“You’re incorrigible.”

She looks exquisite, breath-taking and disarrayed, and infinitely going to mess up your life kind of way. Her black, baggy muscle tank doesn’t show the outline of her abs that you know are there. What it does do is highlight her biceps in the dimly light library. Her shoulders that only seem to get wider in time, more defined in horrible ways that make you never want to give her up.

Unfortunately, it's exactly what lands you here. The very same reason you’ll hate yourself later. Just say no to her. It’s not hard. She’s only a woman. There’s so many out there. Other fish in the sea and what everyone on this god-green earth has spoken to you in the past.

You wonder if there’s more of her that can do what she’s doing with her tongue. A thought you cursed out of your mind for three consecutive days. Monday through Wednesday, you locked yourself up, besides the flow of your classes, pure isolation is the only solution you managed to find.

The stir-crazy brain got a grip on you as you shuffled your way into the library—it feels a lot like admitting defeat. It’s the only place you frequent, and exactly where she can find you.

The drill of the week chipping at you, your concentration hardly being able to resist when she sits next to you in the hidden corner of non-fiction memoirs on the third floor. These books have been collecting dust practically since the dawn of time. You should have known better than to think you could possibly be undisturbed for a week straight.

Once she found you, little to no probing you was needed. Vi makes you stand, because she’s absolutely insufferable, and she sinks to her knees. Overworked hands with her calloused palms and fingers tips kiss along your skin. She dips into the waistband, pulling them slowly until they hit the bottom of heels.

You have this whole, preppy look going on and Vi can't deny it always works on her. Short skirts, and your tight white and cream button ups that really do anything and everything for her. She can already feel her boxers clinging to her, sticky and sweet, all and becoming saccharine she’s been missing.

“Don’t get too loud, honeybee. Can’t have anyone know the smartest girl on campus fucks below her GPA average.”

That stupid name falling off her tongue makes you want to rip her hair out from the root, but all you do is keep her locked underneath your wool skirt. Violently carefully nails scraping in annoyance on her scalp. Last time you wore this outfit, Vi maneuvered her hands underneath and let her fingers fuck you in the co-op stall with your date down the hall.

It’s when you learned Vi didn’t like splitting your time with anyone else.

She's not what you usually go for. Arrogant, self-obsessed, but surprisingly sweet in a way you obstain from admitting. Her mouth gets in the way of it. Whether she’s on her knees like she is now, or letting dumb shit fly off the handle. Today, she’s managed to do both at the same time.

This time though? She’s practically boasting from the dig. Knowing you had the attention of her ex-girfriend, and might have even fucked her if Vi learned the capability of keeping her distance. “I really didn’t know—”

Vi shuts you up, lips wrapped around your clit, and a heavy moan leaves your mouth. You cover it when she flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing patterns with her free hand on your thigh in the way she learned you enjoy.

“I can't really blame Cait—” She lavishes your cunt in a heated swirl of her tongue before her lips linger at the apex of your thighs, letting her fingers do the work for her while she speaks at you. “We always did have the same taste in women. It really must suck for her that you’re so obsessed with me.”

“I am not obsessed with you.”

Vi sinks another finger in, enjoying the instant possessive clench around her. “What about now?”

Without losing the power she has, Vi softly stands, while she keeps fucking you, until she’s looking at you, directly in the eye with her broad shoulders squaring against your frame. Her hot breath pressing against your neck as she flicks her wrist, her fingers curling until you grip onto her shoulder for leverage.

“Just admit it, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.” Vi’s lips monopolize on the curve of your jaw, the expanse of your neck, and just behind your ear. The sharp intake of your breath stirs a groan within her. Animialstic as it soars through her chest. “You always wanna be with me, huh?”

With one hand having her way with you, she lets the other precisely unbutton your shirt. The first time she hasn’t ripped one off, leaving you to awkwardly walk back to the parking lot to your car. Vi’s picks up her pace, enjoying the rapid fall of your chest every second you get closer.

“You’re so full of yourself.” You try to bite convincingly, but Vi does it much better when her teeth playfully sink into your neck.

“Maybe.” Vi slides her left hand underneath the wiring of your bra, tweaking your already peaked nipple. “But I do know when a pretty girl likes my company, and my fingers—and likes it even more when I fuck her with my mouth.”

“Shut up, Violet.”

“Oh, are you close already, baby?” Her thumb plays with your clit, applying more pressure as your hips buck into her. “You do always get a little bratty when you try to avoid me and realize where home is.”

A roll of your eyes doubles, and you’re about to tell her off. Really roll right over her. Let her cocky smirk slide right off her beautiful goddamn, scarred lips. Vi’s quick to see maybe she’s pushed you too far. So, she does the one think that always sets you off.

Popping your full breasts out of the lace cup, and one of them delectably falls in her eager mouth. It’s far too much, too soon, and you can hardly catch your breath.

“Vi, please—”

Your hips are riding her fingers as much as you can. Making sure she keeps them curled and sinking into the spot you’re chasing. This is when she really does you in. She goes all sweet, her alter-ego taking over, and she sheds her second-skin like a snake. This is the unfiltered version of her. Vi doesn’t put on a show. She’s not cocky and triumphant about fucking you. She’s full of honey and dreams. Sticky and too damn sweet.

It’s short lived, lasts as long as your orgasm does, and it’s your deadly secret you keep at night when your vibrator is between your thighs, trying to replicate the high. The reason you are obsessed like she claims. It has little to do with how she fucks. When she’s eager and putting all her strength into nimble and capable fingers. While it bodes well for your libido, your heart crushes underneath the weight of her compliments that leave her breathe in the secluded corner.

Almost like Vi blacks out when you beg.

It brings out the sweet-tooth in her, and you’re the sweetest piece of candy she’s ever tried.

“My sweet and smart, honeybee.” Vi pulls off your tits, and consumes your mouth, tongue and teeth overwhelming your every sense. “Be my sweet girl, yeah? My pretty girl always get what she wants, doesn’t she? Come for me, baby. I know you’re right there.”

And you do.

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

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

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

Lacy at the helm of all your indecision.

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips remain concealed.

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

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

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

"How do you know about that?"

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

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

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

No. It couldn't. It can't be—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She never told me it was you."

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

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

"It wouldn't have done any good."

"Yeah, right. Caitlyn."

"And you and Lacey."

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

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

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

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

“Why are you telling me now?”

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

“I still don't believe it’s you.”

Another lie.

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

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

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

God, you are every bit of screwed.

“That's never going to happen…again.”

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

You can’t look.

You don’t want to.

Liar.

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

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

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

Your bid leaves no room for interpretation.

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

⸻

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

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

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

And Violet.

She's such a show off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're scaring me."

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

"The ultimate shag of your fucking life!"

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

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

"Like it means anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

You ought to be proud of yourself.

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

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

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

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

No one will love you as much as me.

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

Lacey over everything, yourself included.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s never worked out that way.

Why would she be any different?

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

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

Did she just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not important."

"And I think it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're really…confident."

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

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

"Yes what?"

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

"Vi….just fuck me."

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

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

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

"Your good girl?"

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

Fuck….

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

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

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

"Fuck, I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Violet, look at me."

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

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

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

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

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

And it rips you, the feeling that never dies.

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

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

⸻

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

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

Violet isn't predictable.

She surprises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that truly relevant?"

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

"Uh, well…"

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

The walks went on for nearly three months.

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

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

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

"I'm not in love with Violet.

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

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

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

"I didn't tell you we shagged."

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

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

⸻

⸻

"Spill, you fucking maniac."

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not entirely bad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now you're just being a dick."

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

"Fine. Speak."

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

"Well no—"

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

"You don't even know what happened."

"Oh, I definitely do."

"How could you possibly know?"

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

"Yeah?"

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

⸻

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

A real smile.

You didn't force it.

Vi wonders if you even could.

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

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

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

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

The headlines drenching her in blood.

Everywhere she turned to online patiently awaited her return.

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

She'll be back stronger than ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Violet.

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

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

Vi would happily bleed for you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Look—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to get her this time.

one new message from hinge.

ash: are we still on for saturday? xx

“What’s got you smiling so much?” Sevika speaks the question loudly in the lull of silence between songs at. The buzz of the bar loud enough to drown the other side of the table, but the sharp edges of Vi’s jaw clenches underneath the lowlight.

“Nothing—I don’t know. It could be something. Possibly.”

Ash has been trying despite when you gift her soft rejection.

She’s cute, fun, and she makes you laugh on facetime every night she calls. More importantly, Ash is just your type. A bit more cocky than you would go for but she’s sweet. Always sending goodnight messages after you hang up followed up with a good morning text, leaving you with a gracious smile and heated skin.

It’s easy.

After your last relationship, easy sounds like a soft day bathed in spring, and you welcome the bloom with open roots. Hoping to have something far brighter planted in you; the vessel of a soul that doesn’t leave scars.

Caitlyn being as nosy as ever, reaches beneath and grabs your phone which really steals Vi’s attention. She doesn't speak a word. Only watches.

“Definitely your type. It’s good for you to get back out there.”

“She wants to go out on a date. Saturday.” You release a breath of air you hadn’t realized you'd been holding.

“C’mon, you have to go! Wasn't that the point of this when we made your profile months ago?”

“I guess I didn't expect someone to be interested so soon.”

Vi lightly chuckles but you’re the only one to catch it. If they do, nobody even acknowledges it.

The next fifteen minutes is everyone coaxing you into accepting before Caitlyn takes matters into her own hands and accepts for you, before your own decision can be made. Her perfectly-manicured fingers type away on your phone.

“There.” Cait hands your phone back whispering with an arc of her blue-raven eyebrow. “You can thank me later.”

The group is entirely gone by midnight. Mel and Sevika head home after they had another drink. Ekko leaves with Powder after she's had one too many. Maddie is making another move on Caitlyn. You wonder if it will work this time around.

In the same way you’re wondering about Vi. She hasn't spoken much at all tonight. She’s been more reserved the last few times you’ve hung out but this time it was only the two of you. How it always used to be. But she won’t speak more than a few words.

“What’s up with you tonight?”

“Nothing is up with me.”

Pausing, you look at her across the booth. Vi shrinks underneath your gaze.

“See—that.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re acting like I’m gonna crawl over this table and shun you.”

“Maybe I want to be shunned.”

She takes another sip of her beer, finding the bright-red neon sign far more interesting. Peeling the wet label on the side with the blunt of her nails.

“I can’t help if you don’t let me. Seriously, what is it?” Leaning forward, your elbows perched on the wooden table, both of your hands palming your face. “New girlfriend? Is it work? ‘Cause if Sev is giving you a hard time at your new position I can talk—”

“No-no, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

Vi wants this conversation to be over. She can’t speak the truth. Then it would make it true. This growing, god-awful thing inside of her could be materialized by your empathy, your beautiful warm smile, and she couldn’t have that. Not when you’re filled with so much joy.

You deserve it.

She would hate nothing more than to be the person to crush it.

Underneath the shitty lighting of The Last Drop, a place that doesn’t highlight anyone, you’re another level of perfection she compares every girl she’s with. It’s why she stopped even trying. You asking about her dating life is a punch to gut. There’s been a couple flings, here and there, when she’s drunk and lonely trying her best not to call.

By now, the courage should have found her. But you had always been with someone. One person in particular. In all honesty she thought you would be with her forever. Until your ex-girlfriend blew up your entire future, pushed you past the point of control, and you snapped.

Vi was the first person you called. She was the one who tried to do everything only to make you smile. Who cared if her heart was being crushed in the process? She grew up in the Lanes. Another piece of her soul chipped away is just another day.

Every day.

However you want to look at it.

But you’re looking at her with hope. Hope she can’t afford to have.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Her chuckle bitter once it's out on display, but even then Vi can taste it without swallowing it down.

Her lies, the smiles that never quite reach her eyes, and it terrifies her tonight when you see right through it. She feels raw in the absolution of a lie. Vi knows you'll call her out on it.

You will dig, dragging your feet into the dirt, until she gives you a reason not to. If you look at her any harder, the truth will be broadcasted in the moonlight and it will be brighter than the goddamn sun.

“You don’t have to take everything on by yourself.” Your grip reaches over the table, drawing inconceivable patterns into her palm that opens for you. “The world doesn’t have to exist on your shoulders alone.”

“But then my traps would be ridiculously small. That wouldn’t be any fun.”

Your laugh is contagious, and you’re smiling so big.

Vi hopes nothing on this world would ever contain your shine.

“C’mon, enough about me. Tell me about her—Ash. She must be special if she’s caught your attention.”

Vi will be the best friend, the wall for you to lean on, and the shoulder to cry on when it all goes wrong. She’ll shape her heart into whatever you want her to be. In high hopes that one day you would see her and not look away.

[divider]

Ash walks slowly, like the idea of having to kiss you would be too much for her to bear. Caitlyn had continued to push you to be here tonight—and in all honesty? You need someone with a strong will to perpel you forward. Dating wasn’t comfortable for you. When you meet the love of your life, or so you thought, there wasn’t a date or small talk conversation you sucked at.

There was only forever.

That was the thing. Seeing your future with one person, for years on end, you never think there’s going to be an after. The next person. A new possibility. There’s only now. And on this fateful Tuesday night, you’re in a then you never thought you would reach. A future you never planned for.

As for first dates go, there wasn’t much for you to compare it to. Ash dressed nice in a white-button up and black slacks hugging her in all the right places. Her build was strong, sturdy, and her smile incredibly infectious. The restaurant was nice. She was really good at talking, but even better at listening. Maybe it didn’t mean much to someone else, but she was kind.

Sweet to the bone. After being nearly emotionally bullied in your own for so long, it felt nice to be on a date with some who operates like kindness is second nature.

Ash did all the right things. Had the same sense of humor as you. Brought you a bouqet of red roses. You feel charmed the entire night.

When she stood tall next to you, caressing your jaw gently, her lip brushing gently against yours before they made for a heavenly purchase on your lips.

Instead of fireworks, or a swarm of butterflies making home in your chest bringing your broken heart to life—you feel nothing.

Maybe you were expecting too much.

Like everyone says, lightning doesn’t strike twice.

Ash takes you on a few more dates. You keep searching for a feeling that can’t be spawned purely because you will it. The fondness doesn’t come. You don’t want to be the person to lead her on. Guilt presses against your ribs at night, making it hard to sleep. You know what you need to do.

That’s why you had come here. Vander’s bar always had felt like a second home to you. A place of comfort. Vi always told you not to bring anyone you ever liked her but you adored the charm it offers. Even if she couldn’t see it.

There was a lot of different obstacles you had accounted for. Most of them being your own emotional capacity to dump someone. When you brought it up to Sevika, she suggested you simply ghost. Mel playfully slapped her on the bicep for being so dismissive.

Could you really do this?

You’ve never dumped someone before. Maybe that was the forutunate thing of your last relationship. But Ash was new. She didn’t love you. This could be a clean break. Nobody’s feelings would get hurt. There was just no spark—and you couldn’t change it no matter how much you wanted to.

What you didn’t expect was Vi to be here, playing pool with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

The secretive woman you had no idea about, leaning over the table as Vi assists on linkng up her cue, her ass seeminly permantely glued to the front of Vi’s body. She has one of those smiles you couldn’t forget. The woman’s raven hair glides along her olive-skin, smiling over her shoulder as Vi smirks.

Amusmement reaching her eyes. Far more than you’d gotten from her in weeks.

Ever since that night at the bar, she’s been dodging all of your calls. Clipping her responses in texts to minimal answers or even one worded replies. Treating you like a friend she’s trying to shake. Vi’s been apart of your every day life for as long as you can remember. She’s just been there.

A safe corner you can turn to.

Why does this feel like such a blow? Vi is only on a date.

Like you.

“Could you order me a rum and coke? Gonna go freshin’ up.” You leave Ash with a kiss on the cheek, walking over to the washroom to center yourself enough to get through this night.

It’s only a matter of time before Vi sees you, ignores you just as she’s been doing all week, and you’re not sure how much you can take.

We’re supposed to be friends, best friends, but overnight you’ve turned to a person she looks through—not looks for.

The choker necklace clinging to your throat feels too constricting. It’s suffocating you with every intake of breath. Your lungs compressed with your growing nerves. I don’t need her. Clearly, she doesn’t need me. Vi is learning how to mend whatever the fuck is going on with her with someone else.

You want to speak with her. Confess to her why you’re so nervous. She would know exactly what to say. Well, your Vi would know what to say. The one who likes speaking to you, responding to your text messages, answering your calls. Not the imposter outside who can’t even notice you for a single second.

Ripping the choker off your neck, the gold chain breaks but you feel like you can finally breathe.

Gripping onto the countertop with a force you didn’t even know you possessed—you aren’t ready for this.

It’s too soon.

This is entirely too much.

And the one person you need can’t be reached.

You hadn’t even realize you were crouched on the greasy floors, or how long you had been there, until Vi comes in liplocked with the woman from the pool table. The midnight goddess moaning into Vi’s mouth, her acrylic, manicured hand placed firmly underneath her shirt. There’s nowhere to go. You’re frozen in time, begging for them to go to a stall.

Why is the fire of a thousand sins burning in my chest watching Vi with someone else?

She’s my friend.

She’s my friend.

She’s m—

A sweet voice, feather-soft, adorned in all the shapes of her attention washes over you. Your name falls from her scarred lips, one stained in someone else’s lipstick. A darkened-patch blooming on her neck shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. None of this should phase you. Vi’s eyes are panicked, in complete disbelief, her shoulders growing tighter with each second expanding into hours.

You didn’t expect yourself to run.

But you do.

There’s enough space for you to fit in the doorway. Ignoring when Vi tells you to wait. You hope whatever questions the woman has for her is enough for you to get out of here. You don’t feel great about it, not in this kind of circumstance, but you run out before Ash can see you. It works out in your favor that her back is turned away from you.

Just keep going.

Don’t stop.

A few minutes and some change, that's how long it takes before she’s outpacing you, right on your tail.

“Would you stop running?” Vi? How did she get here so quickly? “It’s not safe out here.”

You stop and her body collides full force, but she twists you by your waist, cushioning your fall. She doesn’t smell like herself. The perfume is all wrong. This night feels wrong. Each action a misstep you hadn’t meant to take.

“Why couldn’t you leave me alone? You've been doing a marvelous job of pretending I don’t exist.”

Vi grimaces, “Alright—I deserved that.”

“You think?” You persecute her but really it’s you out here on a limb. You know it’s only a matter of seconds before Vi decides to ask you questions on a reaction you’re not even sure you understand.

You hadn’t gotten off of her, pushing her weight off you when you glimpse at her lips, the sight of the mauve lipstick pissing you off—again. The hickey on her neck nearly fully formed.

“Please stop looking at me like I’ve wounded you.”

“Wounded?”

“Like me kissing another woman is unheard of.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You said plenty running out of the bathroom—crying.”

“I was already crying, for your information.” With your hands on your hips, with all the venom you can muster, “Why do you even care? You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Pretending to be busy when I know you’re not. All because of what?”

“You can’t seriously be asking me this—” Vi punches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She has no right to be angry. You’re the one losing a friend.

“Go back, Violet. I’m sure your presence is being severely missed. Or your mouth for that matter.”

Vi normally has so much patience for you. But you’ve exhausted every ounce of it. She's tired of chasing you, and you running in the other direction not looking back. She’s always looking at you—waiting for you to sneak a look back and notice.

Just once.

“You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” You ask her. Your eyes enraged as Vi stands up, dusting the dirt off her trousers.

“Live in this fantasy where I would rather be making out with strangers than be with you.”

She laughs and there's so much love in her smile, but there's more distance. You'd love nothing more than to run in the other direction. Running was your go to. Trusting your instincts had gotten your heart broken in the first place. By the same person, repeatedly, until there was nothing left to give. All the good bits of yourself have been possesed by guilty hands. How much more would you have to offer—even if it would be for the right person?

She’s not just anyone, and you’re reminded of that fact when she dances around her hurt. Your own pain taking precedent above her own.

Vi would always be right here—chasing you down and pulling you where you didn’t want to be.

God, maybe it’s where you need to be.

Every part of her petrifies your bones. The details you notice about her. The scarred lip, the cut in her eyebrow that never quite healed right. Eyes so full of anguish, even the ocean couldn’t replicate such a vivid blue. The soft curves of her chin, her jaw, and her feather-soft pink hair she somehow maintains.

“You’ve always known, princess. The truth is, it was easier never seeing it. We could be friends, the same as always, and you wouldn’t ever have to look me in eyes and put me down nicely, right?”

“I can’t—” Incoherent mumbles continue to tumble from your lips. “I can’t do this right now.”

The weight of your heart crushes beneath the somber of her gaze. Vi cracks and so do you.

“Okay. Then you can’t.” Vi accepts it. You being jealous. Pulling her away from a woman who does want her. Even a stranger’s lips feels nicer than your abstinence. For however fleeting it might have been, at least Vi would have had something to hold onto, even if it was for only one night. “Let's just get you back, okay?”

Vi walks on the sidewalk closest to the street, while you walk inside of it between her and the bars in Lanes. There’s only silence. Lots of it. All that can be heard is her slight breath in the winter wind.

It takes a good fifteen minutes before you're at her truck, the paint polished, and she’s reaching for the door to let you through the passenger side before you stop her.

“You probably think I was here on a date.”

“Haven’t you been dating her?”

There’s so many things you want to say—more importantly you want to lie. You want to tell her she has no business chasing you down after she decided to ignore you for weeks. The petty thing, the god-awful thing, is dangling right in front of you. Part of you wants to make her feel hurt and let her have it. How could she hide how she feels from you? When you’ve always given her so much of yourself. Not once, have you ever hid anything from Vi. Even when it embarassed you to bits, you told her everything.

You never stopped, so why start now?

“I have, yeah.”

“Then why do you sound so sad about it?”

This—it’s all you wanted for the last few weeks.

Wanting Violet in every shade.

“Because I brought her here to break up, if there is anything to even seperate. A-And I was nervous because I’ve never done this sort of thing. Ended things and all I wanted was to talk to you about it. I wanted to tell you how I didn’t understand why I couldn’t feel very much for Ash, and when she kissed me, I was like kissing a friend. There was no heart in it.”

Vi’s jaw slightly drops, before she picks it right back up.

“I was so confused, because she’s what I should like or my type or whatever.”

She doesn’t know what you’re about to do, and maybe it's reckless and stupid, but you’ve never denied either of those qualities.

“You can like whoever you want to. It doesn’t have to be because it’s what other people want or expect you to want. It can just be because it feels good.”

Because it feels good.

You don’t allow yourself to think. Grabbing Vi by the leather wrapped around her shoulders, you pull her forward, her weight pressing you against the cool metal door of her truck. It’s selfish. Hell, it may be the most self-centered act of your life. Considering her blooming feelings underneath her loud confession, but you kiss her.

You kiss her like she’s the first to know your lips.

The second she kisses back, you know it's all been wrong before. Every cherry-balmed or glossy lip. Nothing could compare to the your body being electrocuted by her affection. How soft her pink-feathered hair feels in your hands. The soft moans that pour when you pull on her roots.

Her hips press you into the steel door. You follow her lead, the velvet touch of her tongue slips inside your mouth. You let it happen. Vi could do whatever she wants if the end result made you feel like this—head in the clouds and your heart in her hands.

She’s the first to pull away, her lips littering a path of her touch along your jaw, down the side of your neck. Her breath feels heavy when you try to contain your own. She’s looking up at you; watching the utter confusion and bliss gloss over the light in your gaze.

Vi knows she’s got you with just one kiss.

“Did that clear some confusion for you, princess?”

She deserves a playful shove for that comment but kissing her sounds so much better.

Being a cook, owning your very own restaurant, it's all you thought about during your first two years in college.

A dream you never thought you could be.

Against your will, you did what your parents wanted and picked up your diploma. Walking across the fateful stage, a future they wanted you to have. A business degree is what they pushed you toward to build a better future.

Be better than us, mija.

You deserve so much more than what we could give you.

What they seem to forget is you didn't need much—you wanted their support more than anything—not control, gripping your drive with an iron fist.

After graduation, you abandoned it all to attend culinary school. Disappearing off the face of the planet from all except Lacey. The long hours through the night while working your day job to stay afloat, saving enough to invest in your own future. Not what your parents want, not the expectation of slipping into a conventional life, but what you want.

Even now, it still felt a little too good to be true. But it was your name on the sign. Mel teased you about it—a bit of an ego on that one—the first night only with your closest friends and family. Everyone who believed in you stood by your side when all you wanted was a life that had been easier. A different timeline where it didn’t take all this blood, sweat, and sacrifice.

This isn’t a dream you talked up only for the sake of appearance. It was solid. A building placed on a foundation you built. Something in your life you could always call yours.

The place was a bit more upscale, tucked in a downtown corner where patrons spent more than a pretty penny. An eccentric bar at the center wasn't conventional for a restaurant like this, but it worked for you, and the layout seemed well received by all.

In hindsight, you should have known Lacey never loved you years before she cheated.

She never stepped foot in here once.

Lacey had managed to fuck your senior bartender all the same.

A good friend.

And they had been sleeping together, right under your nose. You thought of the humiliating night, her comment to Violet that made you wanna scream. Even in the fallout, she could never let the obsession go. In all her mistakes, Lacey always found someone else to blame.

Violet did what she always did—cleaned up your mess. All the food you prepped was placed in the Tupperware and carefully stacked in the fridge. The shattered glass on the floor, the knife Lacey stabbed into the wooden cutting board. Everything in your kitchen is clean and tidy. If the fight wasn’t laced into your memory, you could have claimed it to be a mindless nightmare.

Violet had to be the one.

Sevika? Mel? Powder or Ekko?

But you know it was her. The one time she arrives early, and it’s the fight you’d do anything to forget. Lacey spawns you into a wild animal. A version of yourself that transcends from sheep to wolf; a carnivorous jaw wishing to close around the flesh of its victim.

But Violet and I didn't talk. We never did. Besides her charming succession of carrying me up three flights of stairs when I was too injured to walk, it's been nothing but radio silence.

“Are you gonna finally fire her now?” Abby quirks her blonde eyebrow up, wiping the bartop as you roll your sleeves back up, as you enjoy the first lull of the night.

“I don’t have a co-lead for you. As much as I hoped it was an option for you, it isn’t.” Lacey, taking the only other lead, was fucked over by the bartender. Shayne stayed there for a few weeks. Even though it was uncomfortable, her attendance was erratic, and you had no choice but to replace her.

“C’mon, as soon as she started dating Lacey, you had the grounds to fire her.” Abby countered, getting a little too close for comfort.

Abby struggled with establishing boundaries. Partly your fault. Blonde, sweetly muscled, with her whole sweet saccharine act went far. Except, it wasn’t just an act. She really is that sweet, and you’ve fucked her three times because of it. Well, four. Five? Yeah, definitely five. It's hard to forget the time she had you bent over the desk in your office.

Part of her wasn’t necessarily lying. Shayne started dating Lacey six months ago and homewrecked your failing relationship. A cheap screw grew into a quick engagement with a wedding date fast approaching in the wake of autumn.

Summer would blink by, and the dreaded day would be here. The thought alone makes you wanna drag Abby into your apartment until you’re coming apart on her fingers once again. But the last time would be the last. You don't need to catch feelings for someone who works for you.

“Just go check on the shipment in the back, and you might get to leave early tonight.” You’re not talking about your failed relationship again. Or the new one that is constantly being shoved in your face.

Abby does what she’s told, and she doesn’t even question you. You turn around, ready to tend to the next customer at the bar, and you’re faced with your worst nightmare.

“Violet—” A toothpick in her mouth, and a navy-blue baseball cap shielding her vibrant hair. She smiles so gently, like a savior who has found their god-given salvation.

“Mel says you stopped responding to her texts last week and wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

An excuse.

Is she checking in on you now? All because she carried you to bed and let you cry to sleep…why?

What does she want now?

“And you’re here because we’re such good friends.” You start making her a drink. Rum and Coke, if you remember correctly, with a lime impaled on the edge of the glass.

“We could be.”

“Violet,” You look her dead in the eye, “We could never be friends.”

“Why not?” There’s persistence in the way she speaks. Like more is threatening to boil off her tongue unless she gets it out this second, and the more you let your mind wander, the more it chills your core from the inside out. There's no patience within you to deal with another hot head.

“You and Lacey, for starters, were always so competitive, and you hated me because I was her girlfriend in college. Even around everyone else, you would never speak to me. Why would you even want—”

“You think that’s why I never talked to you? Because I was scared of your little girlfriend?”

Lacy wasn’t little. Taller than most, she stands at just over six feet tall. Her lean build and toned abs made her even more attractive. With fluttering eyelashes, she could bat her way into anyone's heart.

For the longest time, you savored that she only wanted your attention, until she didn't. The angles of her face were sharp, sculptured in a way you couldn’t help but look at her.

Somehow, her smile was all harsh angles but the softness of her always persists. Every other part of her was masculine; her muscles, the clothes she wore, and the inked sleeve on her right arm only added to it.

No one even knew Lacey was into women when you were in middle school. Young, naive—exploring what you truly liked, and what you didn't. She had one boyfriend for a couple of weeks before they split. Maybe it’s why it was easy for the two of you. There wasn’t an expectation; other forces weren’t at play. She kissed you at homecoming, and the rest became history.

In high school, Lacey was the best version of herself. Her kind acts never held deceit. She took you on dates, held your hand at any chance she could, and matched the corsage to your dress at prom.

All four years, you were invincible at her side. Others around you—family, friends, and people who liked Lacey the way you did—told you it would never last.

Each of them spoke about your relationship, as if they knew you and her. No one else had an inside view of whatever you had together. For you, this was love. The kind of love that swarms you, and you would commit every sin against god’s reign for only a drop of it.

Lots of people look for it their entire lives. Everyone does stupid, idiotic acts to feel it once. Landing themselves in situations where every bit of them is compromised. At the time, you could only feel gratitude.

