lesbian cowboy

"what the fuck is up, guys?"

ellie swings the door of vi's truck shut behind her, already pulling the seatbelt over herself with one hand as the other meets vi's in a fist bump.

"hi els," you chirp, looking into the backseat as vi reverses out of the driveway, only for your view to be blocked by her bicep as she leans her hand against your headrest to see out the rear. a wholly unnecessary act... not that you're too upset by that, though.

"hi sweet girl." ellie smiles back at you.

"are you nervous for today? or do you feel super ready?" you ask, popping open a compact to check that your makeup is intact, gently adjusting your falsies with the sharp tip of your nail.

"pshh, nervous? for what? i'm ready to see the looks on their faces when they lose."

vi chuckles, her hand settling on your thigh. "we're gonna kick some ass. fucking victory."

ellie cheers behind vi, absolute fervour in her voice. "we're gonna fuck 'em up!"

"we're making it to the finals, baby. and we're gonna do it so effortlessly that you'll wanna drop your panties to the ground right there in the field."

"baby! oh my god." you cringe, glaring at your girlfriend from the side. "i have standards."

"do you?" ellie asks, earning another laugh from vi and a scoff from yourself.

trees and buildings pass you by, vi and ellie delving into discussion of their usual not-so-serious business that you tend to tune out. it's a longer drive today for an away game, but vi's hand remains on your thigh the entire time, warming the skin with a few squeezes every so often.

but soon enough vi's truck comes to a clunky, screechy stop on a curb nearby the field. ellie fumbles with her gear in the back as vi runs a smooth hand through her hair, quirking a brow at you.

"alright, you wanna give me a kiss for good luck now?"

"awwh!" you giggle, leaning over the centre console with your lips puckered. vi meets you with far less innocent of a kiss, her hands grasping the sides of your head to pull you closer.

your lips part in surprise, the perfect opening for her to slip tongue into. you let out a soft moan as vi licks into your mouth, pulling away only for her to bring you back in for a few more pecks.

"uh, the fuck?"

breathless, you and vi both turn to the backseat where ellie grumbles, her phone sitting forgotten in her hand.

"let me get a piece of that."

"oh you want a piece of this?" vi laughs. "come here asshole, lemme give you a kiss!"

ellie's eyes roll so hard they might get stuck, though a chuckle still makes its way out. "you know what i mean. i don't want you."

"wow, i'm hurt."

your cheeks hurt so much from smiling at the both of them, a fairly common occurrence as much as you try to deny it. they're funny.

"and i'm sitting here still waiting for my kiss," ellie says loudly. you feel her eyes bore into you and watch as she shifts impatiently, mumbling, "just sayin'."

you glance back at vi, heart beating a little faster.

and of course, vi nods her approval. a smirk slowly rises on her face as you climb into the backseat, skirt riding up and revealing your interesting choice of underwear to her — a very flattering baby pink thong with the sides bedazzled.

and when you all but fall into ellie's lap as a result of vi's hand cracking against your ass, all you hear from the driver's seat is her calm, 'oops'.

"heya pretty girl." ellie helps you up, eventually holding you tight with one arm fitting around your waist and the other hand on your jaw, likely feeling how warm your face has turned as a result of all their behaviour.

you cup ellie's cheeks and smile, eyes falling shut as you lean in to kiss her. she groans as your plump lips touch hers, hand immediately lowering to your ass to push you into her. you take that like an instruction, already beginning to roll your body back and forth along her thigh.

you can feel that pair of bright blue eyes watching you from behind, and ellie's hands start to cup your chest through your top, leaving you even more keen for a bit of friction.

as you pull away to catch your breath, you spot ellie's gaze flitting to meet vi's for a moment. and then she smiles, deftly wrapping her fingers around both your bra straps and the straps of your top, tugging them down.

you gasp, racing to cover your hardening nipples with your hands, fighting against ellie's attempt to expose you. "ellie!"

vi scans the world beyond her truck, peering through the windows before reaching toward you. she wouldn't want anyone to see what's about to happen to you. and she knows you wouldn't either.

and within seconds, your hands are yanked away, her muscular arm wrapping around your neck and holding you still.

"dude, you know you can be rougher, right? like this?" vi asks. "she'll take it. she likes it."

ellie chuckles, raising a brow at the advice. "let's see how much she likes it then."

your hands, oh so desperate, pry at vi's arm just for show, letting out little squeaks as ellie unzips the side of your skirt and pulls it down your bucking hips.

and the worst part is that, once ellie has peeled your thong away from your painfully needy cunt, she holds it up, pointing out the dark, damp patch right in the seat.

"told you," vi gloats with a laugh. in fact, they both laugh at your pitiful expression and the long whine you respond with. you nearly double over as vi's fingers pinch your nipple, but with her other arm still locked around your head, you can't go anywhere. "she likes it."

"awwh, she does." ellie leaves your panties on the seat next to her, ghosting her fingers up and down your waist. finally, she addresses you, her sing-song tone taunting you. "angel... do you want me to make you come?"

you can't even nod with vi holding you like this, forcing you to mumble a pathetic response, talking slowly so you can pick the words that you know will please the both of them the most. "yes please, p-please, i'll be good."

and neither of the girls are hard to impress, really, so your pleas are accepted.

ellie cups your cunt, cooing at the way you squirm against it. and then two lengthy fingers slide inside, prompting you to let out a hoarse moan.

her fingers move rapidly, fucking into you hard — overwhelmingly so — and you can barely get a peep out.

"you like that, angel?"

vi's free hand strikes across your tits, fire spreading through your body at the cruel act. "ellie asked you a question."

you whimper out a "yes", breathless from trying to keep up with ellie's fingers and rolling your hips down against her. "yes, i do like it els."

ellie nods slowly, watching as vi continues her assault on your breasts, slapping, pinching, squeezing. all the noises you make get louder, even prettier than before, too, especially when ellie joins in and gently rubs her thump over your nipple.

her calloused fingers brushing over the spot inside you that makes your brain start to feel like goo breaks you down; it takes the form of searing pressure in your lower stomach, building deeper and deeper until your slick runs down ellie's wrist, the intensity forcing vi to hold your twitchy body even tighter until it's all over.

the comedown is easy once ellie pulls you against her chest, shushing your nonsensical babbling.

a loud thunk and ellie's sudden laughter alerts you to vi's decision to join you both in the backseat, now clutching her head in her hands and muttering curses.

"ellie, don't even fucking laugh bro," vi mumbles, rubbing the side of her head.

"you might wanna mind the ceiling next time, bro." ellie's still laughing, and you can't help letting out a little giggle as well.

"well, one of us has to, right short-ass?" vi retorts, now being much more careful as she climbs into the backseat. "i height mog you."

ellie scowls in response to that, and vi takes you out of her hands, now sitting on the other side of her. she's not any easier on you than she was earlier, still holding you tight and already, casually and without any acknowledgement, her right hand drops to your oversensitive clit.

"how much time we got?" she gives ellie a nod, who pats over her pockets to find and grab her phone quickly.

"you're gonna have to make this quick, 'cos we've gotta run soon," she replies.

vi tightens her grip around your writhing waist, you can feel her arm flex around you as she speeds up the circling around your clit. you mewl, eyes rolling back at the concentrated pleasure.

"fuck..." ellie growls, slumping further down in her seat, eyes trained on your soaked pussy and how your hole clenches around pure air. she gives a breathy chuckle, hand disappearing into her shorts...

"give els a good show baby." you can hear the grin in her voice as vi murmurs into your ear, her leg hooking under yours to spread you out wider. "you want to do that, yeah?"

"yes." your chest rises and falls so quickly with your laboured breaths, jaw falling slack with a high pitched moan as vi moves her fingers faster. "like that, p-please don't stop!"

you tremble, half-lidded eyes watching ellie's hand moving under her clothes. she throws her head back, cheeks flushed, getting herself off to the sight of vi touching you.

vi's fingers never stop, nor do her whispers. "does it feel good whoring yourself out like this? are you gonna come? gonna come when ellie does?"

you nod again and again, still squeaking out senseless noises.

"shit," ellie moans, swallowing thickly. she's close, hips jumping up to meet her hand every so often without control. "come on, pretty girl, gimme a fuckin' slutty one."

"mm! m'gonna come," you whine, and when both girls coo at you at the same time, you're weak in the knees. you hold onto vi's arm, nails digging into the skin as your body jolts. "mm— mm it's— s'so good..."

vi continues drawing circles over your clit until you squeal from overstimulation, your eyes opening up again to the sight of ellie panting heavily in front of you.

