.
The wife beater she’s wearing should be illegal. It clings to her like a second skin, outlining lean muscle and sun-kissed shoulders, and as if that wasn’t enough to completely fry your brain, your gaze catches on the ink stretching across her upper back. Bold, intricate—something that probably runs the length of her spine.
You stand there on the porch, awkward as hell, gripping the railing like it might keep you from falling over. God, help me.
Vi doesn’t say a word as she props the ladder against the thick trunk of the tree, adjusts her hat, and climbs up like she’s done this a thousand times before.
And maybe it’s your imagination—or maybe she flexes, just a little, when she lifts the trimmer.
She knows you’re watching. And she sure as hell doesn’t mind.
The hedge trimmer hums to life, and you realize you should probably say something—anything—to make this feel a little less like you’re shamelessly ogling her.
"So… what kind of farm is ‘Shimmer’?" Your voice is quieter than you intended, but steady.
Vi doesn’t look away from her work, but she answers anyway, cool and easy.
"Horse farm. Got some sheep, too. Ma’ Pop, and my sister run it with me."
You nod, soaking that in. So, she works on a horse farm, probably rides, probably knows how to rope cattle, probably looks stupidly good doing it.
One question lingers in the back of your mind, burning at the tip of your tongue before you can stop it.
"Just you three? No boyfriend?"
You swear you hear her chuckle—low, rough, the kind of sound that zips straight through your bloodstream and leaves a warm ache in its wake.
Then she turns her head, baby blues locking onto yours, lazy smirk playing at her lips.
"Nah. I don’t swing that way."
Her voice is amused, like she already knows the effect it’s having on you.
And just like that, your brain short circuits.
She’s into women.
Oh.
A few hours later, the tree is neatly trimmed, the stray branches hauled off to God knows where—somewhere in the back of Vi’s truck, probably, but you’d been a little too distracted watching her maneuver the damn thing like she was born with a steering wheel in her hand.
She’d backed into your driveway with one arm slung over the passenger seat, her other hand steady on the wheel, and you swear your heart flipped clean over in your chest.
Now, you lean over the railing of the porch, holding out a cold bottle of beer. A peace offering. Or maybe just an excuse to keep her around a little longer.
Vi takes it with a soft huff, swiping the back of her hand across her damp forehead before twisting off the cap. "Thanks, sugar."
Her voice is a little rough, a little breathless, and it sends a spark straight through your bloodstream.
You watch as she tilts the bottle back, throat bobbing as she takes a sip—your eyes helplessly tracking the way a single droplet of sweat slides from her temple down the curve of her jaw.
And suddenly, you forget how to breathe.
"Are you hungry?" The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, blurting out in a rush of reckless impulse.
Vi lowers the bottle, her smirk slow and knowing as she tips her head. "Don’t wanna trouble ya', city girl."
Her voice is low, husky, damn near sinful, and you—God help you—have to press your thighs together, because how the hell is this woman the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen?
"It’s the least I can do, please." You nod toward the house, pushing the door open in silent invitation.
Vi takes her time stepping forward, letting her gaze drag over you in a way that feels deliberate.
And she’s doing her best not to stare at your ass too long—because, fuck.
Inside the house, you make your way to the kitchen, racking your brain for something—anything—you can throw together. Not like you’ve got much to work with. You’ve only been here a week, and your fridge is a sad excuse for a meal.
Behind you, Vi leans against the counter, the beer bottle dangling lazily from her fingers. She’s watching you—no, devouring you with her gaze—slow and deliberate, like she’s got all the time in the world.
You pretend not to notice. Or maybe you just don’t know how to function under the weight of her attention.
She shifts, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, and you let out an awkward chuckle, tugging open the fridge with a grimace.
"I, uh—I don’t really have much. I just moved in, and… grocery shopping…” Your words fumble over each other, and the sheer intensity of her gaze makes you regret speaking at all.
Vi waves you off with a slow flick of her wrist, stepping closer.
And that’s when you catch it—the faintest hint of her cologne beneath the scent of sweat and sun-warmed skin, the lingering trace of sawdust from working on that damned maple tree.
You swear your knees go weak.
"S’alright, hun," she murmurs, voice richer, huskier than before.
Your back presses against the counter, your pulse skittering as she closes the space between you.
The air shifts—thicker now, charged with something electric, something dangerous.
And suddenly, food is the last thing on your mind.
Vi moves in, slow and deliberate, until her arms cage you in against the counter, the scent of her—leather, sweat, a hint of cedar and smoke—wrapping around you like a trap you don’t want to escape.
Her gaze roves over you, heavy and smoldering, like she’s sizing up a meal she’s about to devour.
“Ain’t that hungry—least not for food.”
Her voice dips lower, like a secret meant just for you, like something sinful curling between your legs. Your breath shudders, your fingers gripping the countertop behind you as if that’ll keep you grounded.
She leans in, breath hot against the shell of your ear, and your knees damn near buckle.
"Wanna repay me another way?"
It’s not even a question—it’s a promise wrapped in velvet.
Your lips part, but words fail you. All you manage is a nod, shaky, desperate.
Vi tilts her head, a slow, knowing smirk playing at her lips. Her hands find your waist, calloused fingers curling into the soft skin beneath your sundress, sending a rush of fire through your veins.
And then—before you can even think to touch her—she grips beneath your thighs and hoists you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.
Your legs part, a breathless gasp slipping from your lips as she presses in close—solid, hot, the heat of her searing through thin fabric.
You lean back against the cabinet, exhaling a shaky sigh, your whole body thrumming with want, with anticipation.
And Vi—she just watches you, like she’s got all the time in the world.
Vi’s lips find your neck, warm and insistent, each kiss slow and deliberate, a teasing drag of softness against your skin. The heat of her breath lingers, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.
You tip your head back instinctively, granting her better access, and she hums in approval, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat.
Her hands roam—rough fingertips skimming the curve of your waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your sundress with a slow, knowing touch. Your breath hitches, fingers clutching at her shoulders, a feeble attempt to ground yourself against the way she unravels you.
Then—her palms slide lower, brushing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, pushing your dress up inch by torturous inch.
Her fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your clothed cunt, and a shaky gasp tumbles from your lips, your thighs twitching at the featherlight contact.
Vi chuckles, low and deep, the sound rolling through you like a slow Southern drawl, thick and sinful.
“Oh, sugar,” she murmurs, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re drippin’ for me, ain’t ya?”
She grins against your skin, her voice sultry and smug, and all you can do is nod, breathless, aching, already at her mercy.
Vi presses one last, lingering kiss behind your ear before she sinks to her knees, slow and deliberate. The sight alone—her looking up at you, eyes dark and hungry, that damn smirk playing on her lips—has your grip tightening on the edge of the counter.
Her hands skate over your thighs, warm and teasing, pushing your dress higher, higher, until the cool air ghosts over your skin.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, her fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, a mischievous glint flickering in those baby blues as she drags them down.
A soft gasp slips past your lips when her knuckles brush against your heated skin, and you barely catch the way she tucks your soiled panties into the back pocket of her jeans like a prize.