Glad you met her. Glad she was yours to keep. So happy to be hers.

Lacey Lave, my girlfriend and the love of my life.

High school Lacey—she's unforgettable. The honey in her eyes would sweeten just for you. The teeth in your mouth would ache each time her compliments fell over you, washing away any doubt that still lingered. In all your time of existence, letting go of her, of this?

You couldn't ever imagine it. She's your girl.

Your sweet, beautiful girl.

Then university came around, the ever-growing winter you could never turn away from.

Whatever innocence of heart she had was pacified. With her right by your side, the whispers of your committed high school love would never be seen again. Lacey never left your side, but with so many obstacles in your way, neither of you could be the same.

Sex, sex, and more sex. No more dates—only fucking. No more whispers of I love you, only when she came, only when you satisfied her. Then she would whisper the words underneath the moonlight.

Lacey made you breathe for her without ever asking if you wanted to.

After college, everything about your life revolves around her wants and needs. Leaving your own out to dry. The cheating dug into your ribs—cracking one or two—reminding you she could apply pressure, break you in two, and you would still take it.

An emotional and mental beating for a moment of devotion.

After the fallout, you couldn’t help but question everything you once had accepted as truth.

Could you mean anything without the isolation of her love?

You snapped back into place when you heard Violet speak to you again. “Lacey was a lot more insecure than she let on, princess.”

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you slid the drink towards her, and she accepted it quietly, but before Violet could answer, Abby was introducing herself.

“Abby, this is—”

“Vi.” There's a sharpness to her voice. Sizing her up, almost looked impressed. Fuck, you need to get Abby away before she starts spilling a little too much information.

“Oh, so you’re the one who strong-armed her up to her apartment after her drunk ass rolled her ankle. Why didn’t you tell me your freakishly muscled friend was here tonight? You should have had me make her drink. We both know I’m a better bartender than you.” Abby winks at Violet with a smirk.

Fuck.

“Abby—” You try to interrupt her. Violet is eating up every second of your embarrassment. Her smile is blinding as she watches you stutter over your words. Trying to come up with a feasible excuse to change the subject, but you’re dumbfounded when she’s looking at you so brightly.

For a second, you think she might glow from the sun. You’ve never seen her look so warm.

“I love that you’re going around telling everyone about me being your knight in shining armor.” Violet chuckles, “It’s adorable.”

“Okay, I’m not going around telling everyone.” You look at Abby, then at Vi. Both of them are smiling, and you’re not sure why.

The damage has already been done, so you leave Abby in charge of the bar before you check in on your customers and relieve your host for the night. With a blink of an eye, it's thirty minutes before closing, and there’s one lone couple in the back booth. Abby helps Jayce clean up the remaining tables and sanitize the booth.

That's when you see Violet finally removing herself from the bar. She stayed and chatted with Abby in between customers for the rest of the night. You’re slightly envious of it. Of her. She can charm just about anyone.

How lovable she is. Everyone is craving to take a piece like she's cotton candy—it should be illegal for someone to be so goddamn endearing.

Even with your friends, each of them loved her through all of college into the last three years since graduation. Yet, she never would get close to you. Always unapproachable when she chose to be, and then she was smothering you with careful hands and a whole heart when she saw fit. Granted, all of it had been for your benefit.

Whenever you were licking your wounds, Vi seems to be the last place you want her.

By your side.

“Gonna report back to Mel? Let her know I’m alright?”

“Mhm, something like that.”

Violet looks so innocent. The cotton shirt, her loose denim pants, heavy boots, and that stupid hat she looks so cozy in.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to.” There’s no snark in her tone, only the warmth of a blinding sun.

“What did you mean about Lacey being insecure? She told me you hated me because of her, and I believed her. I never had a reason not to.”

Violet nods, her bicep bulging from her shirt as she scratches the nape of her neck, like she’s unsure of what to say next.

“I’m sure even Lacey believed that.” Violet laughs in the process, "Or at least wanted to."

“What are you talking about?” You stepped closer into her space, and she stepped into yours. You're close enough that your chest is pressed against hers, and you can smell her scent of oak cologne. It’s lethal enough to taunt you, daring you to spread an inch closer to her space.

“Do you wanna start this now? In front of your bartender, who obviously has a thing for you. Abby might have been talking to me, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you all night.”

“You’re changing the subject, Violet.”

“You can call me Vi. Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

With a shimmering smile, Violet says, “No, you’re not everyone else.”

The words ring too loud in your ear. You don’t even have the heart to focus on anything else but your heartbeat, which rapidly increases. Each beat accelerates when she looks entirely like home. Right here, she reminds you of how Mel always describes her.

In all the years that have passed, you’re finally open to seeing it.

She’s a good person once you get to know her. I swear, love, the most golden heart you’ll ever meet.

Vi shows up when you need her to. She hates it when I say it, but Vi has this maternal instinct when it comes to the people she loves. In a heartbeat, she’ll put their well-being over hers. Make sure everyone in her life is taken care of before she even looks in the mirror to see the shape she’s in—the most actual embodiment of selfless love that I’ve ever seen.

Give her a chance. There's more that meets the eye with that one. I promise you'll love her.

Not that you would admit it to another living soul, those words had flown off of Mel’s tongue when you were bad-mouthing Violet. You hadn’t even meant to. The words flew off your tongue when Lacey had gotten upset at the harsh words thrown her way. Now you imagine they could have been manipulated into something they weren’t—it could be why she safely had you under her thumb all these years.

Only hearing one side of the story and taking it for granted.

It was the last time you ever spoke ill of Violet. She never even gave you a reason to. Part of you, however small it may be, whispered in your mind that you might have been wrong about her. This entire time, the soul with cold intuitions and a greedy heart was the very person you poured everything into.

“Do you always walk your customers to their vehicles, or do I need to consider myself special?”

“This is actually a premium service, Violet. You should consider yourself extremely lucky.” The summer heat slices you. You’d like to think it isn’t the way she’s inspecting you through her hooded eyes, adorned with something you’re having a difficult time placing.

It slips in moments, sticks like a gravity in others, but the sweetness of honey is as potent as the stars shining in the midnight sky. The disguised feeling of want has been there before, when Violet couldn’t help but steal glances the entire time when she patched you up.

Curiosity begs to know if she caught you, catching her, but this could be better.

You’re not in any position to know what more could mean.

“Oh, I should?” Violet nods in appreciation, leaning against the hood of her jeep as you stop in your tracks. Not an inch closer, but not moving to leave either. Stuck between a hard place and something softer.

The evidently relentless opinion she had of Lacey, as Violet knew her better than you did. You who spent years with someone you knew better than the back of your own hand. An inside joke you hadn’t been aware of, only it was more than that, it was something you suspected not only Violet had been keeping you from, but your entire group of friends right along with her.

You thought of Sev, Mel, and even her sister Powder, with whom you got along a lot better than with Violet. Even Vander, who made you feel special the Christmas you were snowed in and couldn’t travel, welcomed you into their home like it was nothing. The feeling of being something more, your value soaring through the roof, by someone who hadn’t really even known you up to that point.

Vander and Powder had even gifted you a beaded bracelet, which you still wore on your wrist. A physical reminder you were accepted into somewhere, just as you are, even if it was only for an evening. Your fingers fidget with the blue and pink beads, trying to muster up the courage to ask the question that’s threatening to flow off your tongue.

“What did Lacey say to you? Clearly, she did something; otherwise, you wouldn’t have called her insecure.”

Violet crossed her arms over her chest, slightly flexing the muscles in the process, cocking her head, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s really not rocket science.”

If anyone else has said those words to you, you might have slapped them for being entirely condescending. Violet spoke as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. That if you looked only a little harder, you would find what you’re looking for.

“Do you really not remember me? The first night we met?"

“Remember you? Your girlfriend pummeled me into the ground. Cait tackled me for flirting with you. How could I ever forget it?"

“That wasn't the first time we met."

───

Freshman Year, Piltover University. Ten years ago.

Parties came, went, and traumatized Vi to a point she didn't even know why she was here. This has never been her thing. It had been Cait's—a new girl she started seeing—everything had felt right enough.

She's beautiful, intelligent, and daunting in a way that Vi likes. They had a huge fight a few weeks ago. Ever since then? Radio silent. That was a breakup. Or was there even anything to break up? Neither of them had defined anything over the months.

Late-night booty calls, post-sex hair stroking, and cuddling didn't seem to define their relationship, but meeting her mom over coffee on a Sunday did. It was a pure coincidence, but Vi still met her.

She would do the right thing. Cait was here—she would make things right. There's nothing her smile couldn't fix. Caitlyn always told her how much she loves her smile and her puppy eyes, or that's what Cait likes to call them.

Of course, she found her outside. After searching the massive house, she found her on the deck outside. Cait couldn't be more beautiful. She couldn't help but look at her.

Endless beauty with her angelic curves, a mystic-blue Vi found herself lost in. Cait likes to look at Vi when she buries herself between her thighs, and Vi couldn't think of anything better.

The beginning had been nothing but innocent devotion. But it didn't lie in overwhelming hearts—golden purity of the best intentions—none of that. Every time she reached for Caitlyn's number, it would be past midnight. A heavy beat when she aches at night.

Caitlyn came running each time. Eager, ready, and she would be waiting to pounce. Vi would give in to her every need; whatever mood either of them felt, would be satisfied. She makes sure of it.

Until the girl with honey-blonde hair, kissing along Caitlyn's neck, and Vi was even more surprised to see her lean into it. Cait’s thighs spread as the mystery woman slides her fingers underneath her pleated skirt. The moans came quickly—high-pitched and heavenly. Beyond sinful, really. Vi wonders what she would do if there were an interruption to leave her lips.

Stop.

That's supposed to be me.

You couldn't even wait until I made up my mind.

You're just as selfish as I am, Cait.

Is she better than what I can give?

Vi flees the scene, secretly hoping she could somehow erase the memory. She wishes there had been more alcohol in her system. Caitlyn's betrayal didn't feel thick in blood—but it sent an unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Jabs to her ego, she might be able to dissect later.

Sliding her way through sweaty bodies, she finally was able to find herself back in the kitchen, with three shots lined up.

Is she really doing this? Acting like the poor innocent bystander who just got cheated on? Vi, you never made things official—no need to get your boxers in a twist now. Caitlyn doesn't owe you a thing—and neither do you, really.

"Are you going to finish them all by yourself?" Her head peeks at the sudden voice, and fuck, she nearly whimpers, but suppresses the intrusion with a bit of her bottom lip.

Until this, until whoever you are, came strolling around—Vi would have considered herself lovesick for Caitlyn Kiramman, to a point where it actually hurts her. She's had her own part to play.

Unwilling to talk about what they mean to each other. But the fear creeps up, and Vi is useless when the stress of a future that can't be controlled confronts her.

It's what she thought she knew. She likes Caitlyn,and her heart still hammers at the sight of you.

Above all the truths filled with irrefutable certainty, your beauty would be one of them. Crimson-blood dress, velvet and smooth, with a slit on each leg reaching to the apex of your thighs.

Two golden chains keep your top in place as they loop around the back of your neck. The gold detailing on your corset is in the form of crimson flowers, complementing the golden mask concealing the upper half of your face.

The masquerade-themed party, courtesy of Mel Medarda.

But those eyes? The permanence of you? Vi couldn't run if she wanted to.

Somehow, by whatever creator exists, she's granted to live on the same plane with you.

She didn't know how she'd gone this long without knowing who they were. An entire semester on campus, and she had never met you, yet had the indecency to not wait for you.

How fucking dare she?

But her impatience was easier to swallow when your gaze devours her like a succubus, painting the tip of her ears pink. Her chest is painfully warm, and she chooses not to speak, and gifts you with one of the shot glasses.

"Bottoms up, babygirl." You wink at her. Vi can feel herself coming undone. Strong shields, Caitlyn tried to break, and you have done it with a single gaze.

Vi watches you take it, hardly even flinching. Your laughter fills with sunshine when you notice the slight grimace on her face.

"I can see you're not much of a drinker," Vi wants to groan at your wicked grin. She's really not; her face contorts as she swallows. Forcing herself to take a deep breath when you place the lone shot between your tits. "But maybe I can entice you."

Up until this point, Vi could cast this off as innocent. It's a shot with a goddamn breathtaking girl. She could keep it to herself. She could dream about your luscious thighs wrapped around her head, the slight curve of your plush lips when you smile, and the swell of your breasts pushed up by the corset.

You're exquisite and everything anyone could ever need—and if Caitlyn had just been alone, Vi wouldn't have wandered in here. But now the promises they made to each other after they had sex didn't really mean much. Not when there were someone else's fingers fucking Caitlyn. Someone else making her moan, another name to scream. The pitiful part of Vi wished it could still be her.

She's a wolf off their leash. A craving for fresh blood, of any part of you she can get. She was loyal, maybe her heart still could be, but her body couldn't help having a chemical reaction to you.

Yeah, right.

This is only chemistry.

A feeling wired through her bones that she has no control over. This is only science, an archaic craving ignited into an animalistic need.

What the hell are you doing to her after five minutes?

"Trying to get me drunk, princess?" Vi takes a step closer, a firm hand on your hip as she reaches for the salt on your left. Innocently, you nod, but your eyes tell a different story. "Gotta make sure the salt sticks, don't we?"

With one arm, she lifts you on the counter, careful not let the glass slip from your perfect breasts, she plans on having in her mouth tonight.

If Caitlyn wants to fuck around, so be it. All Vi can do is follow the rules. The beer she had before walking in here, the tequila, and the sticky feeling in her boxers are doing all the thinking for her.

For the life of her, Vi doesn't know what you've managed to do, but she's never reacted this contagiously over a soul before.

"We really can't have it falling off. It would certainly break protocol."

Vi licks a strip from where the shot glass falls until her tongue curls around your neck, biting at your ear. More than anything in the world, she enjoys the whine released from your lips.

You don't move an inch when Vi goes and grabs a lime from the bowl, and you're waiting for her to say anything. So, she does. "Be a good girl and bite for me."

No questions asked, you follow her command. Vi lets the salt fall on the top of your breasts. For longer than she would let herself admit, she's gaulking, but before you can say a thing, Vi has made it her mission to command all your attention.

Vi tastes your skin once more, every grain of salt finding her tongue, before she dips into the plush push of your perfect tits. Happily acceptingthe burn down her throat. Like she's done a thousand times before, she takes the lime from your mouth and sucks.

She’s sure to make a show of it for you before she places the lime back on the counter. The salt, the acidic taste coating her tongue, the burn of the tequila swelling in her chest—hooded eyes making their mark on her.

More than anything, she knows she's had too much to drink and seen one too many girls touching her girlfriend, who clearly isn't her girlfriend. What else is she supposed to do when she hears the phantom moans—Caitlyn's ringing in her ear.

It could be the desperation leaking, the jealousy taking root in her heart. Or it could be you making an everlasting effect on her. She needs to erase Caitlyn's moan with yours. She needs something else to listen to.

"I'd give you a solid eight."

Vi smirks, "Not a ten?"

"Nope." Your lips smack, your gloss so shiny. Vi wants nothing more than to have you on her lips. "You'll have to earn it."

"Then let me earn that ten." She leans in and delicately whispers in your ear, "My mouth can be very persuasive, princess."

Vi, you have to give me space. You're suffocating me. We're freshmen in college. How are you so sure about me—about us? If you're honest with yourself, this isn't what you want. What if you meet someone else and you feel more? Want her more than you could ever want me? You can't even say it. Be my girlfriend. It's all elementary, and you can't even see it. Can you? How could I possibly trust you when you don't have the gall to commit only to me?

She was committed to her, but apparently, Cait couldn't say the same.

Caitlyn's fatal line surges Vi forward, colliding her lips with yours in a way only poetry could hold. Each line is tuned to explain every second of a fresh awakening.

The gentle reminder of what it means to be desired in a way that doesn't have to mean anything. You're just a woman she'll never see again.

Nothing more than one night—even if Vi can sense the trance she's in.

When your head bumps against the cabinet, you pull her closer by the lapel of her jacket, smoothing your hands over her chest. Hands of fire making home on her abdomen. Vi is thankful she opted out of a shirt; only her suit jacket conceals her chest.

With a flick of your wrist and your talented tongue in her mouth, you unbutton her until the tape is revealed, the material concealing her breasts and every inch of abs is on display. Vi is looking at your cleavage again, the rapid rise of your chest devouring her into another level of depravity.

Pulling from Vi's lips, you look down, enjoying the dark-pink happy trail—it disappears into her trousers. It's light, even a bit dusty and scattered, but the way your fingers pet her skin tells her you like it.

Honestly, she revels in how you're looking at her. Outlining the rugged ridges of her muscles on her stomach—it feels nice to be the attraction for once. "Or is this what you want? To keep touching me?"

The edges of your eyes widen, and Vi laughs—here you are. The genuine parts of you, Vi can't wait to sink her teeth into.

Almost immediately, Vi gives in. Helping you out, she unbuttons her pants, but you pull down the zipper.

A bush revealed, and you moan at the sight of her, you fucking moan. With your attention divided, she pulls at the black ribbon of your corset that loosens around your bust.

"You can do whatever you like with me." Vi kisses you softly, her tongue reaching out to rim your upper lip, not quite slipping in again. "I'm a bit greedy, princess. So, if you want to fuck your pretty fingers inside me. I'm not going to refuse."

"You're—" Vi watches as you struggle for the rest. Your breasts are giving away, revealing themselves as she thumbs over your nipple, tugging just enough to pull another moan.

"What am I?" You’re teasing her. God, she might come for you right here. No one deserves to be this fucking perfect.

"I have no fucking idea."

At least you’re honest. I can do with some honesty.

"Two options." You're playing with curls on her bush now. Vi can't help but think you're waiting for her to buck in your hand. "You can touch me as it pleases you. Or my tongue can fuck you until you're absolutely spent. Too sensitive to take anymore. Mhm, that’s how I like my pretty girls but I’m a generous woman…so, which one would you like?"

Vi watches as you release your corset, pushing your breasts right where they belong.

Did she fuck up?

Maybe dirty talk isn't your thing. It certainly wasn't for everyone, but she would put money on you staining your panties this very second if you were even wearing any.

Taking your cue, she buttons her pants back on, but you lock your legs around her waist, pulling her closer to you. "We're not doing this here. I want you all to myself."

There's no light in the room. It's pitch-black, with only a single sliver of moonlight. No stars. You're brighter than both. Vi discards her mask, and you do the same. Even quicker, Vi shoves your hands away so she can eradicate your corset this time, throwing it in some deep corner of the room.

Do you know Sevika or Mel? How did you know exactly where to take her? She knows this is one of the guest bedrooms in Mel's home, but how do you? There's not much time to think about it, for her to contemplate unanswered questions.

Your dress goes next. Little to nothing to protect you—Vi knows what she's doing. If Caitlyn wasn't proof enough, she is already well aware of what her tongue does. What she can do with a deep stroke, a thrust of her wrist, a flick of her tongue on your clit.

It's not what she's concerned about. It's what you're going to do to her. She hasn't had this—someone eager to touch her. To please her, to fuck her so undeniably well. She sees it in your eyes, and it’s the only thing she can see, along with shadows highlighting your silhouette.

Vi keeps the tape on her chest, but everything else comes off. She sits on the bed first, and you hesitantly sit on her lap as she beckons you forward. "Do you want to touch me first?"

With no hesitancy, you whisper, "Yes."

"Then you'll be a good girl and do as I say."

With ease, she maneuvers you to straddle her left thigh. You're already whimpering, quietly into her ear. Vi wants to give her name to hear you cry out, but it's better this way. One night of orgasms—one night of control—and then the two of you would be free as a bird.

"Princess," She gives the curve of your jaw feather-kisses. "You're going to be so good for me. Please use me to get yourself off. Be as loud as you want. Or as quiet. Bite me. Scratch me. Whatever you want, but you're not fucking me until I hear you come. Is that understood?"

"Yes, I understand."

Fuck, you're perfect.

Vi takes control immediately. Guiding your hips in a slow rhythm, her fingertips pressing gently into your skin. She doesn't want to overwhelm you yet. Taking her time with you is precisely what she wants. Only when you've moaned a couple of times does she start kissing you, truly kissing you.

It wasn't rushed and forceful like before. It's deep and with purpose. Each stroke of her tongue is deliberate. When she sucks on yours, your hips buck harder, pressing more of your weight into her thigh, flexing the harsh contours of her quads. Vi shifts from sucking to biting on your lip until she draws a bit of blood.

Not even flinching for a moment, you dig your fingers into her hair, trying to gain any semblance of sanity. The desperation is rising from within. You're getting louder, and Vi keeps losing herself in your moans—pretty little cries begging for more.

She presses her blunt fingertips on your hips harder; the friction feels too much for you. Your head is buried in her neck now, but your hand won't stop pulling on her hair. It shifts, the pull reaches the nape of her neck as you ride her like a bull.

"God—I can feel your muscles flexing, every curve—ohhhh f-fuckkkk."

An anguished cry of an angel. Vi craves to be your savior.

"You like my muscles, huh?" Her canines dig into your neck enough to mark you momentarily, "Maybe if you keep being good for me, I'll let you ride my abs too."

"Yeah, baby?" You're losing it now. Vi takes pride as you look at her in the dark; your eyes are the only thing she can make out, and she groans when she feels your slick dripping off her thigh.

"Mhmm. But I really want you to ride my face. Want you to look down at me with your pussy in my mouth, my tongue fucking your pretty hole. Need to see those thighs shake for me, and then if you're good, I might let you turn around so you can fuck me while I'm swallowing every bit of you."

"Goddamn—you're as cocky as my girlfriend." Even with your Freudian slip, you keep on fucking yourself on her.

"Well, it's a good thing mine is fucking someone else downstairs, or I might have the heart to stop this." Another lie, but Vi can tell you’re too blissed out to give it any thought.

For some reason, the indirect mention of Caitlyn sends Vi reeling, so she naturally thumbs at your clit. Tight-pressured circles that have you practically screaming in her ear. There are claws at her back, digging into her shoulder blade when she pinches your clit.

Vi knows you’re done for when your moan travels an octave higher—grinding harder until she can feel every drop soaking her thigh. You’re holding onto her tightly, threatening never to let go.

It's a perfect sight to see. Vi can't help herself as you fuck yourself on her thigh, leaning into the single finger playing with your clit.

"God, you're so filthy." There's so much admiration in her tone. Vi doesn't even care to hide it. "All this for the girlfriend or me you're cucking?"

Your giggle sounds like a shooting star. "She's fucking around, so. Can't be that serious about me."

"Who wouldn't be serious about you?" Vi doesn't wait for an answer. She stands up and cradles you in her arms, laying you on the bed with ease. She pulls off your sticky panties, and you sigh with entirely too much content. "Tell me when you want to stop, princess. I'm only getting started."

──────

Lacey would kill you and the god-fearing, bewitching butch you dragged into your bed.

It all started an hour before you stepped foot in the kitchen. You called her five times, only for someone she'd been fucking to answer the phone.

The moan slices you, the one you know so well, before there's a voice you don't recognize, "Lacey will call you back. S-Shittttt, that feels so fucking good, Lace. Make this pretty pussy yours." And the lines go dead.

You've caught her so many times. The other girls in your private messages. They always begin the same.

Hey girl, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but if I were you in your shoes, I would want to know.

Two years of tug and war, your high-school sweetheart—the woman you couldn't give up on tore your heart to shreds every single time. But you let her, you can't let go. You didn't want to. There's an infinite amount of forgiveness when it comes to the people you love, and Lacey abuses it.

The phone call is different. Hearing one of her conquests was another thing entirely. Mid-fuck.

You cleaned yourself up in the bathroom and headed straight towards the kitchen. Sevika had sent you there to bring back a couple of shots, but that's when you found three full shots and someone you knew would piss Lacey off.

The mystery girl. She's bigger than Lacey. Shorter, but she’s more toned, all pristine muscle and gorgeous freckles. If you're honest with yourself, the most breathtaking person you've ever fucking seen. The suit she's wearing looks tailored for her—Mel’s words of affirmation ring in your head.

If Lacey's going to get hers, make her pay for it.

Whoever she is, she made you come harder than you ever have, miles past whatever the hell Lacey’s ever done—and she hardly even touched you. With her on your bed next to you, she made sure her touch was permanent. Every moment would be severed in your mind, the haze she inflicted on you would surely drown in.

You feel the ring on her finger, the sterling silver chilling as she fucks you with it. She's slow at first, inching her finger in until she feels you clenching around her. Entirely consumed with a curl of her finger that makes you cry out in bliss. "Tell me your name."

"Why would I do that?" She presses another inside, and instantly, you clench, more than once, around her.

"Thought you would want me to scream it." With your back now flat on the mattress, your feet contort in ecstasy when she pushes your thighs apart with her outstretched knee, making sure there's not a thing in her way.

"Oh, I do, princess." She swears when you grip onto her stomach, nails sinking in. "But it's so much hotter knowing you have no idea who I am. All the terribly filthy things I can do, the ways you'll let me have you tonight. Tell me, with fingers like mine, is something as trivial as a name going to stop you from getting fucked?" Her mouth kisses along your neck—the way she fucks is relentless.

"Please."

She doesn't know you would play so dirty. It's not her fault. It's the beauty of a one-night stand. She doesn't know you at all. So, you use it to your full advantage.

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine." She hums with an open invitation for you to speak.

The chuckle she releases is sinful. "And how would we test that theory, princess? The way you're clenching around me right now might be the first indicator."

For a second, you thought she might stop her fingers for a moment, but she doesn't. She only thrusts harder.

"T-There's a, shit, um, this—” You hear her chuckle as you try to find the words through her magic hands.

"You were saying…"

The moonlight starts to come through, and you can see the shadows of her face, a glimmer of her eyes, but it fades just as quickly as it comes. You're left with the deepened shadows of the night, a glimpse of the moon, and her fingers curling against you once again.

With each flick of her wrist, she reminds us how little control you can maintain. In complete honesty, you don't crave the control. Every part of you itches for another touch, another orgasm, any part of her you can obtain—you'll take with open arms.

The need for whatever this may be is far greater; whoever she is, you want this.

"You're diabolical." Exhaling a deep breath, but it has more so the muse of Persophone’s most treasured moans. "If you could let me finish—"

"Princess, you're gonna have to be more specific." She leans over, biting your nipple with her sharp teeth, making you whimper even further. "Would you like to finish your thought, or would you rather have me finish for you?"

Dear fucking god. She's the devil haunting my every dream.

"My friend, Jayce. He's an e-engineer s-s-student and he g-gave me a g-gift last year. This device he calls the hexstrap, and—” Her palm grinds against your clit, and all you can do is buck and struggle to get through your sentence. "H-he is r-really smart, you know? But um, fuck yeah—he made it where the person wearing it can f-feel. You can feel my pussy wrapping around you, coming for you, clenching around you, and you can get off too."

She suckles on your breast, perfectly flicking over it as she laves in every moan you release. "Oh yeah? You want me to feel you? Is that it?”

Her lips capture your response, her tongue leaving your breasts alone before she’s entangling the muscles with your own. You're bucking your hips—you never want this to end. Never want her to escape from you.

"Godddd—"

"You know," She pinches your clit—hard. "I want nothing more than to hear you scream my name. When your chest is heaving, gasping for air, and the only pretty little thought in that brain is me. But what I really want? To fuck your pretty face in the mattress, have you come all over me. Gonna let me take this pretty ass from behind?"

Her teeth latch onto your breasts, marking and claiming territory you give into her freely. It takes a few more thrusts of her fingers, canines breaking your skin, and you're short of breath. Your body is whole, falling into it.

In and out. In and out.

Making a move to close your legs, to squeeze your thighs into the weight of her hand, but she's too strong. You settle for knotting your hands into her roots.

"Look at me." She speaks with so much authority. You're nearly there. With every beat of your clit, you can feel her touch vibrate your senses against each swipe of her calloused fingers.

Even if it's dark, the vulnerability of not being able to close your eyes, to head to her every command is insatiable. The sharp edges of her jaw you can see, and you smooth it over with your fingertips. She leans into your touch, preening when you grip tightly on her angled chin.

You almost kiss her again, and it feels more like a betrayal than her fingers between your legs. You didn't feel guilty about fucking her. About telling her about the strap you hadn't even told Lacey about. None of it—but the stuttering of your heart when she kisses you? It's more emotionally charged than you know what to do with.

A harsh buzz, and your loud ringtone breaks some of the tension between you and the mysterious woman, making you see the stars behind your fluttering eyes. The light illuminates her face again—God, she really is the most beautiful person. Her fingers don't stop, she kisses the tip of your nose, and reaches over for your phone.

"Is this her?" The woman asks, and you barely give a nod.

"Well, wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would we?"

It takes all of two seconds for the apologies, the accusations to fly off your lips before you could even get a word in. You're expecting a weak excuse for a dismissal. This is how the best sex of your life dies.

Lacey is screaming on the other end, and you press the mute button, readying yourself to apologize. But she kisses you, moaning in your mouth, making you feel the vibration in her chest. Tequila-scented lips claiming you with your girlfriend's voice in your ear slut shaming you to hell.

For the first time, you deserve it, and you couldn't fucking care less.

"You're going to have to be quiet, princess." She stretches your cunt with another finger. You've lost count of how many she's fucking you with. The only thought you can latch onto is how full she makes you, the burn of the stretch, and the pleasure that immediately follows. "Be a good girl and argue with your girlfriend while I make you come."

Unmuting your phone, you apologize to Lacey, and immediately bite your tongue as you take the intention curl of her fingers. Under the radar of your focus, she slithers down your body and buries her face between them.

She's making a game of it.

Dear god, you've never been so eager to play.

It's the first time she's allowed herself to taste you from her mouth, that tongue. You can't recover from this. The thirst for her mouth to stay put, using her free hands to lay flat on your stomach, anchoring any movement to fuck your hips into her face. She doesn't let up for a moment, and you cover the mic to let yourself groan.