"we've gotta kick our asses into gear," vi says after a moment, to which ellie nods silently, still catching her breath just as you are too. vi presses a kiss to your burning forehead, then lets you go. "we don't have much time. but that's okay baby, i'll give you the fuck you really deserve after we win, yeah?"

"oh."

"that's a promise."

"okay."

you smile back at vi — albeit a little lost in thought about what that means for you later on — and proceed with pulling your bra and top back up, then searching for your panties.

you pat around the backseat for a while, brows furrowed deeply.

"what'chu looking for?" ellie asks.

"uh... my underwear."

ellie snorts, but she tries to help you out, checking under the front seats while you look over to vi, who's preoccupied with sorting through her gear.

"vi? vi? vi? where'd my panties go?" you sit awkwardly in front of her, covering your naked lap with your hands. "i can't find them."

"huh? don't remember," she says. "but we don't have time. just get your skirt on and let's go."

you walk to the field beside the two now engrossed in more laughter, using every second to pull your skirt back down, a pout on your face.

and when they're off to the locker room after each getting another hug, you watch them jog away...

and spot something silver and shiny hanging out of vi's pocket.

powder, with her tinkering abilities, became the person who perfected vi’s costume and weapons. she was the one vi went to when something malfunctioned, when there was a rip in her costume. she was the mind of the suit, the nimble hands that created it, while vi was the muscles and the power that breathed life into the fabrics, making the spiderman real.

vi pretty quickly got the hang of it, not surprisingly. she began enjoying swinging around, beating up bad guys and being a beloved hero. she also definitely loved having her own fans, even more so when they were pretty girls. having sweet ladies swooning this easily for her was something she could definitely get used to, 24/7. yeah, she was already somewhat popular on the campus, being great at hockey and having some girls cheering on her, but this? this was another level of fangirling, totally.

and oh my goddddd, after a while of hero work she’s so damn cocky. she keeps her identity a secret, sure, but when she’s vi, she definitely wears her own merch with no shame. she’d herself be considered spiderman’s groupie with the amount of mrrch she owns - she might be by people that don’t known her secret. spiderman boxers, belts, stuff with spiders everywhere. she collects articles where people praise her, saves photos she finds on twitter of herself, reads thirst tweets and has a special private folder for screenshots of them on her phone.

in this scenario i’d think you two knew each other quite well already. you weren’t in the same circles but you did have a project with her one time. after that she became pathetically down bad for you. when you had classes together she’d always sit near, whispering jokes to you in hopes you’d laugh. and you usually did.

“listen, i don’t mean it in a rude way. but… aren’t you too old for all that spiderman stuff? isn’t he a kid-level interest?” you asked one day, voice lighthearted as you kept stealing glances at the shirt she had - one with a spiderman logo. she only laughed as if she was in on a secret you didn’t know about.

obviously you started suspecting something. you saw how often she disappeared from the campus or didn’t show up to classes and you had a feeling it wasn’t just because of her lazy, careless attitude. you'd have to be completely blind to not notice the way she seemed to always have fresh wounds or bruises literally everywhere, as if she was working part-time punching bag instead of doing the punching at the gym.

and then you accidentally heard her talking on her phone.

“listen, pow, i’ll swing by today. something’s wonky with the new web shooters.” voice that was very easily recognisable could be heard from an alleyway on the campus, one that was usually empty. shit. you stopped, realising these words were definitely not for you to hear. it’s like you froze, unsure what to do. walk away and pretend you didn’t hear anything? pretend she was joking? reveal yourself and admit to hearing the conversation?

before you could actually do anything she walked out of the alleyway and bumped into you, her hands automatically moving to rest on your hips so you wouldn’t fall. her eyes widened when she saw you, tips of her ears turning red

“…fuck.” she only whispered with a sigh, very well aware that with the face you were making, you heard her conversation with her sister.

“so… you wear your own merch, huh?” you asked awkwardly, trying to joke so the atmosphere wouldn’t be this awfully tense, looking into her eyes while chewing on your lip.

that only somehow embarrassed her even more. sure, she can take her own sister teasing her for that, but you? the girl she was interested in? now she really felt like a loser, lips parting and closing for a few times like a damn fish.

after a bit of struggling she managed to explain everything to you, making you promise that you’d keep it a secret. “it’s mostly because i don’t want you getting hurt. i don’t care ‘bout keeping my identity a secret, but i know it might put my close ones in danger. so… keep it to yourself, will you, pretty?” and she always made you melt so easily when she used these nicknames.

so you obviously promised her that. and you kept your promise. you did keep teasing her about her being her own biggest fan, though. it was pretty cute, the way she was proud of herself.

and after a while she began stealing you on little dates far away, at dangerous heights. but you were never really afraid, not with her. never with her. how could you, when she had an arm firmly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close and warm on the cold evenings?

she showed you all her favourite places where she swings to chill when she feels like she needs to run away from all of it - from responsibilities, from hero work, from college and all other problems. it made you feel all warm inside that she didn’t feel the need to run from you. that she wanted you here with her.

"you know... lately, you've kinda been my safe spot. if you're there, i know i'm good." she admitted in a whisper, looking at the sky, keeping you close. her words, so painfully honest and sincere made you soft.

It was a rainy night, the sky dark as if all the stars had decided to hide from her at the same time. Meg stood in the rain, feeling Sam’s body get drenched as she stared at the house. Your house.

A grin tucked at the corners of her and Sam’s lips. Tonight was going to be a night to remember.

It hadn’t been easy. Once the Winchesters had gotten those pesky anti-possession tattoos, Meg couldn’t simply smoke into Sam the way she had the last time. But, skin was just skin. It could be removed, and that was what she had done.

Once she had the big lug tied to a chair it had been easy going from there. She’d torn the top buttons of his shirt when she pulled the collar aside, Sam cussing and threatening, voice deep and raw, breathing heavily in a way that she was sure would have ruined a lesser woman.

But not Meg. The hyper masculine thing had never done it for her and she had rolled her eyes pointedly when Sam grunted at her all the ways he was going to get payback. Those boys sure liked talking dirty when they were tied up.

With the tattoo gone, everything else had been easy. She had loosened Sam’s restraints and then possessed him. A final threat had died on his lips and then Meg had been at the wheel.

She sighed, Sam’s big chest moving along. There she was, back inside her favorite boy. She chuckled to herself, some raindrops dripping from Sam’s pretty hair onto his face at the movement.

Torturing the Harvelle girl last time had been fun, but ultimately unsatisfying. The little blonde had been indignant at everything Meg had said, which was cute for a while until it became immensely boring. There was also no real connection between her and Sam, making the whole thing a little too surface-level for Meg.

She liked to poke her fingers where it hurt. At the hidden bruises, the ones thought to have healed years ago. Which was where you came in.

Meg had seen you over the years, hunting alongside the Winchesters, and to say she had been mesmerized by you was an understatement. She expected a certain type of woman to work alongside the brothers – strong, sure, tough, yes, but never too much of these two things to sacrifice her status as potential damsel in distress. Never enough to not be a paradigm of supportive, soft femininity.

And then there was you.

When Meg saw you with the brothers, you never seemed like an appendage, the flavor of the week. You were demanding, didn’t hold back. You were violent in a way that made Meg shiver. Unapologetic. And the goddamn sexiest human she had ever seen.

Sam twitched somewhere inside her at that thought and Meg grinned again. Oh yeah. You had history with Sam. Meg hadn’t been sure of what kind until she had put him on again. Sure, there had been longing looks she had seen, but she wondered if things had gone beyond that.

Boy, had they.

When she searched Sam’s memory, still sitting in that chair she had tied him up in, she had found a delicious montage of all the things you and the younger Winchester had done together. She had expected sweet stolen kisses, gentle puppy love. There was some of it, but only, from what Meg could tell, at the beginning.

She had come across a memory of you on top of Sam, seen through his eyes, of course, naked as Eve, head thrown back. Meg could feel the sense memory of how you had ground yourself against Sam, your warm, delectable tightness stroking him. You had moved your hips, circled them and it had seemed like you were simply taking your pleasure, chasing it in a manic pursuit.

Oh, Sam had loved that one.

His hands had been gripping your hips, hard, not to steer you but because he was sure he would lose his mind if he didn’t hold on to something.

As you got closer, deep moans had started leaving you and you had grabbed Sam’s hands, moved them up to your breasts, your urgency and directness fascinating. Meg had felt herself, and in response Sam’s body, bite her lip at the picture. How selfishly you were fucking Sam, chasing that goal. Your eyes closed, brow knotted in concentration, soft lips parted.