She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement, lips quirking as her thumb presses against your aching bundle of nerves—just enough pressure to make you tremble.
“Mmm, she’s screamin’ for me, sugar,” Vi drawls, her voice all honey and gravel, thick enough to drown in.
Your mouth parts, a protest, a plea—but before you can even think to speak, she leans in and drags her tongue in a slow, sinful stripe up your slit.
A breathless hiss escapes you, thighs twitching, and when she pulls back, her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, savoring.
“Delicious,” Vi hums, that cocky smirk only deepening.
A breathless moan tumbles from your lips as Vi leans in again, her tongue plunging between your folds—hungry, unapologetic, like she’s been starving for you all her life. The sensation is blinding, white-hot, and when your fingers thread into her hair, tugging at the soft strands, she hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
Her grip tightens around your thighs, keeping you right where she wants you—helpless, unraveling beneath her touch. Each flick of her tongue, every sinful suck against your aching clit, has you teetering on the edge, stars bursting behind your eyes.
“Vi—” Your voice is shaky, breath hitching as the coil in your belly winds tighter, tighter. “I-I’m gonna—”
She pulls back just enough, her lips glistening, pupils blown wide as she watches you fall apart. That smirk is there again, the one that makes your stomach dip.
“I know, sweet girl,” she murmurs, her voice thick and dripping with something wicked. Then, as if to seal your fate, she licks one slow, deliberate stripe up your pussy - from entrance to clit, savoring the taste, before whispering—
“Cum for me.”
And you do—helpless against the force of your own undoing. The coil inside you snaps with breathtaking intensity, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong it leaves you gasping.
Vi doesn’t let up, doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath—her strong hands keep you steady, gripping your hips with enough force to hold you together as you shatter.
The kitchen is filled with the sounds of your pleasure—high, breathy moans mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of Vi’s tongue working you through it. You barely register the way she groans against you, drinking in every last bit of your release like it’s something sacred.
And when the aftershocks leave you trembling, thighs still twitching in her grasp, Vi finally pulls back—chin glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smirks up at you, voice thick as molasses when she drawls—
Summary: Star athlete Violet Lanes wants you, But your can't have that so naturally you must break her heart and atone for it.
Pairing: Violet x reader.
Warnings: Angst, arguing, cussing, kissing, cunnilingus, tribbing, some fluff, AU.
A/N: Hello there! I hope you're well. I wrote this today after stumbling into it in my drafts (I can't tell you how long it has been there.) I must caution that Its roughly edited but i will come back and edit some more. Other than that, enjoy!
‘Listen, I'm not going to keep fighting with you,’ she stuffed her fists into her pockets, shrugging as she looked away from you, ‘either you want me or you don't.’ She made it a point to train her eyes on you now, a means of emphasising just how serious she was about what she was saying. But there was also a tenderness brewing just beneath the hardened stare. One that begged for you to nestle it close and tend to it. The light sheen of sweat coating her face and the exposed flesh of her chest and arms, the gentle part of her cherry stained lips…Violet stood before you, vulnerable and wanting.
And therein sat the reality of you two. Eclipsed by the need to reach and see beyond the others mask and yet burdened by the fear to be truly seen. Or at least it had been that way. When you and violet first came into each other's lives, it was nothing short of eventful.
She was a rugged mess as she stumbled chest first into you. The college library seemed to liven around the afternoon time given the break in lectures. This sudden turnaround in energy gave way for a muse of noise to sprout rather aggressively; a feat you did not take kindly to. So like clockwork every midday, you gathered all you brought with you to the brown stained room equally drowned in a musky scent of rotting paper and exited. This time however, Violet Lanes, you would come to learn, had taken to visiting the space with her group of friends for a last minute study session - a habit you would quickly grow tired of once you two began to orbit regularly around each other.
‘Hi.’
The near sound of your heart filtering through your body stunned the near jerk reaction to scowl at the gentle curl of her lip as she watched you, a tender almost softened look coating her eyes.
‘Yes, hello.’ You mused back, your hands coming quickly to adjust the fabric of your top as you tried to avoid making eye contact. Violet was patient, idling near you as you did so. An understanding of sorts had taken place sometime last week as you two talked. She came to know just how much you liked her despite the appearance of united apprehension that soaked your features when she appeared. You had sat with your back pressed against the passenger seat and let her draw indescribable shapes into the grooves of your knee as you spoke softly about days past. She had watched you near mesmerised at the part of your lips as you spoke wanting nothing more than to place her tongue in between them. Seeing this, your own gaze faltered to steal a glance at her lips and there it was; the first appearance of your shared want.
Though she had fixed her lips rather quickly to offer apologies laden sorely in remorse, the slight quirk of her lips when she looked back at her friends while she brushed animatedly at the nonexistent dirt on your torso, you huffed clearly annoyed.
It wasn't until a week later where you would run into her. She stood before you in the cafe line and despite the effort you took to ignoring the glare of not only the hair gathered at the nape of her sweat soaked neck but also her presence, she turned just in time to try and offer polite conversation. It was lackluster to say the least. In combination with the sullen frown you offered and your clipped responses, the conversation came to an awkward halt with Violet leaving you a curt nod of her head.
I'm a quick glance at your mouth, sleek and waiting just for her, ‘I'm going to kiss you now,okay?’ her hand fletched around your jaw, an effort to tame the need to take advantage of how relaxed you were in her arms; she could do anything and you would let her. Taming her breathing was difficult when the sight of you brought vulgar thoughts sweeping wildly in her head - the strap of your bra and shirt has slipped down your shoulder and showed violet parts of you she never knew she would want so desperately to sink her teeth into, your hair a wispy mess from her tugged the strands, the skin of your chest reddening by the second from her assault on you and you face flushed just so with you eyes shut as you waited for her.
You nodded. The movement was jerky given that her hand was still tucked tight in your hair to keep you from moving. Violet sighed, a pleased sound tumbling out her throat and landing on your lips. Lowering her head, her eyes faltered shut just as she brought her tongue out to lick your lower lip. The reward was insistent. You strained against her hands as you stretched forward to chase her tongue. Violet barely took a second to reel in the look of you like this; so wanting. She pressed a slow unmoving kiss to your lips, simply feel what it was like to have to be joined this way. Of all the times she envisioned how this moment would unfold and how it would feel, truly nothing could come close. Your lips were so soft and firm in the way they pressed back into her own. She parted from you to look at your lips in amazement and disbelief.
She pressed forward again this time parting her lis to seal them around your bottom lip and coaxed you to move with her. And that you did. So fluid and easy you began to move with her meeting her pace. She released you when she figured you needed to breathe only to be pulled back by you chasing her mouth and sucking on her top lip. You whined into the kiss, immediately reaching for her shoulders and pulling her to you. Violet brought her hands to hips to let you lead and get your fill of her. You leaned into her, your torso flexed over the console and tugging her shirt off her shoulders. The unrestrained nature of your hunger for her mouth couldn't be denied : you wanted her just as much as she wanted you.