Free of consequence.

"Are you even listening to me?" Lacey shrills out in annoyance.

You really wish she would shut the fuck up.

"Yeah, I am, but you're being a cunt about the whole thing." You grumble through clenched teeth. There's a moan your mystery fuck is trying to pull, and fuck is she close to letting it release. With every swipe of her tongue, every pump of her fingers, you're unimaginably close to your restraint shattering.

"Do you even hear yourself? You're my girlfriend, and you're treating me like this?"

Lacey won't talk about the woman she was fucking. She knows that you know, but she bets on your inability to bring it up. The fear of confrontation and your need to be kept by someone trumps all.

And she would be right.

"Ohhh—godddd." The woman trapped between your thighs chuckles. Your eyes widen, realizing what happened.

"Did you just moan?" Fucking Lacey.

"Heels. My heels. I—um—fell." You stutter out, hoping to silence Lacey's doubts.

"You know what? I'm done with your bullshit tonight." The call ends, you throw across the room, the glass shatters, but you’re too fucked out to give a damn.

"I'm almost sad your girlfriend won't get to hear this." The pink-haired goddess spits on your cunt, smearing her saliva on your clit before she sucks you into her mouth. Her tongue flicks over your swollen clit, until your back arches off the mattress.

"Harder." You plead.

Then she gives her fingers a final push inside, curling over in that spot you desperately need her to. The entire world melts away when you lock eyes with her, the hooded gaze, the apparent desire pouring out of her. This is holy matrimony.

There's so much more you want to know about her. What shade of blue does she become under the reflection of the sun? Could you make her melt in daylight—with only a warm whisper of her name falling underneath the curse of your breath? For this infinite second, you allow yourself the pleasure of imagining it.

In your drunken haze, the glaze of tequila shadows the future you have always known and trades for another. What would it feel like to be wanted in love beyond chaos? Mel tells you what you don’t want to hear.

Chaos isn't love, darling. Stability is the true equalizer of tranquility. I hope you do find it one day, but I'm afraid it won't be with the woman you love so much.

The entire day had been wine-fueled, the bitter but slightly sweet taste of red coating your tongue, and the terrible nightmares in your mind. The sad thing about it? You couldn't really remember the specific occurrence Lacey had done that month—that week. You do remember the hurt. The ache in your bones when she apologized. The swell in your chest tightened when she promised it would all be a one-time thing.

I'll never hurt you again.

Lie after lie. Since the beginning of university, the entire dynamic you had with commitment and gentleness turned into ash and resentment in your mouth.

Why can't you taste the nurturing honey of a love taken care of?

You hated yourself for wanting it with someone who might be the wrong person. You had imagined yourself with one person; you let yourself be with her alone. There has been no one else. Not even in your most miserable moments had you even reached for another person to keep you company—keep your bed warm at night.

You had always wondered. The question you would always ask yourself…isn't this normal? Other people in long-term relationships have doubts…don't they?

Wavering confidence diminished with each stroke of her tongue. The sinful thrust of her hands. You could feel her smirk radiate from her body when you spin curves away from the mattress.

"You're so perfect for me, princess." She groans into your pussy, and the final one awakens every existing nerve ending in your body. "Yeah, pretty girl, fuck my face, just like that. Give it all to me.”

The pressure on your stomach doesn't try to push you down. No. She lets you do whatever you want. It's not about control anymore; this is entirely for your pleasure. You didn't know how wonderful it could feel. When the other person is making each action with you in the forefront of their mind, out of all the possible outcomes, you didn't consider yourself being the center of attention as a possibility.

This curse of a woman lets you fuck into her face as she sucks, slurps, on every single drop. Your slick coats her tongue, her lips, and it dribbles off her chin. Your whining doesn’t hinder her; it only seems to fuel the impulse she has with you. As if she's been starved for her entire life, and the first taste she savors is you.

This should end here.

Don't take this any further.

Once your body halts the tremors—the unimaginable shaking—her lips make their way up her body. You're thankful you've had so much to drink, and so has she.

You can't remember how perfect this is. How tremendous that the aliveness of her silences your fear. This memory needs to remain in a complete fog when you're driving before the first break of light, unable to see anything else, chasing for the first inch of the beaming sun.

"We can stop right here, princess."

"But you haven't—"

"Watching you was enough. I don't wanna keep you away for too long." She speaks so softly, and her touch gliding over your hips is just the same. Calm. Serene. The opposite of Lacey

You’ll beg for more of it. “You're not keeping me if I want you to have me."

The weight of her body presses against you; you can feel her soaking bush on your skin, and she finally removes her fingers. Sighing with a desperate groan, you lead her fingers into your mouth and suck your slickness off her skin. Continue to let your tongue roll over her skin, moaning as you push your hips against hers.

“It’s inside the drawer on your left.” You pull her directly on top of you, grinding into her pretty bush. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

“Trust me. You’re the furthest thing from my regrets.” Her hips push your body weight down, you wrap your legs around her waist, fisting her hair when she whines in your ear. Urgency drowning in her movements, her lips gliding and soaking in your cum.

“Can you get off like this?” You whisper into her ear, enjoying the shudder in her body. She seems to be too lost to make her lips move, but she nods her head, grinding against your body. If she won’t tell you her name, you’ll have to make do.

You whisper your name in her ear, “That’s what I want to hear, tonight. My name on your gorgeous lips until it’s the only thing you can remember.”

“Okay—yeah.”

She’s more vocal than you would have given her credit for. More needy too. She moans your name, groans when she picks up the space of her hips, moon crescents pressed into your hipbone by the blunt of your fingertips. She lets you hear everything. It’s when she unwraps your legs from her hips, pushing your knees on either side of your head, and a languid drop of saliva hangs in the air until she smothers your dripping cunt with it.

You’re so wet, dripping with cum, you don't need it. Your dream girl is ever the showman.

For a second, she slips back into calm and confident. “Hold your legs there. Don’t move an inch.”

You’re confused, but more importantly, so turned on.

She steps into the moonlight, and you watch her remove the tape concealing her breasts. Blush-pink nipples—pierced with a silver barbell on each one. They’re perfect—goddamn exquisite. Actively, you drool, the desire dripping out of more than one opening.

Slithering back to the mattress, each of her thighs spreads wide when she sits in front of you. With a firm hand, she pushes your legs further, “Once I come, then we’re getting out this magical strap of yours.”

“What—”

She giggles, before her pussy, her clit—body, soul, and mind—all slide with your own before the rest of the world fades into nothing but substance. From how tonight started, you didn't peg her for the vulnerable type. There could be a feeling, maybe a moment you’re missing, but she doesn't give you much time to think.

Mind-numbing, sex. Fucking amazing sex. Sex so incomparable, she’s making everyone you’ve ever been with (Lacey) look like an inexperienced virgin who needs a gentle hand to lead. She’s making it look easy with her weight on top of you, her clit pressed on yours in pure ecstasy as she takes what she needs.

You desperately need her to come apart—you wanted to watch it—and fuck, you want to fall right there with her.

“Are you gonna tell me your name now?” She doesn’t respond, but she acknowledges the words with a smirk.

“Are my tits not enough for you?”

Everything about her is enough. The arch of her spine digs in, her thrusts are faster, and her head is thrown back with a line of curses flying quickly out of her mouth. Your name slips out again, and she watches you grin widely.

She’s close—her abs flexing—her body tightening, and she's getting louder. Obscenely, glass-shattering loud.

“Oh god—your pussy—fucking soaking me—keep on dripping for me—yeahhhh.”

“You’re such a brat, being so fucking loud. It’s like you want your girlfriend to hear you fucking someone else.”

The merciless butch groans with your name ringing on her tongue.

“Keep talking—fuck, need you to keep going.”

“Yeah? What’s there to talk about? Aren’t you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

The desperation from her rattles, her grip is tight as she shifts her weight, maneuvering one of your legs over her shoulder, the leverage enough to rattle both of you. The control you wormed in your grasp was nothing more than short-lived, as it heightens the limits of your imagination. A stranger who has no idea what you like, what you don’t, but she’s picking at all the right straws, in the complete dark of what lies on the other end.

“Oh, I’ll be good, but you first, princess.” She taps her finger to your lips, squeezing your cheeks together with some light pressure on your chin, “Open.”

You know what’s coming, what she wants; her eyes communicate it. That’s why you do it. Giving in to whatever fantasies play in her mind, you’ll give it to her. If it’s the last thing she needs—you’ll do anything to make it a reality.

The languid, wanting spit lands on your tongue. If she spat in your face, it would only have turned you on. She rewards you with her tits in your face, not letting them go to waste for a second. Your body is half bent, nearly breaking, but you’re more sucking on her nipples like she's actively lactating.

Another dream for a different day.

The power of her hips is enough—her cunt crying for retribution with every thrust. She pulls her breast away from your mouth. Two seconds away from turning into a total brat with the mere thought of knowing she could handle it before the woman speaks underneath the softness of her breath, “Keep your eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

The invisible string you could feel with her—it couldn’t be explained. Reason and love? It didn’t quite align when her forehead met yours, sending you a subliminal message to listen. The silence cut through, and for a split second, you convinced yourself the beat of her heart could be heard over the rapid thump of your own. With each fleeting moment, it threatens to burst.

She needs this one. This is how she wants it. Soft moonlight bathes her skin, and the treasure of gold repainting her legs. But the real kicker was how much she got off on watching your reactions. Knowing she was doing something good—making you feel good. Letting you feel every curve and swell of her lips. The tickle of her bush against your skin.

You’re almost certain this is tethered to something besides you—but the way she’s looking at you fucks with you more than you’re willing to admit.

Calloused hands slip into your grasp, pinning the left and right on each side of your head, but the roll of her hips is relentless.

You do your best to follow her gentle order, even when the only wish you want granted is to close your eyes, pretend you aren’t enjoying sex with someone else so much. The intimacy corners the guilt—why are you feeling so much?

The comparison between the only other person you have to compare her with, before you can see the shift in her crystal-blue eyes. She’s struggling to keep it at bay.

The imperative need to finish first is again evident in every clench of her jaw. Hunger boiling over, the wolf haunting her dilated pupils, growing with every sinking second.

Control slips like a mask she removes when she wants. The vulnerability is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why you do it. But your lips lean in, licking your lips, before you lock them with hers. Moaning in her mouth, your tongue massaging with hers, that’s what does it for her.

She’s sentimental and sexy.

God, you hope you never see her again.

The cry of her comes paints your walls golden, each moan she lets out is derived from a place of passion you place in your pocket. Only with a few more thrusts, you’re falling into her—two entities morphing into one.

“Love my pussy so much, huh? I bet you do, princess.” She releases your hands from her punishing grip to pace your hips the way she wants, holding you closer as you use her to fuck you through your high. “Gonna make sure every time you fuck your little girlfriend, it's going to be me you’re thinking about.”

You pull her hair, nails digging into the root as she gazes at your beauty through the haze of her pussy-drunk blues. It’s unforgettable. She’s extraordinary, and you know the woman you don't even know the name of will haunt you. For every second you’ll be away from her would be a disgrace to living, a haunting of love never lived.

She’s depraved; A heathen cries of pleasure laced in your name. You won’t be able to let go of her.

How perfect a one-night stand could be. How would you come to learn that this doesn’t happen one any night…with anyone.

The leap in your chest when she kisses you good riddance shouldn’t be the symphony of an angel’s eulogy.

Her blinding-white wings cloud your judgement. Her shadow leaves quietly in the night. The swipe of a hand, mistaking your ring for hers, goes without dispute. It flees to an owner it hadn’t yet deserved.

A few of your friends are slowly departing, and a few of hers are grabbing another drink from the bowl of bunch Abby thinks is way too damn sweet. Owen had even been there, an invitation Abby extended in the spirit of the holidays.

"So, where's your girl?" Nora asks.

Abby squints, a smirk on her face. Taking a swing of her beer to give her more time to dodge the question she won't provide an affirming answer to.

"She's not my girl."

"Oh, so she must be drooling over another blonde?"

Even Abby wasn't beyond admitting she could see it too.

Stolen glances disguised underneath hooded eyes and trembling hands. The flirting you had been doing with her co-captain of rugby all night. Instinctively, you do your best to rile her up.

If she didn't know you any better, she wouldn't have batted an eye—but she did know you—more than she ever would admit to anyone else. The dirty secret she keeps close to her chest.

She would do anything to keep on knowing you. The parts you hide, the parts you show. Abby wants every inch of your locked secrets until she finds the key.

"Not funny."

"She’s doing it for you." Nora takes a beat before supplying another punch. "Those pretty little—fuck me please, Abby—are written all over her.”

Abby had known about your crush.

But that's all it is.

Plenty of women are into her. She can never admit it out loud cause then it would mean she was cocky, arrogant even. Freckled biceps and a six-pack that none could say no to. She's conventionally attractive in a way that would be rude if she owned it.

"We're roommates. It's not happening. I couldn't—”

"Fuck her until both of your brains come undone?"

"Unfortunately, we both know I could do just exactly that."

"Yeah, sharing a dorm with you was fucking spectacular.” Nora admits.

Abby thinks for a moment.

What could happen?

Would she want anything to happen?

The thought nauseates her if she's honest. Not because she finds it repulsive. Threatening to her psyche or some sense of false or fragile ego.

It’s the worst possible outcome.

Because she wants it to happen, she wants you, your bright eyes full of optimism. The stupid jokes you whisper under your breath when you think no one else is listening. When you moved in together, the situation was convenient. You needed a place to crash. Abby needed a roommate, and Dina had been the one to connect the dots.

Now there were too many, and Abby didn't know where to backtrack into normalcy before she saw your lips as perfect, or before she contemplated what scent your body wash is. The details about you that nearly suffocate Abby into tiny little pieces of her pathetic existence.

She couldn’t be this whimpered, doe-eyed version of herself.

None of this has ever been a person she would ever want to become.

Abby Anderson doesn’t fall in love.

Women fell to their knees for her, and then they thanked her for it. Abby doesn’t participate in any of this. Relationships make her want to puke and retreat into her body.

The skin would pull away from her bone and wrap around her worst fears.

That is what love is.

It's how she experienced it.

And Abby wasn't fond of how the vowels in her name sounded on your tongue, creating a new definition of devotion.

"She could do better than me."

"Agreed." Nora retorts, immediately.

Abby's jaw drops to the floor in feigned betrayal. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"And I think you'll be following around her like a puppy with one kiss."

"You're lucky, Nora, that I'm tipsy and willing to prove a point."

[divider]

This damn stocking.

Peyton wouldn't be Abby, but she would be someone.

Someone who wants me.

And her co-captain and she might actually kill you with her biceps when she finds out.

God, wouldn't that be nice?

The thoughts are endless when it comes to Abigail Anderson. This is what you need. One good fuck to put your mind at ease. 'Tis the holiday season. All the jazz. With the bells and horns. The fucking harmonica on your clit chasing you to the finish line.

It's what you heard from Ellie. Mouthy Peyton, but she knew what to do with it. Halfway into pulling the second stocking up your thigh, your door opens and shuts.

"Peyton, I told you—"

There she is.

Abby.

Well….fuck.

"Trying to hook up with my teammate?" Abby stalks, step by step, creeping into your personal space.

Sitting on her knees, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a swollen, pink lip. Pearly-white canines dig into the flesh.

Is she so mad that the taste of iron soothes her soul?

Abby kneels at your feet. Her shoulders are too broad and too wide; she pushes your legs apart easily. The half-done stocking lies limp on your calf. She does you the favor of pulling it up all the way, prettily placing the lace and the pretty red bow on your thigh.

You could never have planned this better in your dreams. The checkered plaid cups that are so damn sheer —the see-through skirt your matching thong underneath. Leaving the garters Abby attaches to each stocking with her calloused hands that won't stop wandering.

"It's Christmas."

"Not quite," Abby argues as she pushes her luck, gliding her palms further up your thighs. "As if that's an excuse."

"Why would it matter if I did?" There's silence, and then Abby silently pulls her hair from the tight ponytail on her scalp. The golden waves transform into an endless waterfall. The finest strands gliding across your skin, devoted silk calling out for its inventor. "I'm single—Peyton’s single. There's nothing wrong. Is there something wrong, Anderson?"

"What could be wrong with you looking like this?" Oh shi— "Unless you bought all of this for her instead of me."

She stands up, and you're manhandled to your stomach. The soft flesh of your stomach is pressed into your sheets. Entire universes of constellations rest on her fingertips every time Abby touches you. In some ways, you wish it had been Peyton—this couldn't be any more painful. Having her tease you, knowing she would never fully offer herself on a platter.

This? It's the only thing she would give.

"What if I did buy it for Peyton? Ellie tells me she's excellent with her mouth. Eager to please. If you had come thirty minutes later, you could have gotten a show."

"And what show would that be? You being mediocrely fucked, and calling out my name instead of hers?" Abby glides her finger along your slit over your panties and watches you squirm. "These walls are thin, and you are…ungodly loud, baby."

"Sometimes the fantasy is better than reality."

"And how does this feel?" Abby snakes a hand inside the thin lace, pushing her finger in your warm walls, watching the muscles in your back clench. "Who wins? The fantasy? Or reality?"

You ignore the party going on downstairs. The pretty—and emotionally available—rugby player who had been perfectly fine with the proposition of laying you out with Abby being none the wiser. She would be here any minute. A twist of the doorknob, and she would see Abby on her knees, playing with her jealous toy.

The way she slithers each drop on her tongue, full fingers reminding you of how much she owns you. Whimpering into the sheets, you beg for an ounce of reprieve.

"Tell me, babygirl." Abby double-downs on her efforts. "Is she the one making you moan into your sheets—or is that me?"

Your name is called out, but by her.

Abby acts like the woman who was supposed to fuck you isn't there.

Like she couldn’t fucking matter.

The fire pit of shame swarms your stomach. Peyton whines, and you can only suspect it's from the way Abby has your ass in the air with her sweet, velvet tongue and fingers making work of your body.

Abby is everyone’s dream—even Peyton’s.

It's your dirtiest fantasies wrapped in one. The woman of your dreams is lavishing between your thighs. The entire party could be watching—maybe even then—you still wouldn't have cared.

"Let's get one thing straight, Peyton." You've never heard so much venom in her tone, and it brings every part of you on fire. "We share a fucking team, but we will not be sharing my girl."

Daring for a glimpse, you crane your neck in Peyton's direction, and her hazel eyes look just as intoxicated as yours. Somehow, the green behind her eyes is even more envious. Abby couldn't be happier—watching you come undone at the mercy of her tongue in front of a woman who tried to take something she could never have.

You.

The rest of the night falls back into swing. Abby is eyeing her as you deal with a flushed Peyton. Her fists clenched, and her shoulders squared away as you try to reason with her.

But Abby sees the shake in your legs, the pressure in your shoulders vacant—and all of it is her doing.

No one has a clue what just happened. In the comfort of your bedroom, Abby has done more than she should have with you.

"Well, we didn't kiss," Abby smirks, hiding behind the glass as you walk back into the living room with shaky legs.

"But you did fuck her, didn't you?"

With a suggestive rise of her eyebrows, Abby speaks softly into the white night, "Happy Holidays, Nora."

There’s more than meets the eye with Vi’s voice, which has always whispered in your dreams, only this time the hallucination blossoms into an actual reality. She’s right next to you. With her steady hands on your hips, she somehow convinced you to wear the skates.

Your entire heart gliding on ice.

“Follow me, and you’ll be alright, okay? I’m not gonna let a single bad thing happen to you.” For a second, a life-altering moment, you think she might let go.

“Vi, I fall on my face when I’m rollerblading. How do you expect me to do this?”

“Because you have me, duh.” Vi edges out, your nails digging into her covered shoulder. “I’m a fucking excellent teacher, you know. Captain of the hockey team for a reason, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, how could I ever forget with you reminding me every time I see you? Batting your long, pretty eyelashes at me to coerce me into this.”

“I do not bat my eyelashes.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Vi smirks, “So, you think I have pretty eyelashes?”

“Shut up—just don’t let me fall, okay?”

“I’ll always be there to catch you, princess."

And in that moment, you believed her.

Liv has the kind of beauty immortalized by Hollywood. The perfect image of what’s easy to swallow—acceptable.

Blue-eyed, long and luscious golden waves, and her full, mauve-stained lips. Her laugh is unforgettable. The black eyeshadow she smears all over her lid is a staple of her entire look.

She met you last year in your first year of college, just across the hall from her. It’s fated in a tragically cliché kind of way. Two heartbroken, out-of-their-minds drunk women, crying over their failed relationships.

Her stupid boy and your foolish girl.

Neither one of you let go after that. What started as two lonely people finding solace in someone who completely understood turned into you finding the person you trust most in the world.

Winter break came with a soft thrill.

The fireplace Liv keeps on during the day. White snowfall made a home on the frozen lawn, and the shade of evergreen wiped from the roots. The tiny little marshmallows in your hot chocolate keeping your frozen body warm.

Not the big fluffy ones you roast underneath a pit of fire—the tiny, cute little fluffs of sugar you drop in the warm mug of chocolate.

The front door opens and shuts quickly.

Instead of Liv, she brings the burr of December’s air in the home for only a second, but it’s still strong enough for you to feel it.

Anytime she isn’t here, with her bedroom door shut like a vault, you forget she exists.

It’s been a couple of months since you’ve spoken to her. You’ve seen her. A party here, a bar in the middle of downtown with Caitlyn clinging onto her like she’s a lifeline. Maddie looks like she wants to punch Vi square in the jaw.

You want to ask her why she isn’t boarding her flight to New York with Caitlyn. Why all of a sudden is Vi here when she’s supposed to be high up in the clouds—thousands of miles away from you?

“Sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Me either.” It’s bitter. You hope she feels every bit of it.

You’re trying not to make it too obvious with your eyes, but you haven’t been good at that kind of thing. Concealing and not feeling. Feeling is your expertise. You do too much of it, always pushing you into the crossfire of somebody else’s mess.

“I’m baking cookies, but give me ten minutes, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s okay—really.” Vi bites her bottom lip with a blistering tug. “You’re Liv’s guest, and I’m not going to kick you out. Scouts honor.”

“Okay.” There's not enough energy left in you to argue.

So, you don't.

You want to look away from her as she shrugs her beanie off, running her fingers through her vibrantly messy hair. She unravels the scarf you knitted for her last winter. Vi gulps at the fabric, recognizing she’s in the presence of the person who gave it to her.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought she planned it.

Turning away from her, you walk towards the fireplace, picking your book back up—focusing on a love story that still has a chance.

The zip of her coat is heard; your heart threatens your peace as you sneak a glance, but you focus on your head. She knows better. She remembers what it was like to get your heart crushed underneath the blade of her merciless skates.

Over and over the she glides, the weight of her carelessness never failing to crush you beneath it.

“Why aren’t you with your family? You love Christmas.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Some things are bound to change.”

Back to your book, you forget she’s there, looming in the open space of the apartment. Her scent is everywhere—you only have the heart to notice when there’s no use in ignoring it.

The art on the walls reminds you of her little sister. A stack of books tabbed on the coffee table belongs to her. You know without an elf’s help they belong to Vi.

It takes all of two seconds before you’re picturing the annotations she’s recklessly scribbled inside. The edges of her favorite pages dog-eared.

Okay—stop. I can’t go there. She doesn’t love me anymore. Vi never did. The scarf she wore isn’t a semblance of the fire she still holds for you—her body only needs warmth.

That’s it.

You hold the hardcover of the book with your gaze, carefully reading over the following passage.

Abigail doesn’t like it when Joey appears underneath the shadow of the moon. When she’s supposed to be gone—out to the west and out of sight. Joey never considered what it might have meant for me. Seeing her after all this time, an open wound for her to inspect. Did she enjoy pouring salt on my wound? Oh yes. That’s right. Only a love so cruel would find me so openly—so profoundly in a crowded town I could no longer call home. But Joey is here. Right where I didn’t want her to be. And she would always be my home. But the true devastation? Joey could keep hurting me. I would still be hers.

“What are you reading?” Vi inquires out of politeness.

Right. All her kindness softened her masculinity. This is what got you in trouble the first time.

Five months? Six? It feels like a lifetime ago.

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

Please, Vi. Stop talking to me.

“Does it happen to have a title?”

“Here.” You lift the spine of the book flat, and facing her. “You still read, don’t you?”

“How lovely, princess.”

You have an itch to gouge her eyes out for calling you a name you used to love. Suppress. Suppress. Suppress. “Oh, you know me, the master of my own demise.”

“Do you have something you would like to say to me?” Vi’s tone would suggest she might be cross. But her hands shake, and her voice wavers more than she would probably like around you. She’s never been one to run from her emotions.

Vi came from a family that talked things out, were there for each other, and didn’t let the other fall—and you came from a family where two parents who shouldn’t be together can’t seem to leave each other.

“Why aren’t you in New York?” You question her while still holding your book, pretending it has some weight in this peculiar situation.

And more importantly, why haven’t you burned the scarf I made out of love when you could never love me back? Why the fuck are you wearing it?

But none of that leaves your lips. It stays inside the pit of your stomach, leaving it to rot in the cracks of your hope, welting inside you—the petals of a reborn flower left to die in the brunt of winter’s gloom.

You met her in the winter and now the seasons don’t change. It’s all you can ever see. The snowfall and her beautiful, blue eyes.

“Do you remember the time you told me—Vi, you don’t have to be anywhere you don’t want to be?”

“Yes.”

What does one little thing I said have to do with any of this?

“There’s a part of me that started to listen to that singular part of you.”

You lower your book, but you don’t remove it from your grasp. You can’t pay attention anymore, and the deeper you get, the more Joey reminds you of Vi, and Abigail has glimmers of you underneath the locked ache of your misery.

“You’ve always wanted to go there for Christmas. Why didn’t you go?”

“Because not everything is about the destination. Sometimes, it’s about more than just a pretty skyline and a wonderful place. As you said, things are bound to change.”

“You’re not making any sense, Vi.”

“Maybe I don’t have to. I can just be happy with where I’m at.” You can’t imagine what it’s like to live in her head. She’s so brave, self-assured, flipping her decision with a blind of an eye.

Vi doesn’t look back twice.

“Got it.” Your voice comes out clipped, short—a fresh breath of annoyance.

“Do you despise me so much you can’t even look at me?”

You hum—hoping it will die. Her voice will trail off, and she’ll let you have this one thing—pure, unadulterated silence.

“Whatever you feel for me must be pretty damn close.” Vi exhausts what you hope will be her last breath. “Finding a book more interesting than me.”

When you do look, it’s a mistake. It’s always a fucking mistake. Those deceitful eyes, making you believe she loves you, before the truth is ripped. Body and soul no longer in tandem when she manipulates your love to fall in with the transparency of a ghost you recognize all too well.

You’re the first to fall, the first to act, the first I love you comes from your persecuted lips, and it couldn’t be more obvious—you’re the first to break.

It’s the hard thing. The uncomfortable sham you’re forced to live with. You will always be the one who falls harder and gets buried underneath the snow.

“Mhm, right.” You don’t argue—who could?

Does she know the truth? You find her too interesting, too precious, too much of everything that makes you fall in love. You’ll convince yourself she’s worth all of the pain, all of the sorrow stowed away when the moonlight is shining—the gloom of her love coating you.

Again. Fall in love. Trust her. She’ll break you. Then, let it happen one more time. Just enough so you can feel her. A second in her arm, a kiss, one night you’ll never forget—a walking nightmare shaped like your clandestine dream.

The curtains in your room block out the light when you can’t sleep. You can breathe again. With a fresh set of lungs, she’s not pushing against your heart anymore—or she wasn’t until now, when you look.

You look.

You’re looking.

A life you could want but never have.

You’re dreaming of a powder blue and hoping for a final form of her that will not exist. There’s no mercy in looking, but there’s beauty in your guardian angel’s grace in staying hidden from her.

The ring of your timer saves you. Excusing yourself, you pull the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. The buzzing in your head doesn’t stop, the article that never leaves your mind.

The picture you can’t escape.

Nothing short of memorable. The headline, the phone call you received ten minutes after, the dozens of texts—but the worst of them all?

The videos.

From every corner, every angle—immortalizing their moment forever. It’s etched into Piltover University. It still spoken of today—a moment that went viral. Eyes brought in money, donations, and good fucking publicity. It truly was a beautiful moment for everyone but you.

“Would you feel better if we talked about it? We never have.”

“I wonder why.” There’s so much bitterness to you, but you’re not sure how to hide it.

You stare at the cookies. The perfectly baked cookies. The dough was just right this time. The ratio of chocolate chips to the dough was exactly what you wanted.

It’s perfect.

Next week you’ll be able to bring it for Christmas.

You won’t need to make three more test batches. But it feels good to do something you feel proud of. Anything to get rid of the anguish in your stomach, especially when Vi is so close.

“I’m trying to do the right thing—b-but I don’t know how to exist when you’re here.”

“Well, what do you want from me, Vi? If you need someone to make you feel better, why don’t you, I don’t know—spend the holiday with your fucking girlfriend?”

She laughs, a little too knowingly, and just like that, you spin right underneath the rage.

“Yeah, I bet the idea of your ex-girlfriend pushing you towards your new girlfriend is quite comical.”

“That’s not why I—”

“Liv said you would be in New York. I didn’t mean to make things difficult.” Relinquishing your pride, you let the truth go. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go, okay? I didn’t come here to make you feel guilty. I don’t have anyone besides Liv. She’s all I have.”

Vi doesn’t say anything. She’s stuck—watching you as tears slowly make their way down your cheeks. Watching as you angrily roll each piece of dough to make another batch.

I don’t have anyone.

Here, she is worried about her image and how to protect it. Head captain of the Piltover Peacocks, the girl everyone wants to love.

Vi fucking Lanes.

Oh, she’s going places.

Everyone is envious of her.

It all happened so fast. Before she could catch up to time.

Caitlyn Kiramman, daughter of Dean Kiramman. Teammates turned lovers. Lanes and Kiramman, a match fated in the stars.