Meg was sure there was love between you and Sam, but in that moment, it seemed like he was just a body you were using. She felt herself grin at the irony of that. Samesies, she thought.

Sam certainly hadn’t seemed to mind. Meg could feel the ripple he had felt when you came, the way you had squeezed him, the loud keening noise, so uncaring about who could hear. She had felt her eyes flutter as she relived that memory. Which was when she had thought of what she wanted to do.

There was a lot of damage she could do possessing Sam Winchester. She could go kill that arrogant brother of his. She could kill Sam himself, or simply wreak havoc in the human world, go after other hunters again.

But she had come to your house instead. It was the only thing she could think of.

She felt Sam stir, somewhere under her skin, at the sight of the house. With another smile spreading over both her and Sam’s lips, she walked towards the door.

The porch light was turned off, but there was light coming from inside, falling through the curtains that looked like big winking eyes in the dark. Meg found the door bell, pressed it. A deep buzz sounded somewhere on the other side. There was some music playing in the house that was suddenly turned down, and then she heard footsteps.

She could almost feel you, then, on the other side of the door. As if your body heat was pressing through the wood. You must have looked through the peephole then, because she heard a muttered: “Sam?” And that was your velvety soft voice, the one she had heard break in ecstasy.

She heard a lock being opened on the other side, and the door swung open, the light briefly blinding, and then there you were.

Meg felt a delicious tug in Sam’s body at your sight. You weren’t wearing much, a Hole band t-shirt and shorts. It was cold outside, the rain cooling the night air and Meg saw goosebumps raise on your legs as the cold crept in, the same way she would soon.

Your face had a look of surprise on it, but you didn’t seem unhappy to see the man in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice astounded. Meg… Sam must have been a sight. Middle of the night, drenched, standing in front of a house that was out in Bumfuck, Nowhere.

Meg quickly made Sam shake his head, get some of the wetness out of it, the drops falling to the ground between you and him. For good measure, she made him run his hand into his fringe, shake that one out as well. Meg looked down. It remained to be seen if it had been enough.

The line of salt spilled across the threshold had been half-assed anyway and the water sprayed on it from Sam’s hair was enough to disrupt it. Plus, Meg was powerful. Now all she needed was an invite, because damn it if Meg Masters didn’t have manners.

“I was coming up here to visit you,” she said, and Sam’s deep, smooth voice came out, “and my car broke down a few miles back. No reception so I walked.” Then, doing her best to channel the hunter’s awkward demeanor, she pulled his hands up in a little jazzy number. “Surprise!” she added.

You chuckled, then surveyed Sam’s face for another second, like you couldn’t believe he was here. A moment later, you broke yourself out of your reverie.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside, the door wide open and inviting. Meg stepped forward, keeping her eyes on you. She passed the broken salt line and barely felt it. Then she was inside, inside the warmth, and you closed the door behind her.

You were standing close, looking up at Sam, and Meg simply held your gaze for a moment, looking deep into your eyes. The colors in them looked like they were swirling. Meg had never seen you this close before, except during one encounter where she had grabbed you by the collar, thrown you across the room.

It had taken her everything to not lean in and kiss you instead. So now that she got to look at you, she took her time. After a few seconds, she forced a shy smile on Sam’s lips.

“I’m getting your floor all wet,” she said and saw the corners of your mouth twitch at that. Oh yes, you were her kind of woman.

“I’ll get you some towels,” you said, still not breaking the eye contact. “Go ahead and go the bathroom. You want a warm shower?”

Meg smiled. “I would love one.”

The bathtub was an old claw foot, and Meg moved her hands over Sam’s body, rubbing the warmth of the water pouring down on her into it. It wasn’t sexual, but running her hand over the thick biceps, fingers tracing the valleys of his abdomen and grabbing onto the thick hair, pulling it by the root, made Meg excited to use the body.

She couldn’t wait to see your reaction to it, she thought, as she turned off the water, climbed out, long legs making it easy. There really was an advantage to tall flesh suits.

She admired Sam in the mirror. Even though he wasn’t what she went for she couldn’t deny that he looked like a work of art. She grabbed the towel you had gotten for her, wrapped it around Sam. She wondered if it would be too brash to go out and meet you like this. It might make things move quicker.

Because if Meg knew one thing, it was that she wanted to have you before she started hurting you.

She closed her eyes then, searched into Sam again. Rooted through his memories as if she was reaching both hands into a bucket full of sand, clawing her way through. She found one of the last ones of you then.

You were standing with your back turned to Sam. The perspective was strange, and then Meg realized Sam was sitting down. You were running your hand over your face and then you turned around.

“But it’s crazy, right?” you were saying. You had a concentrated look on your face and Meg felt Sam’s sweet little heart beat at that. Boy, he really carried a torch for you.

You leaned against the table opposite Sam, and Meg realized this was a motel room. One with garish wallpaper and stuffy comforters.

“It’s not crazy,” Meg heard Sam say. “It’s just opening the possibility that this life might not be it forever. I think it’s good.” You were chewing your lip, staring off into the middle distance. Meg saw a little smile form on your lips.

“It’s full of all this old furniture,” you said, and looked over at Sam. “Claw foot tub, giant vases, rugs like you wouldn’t believe. They’re probably so dusty I’ll die on my first week living there.” Sam made a chuckling sound.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll just have to come visit you and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You turned to him fully, then stood straight, slowly walking towards him. Meg smiled at the memory. How she could see all of you, watch you as you approached. She felt you run your hand into Sam’s hair and then Sam closed his eyes at the touch. It meant she couldn’t see you anymore, but damn it if the way you gently gripped his hair, tugging at it, didn’t make up for it.

“You’re gonna come visit me, Sammy?” you said and Meg felt Sam nod. He opened his eyes, just as you were moving to straddle him. Sam’s hands went up your thighs and to your ass, and Meg could feel the fullness of your cheeks fill up her hands.

“You gonna help me christen my new house?” you said, voice quiet, breath on Sam’s face. “Fuck me in every room?”

Meg brought herself back to the moment. She could feel her own arousal at the memory make Sam’s body react. She looked down at herself, the towel around her waist already slightly raised in the front. It wouldn’t do for Sam to walk out with a big old boner.

Sam must have made good on his promise to visit you at your new residence, because in addition to the towels you had given him a t-shirt that, by the sheer size of it had to be Sam’s, and some sweat pants. Meg slipped into the soft fabric, ran her hand through Sam’s hair once again and then left the bathroom.

You had been right about the place – it looked almost like a museum. Whatever interesting personality had lived here before had decked the place out. There were stuffed birds on the walls, looking down at you with shiny eyes, large wooden frames with painted pictures that seemed to only be swirls of color to Meg. Rugs, just like you had said, everywhere.

When Meg entered the living area, you were standing with your back to her, before a low sideboard that had bottles of liquor on top. Meg walked up to you, slowly, enjoying the view. She wanted to sink her teeth into the creamy backs of your thighs, run her nails over the stretch of skin of your neck.

You turned around when you heard her, two tumblers of clear liquid in your hands.

“So,” Meg said in Sam’s low, rumbling voice. “All moved in?” You grinned, raised the glasses.

“The important stuff at least,” you said, then passed one of the glasses to Meg. She sniffed it.

“I know you prefer the dark stuff,” you said, raising your own glass, clinking it against Meg’s. The demon inclined her head.

“So long as there's a little bit of a burn,” she replied. The grin that spread on your biteable lips told her you had caught her meaning. You took a sip, then put the glass down on a little side table next to you, one that had gold-plaited giraffes as legs, crossed your arms.

“So you just drove out here, middle of the night,” you asked. “How come you didn’t call ahead?” Meg took another slow sip, letting Sam’s long fingers splay over the glass. She could see your eyes flicker to them, taking a slow, shallow breath. Good to know.

“I thought about you,” she finally said, licking some of the drink off her lower lip, which made you part yours in response. “And before I knew it, I was driving up here.” You chuckled.

“That’s very un-Sam Winchester of you,” you observed. “Just heading out, throwing caution to the wind.” Meg grinned at you over the rim of the glass.

“Maybe I’m learning,” she said, voice low. You chuckled, picked up your glass again and then, to Meg’s disappointment, started moving away. You walked a few steps, stopping before an old record player. Meg realized the music had stopped and watched as you removed the record, carefully sliding it back into its sleeve. You sorted it back into a large pile, then let your fingers run over the side, looking for what to play next.

“Dean okay?” you asked, half distracted. Meg nodded, but kept watching you as you selected something, took out the record. She had managed to separate the brothers before possessing Sam, and the last time she had seen the older one he was stalking around, machete in hand.