She had to stop you, the first time you had sex could not be in the front seat of her car especially when she was fresh from the gym. But your hand wandered and settled nervously but firmly on her breast before you mustered the courage to squeeze. Violet wanted to laugh affectionately at how you didn't even bother brushing softly at the area around but rather went straight for what you wanted. But the thought was quickly swallowed by the heat and pleasure the action pulled from her body; a steady stream was leaking into her boxers. You squeezed again this time moaning into her mouth at the feeling as if you were being pleasured. Only when her own hand began to venture up your skirt as you parted from her to offer a low clipped moan she stopped herself.
‘Not here,’ she kissed the side of your head as you relaxed against her body, arousal still strong in both your bodies, ‘not like this.’ she kissed your temple, your forehead, your jaw, anywhere she could reach and calm you both from you high. However there was no doubt, you really did want her.
It wasn't that you particularly detested the girl but rather you had heard of her. After your first encounter you made your way back to your dorm and all but huffed about the entire exchange to which your roommate laughed gently while explaining that the sort of behaviour you would expect of Violet Lanes. Miss Violet ‘three time hockey champion and occasional off-field player’ lanes. The introduction, though brief due to a course of pride that bubbled up at the thought of her knowing you'd been curious about her, gave insight to the person you'd soon come to know quite intimately.
She hovered her body over yours as she set both your textbooks onto the floor next to your side of her bed. Pleased at the way her muscles flexed when she did so, you brought your hands up to feel biceps and level your hands up until they settled around her neck.
‘What do you want to do?’ Your voice was syrup sweet as you bated your eyes at her. Violet would have had to have been blind to not notice the change in your breath and the press of your thighs as you looked at her. Sensual; that was the only way she could describe you and this.
‘You.’ She responded with her voice slightly heavier as she leant in for a kiss.
She didn't mean to. Really she didn't. She tried to tell herself to wait, that you weren't thinking straight, that you were ovulating and she was taking advantage of it. But then you parted your legs and slipped her eager fingers under the bands of both your sweats and underwear and she felt it; how much you wanted it. It was so wet, so very very wet her finger would have slipped in itself had she not brought it there. She had worked you up, trailing your lower lis and brushing gently at your clit until you begged her, breathless and all, to please touch you. And she did. She pressed forward and moaned rather pathetically at the feel of you immediately clenching around her. The sounds as well; you panting in her ear with your arms crossed around her shoulders and you cunt sucking her in. She was close herself.
Sometime in between the long conversations had in the parks you visited or the floors of your bedrooms and the not-so-dates you went on, Violet fell for you and she knew she wanted you for a long time. So she knew she would do anything to make you happy, even fuck you.
You dug your nails into her shoulders as you came, the choked moan tied around your throat as she continued working you. Violet had come seconds before, her hips still chasing your thigh as she listened to you come. She truly did love you.
What you didn't know was just how thrilling Violet had come to find your interactions. Whether it was the curl of your lip when you spotted her or the blank stare you gave when she so much as sighed beside you, she found you rather interesting. Pleasing to look at, very smart she came to learn and undoubtedly someone she didn't mind falling for.
‘I love you.’
Almost snapping your neck, you craned to look up at Violet from your spot nestled into her on the couch. She had come over while your roommate was out of town to study and though some of the week was spent studying each other's anatomy, you had finally come around to actually working on your coursework.
Her confession made sense, you and Violet had been.. Courting for a couple of months now and if you weren't scared, you would have been official a while ago. If you bothered being honest with yourself regarding her for once, you would simply tell yourself, tell her that you loved her too.
Instead you just gaped at her until she uneasily told you, she didn't mind if you didn't feel the same she just wanted you to know. She rambled, understandably so, until you offered yourself up to her and you two made what you would both consider love, right there on the couch.
And as if sensing your fears, somehow the world conspired to validate them.
‘Hey.’ You sang-song into the phone to your roommate. She had gone home for the weekend, leaving you to your own devices while Violet also needed to be in practice more to prepare for the upcoming game.
‘Hey,’ she paused, humming in thought in such a way you couldn't help but perk up at the sound. Before you could ask her what was wrong she spoke. ‘Listen, I don't know how to say this but I have something to show you.’
Your body flooded with an unsettling heat, ‘On the phone?’ your voice sounded so hollow even to your own ears.
‘Yeah, I'm sending it in our chat. Just give me a second.’
It would have been easy to shrug the sound of your roommate's voice off but it was the halt in her speech when she spoke that really stilled you and like a moth to a flame, your throats ran quickly to violet. Your not official girlfriend violet who told you she loved you just the day before. Your throat grew taut.
When you opened the chat you met with a picture that could at first glance be passed for friendly exchange or a horrible freeze frame but the way your stomach rolled confessed something different to you.
It was a picture of Violet in her car with Caitlyn beside her. The thing is Caitlyn was leaning into Violet with her eyes shut. You knew that look and even though you couldn't see Violet's face just her ex-girlfriends, you knew that look. It was the same one you got with her.
Your roommate's sullen apologies feel easily to the wayside, your hands trembling as you folded yourself over the kitchen counter for some kind of support both physical and mental.
When Violet came over that night, you waited for her to bring it up. You held your tongue and smiled gently at her waiting for her to confess to you. You didn't even know what but the principle remained : she was hiding it from you, right? But she didn't. With her arm wrapped around your chest, Vi cuddled herself into you with such ease you wondered if you had imagined the picture. That sickened you more.
Of course she didn't though, this was Violet Lanes after all, she was just living up to her player reputation.
When she left, you stayed up contemplating whether or not you should send the photo to her and confront her the way someone who fears loss does : like a coward. You press send and immediately block her.its a full month before you see the girl again and this you are armed with new information. Information that exonerates the woman you're so afraid to love.
Your roommate, having her ways, learnt that Caityln had learnt about your relationship with Vi and tried to get back with her. That day in the car, she tried to kiss Vi but she was rejected quite harshly. The relief could not match the horror filtered through your body when you realised your mistake.
Making your way to the gym proved a labour filled process. But you needed to do this. To apologise you Violet.
‘I..’ You idle, digging a nail into the fatty part of your finger, ‘that's not at all how I want you to feel.’ Violet makes a sound, a thin mixture between disbelief and relief that twists tight at your stomach. She goes back to adjusting the straps of her gloves, a conscious effort on her part to both watch you and block out the very idea of you. Though it hurts, a near numbing ache that keeps building in the hollow of your chest, you speak even if it's to her back.
‘I heard what happened.’
She is so wound up she can barely keep the irritation of her voice as she interrupts you.
‘Yeah, because I told you. Over and over again like a fucking idiot.’ Her arms flex as she has a feel for how the gloves sit around her wrists.
‘You're not an idiot Vi.’ you offer weakly.
‘That's what you made me look like.’ She bites back before sighing as she composes herself and walks away from you, strutting over to a punching bag.