She couldn’t have written a better story herself. Sports journalists certainly did. Vi remembers scrolling through articles, panicking on the bus ride home, with Caitlyn asleep on her shoulder.

Her phone’s been going off every few seconds since the game ended. People she knew congratulated her; some people she didn’t. But when the silence came, there was one notification left. The damn device was ringing before she could shut the ringer off.

She pulls it from her sweats, her heart falling out of her body.

my princess: one new message. congratulations on nationals and the kiss.

It’s the last message she ever got from you. She replied, hoping you would answer, but the blue bubble turned green. Your phone went to voicemail. You blocked her on every social media platform in the book.

Vi remembers the shrillness in Liv’s voice. She was a short woman, full of fire and spunk, but her rage couldn’t be contained. With every scream, Vi wished you were the one angry at her. That maybe you cared enough that she did something so entirely reckless and selfish.

You wouldn’t though. She made your worst insecurity come to life and did nothing about it.

My best fucking friend? Really? And you wonder why she never trusted you. God. We’re roommates, Vi. Do you have any idea what you’ve fucking done? It just always has to be about you. What the hell is wrong with you?

She went to your apartment once she was back in the city. She didn’t stay more than a few minutes when she saw the box. The one on which you wrote her name with everything she ever gave you. The golden necklace with her birth flower and the hockey stick charm—the one you wore so proudly every day since she gave it to you.

Vi cried for three days. On the fourth day, she did it in front of Liv; she thought she was alone, but apparently not.

If you’re going to fucking cry over cheating on her, do it in your room, Vi. Seriously, this is a new low. Even for you.

Every bit of the insults was deserved. She was pathetic.

Selfish.

A coward.

All of the miserable and awful things she promised herself she would never allow herself to be.

Three weeks later, she jumped into a relationship with Cait. Vi didn’t allow herself to think about what she’d done. She moved on and washed away the memory of you. The bandaid she keeps trying to cover a bullet hole with.

Now, with you in her kitchen, she uses this as a punishment. Watching you cry and not being able to fix any of it—she deserves to feel the aftermath of breaking you.

She knows too well that Piltover isn’t your home. You moved across the country to follow a dream, a scholarship riding on the rest of your future. Failure couldn’t even be an option.

I don’t have anyone.

She’s all I have.

There’s a knock at the door before Vi can do something that would surely be idiotic. She knows what will happen as soon as she sees him—Vander.

“Well? Stop acting like a statue, and hug your old man.”

With tears staining your cheeks, you whip your head, and Vi can’t help but steal a look.

Absolute mortification.

“Do you think everyone will like me?”

“Yes.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because I love you. Besides, as soon as they meet you, everyone will be looking to trade me out.” She seals her love in a kiss, forevermore shading the crevices in your heart violet.

It’s pure chaos from the second you step in. All of it is so welcome. The warm hugs, the firm whispers in your ear—you’ve really put up with her for this long, you’re the bravest soul out there.

Heartwarming affirmations of encouragement come from Powder, her little sister, whom you’ve heard so much about.

It’s someone’s birthday, you can’t remember the name, and you’ve met so many people tonight you’re starting to lose track. Everyone has been so kind. So accepting. You’re not sure why everyone can’t be like this.

“She’s beautiful, Vi. Why is she with you?” That’s Ekko, and it earns him an elbow thrown into his ribs.

“You’ve been hanging out with Powder too much.”

"Nah, she's clearly out of your league."

You're teasing her about it for a couple of hours. How completely out of her league you are. She gets all bashful, and she attempts to disguise her joy with a faux roll of her eyes, but a blush of baby-pink coats her freckled cheeks.

Vander makes his way to you for the first time in the night. He's been hiding in the kitchen or out back on the grill. Honestly? You've been really nervous. Vi speaks so highly of him; she calls him dad now and then—she catches herself sometimes, too, but she doesn't bother to correct herself.

He's taken care of her since she was a young teen—full of heartache and misery—and he’s never left her behind. Together, Silco and Vander created this makeshift family that stuck.

Building a real home.

God, you're scared shitless.

Each tremor of your hand is more than visible. Vi holds your hand to steady you. The beer flowing through your veins gives you enough courage to take one step in front of the other.

It's fine. He'll like you enough not to hate you. Parents love you. Yours don’t, not really, but he will love you. The rest of his family does. He has no reason not to.

"Vander, this is u-um, my girlfriend."

You're not sure if you have ever been so bashful. Her thumb is rubbing in circles on the back of your hand as you reach out to Vander. You expect a handshake, but you get a mighty bear hug instead.

"Oh, um—so you're a hugger?" You sigh in relief. "That's good. I am too."

His smile is so big, and he's so warm and friendly—you've truly never met a friendlier face.

"Finally, you bring her over. You haven't been able to stop talking about her for over a year."

You grin so big. "We've only been taking for six months."

"This one has been smitten from the jump. First weekend back from university, you would have thought she had a growing sunburn on her cheeks."

"Vander—" Vi tries to cut in, but you're too engrossed in all the stories Vander lets fly off the handle. It doesn't stop at one. More like five until Vi decides she's been embarrassed enough for one night.

When she walks you back to the car, opening the door for you, it's then that she says, "What did I tell you? They have successfully found my replacement, princess."

“Vi, I didn’t know you would have company.”

Fuck, he’s really going to think this is something it isn’t.

“Why don’t we talk outside, yeah?” Vi pushes him outside, and you nearly laugh at her sheer panic. But you know, there are the tears that won’t stop.

Vander adores you, and losing his father-figure presence was a blow you still haven't recovered from. You hadn’t told anyone, not even Liv, but you did miss her family. You missed the cookouts, the monthly dinners, and the first and only Christmas you spent with them.

Only a few months ago, after the breakup, they all reached out to you to wish you a happy birthday. You didn’t tell anyone, but Vander and Silco check on you every other Sunday. They have no obligation—they are good people with good hearts.

You can’t imagine how awkward the conversation is outside. Their voices escalate until there’s silence. The two of them are back inside, and you don’t have the heart to look away from the dough your fingers can’t stop rolling.

Vi stays in the corner watching as Vander does his whole impending dad thing, as if he could see how much pain you’re in, tear-stained cheeks evident, and he gives you the most comforting embrace. Only then do you let yourself fully come apart.

In your ex-girlfriend’s apartment, with her twenty feet away, and her dad comforting you.

This is rock bottom.

What could you have possibly done differently not to end up here?

“I’m sorry, god, this is so stupid, it’s just my family isn’t the best right now, you know?” You take a deep breath, embarrassingly slobbering into his chest. “Things have been difficult—I uh—came out to them and I thought if I gave them a little time they might come around.”

It’s only been six months. Maybe they can change. Perhaps they can get over the idea of me never being with a man—maybe it’s all too sudden, and there only needs to be an adjustment period.

“You always have a place in our home—even if this idiot will be there.” You know he’s only teasing; he loves Vi more than anyone, but the light in his laugh makes the gloom almost disappear.

Until now, you realized how much you missed Vi’s family. But you couldn’t let yourself go there, not again. “Thank you for saying that, but really, I’ll be okay. Couldn’t help but have a breakdown during the holidays. You know me, I love the theatrics.”

The smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Vi and Vander know it too.

You excuse yourself and make way for the bathroom, escaping from the embarrassment of a family you could never have, a life you could never want anymore, without costing your pride. The white tile beneath your red socks is fascinating. The caulking between the tiles needs to be redone, and water from the faucet is still dripping as it did before.

Fuck, this is her bathroom.

Even when your brain isn’t working, and you’re in an absolute haze, you want her there. When you’re pushing everyone away, it’s still Vi, and you want her to come back to you.

And there it is, the dagger in your chest—a framed picture of Powder and you on the wall.

Even she wasn’t strong enough to fully let you go.

You can’t remember when the photo was taken. Over the course of your relationship with her, you lost count of all the weekend trips to see her family. When Powder would visit from Zaun over the weekend, or when she would try to talk Vi into letting her stay an extra day or two in Piltover. When you would be grilling outside with Vander or trading theology book recommendations with Silco.

Time passes unevenly. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting on the cold, marble counter. When did you start? Could your sobs be heard through the other side?

The knock on the door is precise, almost timid to the point it sounds rehearsed. “Can I come in?”

A quiet acceptance leaves your lips. Vi leaves the door open, standing next to you as if it’s easier not to look at you. To not let herself sink into the idea that every tear is set off from every stupid word that leaves her mouth. She stares at the framed photo, hanging perfectly on the wall right next to the bronze towel rack.

“I could never get rid of it.” Vi takes a breath as if the entire world is weighing on her, and she finally wants to release it in her bathroom with her ex-girlfriend, the only woman she’s ever been in love with. “The physical tickets I harassed the box office to give me when we saw Home Alone on our first date, the golden chain I still wear, the bracelets we made each other—there’s a box on my nightstand full of memories.”

You stay silent.

Vi doesn’t stop talking.

“You only kissed me in secret, so it only seemed fair I kept the memories in this apartment. After everything I did, I didn’t deserve to keep you in public anymore. Trust me, I know that. What I did was unforgivable, and I never apologized. Should’ve tried harder, but that’s what I do, I go to whatever is easier. Low stakes. That’s what Cait was, and for a few months, I enjoyed it. However shameful that makes me, but then I felt the absence of you. It burned me. You burned me.”

You’re still not saying a word.

Vi rolls her shoulders. Whatever she says next might kill her and spatter your own blood on the ivory-white tile. “I was at the airport today, ready to board the plane, and I just kept remembering that going to New York for Christmas was something we wanted. I was a fucking coward, and reality came crashing in—I realized I would always dream of all those plans with you. Every single one. It makes what I did even worse. I threw away someone who really cared about me for something I knew would never last.”

She whispers a secret underneath her breath. You wonder if it’s the first time she’s speaking it.

A substitute for what I truly wanted.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She sighs, “I lied earlier. Liv told me you would be here, and she told me I better board that fucking plane.”

‘Sounds like her.” She’s fierce and protective—it’s what you love the most about her. You left the unanswered dissolve in the air. She came back to her home because she knew you would be here. When she did, she made sure she was wearing your scarf.

Vi leaves the rest of it alone, all the baggage, the heavy weight of her status, and everything could be.

“I finished baking your cookies.”

Of course she did. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I’m the reason you cried so—had to give some good karma back.”

She nudged her knee with yours, and she keeps it there for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“Thank you, Vi.”

You want to leave, run far away from here, but your heart wants to be wherever she is.

“Vander is gone, too. You don’t have to worry about him doing his whole thing, the way he can instantly peel information out of you without even trying. But he’s dead serious about you coming over for Christmas.”

“Really?” It isn’t surprising that his offer is genuine, but Vi pushing for it is.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m allowed to walk in the door without you with me.”

A future like gold dust, shimmering with hope, but no matter how much you earn, that’s all it is—dreams of being painted on with long, consistent strokes. You only ever received a speck of golden flakes that never stuck to the canvas.

“We both know that’s not the truth.”

“Definitely is.” The smirk on her scarred lip isn't something you could forget. “They love you more than me. It’s a fact and everyone would love nothing more than to see you again.”

You wipe away the last of your tears. “I’ll think about it.”

Vi doesn’t care how reckless it is, how fucking idiotic she is; there's still hope buried beneath the surface for you.

A hope that can breathe again above all her indignation. Vi can fix this. She can fix every goddamn thing she broke.

And maybe, have you on her arm again even after Christmas.

Abby smotheres you on the couch. A heavy hand on your thigh and her thumb rubbing soothing circles in your pants. Both of you have had too much hot chocolate. Usually, she’s too proper to do this in front of anyone else. But the more she drank, the closer she got, and the bolder she became. Batting those golden eyelashes like they’re the origin of a gold mine.

She's so smiley when she's drinking—thanks to Ellie, the entire group wouldn't know a moment of sobriety for the remainder of the night. Dina is somewhere in the house attempting to stop her from drinking any more hot chocolate. Mel and Owen are warming each other on the couch. Nora and Manny are upstairs, and she’s giving him absolute hell.

Every single person in this house couldn't be more comfortable with one another. In the last four years, each of them attended university together. Collecting memories, growing in different seasons with one another. Learning about life, each other, and all of the small parts of themselves in between. You wonder what life could be like without the grief that made you hide for the last four years.

Even when you did manage to make it in town, you always spent it in the empty house, not another soul to speak to. The heartbeat of the fireplace keeps you company.

It’s only been a few months of being back. Everyone was busy for Thanksgiving, and it’s the first weekend of December. The serenity before the break of chaos. The holidays you’ll spend sulking in the comfort of your sheets or on this very couch.

Your home is too big, too lonely—you’re not even sure why you came back. Why did you stay? You should have kept running. Anywhere in the world could provide you with more peace, the blonde who glued herself to your side. Her being here, bold and beautiful, it never ended well. Not then, and you can’t hold any misplaced faith for the present.  

It’s only an hour later when everyone is passed out, but Abby stays awake with you, lingering in the kitchen as you clean up the rest of the skewers along with the dirty dishes.

“You can go to sleep, you know? You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Abby speaks so calmly. She’s always had this sturdiness about her, and even after all this time, she still does.

With everyone asleep, the two of you disappear into the open night sky. No city lights. Not a wink of a skyline. Only the stars and the gleam of the moon. The light reaches her eyes, a storm of grey with the depth of blue derived from the purest ocean. The barn and the woods—that’s the space you’re sharing with her.

“I never minded waiting. I’ve always been a patient person.” Abby looks up to the stars, like she’s waiting for a shooting star to pass through. “I would have waited even longer for you.”

“Abby—” You shiver, but you’re not sure if it’s from her words or the breeze slicing through your skin.

“Tell me I’m crazy, or stupid, or naively in love.” She chuckles, and you feel free. “I’m probably all three.”

Abby speaks clearly, and the truth in her words might cost you everything.

The second time you shiver, she slips her jacket around your shoulders and gives you no room to protest. “You’re tipsy. Beer makes you say things you never would.”

Abby inches forward, the pad of her thumb glides along your jaw. “Never is such a strong word. I think this is the longest you’ve stayed put, so maybe I’m finally brave enough to say it.”

She corners you like a wolf does a sheep, ready to shed your skin and make it your own. With ease, Abby casts you under her spell, and your back hits the front of the barn. Abby’s scent clings to your skin, reminding you of all the little things you’ve forced yourself to forget. Abby doesn’t get to make you feel brand new again, like no time has passed, and the two of you pick up right where you left off. But the present snags on the truth—you pulled her heart along more than you’d like to admit.

Time follows you, but so does she.

“Don’t you hear what everyone says? I’m heartless, and I died with my parents.” You ask Abby, but you can’t bring yourself to look at her. The navy-blue, wool sweater she’s wearing brings out her eyes more, and you noticed earlier in the night. The crimson blush from her beer, her freckled cheeks hiding beneath the warm hue. You hate yourself. Having no self-control around her. Soft and golden waves tucked in a low bun, threatening you to pull it free and run your fingers through her hair.

“I don’t care what everyone else says—what I care bout is what you think—how you feel.” The palm of her hand reaches out for your heart, the beat of muscle jerks with the softness of her skin. “Sounds like you have a heart to me.”

Abby Anderson is so tender. Fragile. Looking after others when she should look after herself. You’re heartless, and you know she has too much of one.

She forgives before you’ve batted up the apology. There’s so much silence, and Abby just holds you when you look up at the sky. Waiting for you to collect yourself. Patience is a mercy you’re thankful to be graced with.

“I used to come out here during the holidays, standing like I’m doing now, and I didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Even when I was too terrified to reach out, I knew you were somewhere in Seattle, looking at the same sky. Underneath the same moon, maybe we were the same, and maybe in a life somewhere else—I loved you the way you wanted.”

The way I should have always loved you.

“You’re speaking like I’m not here.” Abby’s breath materializes in the air, but the weight of her words falls heavy on your chest.

“It’s easier to believe you’re not. I’ve never been good at this—relationships, dating, staying in one place long enough for it to matter.”

“Then look at me for longer than a couple of seconds, and I can show you.”

It’s intimidating to hold her unwavering gaze. If you look too long, will she see too much? All the imperfections you bear are weeping scars. Yet, Abby has seen you at your absolute worst, and she doesn’t seem to mind. The kindness in her eyes doesn’t waver for a moment, but they do linger on your lips.

Without a shameful bone in her body, she licks her lips, pressing the sharp edges of her hips into you. Her touch should feel harsh, forced, but it’s not what you expect. She’s always more.

“And what can you show me that I haven’t seen before?”

“The one thing you can’t live without.”

Abby’s lips surge forward, pinning you to the barn and encapsulating your attention with a single touch. She tastes of beer and chocolate. All too bitter, but the sweetness of her hands on your hips keeps you in place.

It happens so quickly. Hands in your hair, the curl wrapped around her finger, and the hand on your lower back pressing you in close. You’re moaning before you even have the thought to stop yourself.

“Stop telling yourself you’re not enough for me—I know you love me.” Abby picks you up, legs wrapping around her solid waist. She likes how supple you feel, wrapped around her skin like a vine. “Stop fighting it.”

Mentally, you’re protesting—pushing her further away. It’s the default setting wired into your brain. The momentum is carrying your life away to another adventure. Running away from the only person alive who makes you feel like you have a home to come back to.

Abby makes a mess of you. Tongue, teeth, and lips. Years of wishing you could be closer to her. The relationship you guised as sexual when it has always been much more than that.

She’s been tormented with ignited dreams of your presence when you’re in another timezone—another city. Traveling like a nomad, from one place to the next, cursing the grief for taking you away from her.

But it’s something you had to do. She understood all of it now. Abby would wait a lifetime if you came back to her like this. Devotion written all over your gaze, the commitment coating your lips—even when you couldn’t see it for yourself.

Her touch is delicate, she eases you on your feet, playing with denim, the frayed edges picked around the button of your jeans. She sneaks her warm touch beneath your sweater, caressing your silky skin, watching you and all your heavy breathing.

“Abby—” You breathe out, your hips bucking into the fire of her palm. “I may not last long, it’s been…a while.”

“It’s okay. I plan on making you feel good more than once, if you’ll have me.”

She distracts you with her plush, pink lips. Somewhere between her tongue lacing with yours, Abby makes smooth work of her fingers unbuttoning your pants, smoothing over the soaked cotton hidden beneath. Abby smirks, but she doesn’t say anything. Both of you know she doesn’t have to.

Abby glides a finger along, enjoying the shake of your hips and the stutter in your breath. You break your lips from hers, holding her by the nape of her neck.

“Can you be good for me?”

An acceptance full of lust leaves your mouth. Abby pushes your panties to the side, no barrier to shield her touch from yours. She isn’t shy when she applies pressure to your clit. Using her other finger to tease your dripping lips, before she slips in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this—” Abby’s breath kisses your neck as she bites underneath your ear. “Being inside you again, feeling you clench on my hand, baby.”

Her words only have you clench harder, fucking yourself into her hand. The blunt of your nails digs into Abby’s neck. Suddenly, it isn’t freezing outside. You’re heated, touched by the glow of her sunlight.

When she spreads your lips with another finger, and slips in another finger with desirable ease. Her and that devious chuckle tighten your breath. Abby kisses along your neck, allowing you to be wholly and utterly fucked out by her.

“You like that, huh? My sweet babygirl.” Abby chokes out with cocky greed. “That’s all you needed. My fingers to remind you of how fucking badly you ache for me.”

The pace becomes brutal—the first of many moans slips before you can grasp them. It’s frantic the way Abby fucks you now. Complete domination in the way you need. She's shutting your brain off in the best of ways. Not allowing you to overthink.

You can just be.

“Don’t stop, fuck oh god, please don’t ever stop fucking me.” Your world splits in two when she doubles down, pinching your clit.

The tenacious pump of her fingers, the thrust of her wrists fucking your pussy, reminding you of what’s at stake. This marvelous and precious thing—you forced yourself to forget how wonderful it could be.

Desperation falling off her finger, the sound of your slick being fucked with her fingers only eggs her on, nearly sending you into an early grave.

“Fuck, keep on fucking my hand, sweet girl.” She marks the side of your neck, another broken cry leaves your lips as your body nearly vibrates from the desperate scream that you can’t hide.

It takes you minutes? Hours? Who even knows? But when you do come back to yourself, her thick hands are finally removed from your cunt, and she licks at the taste of you like it’s the only dessert she could ever want.

Her darkened gaze lathers you, her forehead pressed against yours when she cleans her fingers up. Happily humming with a glazed buzz. Abby glides your zipper back in place, buttoning up your jeans. Enjoying the fucked out bliss written all over your face—her favorite goddamn poem.

“This is my favorite holiday season.” You confess, and Abby kisses you.

Again. Again. And Again.

She is the gentle reminder of what it feels like to be warm in the winter breeze.

When did it start? How did they meet? Did you not give her enough? Could you have been a better partner? A better girlfriend? A better lover? Could you have made yourself into something she wanted if you changed everything about yourself?

But you wouldn't be you at all. Your existence would be a shrine for the woman you love. Loved. Love?

It's a work in progress.

Lacey has taken the pieces you gave her, the ones she took, and the person you thought you could be. She claims you. The bits you hadn't even meant to serve to her on a silver platter. You planned to stay home, recoup, and fall into another weekend of doing nothing. Being nothing. Avoiding the numbness in your heart, the monument of her love sharpens you at every corner.

Mel does the impossible, after months of isolation, and sways you into making an appearance.

A breath of fresh air, good company, your favorite food. You need this love, please trust me on this.

On the first week of every month, all of you would come here. Sundays at Gloria's. It's your first time coming alone. Thankfully, you can take an Uber to the restaurant. The pity begins the second you walk through the door, heading towards the table for seven. You take a seat in the open space in the booth, next to Violet. She moves her body closer to Powder to give you even more room.

Caitlyn isn't here again. You mean to ask about it for the sake of politeness, but like most days, you hold your tongue.

Maybe she doesn't wish to speak about it. Or with you. The two of you aren't close, and you're the one to blame.

Everyone loves Vi, darling. I swear, when you get rid of the leech who despises her, you'll see.

Brunch moves without a hitch. Everyone is too engrossed with the riveting conversation of Ekko's new promotion to see you consume an entire bottle of champagne by yourself.

"Have you eaten today?" Violet asks so sweetly. Everything about her is the definition of saccarahine. You couldn't despise her more.

"How is that any of your business?" You drink the rest of your fourth glass.

Fifth? Sixth? Does it truly even matter?

Powder-blue eyes glaze over you; they stop at your cleavage before she peers down at your lips. Does she enjoy it when you're cold-blooded? The malicious intent sinks into your works, deeper than you intend, but you don't take them back.

"I would like to know if I need to hold your hair back before you hurl." She wraps her fingers around the curl, touching the tip of your ends with her thumb, before she gives it back. Like, Violet was never there at all.

The snippy comment earns her an eyeroll. "I can handle my alcohol just fine."  

She takes this opportunity, in this cramped booth, to take you in. You wish someone would be paying attention to her so Violet would come off it. Looking at you like that, licking her lips, her pink tongue gliding the shine on her scarred lip.

"Uh-huh, sure. How many of me are you seeing right now?"

"Fuck. Off."

Violet throws an arm behind you as it hangs off your shoulder, "I could…but you would love it too damn much. Not every princess gets to be in control, but I have a feeling you would like to."

What the hell does she mean?

She whispers the last bit in your ear as her lips warm your skin. Then she quickly leaves, the lingering arm on your shoulder is the only proof it's happened. Violet doesn't even look at you for the rest of the brunch. You keep drinking, your lips get looser, and you find yourself crying about Lacey again. It's embarrassing. To be this in love with someone who doesn't care. She collected her things while you were at work three months ago.

No texts. No calls. Lacey Lave left you to clean up the mess—just as she always does. You're not given an option on how you want to handle it. You can still see it, and fuck, maybe that's why you can't stop drinking. You'll do anything to rid yourself of the image. Every important person in your life, on the other side of the kitchen door, hears you being betrayed in the most vile displays of faithlessness.

Having to look each of them in the eye, your pride suffocated and left to die right beside your ego. Even now, you can't stop talking about Lacey. Why can't anything else leave my mouth? All that can come out is complete indifference. The anger, the rage, and the slobbering of a drunken woman's heart.

There's not enough guts in the world to look at Violet. Mel does her best to console you from across the table. But it isn't Mel's calloused fingertips delicately drumming against your skin. Is it done with an absent mind, or does she do everything with intention?

Why does Violet keep touching you so softly but won't say a word?

Pomengrante flavored mimosas coat your tongue. It's bitter. Then, it's all too sweet. Violet, with the back of her palm, comes and wipes away the tears you set free. You don't ask her why she's being so nice to you again. The push and pull of hers is exhausting. You don't have the stomach to know why this is happening to you.

Violet pays for the entire bill before anyone has a chance. Everyone politely thanks her, and you whisper your gratitude under your breath. If she didn't nod softly in your direction, you might have thought she didn't hear you at all. You stand up, but you nearly trip, and Vi catches you, brings you back into her lap before you eat shit on the floor.

There's a buzz in your chest when you feel her. Your body presses against her chest. She's all hard edges, muscle, and heat. Violet whispers in your ear with everyone watching, "Slow and easy. I'm gonna stand up with you, princess."

Violet holds you impossibly close, letting you slowly get to your feet. Heels are seemingly a god-awful choice. She does her best to lead you out of the restaurant. Waving goodbye with her free hand, she has a steady hand on your waist. Now, you're acutely aware of how much of your weight leans on her. Like most things in life, Violet doesn't seem to mind. Her and that purified heart of gold. She's rich, good, and for a moment, you wonder if Violet Vanderson has one cruel bone in her body.

Nothing could save the blurring vision or the mumbled speech. The scuff of your leather shoes as you felt a warm hand on the edge of your spine.

"Watch your step." Violet.

She guides you into the vehicle, making sure your body is fully inside before she reaches over to fasten the seatbelt over your waist. Today isn't an exception to her laser focus.

She's all business now. Like a switch in her brain flips.

Her muscles have been sculpted over the years through her intense workout schedule, paired with the soccer she played in high school, college, and professionally.

The Mount Everest of her success wraps around your throat like a noose. Her torn MCL and ACL ended her season, possibly her career. Before, it was a quarterly thing. During the season, she was never around, and when she was, you made sure to make your appearance scarce.

Seeing her this often fills the empty spaces in your mind; the sound of her voice fills the void, and your nerve endings cling to her presence. How on fucking earth does she slip in so easily? With her pretty muscles, those freckled cheeks, and her stupidly bright smile, she makes you forget every bad thing. Every evil thing.

It's a foreign feeling when your mind drifts—knowing how well-loved Violet is, the millions of people following her across her social media. Anyone could see how much Cait loves the glitz and the glamour. The Hollywood parties. The penthouse on First Street. The galas, the awards, the press eating out of the palm of their hands.

Violet looks a bit….uncomfortable? But if she saw you notice, she forced herself to be a better mold. Slip on a more sufficient mask. Almost as if there is a part she's sculpted to play.

With all the fame, Violet remains grounded to you. For years, she's been better than everyone on the pitch, and unless she's out there handing out trash talk to other players, she never acts like the best. She simply is.

Truly, you realized it when people would come up to her, asking for a picture or an autograph. The pink hair wasn't exactly a great disguise. The signature color could be spotted a mile away.

Over the last few years of her career, her name popped up in goat conversations of her generation. The injury was a shock to her team, to the entire football community. Vanderson becoming a household name still felt strange on your tongue.

Knowing her image, knowing how respected she is, and knowing Violet are all very different things.

Vi.

Even you refuse to call her it despite her wishes.

You would never tell her, but you like how grounded she is. How naively warm and comforting her soul remains. Violet—it's the most beautiful name you've ever heard. Is it because it represents your favorite color, or is it only because she wears the name?

Throughout the years, you wonder what she's like to her teammates. Did they love her? Was there another mask she unveiled to her teammates, or was this just who she is?

A loveable person through and through?

In your wildest dreams, you like to think she's awful, horrid—her and that stupid scarred lip. Nobody that beautiful gets any more stunning on the inside.

The entire concept of Violet makes you feel ill, from the ache in your bones to the pulsating migraine raging war on my body. She did not get to be this perfect person that everyone around you loves.

The truth is she's tough to swallow but so goddamn sweet.

Years of a younger you flash before your eyes, the years in university you wish you could redo at times. The regrets you try to cover like an open wound. The horror of being naive and hopeful.

Memories funnel through a film, one scene from the next. A stranded moment becomes another, until you can't really remember which belongs to you. To Violet. To Mel. Which are your own to keep? Which one belongs to Lacey? Did any of it ever belong to you?

Each encapsulating year becomes a hallucination as time moves, collapsing on itself—again and again.

It's been ten years—the same group of friends, the same major, and your college girlfriend playing for the neighboring university.

Lacey's fate is sealed by stone; her biggest competition is Violet. It might as well be a death sentence. An expiration date that was always going to come.

Through all four years at university, Violet had everyone's number. With four national championships to prove it, she was invincible.

Aging like fine wine, Violet only grows more respected with time. Being drafted into the professional league was a given for her. Her jersey sold the most. Her games were sold out throughout the entire season. Every seat with a ticket purchased. The crowd was chanting her name after every goal. She is and forevermore the absolute star.

Lacey knows it, and she likes to punish you for it.

Vanderson is your friend. The only reason I have to see her is because of you.

Violet became the center of your now ex-girlfriend's biggest insecurities. She's never been able to beat Violet, and now she would never have the chance. The injury immortalized her as a football martyr. Even with Lacey playing professionally, her career would never be what Violet has.

Even injured and a retirement ceremony waiting on the other end, Vanderson would be one of the greatest to ever do it, and Lave would just be another name on a jersey that never sold its projected quota.

Having mutual friends with her mortal enemy meant you became the devil reincarnate just by association. Ten years wasted, and a scalding truth slapped in your face when you were at your most vulnerable.