“You know,” she said, “Dean’s Dean.” You chuckled.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you replied, just as you put the needle down. You picked up your glass again, turned to Meg.

“I have some stuff from lunch left,” you said. “You hungry?”

Meg couldn’t help but grin. She was very hungry.

You seemed to take the expression on Sam’s face as confirmation and took another sip, probably planning to move to the kitchen next. But food was the last thing on Meg’s mind.

Using Sam’s long legs, she strode towards you just as you turned to put your glass down, crowded in behind you and pushed you against the sideboard you had been standing next to. You gasped, but the heavy breath you took in the next second told Meg she had struck the right cord.

She put the glass down on the surface as well, then leaned forward, Sam’s long arms caging you. You followed her lead, leaning forward as well, and Meg stretched herself over your back, breathing you in as if she could get high off your smell alone. She pressed Sam’s face into the back of your neck, the softness and smell of your hair driving her nearly insane, then brought one hand to your front, spreading it just beneath your breasts, while the other one ran over your hip to the inside of your thigh.

“Sam,” you breathed, surprise in your voice that confirmed what Meg had suspected: Sam wasn’t a very forward guy, not someone who tended to be the aggressor. But you seemed to like it, one hand going over the one that was roaming the inside of your thigh, the other reaching behind you, fingers twisted into Sam’s t-shirt to pull him closer.

If you liked Sam to be rough, you were in for a treat tonight. Because Meg was a giver, through and though.

“I thought about you the entire drive,” she groaned into your hair, and found it was the truth. She had thought about you, roaming through Sam’s memories but also her own. Imagined your shape, how she wanted to twist you, first in pleasure and then in pain.

“Nearly had to pull up on the side of the road a few times, take care of myself,” she groaned against you.

“Fuck,” you moaned in response, and then you were pushing Sam’s large hand between your legs, pressing his thick fingers against you. Meg could feel heat there. You were a responsive, little thing.

Meg pressed against you there, felt a shudder run through you. But then you pulled the hand away, squirmed out of the confines of Sam’s big arms.

“Come on,” you said, a little breathless, and then you were tugging Meg along, both of your hands around Sam’s. Up the stairs you went and you had to turn so you wouldn’t fall, and Meg swatted at your ass, it’s lovely roundness that she wanted to bury her teeth in. It made you giggle.

You pushed open the first door at the top of the stairs, dragging her along. It was a bedroom, and from the little bit of it that Meg saw before you pulled her in, it was the room you had most made your own. It still contained knickknacks and dust traps, but it was mostly clean, and the bed looked new.

She didn’t see much more, because then your arms reached around her shoulders as you looked up at her, then pressed your lips against her. Meg’s eyes fell shut and Sam’s followed suit. You actually tasted sweet, only the distant burn of the alcohol disrupting the candy-like quality of your spit. Lips soft and pillowy and your tongue, when you pressed it into her mouth, wet and demanding.

Meg ran her hands over your back, then down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there. You groaned against her and before Meg knew what she was doing, she was picking you up.

You wrapped your legs around Sam’s hips and Meg squeezed your ass again, harder this time. She half expected you to pull away, tell her not to be so rough. You didn’t. Instead you moaned into her mouth again, a touch of desperation to the sound. Meg felt her head spin.

She walked over to the bed and tossed you down on it. You bounced off the mattress, hair flying everywhere and then Meg was on you, pushing her face into your neck, running her tongue, well, Sam’s tongue, along the salty expanse. You gasped, held her close when you buried your hands in her hair.

“Jesus,” you groaned, “what has gotten into you?” Meg ran her teeth over your skin, felt goosebumps break out over you. She pulled back, looked into your face.

“I’m just desperate for you, sweetheart,” she purred. She was pretty sure Sam Winchester had never called anyone sweetheart in his life, but you didn’t seem to care.

Pushing against Sam's broad chest to turn him around, Meg let you get on top of her. You straddled her, kept kissing her, your t-shirt riding up with how hard you were pressing yourself against her. Meg’s hands and lips roamed over you, needy for every little bit of you she could get to. Her hands where on your ass again soon, because she just couldn’t get enough of it, and she pulled you towards her, forcing you to sit up.

Your head was above her and you were looking down at her, hair disheveled and lips red from kissing. Meg wondered if this was what humans meant when they talked about seeing God. She was distracted quickly when you ground herself against her, but with how you were positioned, your heat rubbed against Meg’s chest. Sam’s chest.

Meg pulled you in harder, encouraging you to grind yourself against her. You did, eyes closing briefly, shuddering breath taken and then Meg pressed her hand between your legs. She was delighted to feel that you weren’t wearing underwear under the loose cotton shorts, and pushed them aside, touched you.

Meg closed her eyes, leaned her face against your breasts when she finally felt you. It was so much better than she had imagined, better than Sam’s memories could have prepared her for. That boy simply had no sense of poetry.

You felt like the point where ocean and land met, the roar of waves in her ears, fingers pushing into the sand just after the tide had retreated, soft, warm, between two states of being.

You whined when Meg’s fingers entered you, two of them, with her thumb clamping down from the front, the center of your lust caught between the three digits. You bucked at the intense feeling, but Meg held you fast, and soon you pressed yourself against her, searching out more of her.

Your head fell back, and you moaned, then leaned forward again, hands going to the base of Meg’s neck, ten fingers grabbing her hard as you kept rutting yourself against her. High-pitched whines left you that Meg had to close her eyes at, would have liked to bottle up and keep for herself.

You tightened around her fingers, opened mouth pressed against hers, not kissing but something close to it. You came with a cry that sounded like half pleasure, half excruciating pain and Meg swore she would remember that sound forever. She felt you shake against her, what she had done to your body causing movements in you that were beyond your control.

“Sam,” you moaned, just as the shaking was dying down.

Meg’s eyes fluttered open. Yours were still closed where you were resting your face against Sam’s, lips opened pornographically, panting.

Meg lowered her eyes, lowered them to her hand where it was still between your legs.

Where Sam’s hand was still between your legs.

She swallowed, felt Sam’s throat contracting. Felt your hands on his shoulder blades, running slow circles. It wasn’t guilt she was feeling. That emotion had long ago been burned out of her. But something like regret. Regret that it wasn’t her name you had said.

Your lips met Sam’s temple, then his cheek. “That was incredible, Sam,” you muttered.

Well, Meg thought bitterly, she might as well have fun.

With a grunt coming from the hunter’s body, she flipped you around, on your back. You gasped, but your face showed your enjoyment, your excitement at Sam’s demeanor. Meg pressed your legs open, ground Sam’s hardness against you. You bit your lip.

“Fuck me,” you whispered and Meg pretended just for a second that you were talking to her, really talking to her. She pushed herself up a little, meaning to position herself so that she could take off the sweats.

You ran your hand over Sam’s back, lower and lower, until you reached the hem of his t-shirt. You pulled it up, intending to feel his body fully. Meg moved his arms so you could.

“Oh God,” you said, and Meg felt something almost like disgust that the sight of Sam’s overworked torso would cause such a reaction in you. She expected better of you.

But when she looked at you again, it wasn’t lust on your face, but worry. Your hand went to Sam’s chest, Meg flinching at the sudden feeling.

“What happened?” you asked, frowning, and Meg looked down.

There it was, the big angry red patch of skin where she had burned off Sam’s tattoo. Her demon powers had sped up the healing process but not to the point where the wound couldn’t be seen anymore.

She looked back at your face and your eyes widened. She could have gotten away with it, she thought. Maybe.

But whatever you saw on Sam’s face gave it away. That it wasn’t really the sweet, tall hunter that was on top of you, but something else.

You were fast. Your hand was reaching towards the night table before Meg could react and then she felt what she thought was the table lamp come down on Sam’s head.

She flinched back, reared up, not far, but it was enough for you to push yourself off the bed, away from her. You landed on your wonderful ass with a loud, painful sounding thud, and then you were scrambling to get up. Meg slid off the other side of the bed, rushed around it.

You fled towards the door, getting there two steps ahead of Meg. You threw it shut behind you, but it only bounced off Sam’s hard body. You opted to run down the gallery instead of down the stairs. Meg wasn’t sure if you were running anywhere specific, or if you were simply panicking.

Her question was answered when you came to a stop only a little way down the hallway and suddenly Meg couldn’t move. She looked up on instinct. Devil’s trap. Hell, how she hated those things.

“Who the hell are you?” you spat at her.

“It’s me, honey,” Meg replied, Sam’s voice tripping over the words and the tone she said them with. There was fear on your face now, and Meg thought it made you look even prettier than what she had done with Sam’s fingers had.