You wince at both her words and the truth in them. Violet tried tirelessly to make you hear the truth. Lengthy heart felt texts explaining just Caiytlyn ended up in her car, sudden visits to your shared off campus apartment with your roommate, sending friends over to try and talk to you. She really did try.
‘I know that I'm the last person you want to talk to right now and I completely understand and I respect that, but I can't try to talk to you.’ You frown at the irony of your statement and the sound of her fists connecting with the bag.
‘Violet I am sorry. You've been,’ You raise your voice hoping she can hear you over the punching bag, ‘right this entire time. Even though you didn't say anything, I know you thought about how I judged you for your reputation despite how much we talked about it and you explained yourself.’
Your voice lowered, a slither of shame weighing it down.
‘I hate myself for the way I responded to you.’
‘Then why did you?’ it's not like I tried once to talk to you. Did it make you feel good seeing me looking fuckimg stupid in front of everyone? people knew we were talking, you know that right?’ She’s panting as she comes over to study your face. The breaths escaping her fan over your neck and chest. She's sweating and her sweat adorned abdomen is flexing with each breath. You look past her to avoid the swarm of thoughts threatening to make their appearance.
‘Violet, I was scared.’ She flinches at your words, her shoulders tensing before she slowly removes herself from your space to watch you as you explain yourself. ‘One of the most well known athletes at our school suddenly wants my attention, what am I supposed to think?’
‘That I want you. Genuinely.’ She interrupts as she shuffles her bare feet on the mat.
‘Well I didn't Vi and can you blame me? You've said yourself you know how your reputation precedes you, how did you think it translated to me?’ you shut your eyes and huffed trying to contain yourself. I'm not trying to blame you, at all. I'm here to apologize, so I am sorry Violet for treating you the way I did. I know you didn't cheat on me. I know you wanted me and only me and though I probably shouldn't be afforded this kindness given my behavior, but I hope we can still try to be friends after this.’
It's quiet for a while, a sort of heaviness afforded only after moments like this. You brave a look at her and she's got her head bowed as she considers your words. The truth you ran from so determinedly has found you regardless : you want her, you're in love with her.
Violet shakes her head slowly as she finally responds to you.
‘I can't be your friend.’ Though you anticipated this response, your throat still tightens suddenly as a wave of unshed tears threaten to form.
Regardless of this, you node politely as violet costumes to observe you.
‘We should go home and talk some more about how much i dont want you.’ At that you look at her and spot the tiny turn of lips as she watches you. Barely pausing to let her take her gloves off, you haul your body against hers and squeeze.
Oh violet im so sorry
*Kiss* i was so wrong *kiss* i missed you so much
*kiss* please dont leave me.
With the both of you safely in the comfort of your bedroom, Violet peels off your clothes an item at a time before she does the same to her own. Her moves moving firmly yet slowly against yours, she whispers tender promises into your mouth that she seals off with a kiss. Secret touches turned desperate, Violet parts your legs and lips before doing the same to herself and lowering her throbbing clit against your own. The reaction is immediate. A hungry, deeply pleased moan rips through you as you tense up and hold onto her shoulders. She is kind in the sense that she lets you collect yourself a minute before grinding forward aided by yours and her slick mixing and moaning at the heat centered at her clit.
‘I won't last.’ she moans into your neck.
Thrust.
‘Me too.’ you choke out, digging into her back and ribs.
Thrust.
Her hips bones are digging deliciously into yours as she manoeuvres her clit against yours. She rises over you and starts slamming her hips quickly against yours. The sounds are electrifying :skin against skin, her panting over you, you don't last.
You come with a heat so intense you curl against her as you clit twitches against hers. Violet thrusts a few more times before she's coming too.
She ruts up against you some more to work through her tremors before she relaxes onto you and pushing you further into the mattress.
It's a while after you've both caught your breaths that you speak.
‘You can't have friends if this is how you guys apologise to each other.’
Violet Lanes, your girlfriend, howls her laughter into the hollow of your neck completely satisfied.
summary: after a night out, you cross paths with your (very married) neighbor. against her judgment (and yours), she shows you a good time. 18+ mdni! contains cheating (vi is married, r is single), alcohol use, oral sex, pet names. kinda angsty? like, maybe a little? also in my head vi is much older than reader but it’s not mentioned in the fic, so imagine it however u want!
“thank you soooo much,” you tell your uber driver, a woman around your age who had let you sit in the front seat and pick the music for your ride home. “i literally wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
“of course,” she chirps back, grinning, clearly not annoyed by your slurred words and overenthusiastic gratitude.
you rattle off a few more words of thanks as you clamber out of the sedan, heels clicking on the gravel. a sudden gust of wind sends shivers up your spine, reminding you that it’s not technically spring yet, and your too-short skirt and spaghetti strap top aren’t doing much to protect you from the cold. In fact, they’re not doing anything at all. you walk a bit faster up your driveway, glad that you’d had the foresight to turn on the porch light before you’d left earlier.
as you’re rummaging through your purse in search of your keys, the neighbor’s door swings open, and out walks a tattooed redhead. you quickly recall her name - vi. she lives next door with her wife, who you’ve also crossed paths with a few times. both women are, frankly, fucking hot. especially vi, who’s clad in a loose white tee (braless, no less) and jeans, inky black tattoos on display as she settles down into one of the patio chairs. she’s carrying a glass of wine, filled nearly to the brim.
maybe it’s the alcohol in your system from your night out. maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in ages, resorting instead to sliding your hand beneath your panties at night and finger-fucking yourself to sleep. maybe it’s a combination of both. regardless, you catch yourself staring at your neighbor for a bit too long, eyes lingering on the red mass of her perfectly-tousled hair, the glimmering silver ring in her nose, the smoldering heat of her gaze when her eyes meet yours.
she doesn’t look away. your breath catches in your throat.
“hey, neighbor.” dipping her head back, she takes a long swig from her overfilled glass of wine, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and flashes a crooked smile your way. “had a good night, i take it?”
nodding, you tug your front door open by the handle. you’re tipsy, and though alcohol typically makes you feel more confident, the benefits of the many cocktails in your system don’t make talking to your hot neighbor any easier. anxious, you fiddle with the zipper on your purse. “it was fun, yeah.”
“but he didn’t let you stay over,” your neighbor shoots back, eyes narrowing just a bit. “shame. you deserve better.”
your brows lift at the comment - specifically the word he. vi can’t be that oblivious, can she?
“he? oh - no, it wasn’t like that. i was with friends.” you lean your head against the cool metal of the front door, letting your eyes drink her in some more. she’s sitting on the porch furniture like it’s a throne, shoulders squared, legs spread. her jeans fit her well, you notice, admiring the way they emphasize the shape of her strong thighs beneath the denim.
but… fuck, she’s married. and you’re drunk.