Now, it could never be forgotten. But you could get drunk. Lines are blurring, her eyes are so blue. Why can't they be dull? Why do they have to sparkle like the sun reflecting off a clear ocean?

Almost mistaking the squinting of her eyebrows as worry, you scoff. It's the pomengrante melting your brain from seeing the truth. She hates you, and you don't like her very much.

"You—y-you didn't have to drive me home. I would have done just fine on my own." Your voice springs to speak carefully, but nothing comes out clearly. Words mumble and your brain blurs, and all you see are oceanic-storm-filled eyes, pulling you closer to the shore. "There's Uber for tipsy girls like me."

Your grin is wild. Vi can't help but chuckle, light-hearted and free.

All of her is sturdy, with a tattooed neck and arms, and it disappears into the sleeves of her shirt.

Spiky-pink hair is styled carelessly, but it's not as effortless as it may appear. The slightly faded dye is soft to the touch, light as a feather. But it's meticulously styled, Violet's strong oak-scented cologne coming in subtle waves. Ivory sunkissed collarbones glistening from the heat of the sun, head-tilted in a way that suddenly becomes endearing because she's doing it. Her scarred lip upturned just enough for you to notice—Violet is demonic.

And she wants you dead.

How is she so perfect?

Violet, can you please expose every flaw you've ever had? For me? Please, I need to find them. I need to be sick of her until the idea of you becomes rotten in my stomach.

The voice inside your head screams. Louder and louder she spins. The pleas of a greater good, a wish on a shooting star. Fleeting and bright—that's Violet.

"Consider me your Uber for the night. I'm not trusting anyone else to take you home." Violet says, ignoring any other defensive remarks flying from your tongue. "Mel would actually kill me if I left you alone being this drunk."

The truth is, Violet and you? The thought of her creates more problems in your mind. She's one ball of confusion personally sent to torture the hell out of you.

The first moment you met her, your fate had been sealed as the pathetic, pinning loser. Violet has been coupled up—Caitlyn Kiramman—the woman who could do no wrong. At first sight, they looked too perfect. Their balance of pink and blue, their seeming movement in sync, the adoration in their eyes. One was never without the other, and all of it sickened you.

You were nothing but an outsider. A friend of a friend introduced me to their tight-knit group. Turns out, if it weren't for Mel, the welcoming introduction would have turned rather violent.

You didn't know the pretty butch was one of Mel's friends you were meeting. Nor did you know she wasn't single. When you started chatting, touching her arm, even going on about the tattoo peeking from her collared shirt, Caitlyn's shoulder checked you so harshly your ass ate the concrete floor.

Ever since then, the terrain of your friendship with Violet has been as pleasant as bare feet on loose gravel.

When you began dating Lacey, tension only began to rise between the two of you. Neither side is willing to bend their will, and the time you did spend together, you kept to Lacey so tightly, as if Violet wasn't there at all.

But this isn't college anymore.

Lacey isn't here to hold your hand or run her calloused fingers through your hair and soothe you through your drunken slumber—her short auburn hair and caramel-honey eyes are the cause of all your trouble. The woman you loved more than life became what you feared most.

Sitting in her midnight-black jeep, you contemplate the truth. Why is she being this accommodating to you? You're not even sure if the two of you could even be classified as friends—only two acquaintances who tolerate each other over a mutual friend group.

You know she's driving slower than usual, for your benefit. The sun is unforgiving, and your chest is entirely too warm from the champagne, and her jaw looks perfectly chiseled. She's so beautiful; you've never been so infuriated.

Violet is lovely and evil, pink like lilies and poisonous like a python. She's the venom slipping into your veins as you feel the paralysis warp your spine in the vowels of an almost.

A poet's tortured—what if.

"She told you." It's not a question. You know Mel did. This is not one you even have to think about. You aren't the only one who came close to a blackout this afternoon. There's pity written all over her gaze. She knows.

"What?" Violet couldn't lie if she wanted to. She's terrible at it, and you see right through her.

"Lacey fucking Lave. The name sounds almost too perfect." Dreamily, you press your temple against the tinted window as Violet drives you home, and you take in the view over the bridge—blue water glimmers beneath the shining star, glittering the surface with unwanted heat. "The love of my life is engaged to someone else, and it only took her six months. How cute is that? Ten years, and she never wanted to marry me. But six months and she's already popped the question. To someone who would never be me."

"I'm—"

"Don't apologize to me. I like you better when you're all stoic and tight-lipped. At least you're indifferent." You can't bear to look at her. "I don't want your puppy eyes filled with pity, Violet. My life is already pathetic enough as it is. The last thing I need is for someone like you to remind me of it."

With each breath, you hope your words hit as hard as you feel.

"I wasn't going to apologize." Another lie. They collect like acid in the pit of your stomach. Everyone lies. It makes them feel better than having to bear the truth.

"Yeah, sure you weren't." You hate it even more that she does look genuinely sorry. "I really know how to pick them. What's even more depressing is that she was my best shot. I'll never get something like that again. I gave her everything. I have nothing to give, and all I'm left with is agony."

Well, maybe god did have mercy.

Violet pulled up to the lot in front of your apartment, and you stumbled out of her jeep before her merciful eyes could find yours. Taking all of five seconds to trip over your chunky-heeled boots. The platforms are an overpowering match for your hazed state. The freshly paved street slices your ankle, and you can feel the fresh crimson liquid coat your skin. For a moment, you nearly try to get up again before two arms sweep you up.

"Put me down." You're aware of how unconvincing you sound with your arms tightly wrapped around her neck. You would dig your heels in, but they have taken too much brute force for one night.

"You can't walk", Vi states as she takes each step slowly. Making sure the movement wouldn't make you sick. "Don't think you would want two rolled ankles, would you?"

Goddamnit, why is she so thoughtful?

"I hate you, Vanderson."

Her grin is majestic. Turning your stone resolve into ash. "I know you do, princess."

Neither of you has talked about what happened six months ago. You've had dreams about it. Violet stroked your hair, holding you tightly until you came back to your body. Every tear she wiped with her fingertips still bearing weight on your skin. The same calloused pads that had wiped away your tears once again.

Violet hopes you'll forget. If you had another bottle of wine, you would have overlooked. It would have been like it never happened at all. You didn't hate her for comforting you when you needed someone.

You hated that it was her.

More importantly, you hated yourself for liking it. A lot.

The following morning, you woke up alone, your pillow fluffed, your duvet tucked securely over your body. To make matters worse, she left medication for your incoming headache and a glass full of water. Violet even left a note—of course she fucking did.

Make sure to take these and drink the entire glass. Wouldn't want princess to have a bad morning xx -V

You're happy she's silent on the topic. Stomaching her thoughtfulness might kill you.

"If this is what you do, I can see it." Before you can stop yourself, the wine speaks. "Why do women all over the world fawn over you. Hell, I saw your GQ interview and almost did."

Violet stops walking for a second, not even breaking a sweat once she's up the second flight of stairs. Her gaze sears through you, nodding softly with slightly raised eyebrows. "You watch videos of me?"

You wish she would be cocky about it. Some vindication could be found for her being an arrogant asshole about being someone most people know. She does you no favors. The slight hint of a smile is disguised so well that you almost miss it.

"Sometimes….yeah."

She hums in acceptance. You know she wants to smirk. So, you cover what you misspoke.

"Mainly your matches—that's it."

"Never took you for a lying drunk, princess." Violet teases as she takes each step slowly again. She laughs, and you can feel her body vibrate.

You gasp, "I'm not drunk, just…inebriated."

"So, you're lying then?"

"I'm not lying!"

"Then you do watch me when I'm gone?" Violet throws her head back and laughs when you go into fits of denial. You bury your face in her chest, refusing to look at her. "It's alright. I find it very cute that there's a higher probability you've seen my Calvin Klein ad."

In all fairness, you have seen it. A bit common for all the celebrities. Actresses, musicians, athletes—the latest reality show star, once they have hit their peak.

Violet's photos went live a couple of months ago. You have seen them…more than once.

Shots of her navy-blue boy short boxers, the thick band of Calvin Klein, and her inked back. The campaign's cover went viral. There's this one picture, a different photo than the rest, and you swear you've even had dreams about it. They had her standing against the wall, her shoulders pushed against it, her hips jutted out with a sports bra and boxers. The sharp V-shaped line tapers into her boxers, and the pink happy trail she happily shows.

It wasn't even the most damaging aspect of the photo. You could see her clearly pierced nipples protruding through, her exposed neck begging for a pair of canines. Violet resembled a Greek Adonis with her muscular thighs, her chiseled abs—those same biceps holding you now. Everyone who talked about anyone couldn't keep their eyes off it for weeks.

"I may have stumbled across it. My bartender may or may not have been drooling a bit."

"And what about you?" She's standing in front of your door, the most playful you've ever seen. "Any drool I need to wipe away?"

Is this Violet flirting with you?

She can't be. You don't like her. Violet is Violet. You hate her, and she doesn't want you.

"Not yet."

Not yet? Seriously?

Violet lets herself smile; the freckles on her cheeks spread as the light in her grin reaches the brightness of her haunting blues. She chuckles again, and you see god in the sweetness of her laughter.

Her entire existence is a never-ending supply of thorns threatening to prick your whole body for eternity.

Has she always been this perfect? This woman is willing to share her generous heart—is this what Mel warned you about all those years ago?

"Keys?" Violet asks, and you make things easier for her by shimmying them into the lock and turning until the lock clicks.

Surprising you with her strength, Violet carries you over the threshold, clicking the door shut with her heavy boot. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright? You're bleeding, right?"

"Umm, yeah, I am." But I wasn't expecting you to do anything about it.

Why can't she just show an ounce of cruelty?

Placing you carefully on your bathroom counter, the granite is chilling against your thighs. Violet goes into your closet like she's been there before, grabbing an oversized shirt, and the familiar shade of lavender makes you wanna cry. Lacey's shirt. Her favorite one.

It takes her all of two seconds to realize how upset you look. "Okay, wrong shirt."

You nod, sniffling like a drunken loser. The reason for your drinking is splitting you in half. Vi does the most disastrous thing, which makes you laugh when she takes off her own shirt. You miss the smile she gets because you can't stop laughing.

"I have a closet right there, and you're taking off your clothes?"

"I brought a shirt out of your closet, and you cried! What else am I supposed to do? Maybe I'll get lucky, and you'll fawn over me." She looks you up and down a few times before piercing you with her gaze, "What were the exact words you said? I'm used to women fawning all over me—did I get that right?"

"You're never gonna let it go, are you?" You pester her, grabbing Violet's shirt and putting it over your head as she rummages through your drawers and plucks out a pair of pajama pants. Setting them next to you, "Never flirting with you again."

"So…you were flirting with me?" Violet teases.

"Only in your dirty dreams, Vanderson." Your tone is sweet. Violet's grin is so broad. You wish you could live eternally in this moment. Or any like this. A moment of grace so protected, without hurt and without lies. This is what you want. But it can't be her. It could never be her.

Violet ignores you as she helps you slip out of your bloody boots. "No wonder you fell."

She inspects the heel attached to the shoe and sets it aside. There's a lot of dried blood, but Violet doesn't seem phased by it. She pulls the wash rag hanging from the wall, dampens the rough cotton, and then cleans your skin with a gentle hand.

"But she's not my girlfriend anymore." Nodding silently, letting her do the work as she cleans the rag once again, the white cloth is painted pink thanks to your slide into the friendly cement.

Violet…single?

The memory of Mel telling you that Violet was planning to propose to Caitlyn. What could have happened to make it go the opposite direction? Cait and Vi are perfect. What on earth could be so devious to separate the two of them apart?

Over the span of ten years, they never seemed to falter. That kind of love? It almost seemed invincible. The kind that makes you nauseated when you're around them but overwhelmingly hopeful. Love so pure, so right, does exist.

The two of them, despite your disdain for Violet, make sense. Now that you knew the truth, you couldn't help but look at her through a different lens. She's always been someone off-limits. Not that the women in college ever seemed to mind flirting with a taken woman when it came to her. A highly decorated athlete, with her pretty muscles and hypnotizing smile. But she was kind too, smart, sexy without even trying to be.

At university, it was harder not to be obsessed with her.

None of it ever seemed fair, but life rarely ever is.

She hasn't changed. The thought reverberates, a constant symphony. Violet continues to have a golden retriever girlfriend written all over her. Loyal to a fault.

As you inspect her with careful eyes, you see it inscribed in all of her movements. There's a weird sense of comfort you can't deny. Violet rummages through your cabinets so freely, like she belongs, and then she pulls out the first-aid kit. Filtering through until she finds the supplies she needs.

"This may sting for a bit. The cut is deep, and we need to clean it."

"I think I know how this works, Violet."

"Hm—yeah, if only you could figure out how to walk upright, we would have been fine." Vi laces her honey-dewed voice in sarcasm, and she almost smiles when her gaze takes in the upturn of your lips. Pressed into a line as you attempt to stop your grin from growing any wider.

We would have been fine. Is there a we to have?

You can't help but wonder what she might be thinking. And you don't have enough sober brain cells to process this gorgeous woman in front of you who is taking care of you, with more care than anyone in your life ever has—and she's single. Violet shouldn't be this dotting. Stars in her powder-blue eyes softening you at every turn.

As if picking you up and carrying you up two flights of stairs wasn't enough, Violet had to make sure you were patched up before she left you. Nothing but her black pants and her black sports bra. Her shirt covers your dignity; the flare of your dress catches on the soft cotton. Smelling of oakwood and sky rocketing dreams.

"Thank you for the shirt and for doing this. You could have just left me here. I wouldn't have minded. You don't owe me a thing." The instinct to push—it's the only part of you that's loyal.

"I would never leave you alone like this." Violet hums, distracting you with her eyes as the disinfectant flushes the filthy grime out of the wound. "No one should ever leave you alone when you're hurt."

Violet's right. It does sting, but you manage to keep your hands to yourself as she wraps your ankle, concealing the wound as she applies pressure. "Do you have some shorts? Might wanna get out of the dress." It's humiliating that you can't walk on your own. The swelling of your ankle is a clear sign of it. More than likely, you rolled it on your plan to escape. Work is going to be a hassle, and Abby will make fun of you the second she sees you.

Violet disappears to grab your shorts, turns away to give you some sense of relief. But you're struggling, and you nearly fall to the floor again. A grip on the counter in front of you saves any more embarrassment from happening.

"Violet?" Before you can explain, she's there in a heartbeat. "A little bit of help….please?"

Her focus remains on your red-pajama shorts, your fingers gripping her shoulders for support. The muscle offers enough stability to keep you centered. Before you can catch her, she ties the string off. Not once looking you in the eye.

"You should go to the doctor tomorrow or even later today when you're sober up." Teeth gnaw at her lower lip, and she picks you up again. Jesus fucking christ. Setting you down on your duvet, the mattress melts the tension in your nerves. Without you asking, she grabs an extra pillow, gently elevating your injured ankle.

"I'll be okay." Meeting her halfway, you offer a smile. "Really. Thank you for uh…taking care of me."

"Yeah, of course."

Usually, Violet isn't one to be short on confidence. But she stands there, nearly half-naked, her muscles tensing with every breath. The anticipation practically rolls off her body in waves.

"See you later then."

"Wait—" Suddenly, you feel more than sober; the ache swells in your chest. Her eyes practically pout at you, blue-eyed and warm. "I'm sorry you got stuck driving the drunk girl home. I'm usually a lot smarter than this."

"It's fine."

"No, it's really not." With the inside of your palms, you rub your burning eyes, no doubt accompanied by the dark circles of bags underneath. You say the truth begging to be released from your lips. "I know I've been cruel to you over the years because of Lacey, and I never should have done that—I'm sorry."

"She was your girlfriend. I get it." She's entirely too sweet—and you are so fucked. She's beautiful. She's kind. And you're struggling to find everything that's wrong with her. You need to find the ugly truths, the parts of herself she hides in the night, but you're afraid there's no nasty part of her. And she's the reason you can't think straight.

"Still doesn't make it alright. You're kinder to me than I have ever deserved." You take a pause, getting lost in the beauty of her blues. "And Lacey may have hated you, but I never did. And I shouldn't have acted so boneless just to appease her massive ego complex. I believed in her, took her word as fact, and I should have known better."

"It's really alright, princess." You see the moment her cheeks dust with crimson, but you give her grace, and you just smile. "We're all victims of love. I think it's wonderful that you believe in people. It's special to have faith in someone you love, whether they deserve it or not. More people should, you know? It's the most beautiful thing about you."

Violet leaves with a quiet wave, a shy smile—but her soft spoken words hollow your heart—and she fills the space inside without even truly realizing it.

for sir violet vanderson kept your chambers guarded at night and you kept her body warm and her craving for bloodlust full.

with every passing day your sister, the queen of piltover, beckoned you to consider to be remarried. you didn’t crave another lifeless husband, one you had to play dress up for. there would never be joy. nor would you ever enjoy the simplicity of a life where you played a role, fulfilled your sense of duty, but inside the traitorous desires of your soul would ache.

violet quelled your need with the sharp edges of her fangs. blood-thirst coursed through her limbs with each feeding but couldn’t quite reach her fill. violet become more insatiable than the last.

the shine of the moonlight, her knees pressed into your sheets finely tucked into your bed, she made due as you gave her an offering.

“i never get tired of filling you, princess.” at the injunction of your thigh and bone, she injects her venom, her curious nectar making it’s way in your weak bloodstream.

each and every night when you despised yourself for being weak for sir violet—you reminded yourself of this feeling. the blood you lost replaced by the venom she intentionally places in your body.

when you asked, she spoken of the liquid being gold and with a human body like yours, you are apparently no match to it.

despite your family’s best efforts to break it, you’re strong-willed, opinionated, and at best too stubborn for most to handle.

but this golden venom?

you are no match for it.

“you’re playing dirty, again.” you cursed out the witch-knight. she feeds on you, injects you with her magic, and makes you feel unspeakable things. “get on with it, witch. please yourself and me as you may, but my promises will last longer than a fortnight. this will be the last time.”

“darling, you always say it will be the last yet you beckon for me to guard your door every night only to drag me into your silk sheets, my face shoved beneath your gown—”

“quite the mouth, violet.”

“would you like a reminder? you’re taking my fingers splendidly but whose to say you wouldn’t revel in the refreshment of my tongue?” violet whispers, her voice low and her chin dripping with your blood. “don’t you remember? i had to stuff you with your delicates. you’re quiet difficult to shut up, princess.

when you wish to be quick about her scorned tongue, she curls inside you, her teeth scrapping against your thigh knowing it will do nothing but set you off. violet grins as your naked form bathed in the stars, breast gleaming with her spit, the rise of your chest stuck in a stutter—you’ll give her everything she requires for the evening.

“darling, you don’t need it all, do you? my fingers are enough now that you can feel me coursing through your veins.” violet kisses along your body. the marking of your blood on her lips causes your entire body to shiver. “they call me a witch, the fallen angel who sings for the devil, and let’s not forget—the chosen sinner. between you and me princess, i’m fond of them all. truly, my darling, if i’m everything they say i am, how can someone so royal and defined by the highest of saints enjoy the company of the fallen? how can you let the sinner fuck the saint out of you, princess?”

you allow yourself to look in her crimson gaze, and it all comes crumbling in an instant. violet pushes you through the best of it, before her mouth cleans up every drop as you cry out for more. violet suckles on your breast as you clench around her steady hand, making matters worse for wear.

“sir violet, never stop. make me feel—” violet doesn’t let you speak the words as she slithers down your body. with fate on the sinner’s time, she circles her sweet tongue along your coveted lips, slipping inside until your properly fucking yourself against her.

sir violet vanderson seals your own fate with tricky words once again. a spell being cast, but you’ve found yourself quite endeared by the haze of her relentless magic.

“don’t be mistaken again, princess. i may be a witch but you don’t belong to the kingdom. you’d be wise to remember the blood in your veins belongs in the back of my throat, on the meat of my tongue, and my venom through your veins.”

you moan for her, but you don’t tell her to stop, violet’s name is the only one you call.

Vi remembers the final time she witnessed your heart come undone by your girlfriend of ten years, Lacey Lave.

The first night she ever stepped foot into your home. Before, there has always been excuse not to come. She couldn't find one when Mel corned her into coming. Despite all of her worries, the sinking pit in her gut she couldn't shove, it’s all the wonderful things she imagined.

Warmth engulfed her from the first step. In hindsight, it seemed silly to be nervous to come here. You moved in from the guest bedroom at Mel's right after graduation. Even when she tried to convince you out of it.

At the time, she didn't undertand why. If Vi was honest, it surprised her you stayed there all four years, and it feels like there’s always missing information, a piece to the puzzle she couldn't quite figure out.

The two of you weren't close—proximity friendship? Could she even call it that? You don’t trust her. Vi’s sure you don’t even like her.

The years she’s known hasn’t change the trajectory of your habits, when given the oppurtunity you would religiously avoid her. Any time the two of you are alone, which isn't often, you command the conversation in a way that leaves no room for Vi to breathe. You’re sharp. Unfeeling. A little cruel when Lacey stood by your side.

Even with your apprehension, everything about your home feels like the first day of summer on her skin.

Your favorite scent invading Vi’s senses from the flaming candle on the mahagony entry table. The entire open area lit in a orange hued sunset, soft enough where it wasn't too much on the eyes.

Every bit of it so compact in the living room. A black skinny lamp in one corner, a mirror in the other—seemingly normal at first glance. Plants potted, a throw blanket and pillows strategically place. Framed photos over the last ten years hung on the wall. Vi even in one of them from the day of college graduation.

She enjoyed how simple it is. There isn't much in her life now that isn't complicated.

Vi never realized how extravagant Cait liked to keep their place until she found herself somewhere else. A sense of her soul that made her feel at ease when she stepped foot into four walls that quite accurately resembled a home.

It feels lived in, loved—and there's nothing like the hollowed walls of her own. The emptyness suffocating her to death. A penthouse she couldn't be more thankful she sold. From the beginning, the place felt more Cait.

The luxury, the high-end society strangling her by the throat. Cait enjoyed being in the middle of the city and Vi never argued the idea. She never liked it, the confrontation, the disagreements. Silence over solitude, that’s the life she chose.

But being here in your space, in your beloved home, it reminds her how skeletal the bed she slept in every night truly feels.

From the decorations on the wall, the over-priced furniture, the designer suits hanging in her closet, the collection of rolex watches in her drawer, the diamond rings given to her for different brand deals. Every bit of it incredibly dignified for the best football player in the world.

The richer she became the more disenginous she feels. Reaching the highest level in her career—that was the dream.

Having the fans fawning over her, even a handful of stalkers—having more money than she knew what to do with. It's the phoniest part of her.

Alarm bells reverberate, the voice in her head never stops, and it rang even louder during the olympics.

You can't even live up to the expectation. What gives you the right to any of the riches you've been given?

Exposed failure bites in, fasified hope, and her damn knee that broke more than just her body. Who was she if she couldn't do the one thing she found purpose in?

Vi's been on the pitch for as long as she can remember. When she wasn't sure about univeristy, about her family, about her relationship—football has been the one thing she's always had.

Who could she possible be without the greatest love of her life?

Even with this new revelation, this is a big 'ole fucking mistake. Why did she let Mel talk her into coming here? You would put on that fake smile, the one you think Vi can't see through. The smile doesn't reach your eyes, and your lip twitches, and you're always fidgeting when you talk to her. As if anything would be better than being in her presence.

She had come too early. Only by fifteen minutes, and Violet might have cared about it five years ago. She would be the last person to show.

Being early would have shut an unwanted fear of anxiety up her spine. Caitlyn would sit with her in the car for far too long, easing her into another social situation she had to talk herself into. Now? Everything had changed. Violet couldn't depend on Caitlyn any longer to coax her into a party—specifically a party for you.

Mel and Sevika ran late. Caitlyn more than likely wouldn't show, the breakup severed her persence, and Violet couldn't entirely blame her. Powder and Ekko texted the group chat they were on their way.

More than ever, Vi wishes she would have stayed in the car. Waited until she saw someone else pull into the complex.

Why did she have to walk up alone?

You greeted her at the door, with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Again. The glossiness of your eyes nearly matching your lips as you pull at your dress. You were kind enough, telling her to come in. A soft murmur of, "Let me grab you a drink. No one else is here yet, Violet."

Vi found herself needing to be careful. Don't stare. Act normal. Talk enough but don't be too silent where you've gone mute. This should be easier.

You disappear into the kitchen. It went down hill from there—the blood curling rage—every curse in the book spilling from your tongue. Then, she hears Lacey's pleads. Girlfriend of the fucking year. Vi wishes she was drunk for this, each new scream is more difficult to swallow than the last.

Baby, I'm not lying. Would you just listen to me? She's only a friend. I would never do this to you. Don't you trust me?

Glass shatters.

Sweet girl, please. I love you. Why won’t you believe me.

A cabinet slams.

You're acting like a crazy possesive, bitch.

Glass shatters…again.

"Lace—" Your voice goes into a volume Vi didn't even know could be omitted from a human body. "Get the fuck out!"

Saved by grace, everyone else shows up, and Violet's frozen on the couch paralyzed by your rage and Lacey's incessant lying. Mel walks through with Sev walking behind her and she doesn't even flinch when she hears the shouting. As if it's normal to hear the two of you communicate like this. Vi couldn't understand how anyone on earth could ever cheat on you.

But isn't it like that for everyone? Perception from the inside can feel perfect. You can even maintain the symbolism of completion, until you blink and you're sinking everything you cared to love. Much easier to pertain to a certain image than to lean on weight of exceptional expectation.

Vi finds it terrifying. That's all it takes. One mistake and you're reaching for nearest life jacket to keep you afloat. Inferiority complex with insecurities climbing up your throat. Being too immature to have the conversation of a spilt, so you do anything to push away your partner.

Vi has a feeling Lacey fits into the—I wanted to have sex so I did—and blame it as a miscommuniation.

Back in college, Lacey fucked anyone. Vi lost count on how many times the two of you had broken up only to get back together. The entirety of the group couldn't forsee her ever having a relationship going the distance, especially one with you. The two of you are high school sweethearts, the first love bullshit that's supposed to make you believe in love.

Vi thinks how loney it must feel to be with someone as selfish as Lacey. The pain that must crawl up your throat at night, the bittersweet agony. Fuck, you must really love her. No one would ever put themselves through that willingly.

Every year the dysfunction grew. Lacey pushed, and you tolerated more. Vi had only ever heard bits and pieces. Secrets spilled when Mel had too much white wine on her tongue. None of it sounds like the fairytale you push. Then again, who was Vi to judge. She has nothing. There was no love in her life to show for it, besides the medals and trophies stacked on her shelves like a martyr.

Gold. It’s the only love she has left.

Lacey comes storming through the living room shoulder checking Vi in the process, "Don't get too happy. I'm not done with her yet."

It sounds more like a threat, Vi knows why, but she won't speak a word of it. The front door slams so loudly, she swears the door splits. Mel goes in to check on you, and Vi tries to block out your cries.

She’s not nearly strong enough to listen. If she does, Vi will chase your pitiful girlfriend down and spear her into a goddamn wall.

The infamous destruction of Lacey Lave. She never understood it really. Even when Vi was eighteen, a freshman in college, trying to navigate what the fuck she even wanted from her life and there you were. Perfectly painted, like the Mona Lisa, frozen in all your beauty.

From the second she laid eyes on you, Vi has never seen anyone more breathtaking than you. Eyes reflecting the sweet light of angel dust mixed with brightest of sunshines—and Lacey found a way to dim your light each time.

You never had a chance. Even so far removed from your life, Vi could see it. Lacey became a bull with pointy-horns, a mean buck, and for a decade she keeps puliing you throught the mud before you have a chance to clean yourself off.

Tonight—you snapped.

Vi goes into auto-pilot mode after Mel coaxes you into your bedroom. She can't bear the sight of your fresh tears so she looks away. She walks into the kitchen and there's broken plates and pieces of glass shattered on the floor.

A framed picture bent with the front glass chattered, a picture of Lacey and you ripped down the middle. The fridge is hung wide open with food half-prepped on the counters. Vi starts cleaning up the mess and Sevika assists her in making sure there isn't any sharp pieces left on the white-tiled floor.

Is this what your heart felt like? Only to be thrown out after being broken. Every bit of your soul left for dead by the love you placed your most coveted trust.

Caitlyn used to tell her she shouldn't care—move on it has nothing to do with you. But there was history Cait didn't know, one she kept to her chest, and for once Vi wanted to unleash it all. Not when you're wounded, not when you're collecting your barings, but when you're ready to hear it. Would you ever be though? Some things are better off left in the past.

Vi's tired of keeping it buried within her, tired of pretending with less than candor grin that she wasn't hiding something. A disease she could feel rotting her from the inside out.

Envy rotting through she suspects, seeing first hand the apartment showing so much Lacey. Vi knows how simple it could be, to get so lost in someone, where every part of the person you were before gets dissolved in the shuffle. Even after the break up, after football—Vi didn't even knew where she stood with herself. Let alone without Cait, the woman she loved for a third of her life.

It's the first time she's ever had to be alone. Teaching her to swallow all the little things she did hate about herself, and learn to live with them.

Months of solitude can do that do you—make you feel small—like nothing never mattered. As if you never mattered. Vi felt the need more than ever; she needs to stay.

She's only making sure you're okay, that's all this is. It took Mel some convincing, knowing she is always the one to comfort you and bring you back to earth. The rest of the group knew it. Mel took care of others, and all of them relied on it more than any of them would admit.

Mel's golden-moss eyes squint, looking at Vi and her jaded blues. For a second, Vi wonders what she sees. Does the desperation leak? Does the transperancy strike her like a grenade? She prays it won't detonate. Rather if she was the type of person to pray to some deity.