You turned your head then, rushed a few steps further down the gallery. Meg threw a hateful look at the trap, but she could see the plaster of the ceiling already shake at her insistence. A long chasm ripped through it then and Meg shook herself. Stuff like this could stop the small fry, but she was the biggest, meanest fish in the ocean.

When she looked down, you were closer than she had anticipated. The holy water you sprayed her with burned, made her flail. She would have liked to grab you, hold you, but with the pain she had to be quick. She couldn’t risk you running past her, down the stairs. She really didn’t feel like going out into the rain again.

The back of Sam’s large hand impacted with your head and you were thrown into the paneled wall. Another advantage to possessing the friendly Winchester giant – it was easy to knock out little things like you.

After you collided with the wall, you tumbled to the floor. Meg wiped some holy water off her face, then kneeled down.

You were groaning, eyes squeezed shut. Meg ran her hand into your hair, gripping it tight, pulling you up. She waited until you blinked your eyes open, managed to focus on her. See Sam’s face and the sick grin spreading over it.

Then she threw your head down against the floor. Your head rolled to the side and you were out like a light.

“Damn shame,” Meg muttered, running one finger over your lips.

Meg saw you were waking up by the movement of your shoulders, your brow wrinkling, probably at the intense pain in your head. Your eyelids fluttered, and Meg imagined you on her hand again.

You looked up, not sure where you were, but then realization dawned on you. You tested your limbs, or tried to, the arms stretched up over your head pulling against the rope, the same with your legs. You flinched when you realized that they were connected to each other, the rope running along underneath the dining table you were tied to.

Meg could see the first signs of panic on your face when your eyes fell on her. She wondered if you would start begging right away, or if she would need to squeeze it out of you.

You stilled when you saw her, Sam’s large body leaning against the back of the couch only a few feet away. You calmed your breathing, held her gaze. Not too bad, Meg thought. She wondered if you had been in this kind of situation before.

“Who are you?” you asked again, and there was almost no tremor in your voice. Meg brought Sam’s hands to his chest.

“It’s me,” she said, in her best Sam imitation. It was over the top, too eager, too earnest, she knew, but it was worth the disgust it made twist on your face.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she continued, “but I can’t stop.”

“Cut the crap,” you said, and Meg had to give it to you. Mouthing off when you were the one tied up. A brat. Meg should have known.

She grinned, pushed herself off the couch and walked towards you, languidly.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” she said. She reached the table, and leaned over you, arms spread wide. She raised one hand, hovering it over your stomach, not touching.

“What you should worry about,” she continued, “is what I’m going to do with you.” You frowned at her.

“Torture me?” you asked, voice challenging. “Take out my insides? Feed me my spleen?”

Meg laughed, the sound of Sam doing the same surprising in her ears. She realized she had never heard Sam laugh. She wondered if you had.

“I didn’t know you liked dirty talk,” she said in his deep baritone.

“How about,” you said, moving a little, maybe to get yourself into a more comfortable position, but it moved your hips, Meg’s eyes shooting there inadvertently.

“You tell me what you want to know,” you continued, “and then I tell you to go to hell?” Meg leaned down, bringing Sam’s face closer to yours.

“You think you make the rules here, baby doll?” she asked. You raised your chin, a defiant look on you.

“I think,” you said, “you’re some piece of shit demon who got lucky and grabbed a Winchester. And I think you’re in over your head.”

“Yeah?” Meg asked, and ran the back of her index finger over your cheek. You barely flinched. She brought Sam’s face even closer to yours and you held her gaze, stared her down. Her other hand went to your torso, and she twisted her hand into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it tight against your skin.

“I’m gonna open you up,” she whispered against you, Sam’s lips just barely grazing your skin. “I’m gonna take you apart, touch parts of you you didn’t even know existed.” Your eyes fell shut at the abject horror of what Meg was describing and then…

And then you moaned. Meg blinked. What?

It could have been a whine. It could have been fear. Immediately, Meg wasn’t sure. She pushed herself up, away from you, looking down and studying you. Your eyes flew open. There was no shame on your face, no shock. Whatever it had been, it didn’t seem to bother you. But damn if it hadn’t put Meg off her game. Were you into this?

“I’m—” she started, but she wasn’t sure where she was going. You kept staring at her, and if Meg would have had any decency left in her, she would have blushed.

Instead she walked over to the little side table she’s set up, the one with the giraffes for legs. You turned your head, your eyes following her.

There was a tray on the table and one of your kitchen towels laid over it. With a flourish of her hand, Meg pulled the towel away, dropping it to the floor. Under it were an assortment of knives she had found in your house: a bread knife, long serrated blade dull from usage, a smaller hunting knife, as well as one that looked like a cleaver, but flatter and longer. She looked your way, but you only raised your eyebrows at her.

“Dramatic reveal much?” you asked. It took Meg everything to keep the shocked look off her face. What the hell was wrong with you? She shook her head.

“You know no one’s going to come for you, right?” she asked. She motioned to the body she was in. “Sam’s not gonna break through and be the hero. His hands are gonna open you up and he will be powerless to stop it.” She picked up the cleaver-like knife, stepped closer to you.

“Dean’s somewhere out there, looking for his baby brother but he won’t find you. And you have enough angel warding up in this place to keep Clarence away.” Meg chuckled. “So you can talk yourself up all you want, but I will make you scream.”

You frowned at her and Meg wasn’t sure why. Then she realized what she had said. Clarence.

“Meg?” you asked, voice low. Meg opened her mouth, shut it again. Your hands pulled against the restraints, but you winced when you felt the tension of the rope pulling your legs.

“Meg, it’s you, right?” you asked.

Goddamn it. Goddamn it.

How was she fucking this up so badly? First the burned-off tattoo, now this – how were you getting her to trip up so hard?

Meg walked closer to you, laying the cleaver down next to you while she looked down at you.

“The one and only,” she said, but there was no bravado in Sam’s voice. She saw you study his face as if you were trying to see her behind it.

“Why me?” you asked suddenly. Meg didn’t understand.

“Why did you come here?” you asked, your voice calm. “I mean, you could have gone for Dean, or even Cas, but…” You didn’t finish what you were saying, simply let the sentence taper out. Meg leaned forward.

“You know Sammy really cares about you, right?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. You scoffed.

“So you thought making his body torture me would be fun?” you asked, and then something went over your face.

“You tried to fuck me,” you said, sounding unbelieving. “You… you made me come. Why?” You frowned at her. Meg was staring down at you.

How had you ended up having a conversation? She should have buried herself inside of you already, be covered in your guts up to her elbows. Why were you talking?

“Meg,” you said again, and her eyes went to your face. You were looking at her, something soft in your eyes. Those perfect lips slightly parted. Meg thought you looked as beautiful as the sky when it stormed.

“Meg, untie me,” you said. Meg didn’t move, frozen.

“I want to touch you,” you continued. There was that pull again, that need, which Meg felt translated into Sam’s body, but also it was tugging at her, her real self.

“It’s okay,” you said, voice now almost a whisper. “Just let me touch you.”

It was dumb, Meg knew. What she wanted to do was the kind of stupidity she had always considered herself to be above. But she couldn’t resist. It was like you were putting her under your spell, commanding her.

She grabbed the cleaver, raised it. You flinched for a moment, but then you held still when she brought it down on the table above you, cutting the rope that was holding you. It dropped to the ground and you sat up, at the same time wringing your hands to get the rest of the rope off you. It dropped away too and then you swung your legs over the side of the table.

You reached for her then, grabbing Sam by the biceps, pulled her in. Now it was her turn to flinch, but you quieted her.

“Ssh,” you said and then you were pulling her in, pulling her to where she was standing between your legs. You looked up at her, your hand going to her face and you ran gentle fingers along her. Then your fingers were back in her hair again and you led her closer to you, the expression on your face almost needy all of a sudden.

You wanted her, Meg thought. Her. Not Sam’s body, but her.

Your lips met, and it felt like Meg was kissing you, the physical limitations of how that could work forgotten. She imagined you for a second, black smoke curling in your mouth while you ran your tongue through it, and she shivered in your hold.

“It’s okay,” you said, so quiet that Meg could have imagined it. You kissed her again, harder this time, more demanding, and this time Meg knew that the sound that left you was a moan, could feel it travel through her, into her mouth and down into where she sat inside Sam.

She was mad with lust, she realized, and she wasn’t sure if there was anyone in the world who could satisfy that lust but you.

The front door burst open with a bang and you flinched back, both of you looking in the direction it had come from. From the way the house was built, you could see into the front hallway.