“i’m gonna go to bed,” you say, finally, smiling politely. “goodnight, vi.”
it might just be a cruel trick of your imagination, but you swear she looks disappointed - if only for a moment. her expression returns to normal just as quickly, though, and then she’s responding to you from behind the rim of her wine glass. “uh-huh. goodnight.”
when you finally get the door shut, it’s with a relieved sigh. the tension leaves your body in waves until all you feel is the light, airy haze of your buzz. you toe off your shoes and set your purse down on the table by the door, then make your way to the kitchen for some much-needed ice water. you’re halfway through your second glass when there’s a knock at the door.
as you set your glass onto the counter and walk back to the foyer, it occurs to you that most normal people would be startled by a knock on the door after midnight. most normal people wouldn’t get excited by it, and they certainly wouldn’t hope it’s their married neighbor knocking.
and most normal people wouldn’t stop to look in the mirror before they answer the door, pulling their shirt down to expose more cleavage, fixing their hair and hastily reapplying a layer of lipstick. but you’re not most normal people - you know it’s her at the door, and you know this is wrong, and you still want it.
when you turn the knob and find her staring you down on the other side of the door, her seaglass-blue eyes dark and stormy with desire, you feign innocence. ignorance, even.
“hi,” you say, voice even. “do you need something?”
“nobody saw you dressed like this and took you back to their place?” vi’s voice is low and gruff as she questions you, stepping over the threshold into your home. instinctively, you angle out of her way, letting her in without a word of protest. when you don’t move to close the door again, she pushes it shut with a flat palm, eyes never leaving yours.
“hm?” she prompts.
“i—no,” you blurt, shaking your head. “i was just with friends, like i told you.”
the heat of her gaze has your skin flushing with warmth as she looks you over, eyes lingering on the curve of your hips and the slopes of your breasts.
satisfaction roils through you, a white-hot stab of confidence from the way she looks at you. “why does it matter?”
“you’d only wear something like this to get fucked,” she drawls, one calloused hand reaching out to grab the supple flesh of your hip. her fingertips skate over your skirt’s mesh fabric, her face still relatively expressionless while you burn from her touch alone.
“well, i didn’t get fucked,” you say, surprised at how well you’ve masked the shakiness of your voice. “not that it’s any of your business.”
your tone evidently surprises vi, too. her brows pull together, an amused chuckle leaving her lips as she rubs her palm over your hip. “what an attitude,” she comments. “always been such a sweetheart, smiling all pretty at me. should’ve known you just needed a few drinks to bring out the brat.”
her boots are heavy against the hardwood floors as she steps forward to close the small gap between the two of you. she smells like cigarettes and spiced perfume and that wine she’d been drinking earlier - it suddenly dawns on you that, if she’d finished that entire glass in just a few minutes, she’s probably just as tipsy as you are.
that would explain why she’s crowding into your space, backing you up against the wall closest to the door, her arm snaking around your waist like she’d done this a thousand times before. truthfully, you’re expecting her to kiss you when she leans in close; the very tip of her nose brushes against yours and your eyes fall shut of their own accord.
but instead of her mouth on yours, you feel her lips latch onto the smooth skin of your neck. her kisses are hot, wet, open-mouthed, and a pleased sigh pushes past your lips when she pauses over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and sucks hard. arousal pools in your gut, your thighs pressing together to relieve some of the tension between your legs as you lean into vi touch. her hands are everywhere: your hips, your ass, your tits, groping appreciatively at every inch of you she can reach.
you should feel guilty, shouldn’t you? if only you could. instead, all you can feel is the delicious slide of vi’s tongue over your pulse, her teeth nipping at your sensitive flesh until you’re pliant in her arms, doe-eyed, watching her trail kisses lower, lower, lower. her lips brush the lace trim of your camisole and when she looks up at you from beneathher lashes to find that you’re already watching her, she grins salaciously.
“hey, sweetheart,” vi murmurs, voice low. she leans towards you again, close enough for you to smell the wine on her breath, and your heartbeat stutters when her lips ghost over yours. “can you show me your room?”
she kicks off her boots and you lead her down the hall, suddenly glad that you’d made your bed this morning.
vi’s hands are back on you as soon as you make it to the bedroom, the lamp on your nightstand providing just enough light to keep you from stumbling. she pulls your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, hands dipping behind you to unclasp your bra and work the straps from your shoulders. she’s methodical and practiced with every movement, and it makes your head spin when she gropes at your exposed tits, thumbs stroking over your pert nipples.
“fuck,”she curses down at you, her eyes on your breasts as she kneads them carefully. “look at you - so pretty for me.”
vi’s words have your cunt clenching around nothing, a shameless moan ripping from your chest when she pinches your nipples just right. you whine in protest when she moves her hands away, but you’re quickly silenced when her palm comes to rest on the back of your neck and she dips her head down to bring her lips to yours. the room seems to spin around you, though you know it’s not from the alcohol.
vi tastes like smoke and wine, just as you’d expected, but beneath it all, there’s the distinctive flavor of her. and it’s addictive - you’re hooked already, melting under her commanding grip,her fingertips digging into the back of your neck. her tongue darts over your lower lip, eventually slipping into your mouth to taste more of you. every swipe of her tongue over yours stokes the fire growing in your belly; you’re practically vibrating with arousal, your cunt fluttering every time vi’s hand flexes on your neck.
but then disappointment stabs through you as she finally breaks the kiss, her lips swollen and shiny with saliva, eyes clouded with need.
“don’t look so sad, baby,” she coos down at you, “just want you to get on your knees for me. can you do that?”
truth be told, you’d do just about anything she’d ask of you. you nod, sinking to your knees before her, your skirt riding up to bunch around your hips and expose the supple, doughy flesh of your thighs. vi even catches a glimpse at your panties - skimpy and lacy, of course. her cunt gushes wetter and she palms herself over her jeans as you settle on your knees to peer up at her, eyes wide and round and pathetic. how can you look fucked-out when she hasn’t even fucked you yet?
your hands smooth up vi’s thighs, the denim of her jeans rough and scratchy beneath your palms. it feels wrong to break eye contact, especially when she’s looking at you with such desire, so you keep your gaze fixed on him while your hands move to undo her belt, pop the top button of her jeans, and tug the zipper down. you lean closer as you work her jeans down her legs, leaving her in just the thin material of her boxers. and it’s only then that you want to look away from vi’s face, because you can feel how wet she is when you drag your hand over the clothed mound of her pussy. you need to see how wet she is, too.
you can hear her breath hitch as she watches you; the urge to please her seizes you with dizzying strength and you’re no longer caught up on the guilt of the situation. leaning forward, you press your lips to the thin fabric separating your skin from vi’s pussy, darkening with the mess of her arousal. your tongue flits out to circle the wet patch, and vi groans like she’s in pain, her hips twitching desperately. distantly, you hear her say something like don't tease, but you’re too focused on the task at hand to process vi’s words. you rub your cheek against her pelvis, your eyes flickering up to meet hers - she’s staring, lips parted, jaw tight.
“damn, you’re a slut, aren’t you?” vi’s voice is low and husky, tinged with dark amusement. her fingers card through your hair and tug slightly at the roots. “baby, stop stalling - i need to know how that pretty mouth feels, yeah?”