"I normally wouldn't consider this, but she's so drunk, and I don't want her to be alone. She's having a hard time even looking me in the eye. It's nothing Lacey hasn't done in the past, but it's catching up to her. Years of lies, the cheating, the ugly betrayal of it all." Mel could kill Lacey, with only one glance, and Vi believes it has to be why she left so quickly. "Honestly? I'm glad they did it now with other people around. Not that Lacey deserves any kind of empathy but this isn't good for either of them. Especially her."

You shouldn't be alone. You should never be abadoned by the person you love so deepy, even when reason doesn't align and your heart speaks too loudly. Vi doesn't allow herself to speak those words, but she feels them, and the loyal part of her even hopes she didn't.

"Do they do this a lot?" Vi doesn’t ask accusingly, only seeking for more knowledge.

"Yes…and no?" Mel's words don't provide much of answer but she continues. "Everyone knows how much Lacey puts her through and well, she allows it. It's easy to forgive when you're in a cacoon of toxicity. And she did until tonight. She can't forgive what's been done and I'm afraid it might break her. Things have never been this violent, much less with an audience. She can't swallow this down and pretend it didn't happen. I won't let her. This has gone on long enough."

Vi can see Mel changing her mind as she speaks. "Let me take care of her. She thinks I hate her. It might be easier for someone else to see her like this. Not someone she loves so much."

"Vi—" The secret Mel knows but she won't voice and Vi is thankful for it. Even without verbal confirmation, Mel can see her for what this is and Vi's never felt so exposed.

"C'mon, it's me. I would never pull anything on her." She pauses and the words tumble before she has the right mind to halt them. "Not when she's like this."

"Fine, but if it gets out of hand, you call me." She feels friendly lips on her cheek and not long after the front door clicks shut. Everyone leaves, and Vi swears she can hear you weep.

Vi removes her black-denim jacket and hangs it up on the hook, discarding her shoes at the front door, and quietly she makes her way to your room. The first thing she sees is two bottles of wine which she presumes to be empty. It's been an hour of everyone cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.

The bed looks so silly for one person, but you lay on one side curled in to a ball, like you're trying to protect yourseslf from the rest of the world.

She notices you've rid yourself of the green clover dress—just your luck.

Irony slices deep, a six inch blade making home where none should. You're wearing dark-pink socks, long and fluffy with a lavender oversized t-shirt swallowing you from the collarbone to your silky upper thigh. So large, one of the sleeves falls off your shoulder. Vi concentrates on the sliver of skin and then remebers why she's here.

A third bottle of your favorite wine in hand as you drink from the stem. Vi would be haunted for the following months of the despair in your eyes, tears that won't stop falling.

The silent whisper Vi can see but you won't let yourself say.

Don't leave me.

"Violet, go home." You command as if you meant to hold conviction behind it but your voice cracks. Whatever fake politeness you had been extending earlier vacated, and your very real and raw reaction to Lacey is all you have to give. Every bit of it full of despair.

With your eyes carefully watching, not another word is spoken. Vi sits on your bed, watching as you pull your knees into your chest. Holding onto something that can ground you.

"You're drunk." You almost look like you're about to cuss her out until Vi keeps talking, "So drunk at this point you're not going to remember a single thing after that third bottle of wine."

"What's your fucking point?" There's more tears spilling and Vi seriously thinks about committing murder against your entirely pathetic ex-girlfriend. Well, hopefully your ex.

"One time deal. I lay down with you, you cry into my shirt as much as you need, and then I'll forget it ever happened and so will you."

That's it, Vi. Keep it icy. Hide your heart.

"Okay." A truce is the best thing she can accept.

Little to no protest to fall from your lips, she grabs the bottle of wine you’re clutching like a lifeline and places it with the pair already sitting empty on your nightstand.

Vi hates to admit how enchanting your somber your eyes are glistening in your sorrows. Cheek pressed against your knees, looking at her with a wonder she wants to get lost in. Dipping her feet in the cold end, Vi inches forward and sits closer to you. It takes a few minutes, and if you hadn't been drinking Vi knows you never would have laid down on your side so willingly, leaving a space for her.

She accepts the invitation and spoons you from the back, one hand stroking your hair as you hiccup and shake, the other pulling round your waist. The cry is something desperate, a voice being extracted from the back of your throat, pulling at the betrayal. The regret possibly—everything dignified and ugly.

Vi keeps her hold on you, and at some point you turn, burying your face her shirt and she feels every single drop. Soaked cotton sticking to her collarbone but in all honesty she doesn't mind.

What she does mind is your cries, they're violent and hard, breaking the softer bits of her soul. A series of scenarios funnel through her mind, and Vi lets herself wonder in every way she could humilate Lacey and even the score. She doubts it's what you want, still, she would do it for you.

Without question.

"Do you remember the game I had against Argentina last year? The one Mel made everyone fly out to." You nod, so Vi keeps talking.

"My third time in the olympics and we were up by two goals. This was my chance to make history. To become something greater than myself. It felt like the missing piece to cement my legacy. Me, someone who came from nothing, could be irrefutable. Then I landed wrong, my knee gave out and as soon as I felt the pain it was over. It was only the first half, and Argentina had what they needed. An opening. I could hear my heart breaking. The legacy I wanted vanished. Everything I worked my entire career for—it wasn't in my control and it never would be."

You're not crying anymore, a few sniffles here and there—Vi does whatever the hell she's doing to keep your tears at bay. Even if it's only for a few minutes.

"I cried harder than I ever have that night. Something I always pictured—a dream I had my entire life—broke because of my knee. Because I couldn't be strong enough. You always want to be, but nobody every prepares you for that feeling when your heart gets ripped out of your chest. The weight of my failure? It's cruel." Her thumb caresses your cheek, and then your chin, and she looks at your lips but doesn't dare touch or linger. "So, if you need to cry about losing a dream of yours, cry your heart out, princess. No one can fault you for being human."

"It sounds silly compared to what you said but I love her." The red wine cause you’re loose lips to spill.

You take a pause before more confessions roll, "I'm an idiot for it but I do love her and it's not enough. Love isn't enough. I think she wants to love me, in her own twisted way, but I don't want to become a book of bending truths for her. I'm broken because of it, and for the first time maybe ever—I want more. Lacey told me tonight she's the best I'll ever have. That I should count myself lucky for being with someone who stays around for this long."

"That's a blantant lie. You can and will have have so much more. If that is truly what your heart desires." In the dead of night, Vi whispers the words sweetly in your ear, "You deserve everything you want, princess."

You curve into her body, slowly falling asleep in her arms. Letting the safety take you.

Every bone in her body aches to leave you alone in this bed. In all of your misery, you'll wake up alone. The haze of the wine will make Vi seem like she was never here at all.

A distant dream. An abrupt nightmare.

The ghost of Vi's lips on your temple as sleep takes you—your own personal guardian angel nursing you back to better spirits.

Vi rushes to get out of there once she hears the deep breath, the softness of your snore. The truth is strapped to her chest like a bomb waiting to go off.

It's a curse to lie, a sin.

Vi did so easily, not knowing what she was promising. She's done it most of her life without recognition. Become a book of bending truths like you said, a tale you tell yourself to sleep at night.

You're drunk and you won't remember one word said.

But Vi would.

She would remember the golden ribbons threaded into your hair the first night you met. How silent your cries became when she spoke to you. The vanilla scented perfume she would try to escape from. How in love you are with Lacey. How you don't see her for a second. The beautiful pout of your lips she wants to bite.

Her desire blinks with rage, a need to satiate. A vicious tongue begging to taste the blood until the iron turns rotten in her stomach. Maybe she could consider herself lucky, the iron would turn her sour, and she could finally be rid of this feeling.

It's a fool's errand.

And she’s old enough to know it.

Of all the cherished privileges she has in the world, a lost memory isn't one of them. But you will forget her—just as you always have. And she'll remember you.

00. prologue. 01. pomengrate spill.  02. violet's souvenir.

Sometimes, in this nothing-for-good town, the family who didn’t have the same blood running through your veins is all you had. The found family you tried so hard to fight for—especially when your own couldn’t be bothered to fight for you. In a way, it’s a bond purer than the finest of blood. It’s not a family that’s given but one that is divinely chosen—two pillars grounding your soul to a feeling stronger than duty. 

Two better parts of a home make you feel whole. At peace with a half-hand you've been dealt.

Moving into a new small town your senior year of high school, thousands of miles from the comforting suburb to the uncomfortable south, your parents ripped you from your rooted life after they found you trading tongues with a girl.

Shocking them to their core, the life they silentrly planned for you shattered into bits. A life inside a box, and you were taught better never to know the difference between complacency and love. For you, looking down the barrel of a gun would be more suitable than walking down a pretty white aisle to a man. There would be no wedding bells with the picture-perfect god-fearing man they envisioned. Instead, they tried their best to ignore it. Shove their expectations under the rug and pretend they didn’t matter. It wasn’t long after that when Violet came around. 

Bleeding in your life like saturated honey on a sticky morning.

There wasn’t something undeniably wrong with you; you weren’t a mistake. They didn’t know how to love you the way a parent should. She was gracious enough to pull you into her family, her life, and you’ve never looked back since. 

Jo, Lou, and Violet. This is your family now. One where love doesn't have limitations for what they will allow, they love you without question. None of it came easy, but life never ran that way. The plot holes. The speed bumps. The flat tires leaving you stranded. That's always been your life—but every single one of them made it more than bearable.

Tonight, you were out on the town; trying to forget your responsibilities at your nine-to-five. The weight of the same thing, day in and day out, crushes you a little more each week. Each month. Each year. You’d be doing a favor to yourself to numb it down tonight with a substance more substantial than your boss’s temper. 

“Caitlyn is trying her hand with Vi, again. Must be desperate this time around.” You merely shrug; this is a matter you don't care to ponder for too long. It’s simple in the way it burns smoke into your lungs — you can’t allow yourself to. 

Please, for the love of any that are holy,sweep the impossible southern loving butch away. Some space is what you need from everyone, possibly. The woman stroking Violet's arm is the talk of the town. Standing there underneath the warm lights pinned to the ceiling with her tight-denim jeans and a flannel, not foolin' anyone, making a stamp of approval from every dyke swarming this bar. An ass that won't quit, and she sure is trying to impress the boots off your friend.

Everyone is looking. Albeit, the two are a car crash waiting to happen. It's best to let the wreckage take place rather than to do anything to stop it.

You’d assume that’s what happens when you’re the mayor’s daughter. The Kiramman name might as well be strung up in stars—each letter paid for by the shiny golden bars in their pockets. Ever since she came out, women have been flocking to her. A stampede of women, bull-like with horns, preening every time Caitlyn moves. Many don’t say no to her, and once you’ve been served your first plate of rejection, the first instinct is to turn it over until you’ve struck gold. 

She’s the definition of a firstborn. Fed a silver spoon from birth, she was used to having everything she wanted. Anything she's ever desired in life is practically shoved in her manicured hand. Caitlyn Kiramman, with her raven-blue hair, vibrant eyes that could make anyone fall to their knees, but Vi seemed to have both hers in lock for the past six months. 

She’s a single woman. Vi can do whatever she pleases, but she doesn’t, and you try to brush off the dream you so desperately need to shatter. Never could it be anything but unattainable. You try your best to avoid it. Hope feels like a hand grenade—waiting to blow at any given moment—but each time you're with her, you wave it around like a white flag.

“The last time I dated a woman, it didn't end so well, if you remember.” You take another swing of your drink, “Vi and I aren’t like that. Never have been. You need to give it up.” 

This is what it’s like each time you go out with Vi. A farmer’s tan, a toned build with her tattoos peeking out from her underarms, wrapping around her shoulders until they descend her spine. Her shirt conceals the design, most of it anyway. The one placed meticulously at her neck sends a shiver throughout your body at the mere sight of it.

She’s the definition of a dream.

You’ve lost track of how many women tried to make their mark with Vi, take her home, and be the one to penetrate through her tough exterior. A layer of armor she’s worn ever since things with Jo disrespectfully blew up in her face. But she wasn’t in a rush to jump back on the saddle. 

If Caitlyn Kiramman couldn’t penetrate through, no one stood a chance. 

“Please, I wish you could see the way the two of you look at each other. It’s nauseating.” Lou feigns gagging as she shoves her finger in her mouth, clearly emphasizing how sick the two of you make her. “Now, your first heartbreak is out of the way with a woman. The first is always the worst. An unfortunate fate none can escape. But now….” 

You snort. “Lou, I love you dearly, but if you don’t shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, I might just put it there for you.”

Lou smirks, but she watches your gaze. "You’re just as much of an idiot as Vi. Clueless in every regard, keep looking elsewhere to find what’s right under your nose.” 

“Vi is a friend. Plus, I’m not doing that to Jo. She still loves her. Very much. Three weeks ago, she called Vi drunk, begging to make up.” Things are complicated, to say the least. Never had you been a fan of getting caught in the crossfire, weren’t going to start now just because Vi likes to look at you a certain way. 

“Jo did what?” You put your hands up in surrender as you finish another sangria, ordering another from the bartender. They typically didn’t serve it, but Sevika always made an exception for you. 

“What the fuck did Vi do? She didn’t go back, but c’mon, what is Jo thinking? She should know better.” There’s only a beat of silence before the two of you are interrupted. 

“Just ask me, Loubear.” Vi takes the empty seat next to you, throwing her arm over the back of your chair, pulling you close to her body, her unforgiving scentswarms like a beehive. You wish she would have left with Caitlyn.

“Well, sweetheart, we might have, but you seemed a little occupied. Tryna’ use all that southern charm on the newly-out daughter of the mayor.” Lou has an undeniable smirk on her face, almost taunting her. “Maybe you wanna—” 

“Lou, don’t you dare say it.” But Vi is fighting off the laugh with a smile as she muffles her lips on your comforting shoulder. The blush of the beer coats her freckled cheeks as she feels a bit tipsy. Even after Jo, you have been a safe place to her. A comfort Vi didn’t ever wanna let go of. 

“Show her what it's like to ride a cowgirl.” Lou deadpans, eyebrows wiggling like a maniac. It takes less than two seconds before the three of you burst into fits of laughter, Vi clinging onto you as she seeks your touch, the three of you unable to contain yourselves. 

“Lou, you so have the next round for saying that.” 

“Alright, fair. The last round is coming right up.” Lou winks before flirting with the Sevika for the hundredth time tonight. 

Lord have mercy, it’s gonna be a while. 

Then there’s this woman, on your shoulder, trying to catch your gaze, but you don’t give it so freely. But Vi likes a challenge. Maybe too much, it could be why she can’t let go, but she’s never been good at it. Not in theory and certainly not in practice.

“Gonna make me beg for it?” 

“You wish, Vi. You know, it may be a shocker, but I do have other things on my mind.” Raising your eyebrow at her, daring her to do more damage to your nerves, threatening to crash at any given moment. 

“Then tell me, honeybee,” Vi smirks as you laugh, you nearly miss the soft kiss she leaves on your shoulder before nestling into your side again. She knows the nickname would at least warrant a smile, and it does. "What's spinning in this pretty head of yours?"

“You flirt with anything with tits, huh?” 

“I do have my favorites, though, we both know it.” You lightly shove her off as she soon becomes more than her confident demeanor. It’s cocky. Full of nothing but liquor-fueled arrogance. The stupid golden heart she hides, lying beneath the surface. You’re not sure what scares you more. 

Fuck Violet Lanes and that stupid Stetson hat she looks so good in. The black accessory complements her violet hair, bearing witness to the name that suited her too well. 

“Mhm, I bet you do.” For a moment, Violet looks down at your lips, licking her own in the process as she watches you lean in slightly to her. Not a word is spoken, but both of you know it’s only a matter of time before whatever this is can’t be held at bay.

A silent matter on when, not if.

There’s a clear of Lou’s throat, breaking the spell the two of you had been cast under. 

“Last one, Vi. Better make it count.” Lou distributes the drinks, and the rest of the night is simple besides Vi’s flirting, which is always the worst part of the night. Your heart thinks it might be the best, but each time you have to turn her down, you become a little less you and a little more like Jo. 

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, surely not sober enough to even drive back home. Albeit the drive was short, you had enough to know your hands didn't belong on a steering wheel. Vi would never let you, not when she’s always the overbearing, protective type. 

She’s practically a golden retriever to a fault. Vi didn’t sleep unless she knew you got home safely after a late night. When you got sick, she took care of you. Cooking your homemade chicken noodle soup, buying a pack of honey-lemon cough drops for your burning throat, and picking up antibiotics to get you through the fever that wouldn’t quite break. 

It’s been that way since she’s been in your life. Vi has been your family. When she couldn’t be, Vander was. Powder. Even Silco had adopted you when your own left you abandoned. Moving you into this strange town in hopes of bringing you back to what they wanted, but left when they realized you could never change. 

Sometimes, it feels like all you have is Vi. A possible failed notion of romance didn’t seem worth it, not when she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

“You’re not driving home, honeybee.” 

“Vi, it’s alright. I can take an Uber.” From the look she’s giving you, you would have thought there was a pistol out at her temple. 

“Darling, you’ve got to be shitting me, right?” 

“Yeah, darling, are you shitting us?” Lou chimes in, and you think about decking her for a solid second. 

“Lou…don’t encourage this.” 

But she did encourage this. Both of them, in good faith, as they call it, couldn't let you be drunk and book a ride home with a stranger. With Vi, you’re not sure in what way you do. 

Lou passes out on the couch almost to the very second the two of you make it to Vi’s home, which was only across the street from the bar. This is why you wanted to Uber home. The woman before you reeks of promise, ones that were broken, ones Vi has the intention to mend. 

With her blue-collar hands, she helps you get situated on the countertop. The dangerously short mini skirt hiked up your luscious thighs, she plays with the ends of your hair as she gives you a glass of water and a tablet to help ease the rude awakening you’re in for tomorrow. 

Adorned in a black tank top, fitted tightly to her torso and chest as her nipples pebble against the cool air, biceps flexing as she cages you in. 

“You could have talked to me about Jo. ” Calloused fingers circulate your exposed thigh, tracing unknown patterns into silky skin. Vi sees the internal battle you’re having from a mile away.  

“Don’t do that. Jo does matter. She is my friend, too.” But those damn puppy eyes. They could make you do just about anything. Vi knows it too. Bright and blue, filled with the same love that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much you pushed her. 

And Jo isn’t a saint. You sure as hell aren’t one either. 

“I’m not saying she doesn’t.” Vi bites, and nervously, you chug the rest of the water she gave you. “But why am I getting punished for what she did to me. I loved Jo. We were happy, and she crushed it. Her drunk calling me when she feels guilty doesn’t change anything.” 

“Mhm, maybe.” She gets closer, forcing your legs to wrap around her waist as she brings you closer, pelvis nearly kissing yours. “Vi—” 

“I also heard you tell Lou I’m just a friend.” She leans forward, looking up through her fluttering eyelashes as she tilts her head to the side. 

“That’s what we are.” 

“Mhm, maybe.” Vi uses her own words against you, even humming the same way you do. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I-It’s what I want,” Vi says, nothing as she carries you in her arms, leading you into the bedroom, refusing to let you go until you’re safely placed on her sheets. Giving you a shirt and a pair of boxers before she disappears into the bathroom, taking her top off in the process. 

Trying to convince yourself as you curse underneath your breath, "We're just friends."

She stands there longer than needed, right in the entry, and you think it’s punishment to stare at her tattooed back for a moment too long. The one she knows you love a little too much. 

When she comes out freshly showered, slightly damp hair glistening in only a sports bra and a pair of boxer shorts, it’s hard not to stare. This is why Vi has most of the women and men in town after her. 

Vi catches you looking a little too long, but she’s smart enough to bite her tongue this time and enjoy it. Your apprehensive nature stems from more places than she can stomach. As long as she’s known you, you’ve always been careful. Violet wonders if your lack of experience with women frightens you or if it’s because you love her more than you’re willing to admit. 

“I should go sleep on the couch with Lou.” The two of you—together—in her bed isn’t something you’re ready for. You’re not sure you have enough self-control to last the night with her gazing at you, touching you, teasing you into giving in. 

“Just friends, right?” Vi smirks as you defiantly turn away, scolding her with the soft edges of your spine. “Then you can sleep in the same bed as me, honeybee.” 

“No problem.” You clip loudly as Violet settles in her bed, underneath the comforter, as she props her head in a calloused palm, eyes twinkling with a strong bicep flexed and posed. “Not a single problem at all.” 

“Say the word. I’ve got no problem sleeping on the floor, making myself a nice cot, leaving you here to smell my sheets. I won’t have you sleeping on the couch.” 

You turn around at her subtle jab. “I do not smell your sheets.” 

“No, darling?” Vi smiles as she sees your nostrils flaring, but delicate strokes on the bridge of your nose seem to pull you out of your annoyance. “Hm, I wouldn’t mind having you in here more, so you can smell just like me.” 

“Violetttttt—” 

“Wha—” 

“Oh, c’mon! You were practically dry humpin’ with the mayor’s daughter tonight. Don’t tell me you weren’t because—” 

“Alright now, dry humpin’ is a bit of a stretch.” But the smirk permanently etched on her face tells you a different story. “Then tell me we aren’t friends. I can be a singular thigh humper.” 

“Violet Vanderson.” 

“Yes, Ma’am, apple of my eye, honey to your bee. Whatever you want, I’ll give.” 

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.” You command her. Fortunately enough for you, you’re the only person she listens to. “Saying promises you can’t keep.” 

“I had one drink. I would never drive you home if I thought I had too much." You met her gaze with an unwavering faith. An outpouring of religion found in dilated pupils.

"You know what I think?” You roll your eyes as she scoots closer. The smell of her vanilla-scented body wash overwhelms. When she grabs your leg and places it on her strong hip, you don’t push back on her. You don't even move. You're there, and you couldn't think of being any place else.

There’s a beat she takes as if she’s savoring this moment, waiting for you to lean in as she is, but you’re too frozen to move a muscle. “You’re scared I could fulfill all my promises. Give you exactly what you want. You and me? We could be the real deal if you let it.” 

Sheepishly, Vi nudged her nose with yours, her heavy breath kissing your lips. 

“Your family is mine now. I can’t—” Stumbling over your words, trying to think of a good enough reason; Jo is looming over like an overcast, and you're frozen between two ex-lovers.

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Is that your line?” Your gaze hardens, eyebrows furrow, and the fine lines on your forehead bunch in worry.

“Nothing is a line with you. Maybe with others. Maybe when I get a little lonely because the woman I want rejects me over and over again, and I get a little flirty with someone who does look at me like—” 

“Do you ever give up?” Vi scoots a hair closer, edging to torture you into oblivion. 

“For all your talk, you don’t want me to give up. You like it when Lou pushes you towards me—” Vi cups your jaw tenderly, “You’re terrified of losing Jo, terrified of losing me like Jo did. We can pretend things are still the same, but everyone knows they aren’t. It’s why Jo isn’t around. You hate the position I've put you in. For that I'm sorry, but I wouldn't change how I feel even if I could."

It's true. Her words sink hot, like the lava around her bedroom, you're trying desperately not to touch. With every maneuver, you threaten to burn yourself. She's a bright star, even in this town where there's nothing but rain and misery. She's the sun above it all. Part of you has always known it—as much as you deny it—a part of you aches for eternal sunshine.

You've just never allowed yourself to go there.

You can't.

In matters of your soul, the parts that make you whole, it means life or death.

"Jo is practically my sister. She was there when—" Your voice gets caught in your throat, the heartbreak lodges you in silence before you can stop it all.

"I know, you don't have to say it." With each word in your bones, it reminds Vi of how much hurt you've endured, which is nothing short of a punch to the gut. "We can talk about your ever-growing love for me another time. Sober conversation."

In an instant, you roll your eyes. So cheekily, Vi smiles. She's always been good at that. Making a heavy situation seem lighter. Even though you are annoyed, you want to be close to her. She's always been good, warm. Comforting you when you're reminded of how much you've lost until the gains mitigate all the absence, swallowing your life whole.

Hopeful optimism lingers in your heart. You can only dream that Vi keeps pulling you back before you've reached your final limit.

Vi's presence has always seemed larger than life to you.For as long as you've known her, she's been strong. Birds of a feather, the two of you flocked towards each other. Hardship of a life too cruel, unfortunately brutal alone, but together you could fly. From the beginning of your little group with Vi, you have always been the glue holding your entire group together.

But the beginning was all bumps and bruises.

Jo was the first. The first real friend you had ever grown to have genuinely. The first to ever care to know you. She knew your family. The past you tried to hide. The boyfriends that fit like an old sweater you grew out of—your dad, whose love had limits. And your mom, agreeing with your father even if it's not what she truly meant. Or even believes in.

She was the first person you'd ever come out to. With tears in your eyes in the cheap Italian restaurant downtown, Grimaldi's Pizzeria. It was the New York-style kinda pizza you liked. Then the crust baked to a crisp with the marinara distributed evenly. Mozzarella, spinach, and mushrooms. It was a Friday evening deep in the winter. Everything felt so cold, but this didn't.

With the lights dimmed low and your spirits high, you spoke the words like they were the first words you've ever spoken. They've always been a part of you. An extension of heart and mind falling in harmony with your soul.

Jo, with her hazel eyes that remind you of freshly watered grass in the striking heat of summer, smiles at you.

I'm proud of you and I love you.

Even when your parents failed to accept you, the moment with Jo would be infinite. The person you trusted more than life itself, and she welcomed a part of you that wouldn't be shamed; couldn't be severed with god's disciples and their misplaced self-righteousness. The past set of rules you could never follow, you were accepted in life that went beyond the expectations of formity.

Her hazels wrap around you like a vine, the acceptance lathers you in guilt each time Vi looks at you with crystal-blue eyes, chilling you to the bone. Every sense of her all-becoming—sending you right back to the level of sins you've been warned about. Greed. Cheat. Lie. Steal.

The wolf slaughtering the sheep in the dead of night. Jo, with her helpless eyes wondering how you could have ever let yourself become the very thing you used to condemn.

Even if it is the furthest truth to be told, a lie from satan might be closer. Each scripture of your lover is engraved on the edge of the blade. In your worst nightmares, you pierce the space between Jo's ribs and heart each time. All of it chalked up to the greed of the flesh. You tried to swallow the bitterness in your tongue, the beginning of the last couple of years echoing in flashes you try to piece together.

June, 2023.

The two of you were new in town, looking for a place to feel a sense of community. Jo thought the bar would be a nice place to start. There didn't seem to be a better place to drown your sorrows. Jo met her first. Vi was beautiful. Kind. The kind you fall for. And everyone goddamn knew it. Even if you felt a pinch of jealousy when the two started dating. Your love for Jo had outshone the envy crawling beneath your skin.

You avoided being alone with Vi for months. Until she finally cornered you at Lou's apartment. Jo and Lou were engrossed in an intense debate—sweet versus savory—while you were layering some lasagna in the kitchen. You hadn't expected Vi to manipulate her way into a conversation with you.

"Need some help?" Her expectant eyes were narrowing in, but they were so round, big-eyed in a bug-like way.

"No, I'm fine."

You hadn't intended for it to come off clipped. Parts of you thought it might have. Whenever you've been around her, she's tried to make an effort. It's annoying how much she tries—trying to compensate for your lack of interest.

"Well, can I hang out with you in here then?"

"I'm not sure why you would want to. Jo is in the living room with Lou. I'm fine in here."

Vi leans her hips into the island, the marble cool against the exposed sliver of her skin. Her strong arms are crossed over her chest, a smirk laced on her crooked lips—not that you noticed.

"You don't like me very much."

"Is that a question?" You stopped layering the cheese for a moment, a handful of parmaesan cradled in your palm, and you have half a mind to launch it at her.

"What—are you homophobic?" Vi doesn't even know you, but she knows how to strike a nerve.

"Jo is my best friend."

"Doesn't answer my question."

"God, you're so fucking—"

A rattle of curse words laces under your breath, jumbled enough where no one could even hear them. Vi looks amused. Fuck, she has such a punchable face. "Look, you're dating my friend. Let's call a spade a spade, yeah?"

She won't stop grinning at you. Her chest rumbles as she laughs.

Man, fuck her.

"I'm never going to like you. You're dating my best friend, and you won't last. You're cocky, arrogant, a fucking southern ass who thinks they're god's greatest gift to humanity. Frankly, I don't have to give a shit about you. So, why don't you be a good little girlfriend and spend time with yours while I make this goddamn lasagna? Got that, sweetbeart?"

Expecting her to leave, you go back to your dish, and she does. For two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds of peace before she makes a game out of ensuring you're deeply disturbed by her presence.

"You need to get laid, and I'm going to help."

"Vi, if you don't get the fuck out of my face, I swear to god—" Each second you think about how fun it would be to jump out the two-story window of Jo's apartment.

"Don't worry. I was only calling you homophobic to fuck with you. You might as well have dyke tattooed across your face." Her smirk grows even wider, "I do like being called sweetheart. Maybe I'll call you honeybee, you know, you being so sweet to me."

What she doesn't know is how you've only come out to Jo and Lou, negating the amounts of slurs your family hurled at you, the amount of courage you had to muster to tell your friends. Yet, she reads you like a book so openly. As if she can see through your soul with only one glance.

Without you having to speak, she knows who you are.

"Vi, I see this with all the disgust in my heart, fuck off."

She didn't fuck off.

And there was never any disgust in your heart.

Not for her.

Violet has never been a good listener. It's one of the many things about her that frustrates you to a limitless end. But you're glad she never listened to you. She kept pressing until she pushed down your stupid wall. Until she became so influential, you're forever stuck between Jo and her.

Strong arms wrapping around your frame, bringing you closer to her, bodies forever intertwined.

"Where'd you go?" Vi tucks her head in the crook of your neck. Whispers kissing your neck, the words feel permanent, ink on skin as she speaks with adoration you don't deserve.

"Thinking about when you wouldn't leave me and my lasagna alone."

The laugh emitting from her throat rivals angel harmonizing. Skin on skin, Vi's warm to the touch, sinking into you. This is all you can give her. Quite and solemn. Moments that can be disregarded when the two of you are around Lou or the scarce Jo appearance. For now, you can pretend like this means something, before you shove it in a box and pretend it never happened in the first place.