There, rain dropping off his hair, stood Dean Winchester. And in his hand, Meg saw, eyes widening, was the Colt.

She didn’t think Dean would shoot his brother. She would almost bet on it. So the threat of that wasn’t what made her decide to leave.

It was the look on your face. A look of relief. You had played her.

Meg thought about snapping your neck for a second. About feeling your skin under her fingers one last time.

With a grunt of disgust at herself, she realized she couldn’t.

So she raised her head, mouth ripped open. At the very last second, Meg flipped a switch. Then she smoked out of Sam and he dropped to the ground at your feet.

Meg came back into her previous meat suit, still sitting next to where she had tied up Sam. If Dean had found her in his search for his brother, he hadn’t harmed the body.

Meg put it on, but the comfort of its familiarity wasn’t enough to cover for the strange feeling inside her. Like heartburn or some sort of pinched nerve. You had really convinced her that you had wanted her instead of Sam.

She stretched her neck, but nothing could alleviate that feeling. She wondered if she should cry, if that would help. Meg had never cried in her entire life. No, that wasn’t true. As a human she had cried a lot. But never as a demon.

She stood up with a sigh, betrayal sitting heavy in her chest. It was a betrayal. To make her feel like that, only for it to be a lie.

And yet.

Sam had been slumbering inside her, but his eyes had seen what Meg had seen. Only at the last second had she tweaked his subconscious to forget. Sam wouldn’t know anything of what had transpired from the moment Meg had possessed him.

She wondered why she had done that. Sure, Sam would bend over backwards to find out what she had done to you, find a way to blame himself. But it would have been lovely torture to let him know what Meg had made him do to you, how you had allowed her to touch you.

Heaven and Hell loved playing hot potato with the younger Winchester and Sam’s body had been used in many a plot for power. Adding this one on top might have cracked him.

But, Meg realized, she didn’t want to share. Didn’t want him to know.

You had been hers, in those few moments, even if it had been a lie, and she didn’t like the idea that someone else could see, could watch.

Oh, the irony, she thought.

Meg ran her hand over her meat suit’s arm. She could almost still feel you there, as if your hand had burned into her real self.

She wondered if you could feel it too. If you still felt her smokiness run over your tongue.

There was a single roughed patch of skin from the rope on your wrist, but with the way Sam was dabbing at it you’d think it was a stab wound and you were bleeding out.

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” he said, for around the hundredth time.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said, for the hundred and twentieth time, running your free hand over his hair. Sam shook his head.

You studied his face. It wasn’t the first time Sam had been possessed, and even though he said he remembered nothing, you wondered it that was true. You prayed it was. Because you weren’t sure if you could hide the truth from him otherwise.

You cared about Sam, deeply. You might even love him. You loved his mind, his kindness, his soul. Adored his body. He made you feel good in a way that no one else had ever managed.

But when he had caged you in your living room, and then when he had picked you up upstairs, it had made you feel like you would die from the fire he set alight in you. Sam was gentle, sweet. Scared of his own strength. The way he had touched you had been different.

The truth was, in the back of your mind you had known something was wrong, different about him. You hadn’t expected demonic possession, but a quiet voice inside had told you that something was off. Your reasonable mind had wanted to sit him down, talk to him. Figure out what was going on.

But you hadn’t. Hadn’t stopped it. Because how Sam had touched you was how you had wanted him to touch you. That neediness. The desperation. Like you could stop the world from turning if only you got close enough to each other.

And so you hadn’t said anything. Had quieted that small voice, ignored it. For the sake of being touched like that.

You must have sighed, because Sam looked up at you. You forced a smile on your face, ran your fingers over his cheek. You could hear Dean cluttering around in the next room. You wished he would leave. Wished you could have Sam for yourself. Just for a little bit.

It would have been better to experience them up close, to travel to whatever land they came from, but you mother insisted you remain safe in the tower, especially on that day. You did not argue. Mother could be generous and gracious, but her moods were mercurial. You did not wish to suffer whatever punishment she saw fit for disobedience.

Your stomach interrupted your work. You took a break for lunch, which consisted of bread, jam, and the last of your dried meats. Mother would return in a week with more food. Until then you would have to be more careful how you rationed.

You cleaned, then returned to your work. You had made great progress, and you expected to be finished painting that evening. You pursed your lips in disappointment. You were running out of canvas. Your mother had promised to bring more with her next visit, but that left days with nothing to do, even assuming she kept her word. You had read every book in your possession a dozen times. You could polish the floors, you supposed. Clean the grout. You wondered what Josephine, the heroine of your favorite novel, would have done in your situation. A giggle bubbled at the thought of her of scrubbing pans or darning socks. Josephine’s mother never would have asked her to stay in the tower to begin with. Josephine was born to be an explorer, one who took risks and had adventurers. You simply read about them.

You had just moved on to the foreground of your painting when you heard a sound coming from outside the window. A groan, then the clang of metal lodging into the tower wall. It could not have been your mother, who would have announced herself, and who always expected you to heave her up the side of the tower yourself. Which meant the day you had always dreaded had come to pass. Your paintbrush clattered to the floor.

Someone had found you.

You looked around the tower for something, anything you could use as a weapon. A pan would have to do. Boots thumped against the stone floor. A stranger had climbed through the window. A stranger was in the tower. But they hadn’t noticed you yet. They were distracted by the scenery below, giving you one opportunity to knock them out.

One opportunity was enough. The stranger crumbled to the stone floor. You kicked them over onto their back, allowing you to see them properly.

A girl, maybe a few years older than you. Her ink black hair was cropped short, one side longer than the other. Your hand drifted to your own hair, which would have fallen the length of the tower to the ground if you tossed it out the window.

The girl, or perhaps woman, wore a shirt and waistcoat, but no jacket, and the sleeves of her shirt were rolled up high enough to reveal tattoos that crawled up her wrists, to the back of her muscle-corded forearms. Tattoos painted the side of her exposed neck. You imagined that the planes of flesh that were not revealed to you were similarly inked. Even her face was tattooed with the number six, though you could not ascertain the meaning.

It was a nice face, you supposed. You didn’t have much point of reference, it being the third you’d ever seen in person (the first two being your mother’s and your own). But you had seen sketches in books, and her strong shoulders and long eyelashes seemed superbly paintable.

Her eyelids began fluttering, and her head turned back this and that way. Her fingers twitched, reaching for something. A weapon, perhaps? Enough daydreaming – you needed to move quickly.

When Vi came to a strange figure loomed over her, more shadow than anything else.

Her head ached like it had been cleaved straight open. Had the palace guard found her? She moved to stand, and found her hands were bound behind her. The cord dug into her wrists as she yanked at the rope again, and again. She would certainly escape – she just needed the room to stop spinning first.

“Who are you?” you asked.

She could have asked the same. Instead of answering, she screwed her eyes shut and opened them again. The speckles of dim candlelight danced in her vision. Vi had been in worse spots, but not by much.

Three months planning the heist. A flawless entry. Would have been a flawless exit too, if it hadn’t been for that maid. But she’d escaped. She picked her cuffs, jumped out the moving carriage. Lost the guards, found an abandoned tower to hide in. At least, she thought it was abandoned. She scaled the side, swung one leg over the sill. Then the world went dark.

All that work, and for what?

“Who are you?” you asked again. “Why are you here?”

She took you in then. Not a palace guard, like she had assumed. Instead of a uniform, you wore a simple white nightgown. Cotton, cap sleeved, floor length. You must have been cold, with all the windows open, but you had a stubborn glint in your eye — and so much hair.

Long, impossible lengths of hair. They tumbled down your back and piled on the floor in heaps.  Someone could go lifetimes without growing hair that long.

Maybe you were magic. Or, more likely, she had a brain injury.

You grew frustrated with her silence. “Hey!” You grabbed her by the collar. Vi lunged as far forward as her bindings would allow, and you squeaked as you scurried back out of her reach. You tripped over your own skirt and tumbled to the floor. Vi’s head throbbed in retribution for the sudden movement, but her chest hummed with satisfaction.

You groped for the bag beside you – her bag – and pulled out a dagger. Fear wrapped its fingers around Vi’s throat. You held the knife out in front of you, pointed right at her. Light danced off its surface as your hands shook.

Shit. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m Vi. I was just looking for somewhere to stay the night, and this place looked empty.”

You frowned, eyes searching hers like maybe deception would be visible in them. The knife still pointed directly at her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

You didn’t answer, grip on the handle tight enough your knuckles were bloodless.

She offered a facsimile of a smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Who are you?” you asked again.