“mm, okay,” you murmur, a mischievous little smirk playing at your lips as you hook your thumbs behind the waistband of her underwear and tug them down to her ankles. she spreads her legs just enough to allow you to see her, cunt flushed and glistening with slick arousal beneath a fine thicket of hair. the room is still spinning when you open your mouth to lick a stripe up her pussy, tongue lingering when it reaches the bud of her clit. she tastes salty and sweet and heady, and it’s divine - you lick up the evidence of her arousal until she’s straining to keep from bucking her hips forward, thin brows knitted together.
“so gorgeous on your knees,” vi rasps. her hand moves to grip the back of your neck, blunt fingernails digging into your skin just enough to sting. you smile, but you doubt vi can see it, your mouth buried in her bush and smothered with wetness. you lick at her cunt lazily at first, tongue broad, allowing you to familiarize yourself with every slick fold of her cunt. you tongue at her clit carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her too much - but every pass of your tongue over the swollen, sensitive bud makes vi’s breath hitch in her throat.
“doing so good,” she manages to say, voice shaky. A hand smoothes over your hair. “gonna let me come on your pretty face?”
you hum your assent, eyes fluttering shut as you mouth at her burning core, the taste and scent of her slick overwhelming your senses. you’re not sure how long you spend between her legs, sucking at her clit and parting her folds with your tongue, moaning against the spit-slick hair of her bush, before the ragged moans leaving her lips grow more insistent - more desperate. you pick up the pace of the circles you’ve been drawing around her clit, bringing one hand up to her center to slip a finger into her tight heat. vi makes a sound that makes your pussy fucking throb with want. seeing as it was so easy to slide a finger into her, you add another, and revel in satisfaction when she makes another tortured sound. before long, you’re fingering her at a dizzying pace, the lewd sounds from between her legs making your stomach heavy with arousal.
there’s little warning before vi finally comes - she gasps out your name, fingers tightening in your hair as her cunt seizes up around your fingers. she thrusts her hips forward a few times, riding out her high on your face, and you couldn’t be happier to be such a fucking mess.
when you open your eyes to look up at her, you’re mesmerized. she looks beautiful like this, even as her expression crumpled with pleasure. her hair is disheveled far more than usual, cheeks painted a bright shade of pink, lips still swollen from earlier. you’re struck with a bolt of admiration for her, a fleeting sensation quickly followed by guilt because, well… she’s married to someone else.
as if she could sense where your mind was going, vi suddenly draws her hips back, gripping your hair in her fist to pull you away from her cunt. you clamber to your feet, nipples still exposed and achingly hard as your tits bounce with movement. vi pulls you in for another messy kiss, the wet sounds of your lips moving together only adding to your arousal. you’re so turned on you can hardly breathe, your slickness soaking through the flimsy fabric of your panties. vi moves you backwards to the bed, giving you a quiet command to lie back before she reaches down to yank her shirt off.
she’s on you before you can process what she’s doing. dropping to her knees at the foot of the bed, she pulls you to the edge of the mattress, wasting no time before her hands are greedily squeezing the soft, warm flesh of your thighs. she works her hands higher until she can grip the hem of your panties, working them off quickly. “ruined,” she comments, referring to the soiled fabric as it sticks to your cunt, ribbons of your arousal stretching between the underwear and your soaked folds. you can only get out a strangled moan to acknowledge her words, body white-hot with anticipation.
warm puffs of vi’s breath trail along your inner thighs, her mouth utterly sinful when she sucks a few bruises into your sensitive skin. you’ve hardly recovered from the sight of her as you ate her out, but now you have a new image to burn into your memory: vi’s head between your legs, her pupils blown, gaze fixed up at you as she splits your folds with her tongue. sloppy as she is, she’s methodical about this too. her tongue dips into the well of arousal pooled at your entrance, spreading the slickness upwards to your clit. your hips jerk and twitch when her tongue prods against the bundle of nerves, which she clearly doesn’t appreciate - her hands move to slam down on your hips, forcing them back down to the mattress. she keeps her hands there, her fingers splayed over the sliver of your torso exposed beneath your skirt; you look away when you see the silver rings adorning her fingers. one ring in particular, really.
guilty as you should feel, it’s hard to harbor any kind of regret when vi’s eating your cunt so well. she’s attentive to every moan and shiver that passes through you, expertly mapping out your body - finding what you like best. and it’s maddening, how quickly she works you to the precipice of your orgasm. you’re teetering on the edge within a few short minutes, panting and gasping, fighting every urge to roll your hips down and grind against her face.
“oh my god,” you blurt, “vi, i’m - i’m gonna–”
you interrupt yourself with a sharp whine, going damn near cross-eyed when vi slips a slender finger into your pulsing heat. you’d imagined her fingering you like this a hundred times before, but none of your fantasies could prepare you for the way a single finger splits you apart, her index finger slipping in right after, both digits scissoring carefully in the warm wetness of your cunt. if you were close before, you’re now a babbling mess, slipping into the ecstasy of your orgasm with a strangled moan and an arched back. vi licks you through every wave of pleasure, her fingers stilling inside you while you spasm around her. she hums in approval when you finally come down from your orgasm, spent and struggling to catch your breath.
“you’re so fucking messy,” vi says with a smirk, dragging her fingers through your folds and holding them up for you to see. wetness shines on her fingers, your creamy spend still pooled around the dips of her rings. “you always this sloppy, baby? or is it just for me?”
you chew at your lip. “it’s just… just for you.”
she flashes you a wicked grin, gives your swollen clit one last kiss, then rises to stand over you at the foot of the bed. you reach out for her, suddenly cold, yearning for the warmth of her bare skin against yours. but she doesn’t notice the gesture, instead turning to search the floor for her forgotten tee and jeans.
“sorry i can’t stay,” she says casually, tugging her jeans on after finding them in a crumpled pile. “my wife will be home soon, so.”
her wife.
you’d been so wrapped up in your own ecstasy that you’d let yourself fantasize about her staying the night - crawling into bed with you and cuddling after sex, falling asleep in each other’s arms.
if your disappointment shows, vi doesn’t say anything.
“i’ll see you around, sweetheart,” she says. her eyes shift to your still-spread legs, cunt soaked in her spit and your own cum.
“okay,” you respond, voice hollow. your head has started to throb - tonight’s drinks are catching up to you. you watch as vi tugs her shirt back over her head, then turns to the mirror beside her bed to fix her tousled red locks. she gives you one last smug smile as she backs out of the doorway to your bedroom, one hand lifting to wave goodbye. you hear her shuffle through the house, stepping back into her boots. the front door slams shut a moment later, the silence of your bedroom somehow deafening.
in the quiet solitude of your bedroom, you pull the covers over your naked body and force yourself to sleep. and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll wake up tomorrow to find that this was all a drunken dream.
₊˚── Synopsis: After weeks of unbearable thirst, you manage to hunt down one of your biggest catches. Said catch manages to weasle her way into your life, become your closest friend, and show you that being a creature deemed peculiar in more ways than one doesn't have to be so lonely.