Vi wants to talk about why this is happening. You can't help but run from it all.

She doesn't know that's what you've been doing all your life. It's what you've been bred for. Cursed by trauma, you were too young to deal with. Emotionally constipated parents who needed to be taken care of instead of taking care of you.

"Shit, you hated me back then." Vi hums. The vibrations are sending a rapid array of thumps through your chest. "Or at least you pretended you did."

"I was protective of Jo. Turns out I should have been looking out for you instead."

The breakup wasn't something Vi liked to talk about. Everyone in this neck of the woods who knew them thought they would last forever. Two years strong, the pair picked a house to lease in the spring, a ring in autumn—no one saw it coming except Jo. You can already feel her hold tightening, the muscles in her body straining as Vi attempts to control the overflow of emotions threatening to vomit out in all the most tragic ways.

A car crash you can't look away from.

"All I care about is having you in my life. Lou and you. That's all I need." She pauses before kissing your neck—a ghost of her touch. "You're all I need."

It only takes a few minutes before you hear her soft snores, and the words die on your tongue, unheard whispers linger on the edge of your mouth, begging to be said.

And what if I'm not enough?

Summer moves in a blur. June, July, August. The days melt into weeks until you're greeted with different months you can't recognize the faces of. The heat is more than unforgiving in the south. Sweltering you to bits—reminding yourself of how much of a wimp you used to be growing up in the northeast. Once upon a time, your body had not been built for this kind of weather, but just like anything else, you adapted. The seasons came and went, and you remained. Weathered stronger by higher altitudes of heat and heartbreak.

Surviving another attempt at the heat, the sun begging to sweat you out, and on the Ranch with Vi, you think it just might. She knows just as much as you do about how much you avoid things. Procrastination with a stronghold of patience found you in different kinds of waves. Even if things didn't get done in a timely fashion, they would get done, but you have never been a fan of operating on someone else's timeline. Enjoying things in the right way on your own is vital to you.

It's how Vi and you varied. Two bridges parallel to each other—never truly destined to meet — but somehow found comfort in their solitude. If anyone had asked you two years ago, you would have guessed Vi would never leave an impact on your life.

But now? You couldn't imagine your life without her.

Three weeks ago, you weren't surprised when she didn't speak of the night before. Midnight touches. A cuddle session from midnight to sunrise. Saccharine compliments dripping in your ear like golden honey. You couldn't sleep all night. Head and heart never agree with Violet.

At war with yourself is a constant. Today was one of those weird occurrences. Jo came around for once. Instances like this were always difficult.

Norwood is a name that rings in Zaun. It means something. Her family has been here for generations. Well plugged, connected, and perfectly loved. Jo Norwood, the princess of the Zaun, pressed upon you like a rusty penny abandoned next to the curb. Her family isn't the richest, but she's always been respected.

In all your years of friendship, it never felt like it stood on a tilted foundation, yet you couldn't shake the feeling it might have been all along, right under your nose. Everything kept moving. Shifting. Aspects of distrust amounting to a connection you couldn't shake against one you could always trust.

Jo came along with Lou. In an instant, you separated yourself from Vi—not wanting her to pick up on a feeling you couldn't define. You both had been sitting on the edge of her truck, and you'd been trying to tie off a bracelet on her wrist.

"You going to do this again?" Your eyes closed in, squinting against the sun and the blue of her gaze.

"Do what?" You snipped. I was thankful for the walk from the back porch to the barn, which was out of earshot. It would be a few minutes before either one of them came close.

"Pretend nothin' is going on here for the sake of your guilt." Her southern drawl pulls on you; places where it shouldn't. "You made me a bracelet."

The softness in her grin becomes undeniable. You suck in the air around you, hoping the oxygen in the air might have an everlasting effect of suffocation. To your disappointment, you could still breathe.

"Better get back to putting it on my wrist. Or I'll ask Jo to do it."

"You wouldn't." But the smirks she sends are enough to pick the bracelet back up from her thighs and knot it off quickly.

"Good girl. Green looks quite special on you, darlin'." Vi doesn't give you enough time to react. Jo and Lou are already swarming you.

Picking you up in a heap of hugs, your absence is noticed and missed. It felt good to be missed like this. The two of them never made you feel like you weren't loved. You've never taken that for granted. Lately, whenever Jo is around, Vi makes herself scarce. The wound opened, deeper than anyone would have liked. The secrets built between them ran more profound than a well, and no one but the two of them spilled—a silent agreement to keep between the pair.

The connection is silent but alive. In your impenetrable mind, they were one step away from reuniting. Betrayal is what everyone knew, but Jo mentioned once, crying on your bed like she was getting paid for it—Vi had contributed to their wreckage, but both of them agreed it would never see the light of day. It's not fair, how jealous you feel the two are keeping a secret just for themselves. Late at night, when you're thinking nothing but awful things, your mind latches onto the idea it might be at your own expense.

Maybe it has nothing to do with you. Maybe it does. But the way they both are tight-lipped about the whole thing can't be a good sign. Secrets rarely ever were. Just bones that took too damn long to dig up.

"Where have you been, baby? We have missed our sugar plum." She steals you away before you have a chance to see where Vi walked off to. Lingering questions die on your tongue as quickly as they have been placed.

Jo takes you away, somewhere off in the secluded silence, and Vi watches. All stoic in a way that should bite her. Makes her insides prickly like the ends of a cactus. She's saddling up the horses when she catches glimpses of Lou's braids in the barn, before she's leaning against the fence keeping Moon from exiting the barn. Even if the thought makes Vi nervous—Moon is her most loyal companion.

Especially now.

"Something new on your wrist?" Lou lifts her eyebrows, tilting her head to the collection of bracelets decorating her left wrist.

Vi pales, but she continues to brush out Moon's shining coat. Her horse, almost the most precious sweetheart in her life, was obtaining her full attention. She preferred Moon over most people on a good day, even more on a bad one. For those who knew Vi, it wasn't necessarily a secret.

"Being nosy again." Instinctively, she smooths over the beads underneath her calloused hands. The threaded jewelry favors her favorite colors, and she couldn't stop the smile from gracing her face even if she wanted to.

"Any particular reason Jo decided to tag along?"

"Didn't say." Vi wonders if there is any truth to them. There might be.

"Yeah, she never does."

Vi saddles up the other two horses on the other side of the barn. Lou follows her in silence.

"Play nice. Jo is…trying, I suppose."

"Yeah, and that's why my phone keeps ringing at two in the morning, begging for a second chance. Says all is forgiven—as if that would change a thing."

Lou says what the two are thinking. Vi doesn't have the guts to speak up about the situation. The conversation that's been forced to keep in her pocket. Stupidly, she confessed to Lou a month ago—too much beer in her belly; not enough sense in her mind. Ever since, Lou has made it her mission to get Violet to talk about it.

Like it's a topic worth discussing.

"You have to tell her."

"We've already been over this—"

"Violet Vanderson—" Lou gets interrupted by fits of giggles.

Indebted to your grace, Vi basks in the tight lip provided by Lou. Stumbling in with Jo, a light air around you resembling one hell of a halo. There's a small discussion about who is taking which horse stabled up. Jo and Lou are gone while Vi begins to saddle up Moon, and all you do is watch.

Sinking eyes and a sunny smile—the mask falling the second the two of you were alone. It's what sends her headfirst into you, blood-red honesty you give over so freely. Like no one has ever hurt you, like you have all the trust to give, Vi knows you don't, and it makes her heart hellbent on making you hers. Warnings in her mind flash, but again, she never has the sense to listen.

A lot of things run through her mind when Jo is around, and all of it seems to be more complicated than she ever hoped. Part of her wants to believe this is only temporary. You are being reserved. Jo is an excruciating narcissist. Lou is playing the role of a peacemaker. Vi, a fuse waiting to happen. It's a catatonic bomb waiting to blow.

"Thank you for the bracelet. It's beautiful." The hat she's wearing hides her expression, the blush of crimson coating her cheeks—the dead giveaway of how sheepish she feels.

All Vi can do is stand there, thinking about you, calves tucked underneath your thighs—you taking the time to weave the thread and meticulously loop the beads. The time you've put into what sits on her skin, a physical reminder of your love, gliding against her skin as she moves. With pride, Vi wears each one. It's the equivalent of being in grade school—if she knew you back then—drawing a heart in the i of her name.

You're saying nothing, offering an almost nod, but the hint of your smile melts like butter on toast.

"Almost as beautiful as you." Vi knows better than to lay it on too thick, but she's getting to a point where she certainly doesn't care. Not with your smile so big and your heart so warm. The size has swollen to the size of this barn. Every bit of it is entirely magnificent. With each step of her boot crushing the hay, she leans against the cornered post, her chin scraping against the wood, but her cheek leans into your hand.

"What do you want?" All bark, no bite, typical—but Vi keeps that thought in the echo chambers.

"A ride with you."

"You better be talking about the horse."

Vi chuckles. "I'll have you know, I'm a woman of duality." She leans into your ear before whispering, "Two things can be true at once, so I've heard."

"You need to stop looking at me—like you own me."

You're smiling so big, Vi is sure you don't even notice it. How could you? When you're looking at her like you're the only thing to exist in her world. There's nothing she wants more than for it to be true.

"How do you want me to look at you then?" With her body slumped against the fence, she peeks through her eyelashes, pink hair scattered from the pressure of her hat. The barn is so quiet. The two of you alone. Your eyes are darting to her lips at every chance you have—the game of cat and mouse, one that had been addicting. Now, would be a good chance, as any, to do what she's been thinking of doing for months.

Tipping her head downwards, covering that devastatingly, beautiful face. "C'mon cowgirl, we have some catching up to do."

Being out her, in the calm serenity of Zaun, far from the folk of this small town. Violet's closes neighbors were miles away, far from her sight, only the stars in the sky to keep her company. When anyone from the group needed to get away — Violet's ranch has been the assigned oasis. Growing up, she didn't have much, but this was Vander's and she sure as well is going to take care of it. The crops Claggor tended to kept her afloat.

Every Saturday, the pair went down to the market, selling what they could. Jo always hated going there. But it's what Vi knew. No matter how much time went on in their relationship, Jo kept pushing for Vi to enter in the racetrack competitons an hour out from Zaun. The one time Jo has seen Moon and her, hearding up the hogs and then the goats—how freely insync they operating with each other—Jo coud never let the idea go.

It's never what Vi wanted. Not in the slightest. All she wanted was to continue on the family business. Vander and Silco handled the money side of things, and she did the grunt work. Even if she could make more money, she preferred the simpler things. She didn't need an extradoniary life, bitting off more than she could chew. Everything she ever needed was right her. This life has been enough for her. It was an argument Vi thought of more often than she cared to admit.

For a reason very known to her, Vi wants to make sure you had the same perspective. That this life— her life —could be enough for you. It'd hadn't been for Jo. And if she was ever to find herself lucky to be put in the same position with you. She learned her lesson and if she was given the chance, she would do everything right this time. Today, it originally was just going to be the two of you. But then Lou was asking to come, and so was Jo, and it couldn't be southern hospitality if Violet Vanderson said no.

Neither would she ever deny you a single thing you ask for. Vi was a strong woman. Moving haybells, working in all hours of the sun, getting her hands dirty in the soil. Back giving out as she tends to the crops, her every day routine wearisome as ever, but she never quite had the strength to deny what you asked for.

Powder loved to give her shit for it. It'd been a decent amount of time since she ended things with Jo. In hindsight, Vi wasn't sure if time had anything to do with your relucatance. Would there ever be enough time in the world after your best friend's ex-girlfriend? Or does the betrayal sink into your bones, harvesting on the wound regardless of the care weaved in around it? Vi thought about that very thing every time she pushes you too hard, laying it on real thick when she simply felt like she was drowning in unrequited emotion.

Except it wasn't unrequited—she just chalked up to bad timing.

You always felt light here. The glow in your grin hypnotizing her at all sides. Vi was happy for now. Saddled up on Moon, your back tightly snugged against your chest, riding together in silence. Silently, she basked in it. Not having to say anything, just her chin tucked in your shoulder as she hummed to a melody stuck in her head. Besides your little group of dysfunction, Vi had never done this with anyone else. This is home, her safest place to escape to. A place where her soul dips into serenity and she doesn't let go.

Vi likes to hold on tight. Things she's afraid of losing. Fearful people she loves might just go and slip through the cracks before she can catch them. Fix them. Heal them. Do whatever is in her power to make them feel whole again. It's why she lived here and the apartment downtown. As much as she loves it here, the apartment is closer to you. And where you go, Vi follows.

The idea of cruelty strikes when she thinks if her path was always meant to be with you. Meant to go through the heartache with Jo, the sacrifice to have you in her life in a way she's never had anyone. Not to something so real, so golden, it doesn't seem her hands could be worthy enough to hold it a precious pearl in the midst of her scars.

She takes moments like this, one hand on the reigns as the other hands loosely on your left hip. Holding you in a loose kind of way, not in the posessive way she feels when someone chats you up at the bar, Vi watching as she lets it happen.

A physcial reminder of how nothing you are on paper. But you mean much more to her in theory, if only she could get you to practice it.

"You're still wearing them all." You caress the five bracelets on her wrist, rubbing circles underneath before you readjust yourself. Grinding your rear into her pelvis, settling into a more comfortable position.

"I do."

She wonders if you're smiling, or why you won't stop touching her skin. Not that she's complaining.

"Vi, was it supposed to rain today?" The second those words fall out, it's a beckoning to the high power, a downpour comes immdiately.

She presses her lips to your ear before whispering, "Hang on tight, darlin'."

Moon heads to her commands, a strong gallop beneath her hooves as she tucks you into the neareast and largest tree by the river. It'll have to do for now. Enough to keep you away from getting sick. Moon rumbles at the thunder. Vi, with a brush of her fingertips, caresses her until she's soothed enough to stay by her side. Weathering the storm together, it's just what the pair did. Now here you were, a welcomed addition.

Vi doesn't realize you're so close, watching her with Moon until she turns around and knocks you over, her weight toppling you to the dirt.

"Shit, fuck, I didn't see you there."

"It's okay. I was watching you and Moon, couldn't help it." You take a moment, caressing her face in your hands, "She really loves you…a lot."

"The rain shouldn't—uh—be too long. Hopefully it will past soon."

Vi's words are level but she's anything but.

Are you speaking in innuendos again? Does she need to jump through loops to know what you're feeling exactly. Were you really talking about Moon or was it just a clever metaphor for yourself? Vi didn't operate on faith, a feeling, she felt love in the shapes of your thighs,but it was just her dreams speaking loud. She couldn't feel it unless the vow she wanted to give was tangible in her hands. She couldn't look into hidden meanings and hope for the best. None of that had ever worked in the past.

"I hate how much I want to kiss you." The confession didn't wreck Vi but the honesty of your intentions did. Vi nods. What else could she do?

Another confession spills from your lips, "I hate that you met her first and she didn't appreciate what she had. And I hate that I found joy when the two of you ended things. Two people that I care about wrecked and I was happy."

The rain continues to pelt into the grass, but the tree and it's over extended branches and leaves protects you from the worst of it. There's nothing that can protect Vi from the words that spill from your lips like gasoline. The scent of your guilt intoxicating but it fuels Vi all the same.

"She stills love you and I—"

It's not a secret how Jo feels. They aren't far-removed feelings that you exposed. Vi gets nightly voicemails, a string of text messages in her phone, begging for one more chance. What is a secret is the end of that sentence. One you hide in the vault. In all the lies she tells herself, Vi won't believe it until those words spill from your lips. She needs to hear them. However painful they may be for you, for Vi, for Jo—they need to be said.

"You have to tell me. I can't fix this if I don't know everything, darlin'." You grip onto her with your legs around Vi's hips. It's almost laughable. Thinkin' she would rather be anywhere else but your unrelenting warmth. You're the calm in the storm she's holding onto for dear life.

***** edit everything below

"If I say it, everything will change. We will change—and what if I don't want that?"

"Then everything stays the same. You will get jealous when I flirt with other women. Jo will continue to text me when she gets drunk, and I'll forever be waiting for a woman who doesn't want me."

"I never said I didn't want you." You pause for a moment before saying, "So, you admit? You do flirt Caitlyn and all of those other girls trying to pick you up at the bar?"

"You know I just said I want you."

"Yeah, but that's not news is it. Hardly anything to write home about."

Vi sighs, nudging her nose with yours. Her firm weight lays on top of you, firm weight invading your sacred space. You have always liked keeping your distance. Mentally, emotionally—you name it. Feelings, confrontation, and all the secrets you kept buried beneath. This is what you know best. From the moment her feelings surface, Vi knew she would have her hands full. She also knew you would never not be worth it.

"I could kiss your right now. Shut off that brain of yours." Violet pauses with her sinful breath blossoming on your lips, "When's the last time you've been kissed?"

"I'd rather not say." Your lips are pouty and Violet bits her own at the sight of it.

"Of course not. Honesty isn't your speciality." You're about to take true offense but Vi keeps talking, "I think you're ashamed. Wanting your best friend's ex isn't exactly what you had in mine for your first love, is it not?"

"You are not—”

"But I am, aren't I? You can't stop thinking about me. For how much you say this is never going to happen, you can never run away from me. Your heart betrays you each time. We end up here, you gazing at me like you love me and you trying to convince me otherwise is a bunch of horseshit."

"Viol—"

"I'm not done talkin'."

The expression, surprising and full of wonder, moths would wander in your mouth if you kept it anymore open.

"You forget you've been my best friend and I've been yours. I'm not just Jo's ex. I'm more than that. You know I am. Treat me like it or I will find someone who will. Because I love you. I wanna stay here with you but she put me last and I'm not going through that miserable feeling again. You have to start choosin' me or I will have to chose myself."

That's all it takes. Violet and her damp waves of pink, you push her hat off and twirl a finger around her hair, weaving your fingers through her roots. "You terrify me, you know? I didn't even like you when we first met. You were so confident, and sure of yourself, and I envied it. And I couldn't tell you that, so I pretended to hate you. For so long, I really wanted nothing more."

"What changed?"

"I guess you did." You took a breath before letting it all lay in her lap, "You changed me. In the most cliche, disgusting, mushy way." You sigh. Tired of avoiding Violet and her beautifully blue gaze.

"Watch—you'll kiss me and not feel a thing." She teases. "Getting yourself so worked up over nothin'."

You're petrified you will feel the thing. That one feeling people search their whole lives for, and some never do. She doesn't move. Doesn't even breathe. Not a word is spoken. Violet only moves closer, and closer, the edges of her lips threaten to cut your own. The bitter taste of iron you would welcome. Any sort of rejection? You didn't have the stomach for.

Her body smothers you and her weight smothers you in a solid comfort. She's so close to letting all her restraint go, letting the bull inside of her free. Violet wants this to be your decision—let you come to her—but every drop of her patience is excersized. Violet hasn't ever quite fumbled this much, for this long. In every other area of her life, she was used to fighting, but not in a way that's ever made her feel this helpless.

"Violet?" Her shrill voice pierces through, anchoring you into reality with a brute force.

With her lips inches away, your fingers rooted in her hair, Jo has caught you. Lou stands there awkwardly, watching a train crash into the other. It didn't even occur to either of you the rain had stopped. Or the two friends you came with would come searching for you. The consequence hadn't even made it's way through. You would have let her kiss you.

You really would have let her.

Vi helps you up, ignoring the accusation being hurled her way. Standing in between Jo and you, the piece of pie you're both reaching for but only one can have. The sweet taste of cherry pie rottens in your mouth. Their dysfucntion sours and guts. Ripping you of the belief that any of this could be good.

"This is real rich." Jo scoffs into the humidity. "Couldn't keep your hands off her for a second and then you wonderwhy I never come around anymore."

"Jo, why doesn't everyone just take a beat, alright?"

Reasoning is the play Vi pulls, but you see the venom in Jo's irisies. Building with every second. The only thing you're confused about is none of her laced words are hurled at you. All the malice is reserved for Violet. And she doesn't look surprsied. Tight tension in her shoulders rolls off, a weight that's finally been lifted.

"What's going on?" You ask, in fear of being pummeled. You're terrified of saying the wrong thing but not speaking almost seems worse.

'"Jo, now is not the fucking time."

"Oh! Everything is Violet fucking Vanderson's choice. Isn't that, right?" The sarcasm drips and you don't quite have the stomach for it.

"If you wanna spill my business, say it then. But we both fucked up, or don't you remember?"

The slight shuffling of Moon's hooves are the only thing to be heard. The calm of the storm quickly forgotten as your own personal hell storms right back in. Jo and Violet look like they could kill. Somehow, whatever had made them civil before evaporates into thin air.

"Jo, don't do it like this—" Lou attemps to be the broker of peace, but nobody is listening and the two people you love are shouting at each other.

"And why not, Lou? She's broken the agreement, hasn't she?"

The agreement.

What the hell is she talking about?

"What aren't all of you telling me?" Your raised voice breaks the silence, shutting them up immediately.

Violet avoids, her body trembling as she grips her hat tightly. You've never seen her so vulnerable, entirely exposed at the mercy of Jo. The one who almost took pleasure in Vi being knocked down a peg. Jo stands there, self-righteous hands on her hips—like she's getting nothing but an absolute kick out of this.

"Jo, the only one you're going to hurt is her. Don't do this."

Lou looks like she might crumble, and you might too. Every bit of this feels like a dagger, one from behind, and from someone you thought you could trust.

"Honeybee," The name stings coming from Jo, but you swallow it. "Violet and I broke up because of you. She's been in love with you for god knows how long, and I was just her pawn she was stringing along. Let's take a troll down memory lane—what was it again—oh, that's right! She had journals filled up to the brim about how she felt about you and guess what? They were dated nine months back. All of it was a game to her. A silly, twisted game."

"What?"

Violet stands there, with her puppy eyes, knowing this would be too much for you to digest. Jo knows how much you won't be able to see past it. She'll be reduced to who you thought she was. Just some bitch who would break your best friend's heart. But with undeniable hope in her eyes, this is one promise you're not sure you can fulfill. Do you think that over the last couple of years, this was her game all along? Did she enjoy getting off on other people's pain?

No. This is your Violet. But she had never been yours at all. You wonder if Jo has been drinking. Or if she's sober and decided to ruin everything in one go. Herself, Vi, Lou—roasting in the flames along with your integrity.

They start arguing again, all of them, and you do the only thing you can do.

You hop onto Moon in the chaos, and you ride far enough until the noise feels nothing but a distant memory. Escaping from the madness, and how much you let both of them consume you, without question.

Had it been anyone else, Vi would have been furious. Moon is half of her heart, and the other half is with you; she didn't have one to be upset. There isn't anything for her to stand on. Jo's insatiable need to even the score blinded everything else. Lou jumped back on her own horse, trying to do damage control. Locating you would be tricky, but if anyone could do it, Lou would be the best one to find you now.

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine it to be like this. She never wanted you to look at her the way you just did. Scolding Vi for an emotion she has no control over, only because she's weak—and not nearly as strong as you. Violet wants to feel you underneath her skin, the solid weight beneath her, your shortening of breath with her bottom lip inches away from yours.

"You couldn't tell her? Ever the hero, Violet."

"Shut the fuck up." Blunt nails digging into her palm as she slightly bruised her porceleain skin. With each rising second her blood continued to grow, and it smashed her into tiny pieces. Jo had a way of making you feel especially small—a specality Vi has grown quite tired of. "She did nothing to deserve that. Jo Norwood, ever the bully. If Jo isn't happy no one can be. Is that how it goes?"

"Where is all your southern charm, Vanderson? Aren't you afraid people will see how rotten you truly are?"

"You can be a smart ass all you want, Jo. Nothing is going to change what you just did to her. She doesn't have family, Jo. We are her family." Violet bites her bottom lip, a failed attemp to bit her tongue, stop herself from spewing hatred out but you're gone and all her patience has dried up. "You know that better than anyone. She came to you first. She loved you first."

"And she loves you more."

"Not anymore. Congratualtions. You've won." Vi sighs, leaning on her calves. "This won't make me love you again. Do you even understand that? I was always going to love her. It was always going to be her."

"What are you talking about? We dated for two years! Are you really that heartless?"

"I thought I could love you, okay? Does that make me a little bit of shit? Of course it does. I didn't want to be alone anymore. But when I sent you a drink that night, it was supposed to be for her."

There's an eery silence. The dirtiest secret Vi had been keeping out in the open. Even had kept it from Lou. Nobody knew but her. Riddled with emotion the truth exposed. An oozing wound.

"It was always her." The words tasted bitter in Jo's mouth. Vi could see it in the way her shoulder tightened. "Why then? Why couldn't it be me?"

"Why did you cheat me?" The truth burns but Violet needs to know the truth. For once, she's tried of living in a bed of lies.

"Because I was trying to get you to fucking care, Vi. you were always so withdrawn. Checked out. With your family, the farm, anywhere but with me. And I was trying to get more of you. Didn't know you had pledged it elsewhere."

"Jo, we have already done this. We have sang this tune. I'm sorry, okay? But you pining after me, making her feel guilty, all of this has to end. I'm sorry for leading you on. Truly, I am. Nothing is going to change the fact that I love her. I've tried to not love her but I can't. And I have no wish to."

Jo nods, hopping on the horse without a second word. The silence slices Vi as she sits on the mud. The rain shifting into a slight mist. She would be lucky if you ever spoke to her again. All of her lies. All of her shame. It wouldn't eat at her any longer. You could still want her. You could shun her and call her every name in the book. But you couldn't pretend there was a world where Vi couldn't love you.

pitfighter!vi knows what everyone else thinks, caitlyn kiramman was her first love. no wonder she dyed her hair black with cheap oils, no wonder vi fights like there’s no air in her lungs, it’s all been stolen from her. she has nothing left to fight fair. while the latter may be true, this isn’t her first love, but in all honesty? the pain of someone else she loves hits all the same. this poor girl, falling for someone tethered by pillars of evil, the very construct that threatens to tear her own life into small, undistinguishedcrumbs to live off on.

pitfighter!vi can’t say for certain how she ends up here. was it the death of vander? the reformation of powder to jinx, a reminder of something else she felt shame for. another inevitability she couldn’t stop. mylo? claggor? their blood still felt fresh after all these years. maybe the time in prison, she had simply been atoning for her crimes. giving her dues for never being enough. there’s always atonement, sins to lust and pay for, and limitations of love to swallow. not quite enough time where she hasn’t been brought to justice by the family she cares for the most—there’s never enough blood but the scarlett-stained river continues to flow.

pitfighter!vi who doesn’t turn you away when you’re back in between tours. seeing parts of the world unheard of in zaun. a few months ago, cait had been there, and she knew that for the first time she couldn’t give you what you want. in a way, this felt better. vi rather be broken herself than to see the rejection igniting behind your eyes. she didn’t need another woman who loves her to be shattered inside.

pitfighter!vi knows it’s as if no time has passed. a life full of sorrow and grief; some you even helped her with. and you kissed her, fiercely. vi isn’t naive to think she’s the only one you’ve kissed in a year, but she knows you haven’t fallen in love with anyone else. your heart had always been loyal to her—vi wishes she could say the same.

“girlfriend?” you won’t say her name, vi almost wants you to.

“fuck no.”

you grin and violet’s pussy—aches.

pitfighter!vi never let caitlyn have her way with the hexstrap, it was always, mouth, fingers—the blue-haired vixen sitting on her face like it was a throne she was born for. right alongside the seat on the council she’s rightfully breed for. in some ways, caitlyn operated through their relationship in a way vi wasn’t sure how to feel about falling for someone who represents all she hates. vi always made herself believe—this is how you see progress—but maybe it was always closer to manipulation than she wants to believe.

pitfighter!vi knew her pride wouldn’t allow for caitlyn to do this to her. vi’s lean body bent over her bed, fingers tightly woven against her waist as she took every thrust from behind. animalistic groans formed the vowels of your name, her voracious cunt responding within seconds. it was the first time she didn’t scream caitlyn’s name with some other pretty girl inside her—and she would soon repay the favor.

“fuck, never seen you so—” you pause, gripping onto the fat of her ass before slapping it a few times. “desperate.”

the pain and pleasure would soon be too much for her, but it was all true—vi is desperate. she wouldn’t apologize for it. she wants to be between you and the world. you sold your body, the same as most, but you controlled how much they would see.

you were the kind of beautiful a siren would even feel jealous of. the kind she never forgot about even when she was with caitlyn. you, full of treachery and haunted bones, and violet would wear each one like a necklace. a bone for each part of her soul you own.

“you’re so strong now, all muscles and precious ink, but all you want is to be taken care of? does she know that?” viciously, you enunciated with each thrust, “does caitlyn know you’ll always love me more? your golden heart and body is mine, isn’t it?”

hearing caitlyn’s name, while you fuck her, eviscerating her in the strength of a truth—making her more turned on than she would verbally admit. yet, her heart did belong to you. whatever was left of it, regardless of her affection for caitlyn, your branding laid an everlasting claim.

“yes, it’s always yours, cupcake.” even though vi recycled the pet name, just like all things, it would always belong to you first. ownership before good faith, that’s how this works, it’s a cathedral of lies and devotion and she worships you for it.

“are you gonna be my good girl?” the pressure of your fingers circled her clit, entrancing her in your grip, her bundle of nerves almost coming under soothing circles.

“fuck, you know i am. don’t stop, please—”

“never babygirl. you’re too precious to me. do you know that?” vi is good, just like you want, taking each thrust as you pound into her. “your pussy is made for me. my fingers, my mouth—who knows when i’ll be done with you tonight.”

“s-shit, oh god. don’t—it’s so much, fuck—”

“you hear that, violet?”

“w—what?”