Vi dug her nails into her palm to keep her voice level. “I told you, my name is Vi.”

“But why do you have these?” You withdrew a second dagger, tossing it to the ground with a clang. The sound rattled through her skull. Before she could say anything, you removed a third object. Thunder cracked through her. “What’s this?” you asked.

Calling it a necklace would have been a disservice. Thick plates of gold heavily laden with deep red jewels. Rubies, or garnets maybe. It was gaudy as all hell, but Vi wasn’t planning on wearing it.

She jerked forward uselessly, all pretenses forgotten. “That’s mine.”

You pursed your lips. “What’s this on it?” Your thumb caressed the back of the pendant.

Her angle of viewing made it impossible for her to see what you were gesturing at, but she knew every centimeter of that necklace. “The royal crest,” she said.

Your eyes went wide. “You’re a princess?”

Vi laughed before she could stop herself.

Your expression hardened. “You’re a thief.”

“Well, the king and queen steal plenty from us, so it only seemed fair I get something back from the parasites. It’s a tough world out there, princess.”

The air crackled with discontent. You jutted your chin out. “I know.”

“Do you? When’s the last time you’ve been outside?” Just a guess, but a good one, it seemed like, because a shadow fell over your expression. You didn’t speak, instead readjusted your grip on the dagger’s handle. Vi had to laugh. “Shit, have you been outside?”

You didn’t answer.

“Never?”

Your expression twisted with embarrassment. “I know all about the outside world. Mother taught me. The people are vicious, and violent, and selfish.”

She couldn’t disagree with that. But something in your voice made her think you wanted her to. Maybe that was her out. “Not everybody.”

You scoffed, but she caught a whisper of interest in your eyes. “I suppose you’re meant to be the exception?”

“No,” she started, and your expression crumpled. “But you can be, if you let me go. Just untie me, give me back my things, and I’ll be on my way.”

You hesitated a moment, lowering the knife to your side. “Where will you go?”

“You won’t see me again, I promise.”

You looked almost… disappointed at that. “Will you go see the floating lights?”

The question bewildered her. “What?”

You huffed. “Wait here,” you said, like she had another option, and then disappeared somewhere behind her. The necklace disappeared with you. When you returned, you held a painting.

A beautiful painting, actually, of lanterns climbing up into the night sky. It was so lovingly rendered she half expected the lights to drift up off the page.

And she understood. The lantern festival was only a few days away, but she did not plan on attending. She had not since she was a child. “No, I’m not going to see the – the floating lights.”

A moment of despair. Then your face lit up, and she noticed, against her will, that you were actually rather pretty. “But you know where they are.” She frowned, but your smile only grew more resplendent.  “You could take me!”

Vi laughed at that, but it didn’t douse your newfound confidence. “Why would I do that?”

You stood taller then, shoulders back. “Because then I’ll let you go.”

“You’re going to let me go either way.”

You ignored the threat in her voice. “And I’ll give you back your necklace.”

That gave her pause. The room had stopped spinning, the ache at the back of her head had dulled. It would be easy enough to untie herself and to overpower you. Finding the necklace might be more difficult, but she knew she could make you talk. You were skittish and sheltered. She might not even need to lay a hand on you before you squealed. But something twisted in her stomach at the thought of taking it that far.

Maybe it would be better to just play along. You’d probably want to return to the safety of your tower before you made the edge of the clearing.

She sighed before answering. “Alright, fuck it, let’s go see these floating lights.”

You had expected her to say no. To cut her losses, abandon the necklace and go on her way. It must have been more valuable than you thought.

Because she said yes. So, you gathered some of your things, donned your sturdiest dress, and followed her out of the tower.

You loved everything about being outside. The mosquitos, the gravel cutting into your feet. Any sacrifice would have been worth being out. You had seen the forest a thousand times – a million, maybe, but always from above. Now, the trees towered over you, sheltering you from the worst of the rain. You had been transported to another world, one more beautiful and magical than you had ever dreamed. The air even smelled sweeter out here. You couldn’t believe Mother would keep all this from you.

Mother.

You faltered to a stop. Vi focused straight ahead. This was not the first time you had hesitated. You had insisted on turning back before you even made it through the hedge. And again, at the creek. And again, when you reached the trail. The first few times she had been sympathetic. It seemed her sympathy had worn off.

“Keep going,” she said.

You huffed, but took extra-large steps forward to make up for the distance between the two of you.

It would be alright. If all went well, Mother would never know. You would be home before her, and you would spend the rest of your life in the tower. You swallowed down the bitterness you felt at the thought. It would be different, then – you would have memories of the outside world to keep you company. Subjects for your paintings, context for the books you read.

Vi took a left at the next fork in the road.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Vi ignored the question.

“Are we going to stop soon?” You aimed to keep your tone casual, like you were just asking out of curiosity, and not impending exhaustion. This wonderous world was beautiful – and large. You had been walking for hours, and there seemed to be no sign of stopping. She turned back to look at you, and her gaze dropped to your bare feet.

“We can rest up there,” she said, pointing ahead. You bit back a smile. You were starting to understand Vi, and you knew being too effusive in your gratitude would leave her mumbling and groaning.

So instead, you murmured a simple thank you and followed her to the clearing. There you tossed your bag onto the ground and quickly joined it. A thought crossed your mind – you would need to launder your dress and bathe before Mother returned, to hide the evidence. No use worrying about that now. You let yourself roll back onto the grass – arms spread out like you could embrace the whole forest around you.

Vi stayed on her feet. She wore a frown, as she so often did. “We need to find you some shoes.”

You looked down at your bare toes. They looked filthy, and they ached like they never had before. Shoes would be nice.

“I know a place we might find some. There’s a market not far from here.”

A market? “Really? That sounds–”

“Try to temper your excitement, princess.” Vi’s tone admonished, but the side of her mouth quirked up.

You turned your focus instead on the forest floor beneath you, trying to memorize each detail, cataloguing them all for those lonely nights ahead. The grass, damp from the rain that had been misting on and off all evening, lay so plush and forgiving compared to the stone of the tower. And the color! Such a vibrant green. Emerald, even.

You would have to paint this scene. You would start by washing the canvas in these greens. Then some cerulean, for the sky, and marigold and burnt umber for the soon to be setting sun.

And then there was Vi. She would be your subject, fit to be the heroine of one of your novels. You could see flashes of it – her inky-black hair, streaked with fuchsia. The way her shirt tugged across the taut planes of her back.

Vi cleared her throat, and you looked up. The setting sun lit her from behind, so you couldn’t quite make out her features. You threw up a hand to shade your eyes.

In her outstretched palm sat a flower. A daisy. Something warmed in your chest. This would be the moment that you painted. In the painting, her face wouldn’t be shrouded in shadow. Instead, the slopes of her cheeks would be kissed by golden sunlight.

“Have you seen these before?” she asked.

You had seen flowers before. You used them to make paint, Mother brought them for you. But the slight hitch in her voice made you say, “No, I haven’t. Thank you, Vi, it’s beautiful.”

She tossed it in front of you, suddenly, like it had burned her. You plucked it up to inspect it closer, running one finger along its petals.

Vi cleared her throat again. Could she be falling ill? Your eyes flickered back up to hers. “We’ll leave soon, be ready,” she said.

You had to leave sooner than expected. The rain returned. Not a light mist, like before. It came down in sheets. Less than a minute and you were soaked through to your chemise.

“There’s going to be a storm. We need to find shelter,” Vi shouted over the pelting. You agreed.

She took your hands, guiding you to your feet. “I know a place near here.”

She took you to a worn-down cottage. The windows were shuttered, the roof overgrown with moss. A sign, heavily weathered, stood watch out front, sagging with age and aching to be relieved. You could just make out the word ‘orphanage’.

She walked past the sign without looking. “Come on, we need to get dry.”

You agreed with that. But when you reached for the handle, it was locked. “Should we find somewhere else?” you asked.

Instead of replying, Vi produced out a set of pins. Excitement crept up your spine. A lock pick, like the character Josephine carried. She knelt and fiddled with the lock. It clicked, and the door swung open.

A barren room stood before you. Others had clearly stopped here since the orphanage closed, and taken everything they could carry. Vi passed through the threshold without hesitation. You followed, eager to dry off.

When the door creaked shut behind you the room plunged into darkness, with only the slivers of light slipping through the slats on the windows to guide you. You could make out the rough shape of Vi, but nothing else. Silence fell between you like a plane of glass.

Eventually, you shattered it. “How did you know about this place?”

Vi scoffed. “How do you think?” Your cheeks went hot at the derision in her tone.