Word Count: 2.9k
Content/Warnings: sfw, werewolf!vi, vampire!reader, aroace!vi, aroace!reader, minimal violence (mentions of blood, feeding on humans, good ol' vampire stuff)
A/N: i'm not sure what came over me but all i know is that i saw this tweet and immediately entered flow state and now we have this 12 hours later. with that being said, please excuse any typos-- this writing process was a literal fever dream but it was incredibly fun. having adhd has it's perks, i guess. anyway! yes i know vi isn't canonically aroace but vi also isn't canonically a werewolf. so. i can do whatever i want okay?! i still hope you enjoy, though. love you bye.
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
There hasn't been an animal this large roaming this part of the forest in ages.
Your eyes are wild as you track its movements from a couple of hundred meters away. Its heart pounds, every rush of blood through its veins more enthralling than the last.
You don't like hunting. You never have. You've accepted that it's likely you never will.
You'll never like any part of what you've become, because it isn't something you asked for.
But there isn't any amount of self-loathing that could change what you are, or you'd be human again.
There isn't any amount of grief that could satiate the hunger that consumes you, or this part of the forest wouldn't be so scarce of the wildlife that once filled it.
Your nails dig into the bark of the tree you're hidden behind as the only other creature around takes an unknowing step closer to its demise.
You remind yourself that's all this wolf is— a creature.
Creatures don't have feelings like humans do. They don't have lives, loves, or families in the same way. They don't hold their histories close and dream of the futures awaiting them.
You're never as full as you were after draining humans in darkened alleyways, but you're never as disgusted with yourself, either. So, you decided a long time ago that it needed to be this way; that it was better this way, to spare humans and save the hunt for whatever else you could find.
And this creature is your biggest find in years.
It takes one more step closer— clearly lost— and your mouth goes dry, your tongue rough as sandpaper.
It whines once— clearly afraid— and you nearly let out a whine of your own as the restraint you must show grows painful.
Your body locks up with anticipation. The familiar sensation of thorns winding around your throat like ivy as you swallow overwhelms you.
Just one step closer, you think.
It just needs to take one more step closer, and your fangs will be tearing into its neck before it can run.
"Come on," you mouth as it tentatively lifts its paw. "Just one more… come on, come on, come on—"
The sharp snap of a twig echoes through the forest as the creature steps down onto it.
Before the echo comes to the end of its short life, you've got the wolf's body pinned to the ground.
This animal is not just large.
This animal is a freak of nature.
Just like you.
And it's putting up a fight that you were unprepared for.
It's strong— thrashing and kicking and snarling. The only reason you manage to keep it overpowered is that your mouth is so close to its pulse, it's finally started watering, despite how parched you've been for weeks.
You snarl back, breathing heavily, the smell of its blood intoxicating and rich and—
human.
Unmistakably human.
For a split second, you stop fighting back, brows knitting together in confusion; and in that split second, the wolf manages to launch you off its body, sending you flying through the air like a ragdoll before your back hits the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree with a crack.
The wind is knocked out of you with a gasp.
You gasp again as you watch the wolf's body convulse and contort in an exorcism that leaves a human in its wake.
Your hand flies up to cover your mouth. Your eyes are wide in horror.
And when those same blue eyes snap up to meet your own, you breathe,
"I'm sorry."
And the human laughs.
In the midst of her panting and her wincing, she laughs, clear and bright.
"You're sorry? You're a goddman monster, is what you are. I'm honestly impressed. How the fuck did you manage—"
"I'm not a monster."
Your voice is so soft, so wounded, that for a moment, pity flashes across the human's face.
"Really," you plead. "I promise. I had no idea that… if I had known that you were… I have not brought harm to a human in—"
"Hey."
Her voice is low and steady, still raspy from exertion.
"It's all good," she shrugs. "No harm, no foul, right?"
For a moment, you stare blankly before finally offering her a slow, tentative nod.
A crooked smile tugs at her round lips.
"So… you're a vampire, then?"
Just as soon as you're about to fervently deny the claim out of instinct, you realize the cat was out of the bag when you pinned a wolf three times your size beneath you and bared your fangs to its neck, so you give another tiny nod.
"Got it," she nods back. "You been around long?"
You could have probably figured out what she meant by that with some more time, but she translates for you a few seconds later, anyway.
"When were you born, love?"
"Oh," you perk up. "Right… That would be… 1881."
"Got it," she repeats. "And how long have you been hiding out in the woods?"
"Almost a hundred years."
The answer comes quicker than you were to clear the distance between the two of you the moment she got close enough, because it's something you think about every single day; how long it's been since you've been around other people. How long it's been since you've spoken to another person at all.
"Damn… alright, then," she reels. "Gonna have to explain the Twilight series to you so the jokes don't go over your head…"
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
You learn that the human's name is Violet, but that she doesn't like being called that, despite your arguments that it's a beautiful name, just as the flower is.
You learn that Twilight is a series of books— and moving pictures, later on— about vampires that sparkle like diamonds in the sun and werewolves that rip their clothes off before assuming their animal forms.
You learn that real werewolves do not rip their clothes off before assuming their animal forms, but that Twilight was right about werewolves being born rather than made.
And when you ask how she discovered that she was a werewolf, you learn that she only found out after transforming for the first time, because her parents had neglected to inform her when she was young, and had died before they could make good on changing that.
"Were you afraid?" You'd asked, sitting across from her in the kitchenette of the abandoned hunting cabin you've occupied for the last half a century. "The first time you transformed, I mean. You must have been terrified."
"Oh, yeah," she'd chortled, leaning back against the counter while you sipped tea at the small kitchen table by the window. "Terrified doesn't even cut it. I thought I was dying."
She chuckled again. You've come to learn that about Vi— that she often laughs upon saying things that make your heart twist.
"And it hurt like shit, too, dude," she recounted, dragging a hand down her face. "Felt like I was breaking all my bones and tearing all my muscles at once."
The last time you experienced pain was during your own transformation, but even after all that time, you remembered it well enough to wince in empathy.
"I'm sorry," you'd murmured.
She quickly shook her head. "Don't be. I turned back into a human, and I was fucking ripped."
You'd squinted.
"My muscles were huge, and I was really excited," she'd clarified.
"Ah," you'd nodded with a smile. "I see. Ripped. As in, your muscles were ripped, and now they're bigger."
She'd cocked her head to the side before smiling herself.
"Yeah… I'd bet that's exactly where that phrase comes from, actually."
You were relieved to learn that with every transformation Vi underwent, the less painful they became, and that by the time she met you, they caused no discomfort at all.
In fact, her animal form is the one she most often assumes when venturing through your part of the forest.
You wonder why she still comes around when you're sure she has plenty else to do— plenty of family of her own, plenty of people to talk to— but regardless, the company is a welcome change.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
Visits from Vi didn't take long to become something you looked forward to.
That was, until she'd knocked on your door with a tight jaw one evening.
"You're aware I leave the door unlocked for you, yes?" You asked. "You needn't knock."
"You needn't leave the door unlocked while you're out here all by yourself."