“it’s the sound of your cunt coming, isn’t it? pretty baby can’t hold it in anymore, can she? go on, be mine. soak me with every bit of your pussy. you’re dying to cry every last drop for me. show me, my pretty girl.”

this will be as permanent as the ink on her skin, the blue of her eyes, the violet concealed underneath midnight-black oils—all night long she will be reminded of it—you could never let her forget.

pitfighter!vi isn’t surprised in the slightest when she sees you, walking in her shitty apartment two days after you made her see the stars arrange into magical symphonies. when she woke up alone, vi did her best to look past it. the last thing on her mind was commitment—tequila and a warm bed is all she could exhaust her time for. even if there was more than just warm-blooded desire threatening to top the surface.

pitfighter!vi lets you fuck her again. forgetting the rejection she felt, she slips so easily. another night for her brain to sink into, teeth for knives as she lets her love linger. blood in her veins, her love for you will one day bleed her dry. another night to feel guilty about. caitlyn wouldn’t do something like this—she thinks too much—and you’ve never cared to think about the aftermath. she’s never been so thankful for your carefree spirit, taking what you want and leaving in the dead of night. violet has wanted this. a casual affair. violet could never be loved. like this, she could never be hurt. don’t get tied up again. this is just sex.

pitfighter!vi accepts she’s seen the last of you. you’re a mockingjay, a symbol of what she wants to be. and with you out of sight, there doesn’t have to be a reckoning in her. violet doesn’t have to change. she can be as she’s always been. zaun, the fighting pits, the shimmer on the streets she escapes from. the white snow is enough for her but that’s the funny thing about fate; the gods couldn’t care less how much they fuck you.

destiny wrapped in a bundle of misery, the night blooms in zaun, here you are sitting on her lap before she needs to leave. the pits are too hard, and vi wants you to be there but you shouldn’t be. you’re tough enough to protect yourself, throw a brass knuckle if needed—but she’d rather keep you hidden. her personal rockstar who softens her into the girl she once lost.

the teenager who got kicked around by life and it’s merciless fist.

"let me wrap you, before you go out there," violet moans when you your teeth scrape across her neck, sucking on the mark you had left. the bruise had been fading. and you wouldn't stand for it. not an ounce of you would.

"you just want an excuse to touch me."

"i don't need an excuse—it's adorable you think i do."

pitfighter!vi lets you suck on her pierced nipples, a playful tongue twisted and pulling. pillowed lips making home on perfect rose-buds, until vi’s moans are spilling into their captor's mouth. another lace of manipulation, coaxing her closer to you with venom on your tongue.

pitfighter!vi carefully watching as your hands aid in the binding of her chest. even when violet makes a fools attempt to hide her surprise—you remember how tight she likes it. and all it had taken was once. one stupid evening of her explaining it to you, and somehow your brain has managed to latch on.

pitfighter!vi moves swifter than anyone else, and when all the bets on her, there could only ever be one outcome. whoever is on the receiving end—with blood on her teeth and vengeance pumping in her heart—violet vanderson will pummel them until they are painted in brutal shades of black and blue. she’s not sure what’s more dangerous, the way she feels, or the fact vi knows how much you’re enjoying this. could this be a show? is any of this real? is anything real? could the love she has ever grow into a blossoming love? or would it always turn rotten in her touch?

pitfighter!vi who finds herself in an alley—a cigarette in one hand as she contemplates giving in. is caitlyn with someone else too? would that make her feel better? she was being so easily replaced by someone she claimed to love, and she found comfort in doing the same. even with blurred vision, violet knows how much she loves caitlyn. even if there wasn’t much, she once had love. unaltered, purified love. now she’s wrapped in liquor, drugs she wishes didn’t comfort the haze in her mind, and you. a ship wrecking her life, making everything worse, and still you’re the only thing making an ounce of it bearable.

pitfighter!vi has fucked you every day this week, crawling to your place with puppy eyes, she begs even when there’s no need. when your eyes get wide, lips smirking wide, every plea given is worth it. and it’s when you’re in the middle of it, gliding against her weeping pussy with your own—is when you decide to threaten her future with a proposition.

“violet?” you ask, sweetness dripping from your tongue. nimble fingers wrapped around her throat, applying pressure enough to make her squirm. “i want you to come with me.”

“i mean—i’m close princess, only a little bit longer—”

“oh, i know you’ll come.” violet laughs at your smirk, “but i talking about you coming on tour with me. let me show you the world you’ve been missing.”

violet fucks. and fucks. and fucks.

she can’t answer you. she ignores and does what she can do best—please the woman who loves you—that’s all you’ve ever been worth.

listen to the voice in your head, vi. this is the best it will get.

pitfighter!vi who anchors herself in her fighting, you won’t leave. for the past week, she’s been contemplating putting up a fight. pushing you to a distance she knows you’ll stay. it seems like a slim chance. ever since the two of you were kids, you’ve been about able to see right through her. giving her what she needs, not what she wants.

zaun, violet—the love you carry for either one means nothing and it could mean everything. for a month, you’ve ignored when she drinks behind the bar. the empty bottles of liquor she hides underneath her bed. the drugs she sneaks to the bathroom before she gives you her full attention.

kiramman could make her whole again, piece her back together. the two of them were stubborn. neither could bear to communicate. the guise of raw feelings felt like more of a setup between the two. tonight, you would manipulate it. a crafty means to a desirable end.

both of you had taken three shots in, and violet sniffed a line in the bathroom only half an hour before. you’ll never forget this night. the fog surrounding you, clouds touching down with the ground, charcoal makeup smeared down her eyes in the shape of formidable tears.

a masking of heart break, a wonder yet to be seen.

caitlyn had been watching her all night, lurking in the shadows of the club. almost afraid of what she had been witnessing. violet alone, or so she thinks, purring in your ear and all the meanwhile, you’re maintaining eye contact with the woman that threatens to take it all from you.

her body cages you in, the confidence that comes from fucking your first love, and you’ll remind the blue-haired vixen of the blatant truth. violet has always been yours first, and she always would be.

underneath the moon and her former lover, calloused fingers slip in your unbuttoned trousers, making home in a warmth she could never say no to. caitlyn’s eyes pierce yours, tightening when you moan out violet’s name. “more cupcake, need three fingers please.”

distinct, pointed, but it gets the job done.

vi does as she told—you know she loves you too much, and your claws have punctured her skin, caitlyn's second chance withering in the wind. in the hush of the night, vi doesn't even question where her loyalties lie. she only feels you, every pulse and every clench, wrapped around her pretty fingers. in your time away, this is what it's all been about. catipulting to this very moment, coming home and reminding her who she belongs to—and how easy it is for you to take it.

even caitlyn herself is getting off on it. her slender thighs rubbing together as your hips meet vi's palm rubbing against your clit. fuck, it's been too long. months on the road, you can't do this. vi has always been your girl, sweet violet, and caitlyn spoiled her with heartbreak. the high and mighty are pitting violet against whatever she wants, maneuvering her for whatever fits caitlyn's agenda. you wouldn't stand for it any longer. vi will always be your beautiful girl, even if she’s broken—you'll always be the one to put her back together.

without giving it a second thought, you move your top, the flimsy cotton not doing much to conceal the silky skin that lies beneath. violet lips migrate, latching around your nipple and biting, her pace unrelenting, making you pay for every sin, the ones you've committed and the flesh you hide when she isn't looking.

"yes vi, oh god—" for good measure you moan even louder, making sure kiramman hears you loud and clear, "can't get enough of me this week, can you? hm, what is this? the seventh day in a row?"

like eve in the garden, you'll make caitlyn pay for hurting her, and with the most venemeous smirk you can muster, you notice caitlyn, pathetic as she slumps against the wall, hands in her panties as she gets off to you fucking her never-to-be girlfriend.

"you know how much i need this, princess." violet comes up for air, her lips capturing yours, swallowing every bit of your essence. you happily let her. "never gonna be over you."

and just because it pleases you, you decide to nail caitlyn kiramman in the coffin she made. this is your game now, and for caitlyn, this is only the beginning of your reigning torment.

"what about caitlyn?"

Never did you think to be here. Trapped, desired, wanted—the curse of wanting to be loved by a tsunami taking its abrasive toll. They don't tell you what it's like to drown in the midst of one. How the water slowly rises. Inch by inch. Foot by foot. When it crashes, you would be lucky to be snuffed away. But drowning is nothing like it. Neither is love. Obsession. Addiction. It haunts until it consumes, and by the time its mark is made, you're already done for.

It feels crisp in your hand, a freshly cut diamond perfectly curated for you. Everything about it is so simple, so easy. Unequivocal pain jumps through every beat of your heart — why are you putting so much thought into this? Why do you need to be loved? Where can the craving starve the hunger? Endless thoughts loop. An everlasting cycle of destruction found on the shore of your affliction—a heart that wants more than it needs.

Her worth is summed up to undeniability.

Violet isn’t anywhere near your type. Her confidence bleeds into dripping arrogance. She pulls more women than anyone you’ve ever seen, as if it's as easy as taking a single breath. Each time you let your mind drift, you muddle a specific possibility.

Could it all be an act? Aimlessly searching for someone, Violet couldn't find—yet she could be someone who needed to be with someone. Loneliness isolates her until she feels nothing, so she grasps at straws, clinging to whatever cold body she finds. At any party, any event, any birthday celebration, she is never alone. There's always someone dripping from her arm, a soft reminder of how inaccessible Violet could genuinely be.

What grasps her heart when she's shredded inside? Who makes her feel like there's more to live for? None of these incoherent rumblings should even exist. She would never care about you.

Every night, Violet exists within your dream state. Keeping you in a clutch you couldn’t recall being in.

But the video, two of them to be exact, is a blade that threatens against your ribcage, punished to puncture the metal box around your heart. Her words ring like a phantom menace, cursing every breath you take. Entirely unable to let go of it — to let go of her.

Are you afraid you’re gonna fall in love when you watch me fuck myself?

There is nothing in the world you would have loved more than to toss Violet down the bowling alley, discarding her patronizing ego with her. Solitude would have been even better, but you could learn how to stomach this. The rest of the night, you avoided her, creating some distance. You needed to prove that she couldn’t get to you. Whatever game she took satisfaction in partaking in, you could only have hopes of survival.

Make it out alive before she rearranges your insides and watches you eat them out of spite. You are everything she hates, and Violet Vanderson would love nothing more than to destroy who you are at your very core. That's what addiction is. It could never be love.

Weeks jumble, time never exists, and you're nothing more than an evidence of pure avoidance. You know her schedule by heart, and you use it to full advantage. Leaving before she wakes up, but you still brew her a pot of her favorite coffee because it's the right thing to do. You do her laundry when she's at work because you need an activity to put your heavy mind at rest. And you only buy her favorite candle because the scent complements the aroma of the shared living space.

The only night you had free this week, your soft skin smothered in your silk sheets, a red-violet mullet taunting your mind, with her voice whispering everything she wants to do. It feels like you’re losing your grip with the thought alone. Every fiber in your subconscious is relenting to her control, even if you're doing your best to will your mind, your heart couldn't care less.

So here you lay, in the crisp of the ventilated air, a flimsy red lace set to keep you company, you clicked play on the first video violet sent. The next three wouldn’t get played. You’re telling yourself it’s out of necessity, curiosity even—not because of another failed hookup ending horribly—and there’s a secret hope she can give you a release.

She isn’t your type, and this wouldn’t affect you at all. She’s a cocky asshole; you don’t care about her. Violet Vanderson is a heartless, soul-crushing, imbecile, and you would be wise to remember the lingering fact.

This is only so you can tell her she has nothing on you. You don’t find the gray in her blue eyes attractive, or the tattoos that ink up her back in a second skin. There’s a nothingness about the freckles across her cheeks or her broad back that blends into adonis biceps. You’re not drooling, and she doesn’t have an unreal physique. None of these thoughts could be real. The sun doesn’t shine, and the moon no longer pulls the tides. She's the furthest from pragmatic, a disease invented to exist in another galaxy. She's nothing at all.

Right?

The first sight locks your body in place, forcing you into submission without even being around you. The familiar navy-blue sheets you’ve caught glimpses of when her bedroom door is open. Random posters strung up around the walls of her bedroom. Bands in the nineties she won’t let go of. There’s a canvas powder painted on for her, one that you know is there, but the camera cuts off most of it. You miss the frame in the corner, and the picture she holds inside it.

Two seconds away from pressing play, eagerness exposed more than you would have liked—the only thing pulling you out of it is another woman far above your league.

new messages. three notifications from sevika. 12:36 am: long day at work. sorry, i couldn't text you back earlier. if you need a pick me up before i get back in town, give me a call. ⤿ 12:40 am: couldn't stop thinking about the last time you came over. riding me the way you were. being so good for me and coming in my mouth. didn't even get to fuck you with my favorite strap. i guess that's my fault. couldn't keep my mouth off you and your pussy. my favorite one, babygirl. ⤿ 12:42 am: call me if you're up, alright? i want to hear from you. that pretty face. those sweet lips are bound to make pretty little moans for me.

An idea strikes before you can stop it.

Could you do this?

Sevika, hot and tall, sickeningly gorgeous. Silver-hued eyes subduing you in a trance, her warm skin you sank your teeth into that night. A one-night stand that turned into someone you casually texted. Due to her work, traveling across the country, she was rarely ever in town. But when she was, her mouth made home between your thighs—never daring to leave.

She always took care of you, making sure you came multiple times before the night was over. With Sevika fleeting from city to city every week, she wasn't looking for anything serious, just a good lay. After your ex-boyfriend, who couldn't be bothered to pleasure anyone but himself, you would take the win.

Fuck it, I deserve this.

Once the awkward introductions were out of the way, Sevika got right to it, not wasting a moment. Whispering slowly, as if her lips were pressed against your ear, "Now, put those pretty hands in your panties. I want you to feel how wet you are for me. Pretty girls deserve to drip their cum on their fingers, and you are the prettiest."

Sevika's words, sultry and sweet, makes home in a core that cries out for her. More than anything, you wish she were here, her gap-toothed smile with a quiet grin as she watches your face scrunch, mouth wide open as you give her neighbors something to complain about.

"Oh, baby, I'm so wet for you. I wanna cum for you."

Avoiding the space between consciousness and reality, you find yourself still staring at your phone, the screencap of Violet's video egging you on while Sevika is talking you through it. With satan's iron fist controlling your movement, doing what you told yourself you wouldn't, hitting play on your screen while Sevika instructs you to slip your fingers inside.

With her on speaker, and Violet on the screen — you nearly came. Of course, the video immediately starts with her vibrator buzzing on parted-pink folds, her hypnotic eyes channeling you through the lens, you're almost tempted to crawl into her bedroom and beg for mercy.

In an attempt to connect everything to memory, Violet's legs are spread like wings, careless and free, her breasts sitting nicer than they ever should, and only because she wants to terrorize you—her nipples are pierced. Silver barbells you thirst to toy with your tongue.

If I pulled and tugged, would she moan in my ear and beg me for more—just like my dream?

It's challenging to concentrate on Sevika's voice when Violet slides the vibrator in deeper, tossing her head back as she does so. Solid hips, entirely structured for this, sliding every inch she can take, which happens to be the entire thing.

"God, you've never been this loud before, pretty girl. Add another finger for me, yeah? Shut those pretty eyes and focus on me, yeah? think about me, my mouth, my fingers—it's only me." You give in to her demands, removing your attention from a figment of violet.

None of it was real. Don't do that. Never open that video again or any of the others.

"It's only you, fuck, please make me come. Keep speaking to me like that. I need to come. Please, I need—"

The faces morph in your mind, each one ghosting over the other. Who do you need? Whose fingers do you want curled inside you while they give every inch they have to offer? A fog of silver clouding your mind, laces of violet thread beneath your soul, a combination of blue and gray—you want to have it all at the edge of your fingertips. Grasping at what's good for you and who has the power to obliterate your soul until it meshes with another dimension.

"I'm right here, sweet girl. Everything you could ever need—I'm right here."

Sevika attempts to let the words ring true, one hand bleeding with the other tangling to stop the wound. It's soothing to be viewed favourably by someone. Even if she's far, you feel her in each word she speaks. The wants fluttering in her mind, new thoughts sprouting through refined memories, and you're embedded into each one.

It's her presence that sends you over the edge. Violet's name whispers on the edge of your tongue, begging to be released, so you scream it inside. A monster free from its cage, you swallow her—every bit of her bitter. The vowels of her name clench into a fist on the way down your throat as she settles in the pit of your stomach. Either way, she's found a way in. A part of you forever tethered in a way that confuses as much as it excites.

Each sound released as you spill into your hand, the friction of your palm rubbing against your clit, you think of her. You couldn't hear her. Sevika's moans overshadowed your own, Violet's even. But they were still there. Humming in the background, making their presence known. The subtle cries, the grunts, the quivering whimpers; what would you do to continue watching without the cost of your pride?

As you expect, Sevika talks you down, before bidding a whisper of goodnight underneath the moonlight. Then, you see it. It's stupidly obvious. How much of her had you felt? Was she there all along? The entire time? Watching, waiting, as if she had known of all of your devious, satirical devotion would be seen by her. When it came to the girl who gave the hooded look of powder blue, anything could be true.

"Quite a show, princess. Didn't know you had someone to keep you warm." Violet's calm, ever so collected, smirking beneath her fist. Nearly hiding her surprise , but she grins too widely. The upturn of her look, the slight blush to her cheeks. "But I did know you would crack so easily."

Violet's chin tilts towards the video, the display of her intentional indiscretion, depending on who's watching. Mouth open wide, a mere fawn in the headlights, looking for words to follow—but what could you say?

This isn’t what it looks like. I accidentally opened it. My occasional hook-up wasn't going to cut it, and I needed to see every part of you, whether I deserved it or not.

Not the latter.

Nothing.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

Maybe you'll be gifted with her absence. Make her uncomfortable. Do what she does with everyone else. Make yourself so disagreeable she'll have no choice but to leave. This might be her home, too, but it won't stop you from turning a disastrous situation into another level of turmoil. She has to forget this. If she doesn't, the monster inside you will grow limbs, tearing apart everything you could ever be.

Sinking into the mattress, sitting by your hips, she admires the position you're in. You know what's stirring behind her eyes—I couldn't have planned this any better myself—she's always been greedy. But this is a new level of low.

But why does it make you feel so high? An ounce of her affection shocks your brain with dopamine. Fingers caressing your soft stomach and the skin stretched around your ribs. Violet smiles when your body twitches. Effortlessly, you're hers.

"You should watch the rest of it." She looks at you like you're the only one ever to exist. "I want to watch you—"

You half expect her to talk about the woman on the phone. However, she leaves the lone snide comment in the dust. Violet doesn't seem keen on wasting time when she has you here right in front of her. Sticky, lace panties and all. She's played her hand, and with keen eyes, you doubt there's little to stop her from seeing it through.

You may wish her to push you to unhinged limits, but your stern resolve remains. You despise her. A burning hatred shouldn't be able to be wished away with the finality of a craved touch. Fingers reimagined into a slithering snake, the skin changing colors with each blink.

Violet nearly hisses, "Watch me."

She finishes the sentence with her own hands slipping over the lace, not under in the way you want, but she lets her touch become second hand to your pulsating lips.

"O-Okay." You shudder out enough. The hardening resolve slips, she applies delicate pressure, gliding along your slit as if she's the one who created it.

Her touch morphs into small circles, swirling around your clit, your cum sticks to the fabric and seeps into your skin like warm honey. With her soothing touch, healing every ache mixing within you, you hit play, turning up to hear her this time, and your thighs shut around her hand.

"No, princess. Open." Violet commands with a purr, and you do as you’re told. "What do you like about it?"

She keeps pushing, softly, with a gentle hand, almost like Violet knows she has the power to break you. It's not shocking the position she's placed you in, the same position as she's in on the video, but I can't believe how easily you give in. Shattering every promise you made to yourself, a bat of her long eyelashes, and you melt into her skin.

"I like how pretty your pussy is, the soft-pink hair, how slick it is." You stop yourself, not willing to work your own body before she does. Can you at least make her work for it? Even if it's only a little?

"Yeah? What else?" Violet practically whines.

Fuck.

Distracted by having two versions of herself at once, you don't notice when Violet slips her fingers inside you, two at once, letting you adjust to her with small, shallow thrusts. With the intrusion, she's already smothering the control out of you with slender fingers. Each breath falls heavy, labored as you struggle to control yourself. Her body dips thoroughly onto the bed, toned thighs adorned in boxers, sitting on your own. Leaning over, you glance for a moment at her before she tilts your head back to the phone, allowing herself to caress your smooth jaw as she does.

"You look so pretty. Pretty tits, pretty pussy, pretty eyes—" They're your favorite part of her. All puppy-eyed, pleading for more with this distraught look in your eyes.

"You like my eyes?" Of all things you could say, that might have been the worst, the compliment eggs her on. A steady rhythm blinding your judgement as you clench around her fingers, crying out when her thumb makes a few swipes for your clit.

"Yeah." You can't say much else. Dumb words could fall off your lips, stupid, pretty words about her. Millions are filling your mind, and all of them would lift her ego, a violent burst through the ceiling.

But there's a murmur in your ear, telling you she's looking at you differently, and you'll fight like hell to believe it's nothing but a lie.

"I have a secret like you're girl on the phone." Violet stops, releasing your breasts from the restriction of the plush lace covering them, suckling on your nipples until she's satisfied. The groan you release is enough to let her release it for a moment. "Each time I make one of these films, I think about you. Wishing I could feel your weight on top of me. You fucking me. Or wishing it could be like this, fingers deep inside you, having you moan for me like you were born to do it."

"Violet—you can't—"

"I don't care about her. Whoever she is. We both know the only reason you came tonight was not because of the amateur dirty talk she fails at. It was because of me. I know you were thinking about all the things you want to do to me, all the different positions I can get you in, and how hard I'll make you come."

"It's too much." You cry out, a dismissal, but you're bucking into her hand like you’re bound by faith. Meeting each thrust with equally matched religion.

"You know what might be too much?" This will end you. "I think about you every time I fuck on film. So, when your little girlfriend wants to reach for what she believes is hers, remember that you'll always be mine."

Sevika and you aren’t much, but the fact it pisses her off sends you reeling. The words alone would be enough, more than enough, but then she's coming on screen.

You've never seen anything like it. Aphrodite blossoming into fruition. Her abs clench, her tits bouncing as she rides against the vibrator, warm-white liquid spills from her pink-bushed cunt. Is she sweet? Salty? A bit of both. A bit of everything. And a bit of nothing. The cries, and your name, teleports you into her touch, and Violet doesn't waste a moment.

Exactly as you expected, she fucks you through it. Teeth ripping you apart, pomengrane for flesh—Aphrodite possesses Violet and feasts on your soul. With her canines as sharp as knives, she still sinks with a delicate bite. Drawing blood to the surface, sucking and nibbling, aiming to bruise the skin. She'll know, even if she doesn't bite hard enough to leave a mark, she could have done it because it pleases her and you.

"Don't stop. Violet, you're so good. Don't—"

A prayer laced in her name, whispered in the dead of night, Violet clings to it as you fall apart. Her mouth latches onto your breast, letting her hooded eyes leak through long eyelashes and fondling your perked nipples with her tongue. Adoring the sensitive skin—she makes home of your body. Leaving a scathing, memorable mark.

You're no longer hypnotized by a version of her fucking yourself to an idea. You have been smothered between two versions of Violet Vanderson. Raw flesh needing to lavish you in the best ways she knows how. Is this real? Will she move if it ends too soon? Are your edges too sharp? Not holy enough for the wrath of her muse?

The last buck, parallel to a wild bull, breaks you into another version of you that you've yet to grow into. But your sense of self cracks with abandon, falling into her overly skilled hands, becoming a little bit more like her and so much less of you.

She doubles down into your pussy, ravaging in each clench. "Princess, next time, I'll be fucking you with the same vibrator. Will you be good to me and take every inch? Everything I have to offer, will you take it?"

Brainlessly, you nod. She's infected you, painted you in the deepest shade of permeance.

You want to reciprocate, give something back, but you can hardly coordinate your body, especially when she's so comfortable caressing every inch of your skin. When Violet feels like you've had enough, she sucks her fingers clean—every lingering taste coating, even dancing on her pink tongue.

And before she leaves, she does the last thing you expect.

Violet kisses you. Delicate and quiet. Kept in the four walls of your bedroom, she pulls and renews the soul she reaped.

onlyfans!vi who has a mountain of college debt, suffocating her with the very air supporting her lungs. extra shifts at the bar aren’t cutting it, neither are the fights in zaun — bruises collecting on her skin. a discovery of new constellations temporarily tattooing her skin. a visible reminder of what she lacks. so vi resorts to a hobby, one that might be able to elevate the stress she carries in her shoulders every time she sees the active statement to her bank account.

onlyfans!vi doesn’t expect much. yeah, maybe enough to make the payments feel breathable. three months in, she has more money than she know to do with. on the six month mark, her subscriber amount puts the fear of god in her bones — if it was something she even believes in. new worries of being found by someone vi knows enters her mind, but the money is enough to ease her into a false sense of security.

onlyfans!vi who lives more than comfortable a year in. affording luxuries she’s never been able to. her college debt paid last month in it’s full. but she loves it, being seen, being heard. one-night stands sprinkled in her weekly routine doesn’t come close to satiate her need of being watched. being loved from a distance, even if it’s only from the cream she spills between her thighs.

onlyfans!vi runs into a problem, an absurd one. it’s friday night. she has a post ready. but she’s here, taking to caitlyn, chatting her up and ready to take her apart in the bathroom — when she notices a notification. not from onlyfans, but from her roommate instead.

new message.  pretty nuisance: as flattered as i am, i didn’t expect a video of you fucking yourself. we need to talk about boundaries. soon.

idiot. wait a go, vi.

the truth of it all, vi didn’t need a roommate. with her finances higher than they’ve ever been, living alone would have been much easier. mel and jayce had been the one to push you two together. you needed a place after escaping a shitty ex-boyfriend, and vi was inept to deny the prettiest face she’s ever seen. no expense was spared. vi had even done you the favor of hiring movers to move your larger pieces of furniture out of the storage unit.

what she couldn’t do? get over you. one year of living with each other, and she thought about you more than anyone. family, friends, one-night stands, and small flings that never tended to stick. her heart couldn’t be in it. it’s always with you. even if she has little to no indication on whether you like women or not. better yet, the nagging question if you like her.

a few moments, vi thought she might have conjured them through satan himself, when she walks around in black sports-bra and boxers that become a second skin — your neck whips like lightning.

“you good, pretty girl?” she’s walking with a book in hand, glasses on the bridge of her nose, pink hair darkened from the shower.

violet’s been laying it on thick, every moment she got, she would make it count. wandering eyes scale every inch of her body, staying snug in her abs, before you turn the other direction before aggravatingly releasing a grumble.

“put on a fucking shirt, violet.”

onlyfans!vi does the her best to not think about singular moments. the possibility of a longer stare didn’t mean hope needs to settle, blooming until the root weaves like ever-spreading vines. poison like ivy, but she loves like harley quinn. a catastrophe waiting to happen.

onlyfans!vi can’t even be bothered to pay attention to caitlyn. vi spends the rest of her evening drinking before taking the subway back. only to find you already on it. wired-headphones plugged into your ear while you pick at your chipped nail polished. you haven’t noticed her yet, trapped in your own world, and vi would gladly be stranded wherever you are.

“i thought you would have been home.” vi grins, taking the vacant seat next to you. “considering you watched my homemade porno. you know, i did not take you for a voyeur.”

“it’s not like i was watching you in person.”

vi raises her eyebrows, proudly. “do you want to?”

“boundaries, violet.”

onlyfans!vi who can’t tell there’s a smirk on your lips so faint but to her? as obvious as the sun. despite your best efforts to act like you don’t have a care in the world, vi enjoys making you squirm, hoping her presence returned the light back in your eyes. there’s a curiosity, so golden vi can’t resist for a singular touch.

“i didn’t mean to sent to you.” vi gives you the answer freely. giving her honesty away like it cost her nothing. “but i wouldn’t be mad if you watched it…or if you want to.”

“who did you mean to send it to?”

“buy me a drink first and i might tell you.” when vi winks, you think about murdering her for a solid second.

onlyfans!vi who you can’t stop thinking about. the video only a few taps away. you could see her at her rawest form — the thumbnail presented her in a way your mind wouldn’t be able to get rid of. violet’s chiseled abs tempting your mind. the tattoos you dream about tracing with a needy tongue. a pretty face, a golden heart, and she’s sending out her own personal sex tape to you, for what? torture? does she like to see you suffer? trapping you with her feminine masculinity you would take a blade for; a craving for a single taste — that’s what you want.

onlyfans!vi who makes herself scarce for the next week. she’s polite enough. graciously, she offers a gentle smile, graceful like an angel. vi stays within her boundaries. even when you try to show interest, blatantly checking her out when when prances around the apartment half-naked — she’s offering a smile before ducking back into her cave. an impenetrable fortress even if you can hear her moaning at the crawling hours past midnight. nobody has been in and out of the apartment. does she really love to get herself off this much?

onlyfans!vi who is one to tease, give you shit for it, but on this besides the single conversation — it dies on her velvet tongue. a secret melting into a silent whisper. you’ve moved on from it, and so has she, so why is she purposely hovering over the send icon with another video attached? her phone feels sweaty in her palms, possibly biting off more than she can stomach. three is a pattern…maybe this could be another coincidence.

onlyfans!vi who does it when the two of you are out bowling with some friends. an arm thrown around hours shoulders, her signature scent intoxicating you. all night, you’ve been blaming on her excessive physical touch on the beer she’s been drinking. now with the second video sent — this couldn’t be an accident at all.

“is this some twisted game to you? does it get you off that i choose not to give you the time of day?”

“what gets me off so you being so hellbent on not watching it.”

“violet—”

“if it wasn’t a big deal, you would watch it.” before she leans down and whispers, the group you’re getting balls for lane as you knot of your shoes. “what’s the matter, princess? afraid you’re gonna fall in love when you watch me fuck myself.”