You might have teased her for the way your lexicon was slowly becoming her own, or reminded her that you would have sensed any stranger intending on giving you trouble long before they got to you, but that night, she seemed in no joking mood.
"What's the matter?" you'd softly asked, closing the door behind you.
"Hunters on the perimeter of the forest," she'd replied, flat and irritated, plopping down onto the small sofa in the front room.
You'd gone still.
You've spent longer dedicating yourself to being no threat to humans than most humans live, and yet, their hunger for your head on a stake often surpasses your hunger for their blood.
You'd responded first with a deep breath, exhaling slowly through your nose.
"I've been hiding here for quite a while," you mentioned. "It was only a matter of time before I was chased out."
"Oh, fuck that," Vi laughed in reproval. "You're not getting chased out. You're not going anywhere. Not as long as I'm out there guarding."
You hadn't been able to pinpoint right away why those words made you so uneasy.
"Guarding?"
"Yeah," she lifted a shoulder. "You know… stalkin' around. Keepin' folks from getting too close to your territory. Wolf-y stuff."
"I don't have… 'territory.'"
She'd paused for a moment, looking up at you.
"Well… I do."
And then she stood, walking back over to you.
"And that's anywhere from this cabin all the way to a hundred square miles out. I don't want you bothered out here."
"You don't have to do that, Vi," you'd asked— no, you'd pleaded.
And she'd thought that you were simply reluctant to accept the help because you didn't want to inconvenience her, which is why she smiled and said,
"I know I don't have to, Y/n. But I want to. I enjoy it— seriously. I like keeping you safe because I care about you, yeah?"
And then she'd leaned in to press a quick kiss to your cheek, and walked out the door, promising to be back tomorrow, or sooner if need be.
And you'd stood in the same spot she left you, hand pressed to the cheek her lips had brushed, sick to your stomach until you heard her come back for you the next day.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
This time, she asks you what's wrong.
Thankfully, you've got something close enough to an answer, because you've done nothing but think about it for the past 18 hours.
But still, before you bare your soul— or what's left of it after being dead for almost two centuries— you ask,
"Do you want tea?"
She chuckles, a smile of pity softening her features.
"I'm good, babe. Can you just tell me—"
"That," you blurt.
She rears back in surprise.
"That… you cannot call me that. I do not want you to."
She frantically shakes her head, raising her hands in surrender.
"I'm sorry," she sputters. "I… you're right, yeah, I totally should have asked before—"
"And the guarding," you interject. "I do not want that from you, either."
Her hands begin to fall.
"Wait… why?" She asks, brows furrowing. "What's that got to do with anything?"
Your breath shudders as you exhale. You start wringing your hands.
And Vi is becoming increasingly worried.
"I… I know what this all means, Violet. Vi— sorry!"
"'S okay," she coos. "I called you 'babe.' Now we're even."
"But that's just it," you gesture. "We aren't even. You've been… you've been guarding me— protecting me— for months. You visit me for tea in the afternoons and for supper in the evenings, and you ask me about my interests, and about the things I love, and about my life before. You… you call me sweet names like 'love' and… and 'babe…' and I know that it's been a long while since I was in the company of other humans, but it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten what happens next."
Vi stares, looking absurdly puzzled.
"What do you… What are you… What?"
But you know this is part of the dance, too. The feigned cluelessness. The guessing game.
"What happens next?" She repeats, seeking elaboration.
"What you expect from me," you reply. "What I owe you. You should know that… you should know that it is not something I'm prepared to give you. It is not something I can give you."
She places her hands on her hips, still staring, her eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled.
"Y/n… what do you think you owe me? Why do you think you owe me?"
You huff, throwing your hands in the air.
"Enough! Please! I know that you intend to court me, so you're providing protection, and showing interest, and offering kindness and affections so that I shall consider the benefits of such an arrangement, but I do not want that! I do not want to court. I do not want to be courted. I do not want romance! It is entirely too complicated and tiring and suffocating, and I would much rather read or draw, alright?"
Vi's face falls, and for a long while she continues staring.
Until suddenly, laughter bursts from her, clear and bright as always.
You frown in equal parts confusion and aggravation.
"Is what I said so funny?"
Clearly, it is, because her face is turning red and her eyes are getting glassy.
"Okay, first of all," she begins, rubbing a hand over her chest as she catches her breath, "I don't 'intend to court you,' because people my age don't 'court' at all. They date. I'm not a thousand years old, remember?"
You roll your eyes and cross your arms. If there is anything you regret about having invited Vi's company into your life, it's that you happened upon someone who seems to enjoy ruffling your feathers.
"Fine," you scoff. "Then, I don't wish to date you."
"That's great!" She exclaims. "I don't wanna date you, either. I don't wanna date at all!"
Your eyes widen.
"I've tried that shit," she shakes her head, exasperated simply thinking about it, "and you're damn right. It's complicated, and tiring, and suffocating, and I, too, would much rather be doing other things. Like patrolling the edge of the forest. Or having gross tea with my sick ass vampire friend."
"It isn't gross. You let it steep for too long— and I do think you would enjoy it more with milk and sugar—"
"Y/n," she exhales.
And when you nod, a slow, shy smile spreads across your face.
"You don't owe me shit. You wouldn't owe me shit if I were interested in romance, but I'm not. I'm sure as hell not. It makes me happy to watch out for you, and hear about your favorite books, and bring you dead rabbits just because we're friends. Not because I secretly hope it'll earn me more."
Your arms are wrapped tightly around your body now, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against your own sleeve.
"Are you… Are you certain?"
"Am I certain? Y/n, I am completely satisfied with what we have. The love I have to give feels the best when I'm giving to my friends, and… I mean…"
She rubs the back of her neck, and the tips of her ears go as pink as her hair; the hair you watched her paint just last week.
"You're kinda my best friend," she admits. "Which is to say that I love you. A lot. And I don't want anything to change, okay?"
You nod, now beaming.
"Okay."
"Yeah? That sound good to you?"
"That sounds… that sounds perfect," you sigh in relief. "I, uh… I wasn't aware there were people who shared my experience."
"Oh, are there," she begins, now making herself comfortable on the sofa like she lives here.
She might as well, really.
"There are tons of people who feel the way we do— and there are tons of different ways to feel it, too."
"Really?" You ask, sitting next to her; letting her place her head in your lap like you always have, except this time, there isn't a voice in the back of your mind warning you that she might get the wrong idea.
"Oh, yeah," she nods, eyes fluttering shut.
But then, she pops back up, struck with a sudden eureka.
"Oh my god— now I can finally talk to someone about all of the fictional characters I headcanon as being aroace, starting with— hear me out— Bella Swan."
You know who Bella Swan is. Unfortunately, that's about all you understood of that sentence.
But for someone like Vi— someone who loves as fiercely as she does and asks for nothing in return— you're content to sit on the small sofa of the abandoned cabin she's made her second home and listen to her ramble about whatever she pleases, for however long she'd like.
After all, if there's one good thing about being a vampire, it's that you've got nothing but time.