Fair enough. You fell back into silence. The rain battered the rooftop. Vi stretched out, cat-like, before lying supine on the wooden floor.

A bolt of lightning struck ground somewhere outside, lighting up the room for a heartbeat. You gasped, hands to your mouth before you could help it. Vi laughed, and you didn’t mind because it meant, for a minute, she was not thinking of whatever sour memories being in the cottage elicited.

You went to her, almost tripping over her leg. You could just make the silhouette of her out, flat on the floor. If she was as cold as you, she wasn’t showing it.

“I was an orphan too,” you said, finally.

Vi said nothing, but you could have sworn you saw her head turn slightly.

“My mother found me abandoned as a baby,” you said, wrapping a lock of hair around your thumb, then releasing it.

Vi did not hesitate. “Then she locked you up in a tower for twenty years. A beautiful story.”

“She didn’t – what’s your story then?”

She murmured something indistinct. The rain pounded against the roof, making it impossible to hear. You sunk down to your knees to be closer, floorboards creaking under your weight.

“What?” you asked.

She raised her mouth to your ear. “I said, maybe another time.”

Another time. It was better than nothing. “How much longer will the storm last?”

Vi laid her head back down on the floor. “How would I know?”

You offered a wry smile. “You seem to know everything.”

She laughed at that. “Hopefully soon, then we can get you to your lights.” You beamed at the thought. “And get me my necklace,” she added.

The darkness hid the way your expression fell.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and drew in your legs. The rain had soaked you through to the skin. You considered stripping down, but you would have rather frozen to death than do that in front of company. Vi propped herself up on one elbow. “You cold?”

You nodded.

She reached out blindly, finally catching your wrist. “Come here.”

You listened. You laid down next to her, ignoring the unforgiving floor beneath you. A blanket would have been nice, but as she wrapped her arms around you, you found it difficult to complain.

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” she whispered.

You weren’t sure what ideas those would be, but you kept that to yourself.

Eventually, the sound of rain lulled you to sleep.

Vi woke to the sound of birds chirping. They had returned in the storm’s wake. She untangled herself from you before nudging you conscious.

Your eyes fluttered for a moment as you processed where you were, and what had happened the day before. She waited for another round of panic and guilt to overtake you, but it didn’t. Good, she thought. She couldn’t take any more of that.

She stood, dusting off imagined dirt from her trousers. “Let’s go.” She resisted the urge to reach out a hand to help you to your feet.

Instead, you stumbled up on your own, still half asleep. “Go where?”

“To get you some shoes.”

The market was small. Hardly overwhelming. Maybe fifteen stalls spread out along the clearing. But you cowered like a cornered animal. Eyes darting from place to place, fingers twitching. She half expected you to dart back into the woods. Instead, you hovered near her, your hand ghosting over her elbow, not quite touching her.

She ignored you. The shoes would require most of her coin, and part of her bristled at the thought of the expense. It would be fine; she would make it back a hundred-fold when she sold the necklace. But to sell the necklace, she had to get it back from you. Which meant taking you to the lights. Which meant shoes.

The cobbler lit up when the two of you approached. Business must have been slow so far. You grabbed Vi, blunt nails digging into her bare forearm. She gingerly unlatched your hand from her arm, and instead interlaced your fingers with her own. So you wouldn’t bolt, she told herself.

You turned to Vi, eyes half bulging. She nudged you with her shoulder, encouraging you to speak.

A long pause. Then you blurted out, “I need shoes.”

Vi almost grimaced with embarrassment for you. But the cobbler remained undeterred. “Then you’re in the right place.” The woman, slightly gray at the temple, offered a warm smile and an open gesture at the wares before her.

The woman’s kindness flooded Vi with relief. It shouldn’t have mattered either way, a deal was a deal, but Vi found herself hoping that this trip went well for you. That you would find whatever you were looking for.

Vi patted you on the back, then shook her hand out like it stung. She had to stop touching you. “Come get me when you’re done.”

You squeaked with panic, but didn’t say anything. At least, not that Vi heard when walking away.

A few paces away from her a family erupted in peals of laughter. She remembered being part of a family like that, as much as she wished she could forget it.

Memory was strange. The open sky above showed no trace of yesterday’s storm. But it was still with her. Time had passed, had made the jagged edges smooth, but she felt the ache acutely enough to remind her to keep her distance from you. Losing one person, that could be chance. But losing everyone?

She was cursed. It was the only explanation.

Her stomach begged her to stop in front of a fruit stand. The vendor turned and broke into a grin at the sight of her. “Vi! Look at you, still kicking.” She accepted a free apple graciously. “People came through looking for you the earlier. Asked if I’d seen you. Said nothing, of course.”

Panic coursed through her. “When?” she asked, nails digging into the apple’s flesh.

He shrugged, casual. “Hour ago, maybe.”

She dropped the apple back in its cart and ignored the merchant’s sound of disapproval. “What did they look like?”

“Fancy-type guards, probably from the city.” He finally noticed the way her body had coiled up. “Relax, it was only two of ‘em.”

Which meant more were coming. “Shit.”

He said something else, but it didn’t register. She needed to get out of here. She had to find you, first.

Luckily, you were still where she had left you. She could only hope she still had some luck left over. “Vi!” You beamed when you saw her, the expression free and relaxed now. “I was just about to get you.”

She grabbed your wrist. “We need to go, now.”

Did she imagine those hoof-beats in the distance?

You frowned, but didn’t argue, and offered a parting wave to the cobbler.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” you asked.

Vi hesitated. “Remember what you said, about me being a thief?” You nodded. “You were right. And now there’s people looking for me.”

“For stealing?”

She grimaced. “And some other things.”

You did not ask any more questions. You could not, her brisk pace had left you panting. But she only sped up, not slowing even when you were well within the tree line again. “There’s a cave, up ahead. We’ll hide–“

Something whistled in the air. An arrow stuck itself in the tree trunk next to her.

“Halt!” A voice cried out. Fuck.

The guard reached for another arrow from his quiver. No time to think. A heartbeat passed and she stood over him, wrestling him to the ground.

He jostled her off him and into the dirt. He slid out a knife from its sheath, coughing. She snatched his wrist before he could use it. 

His thrashing almost knocked her hand loose. A knee landed in her stomach, knocking the air out of her. He wrenched his hand free and plunged the knife into her gut.

It was an agony like she had never experienced.

But she couldn’t stop. She knew as soon as she stopped, she was dead.

It had been a lucky hit on the guard’s part; he seemed mortified by his own success. He stumbled back on his hands, eyes wide, knife hilt forgotten.

Vi fought the weight dragging down her eyelids. She needed to stay awake. Before she knew it, her hands wrapped tight around his neck. He clawed at her arms; rivulets of blood bubbled to the surface and oozed down to her wrists. Then his fingers went slack. His arms fell to the dirt in a dull thud. She didn’t stop then, not until his face was ashen and gaze vacant. Satisfaction cut through the haze of adrenaline.

Then came the pain.

So, this was how it ended. Gutted like an animal. She couldn’t say she was surprised.

You had read there were 8 pints in the human body, and they were all oozing out of Vi. Bile crawled up your throat. But you would not be sick. Not now. Not when she needed you.

The color leeched from Vi’s cheeks fast.

“Vi?”

Her head lolled to the side. She was dying. You knew she was dying. You had to do it.

Mother would never know.

You gripped her hand with yours and squeezed once, tight. She returned the gesture weakly, her grip barely a pulse.

“You’re going to be okay,” you said.

Vi made no response, no indication she could even hear you. You needed to move quickly. You grabbed the hilt of the blade. Vi let out a broken sound, and you yanked your hand back reflexively. But you had to do this. You reached for it again, and this time she spoke.

“No – don’t–” she started. The words came out choked, barely gasps. You shushed her, free hand gathering a hank of your hair.

“It’ll be over in a moment,” you said. “I promise.”

Her eyes widened in horror. She shoved you away with strength she should not have had. She rolled over, another groan cutting out of her as she crawled away from you, probably tearing up her insides even more. You caught her easily, a hand wrapped around her calf holding her in place.

“Stop! I can help you, please.”

She struggled a moment longer, then rolled on to her back, finally defeated.

You grabbed the hilt of the knife again. Even touching it ripped a sound of anguish out of her. Better to move quick, then. You yanked it out in one swift movement.

Vi made an inhuman noise. Her whole body convulsed, legs kicking, heels digging into the dirt. The blood from the laceration rushed freely, running like creek water. For a moment, you let the panic overcome you. Just for a second, you wondered if this would work. You pressed your hair to the gash, feeling like a fool.

But then you sang, like you had a thousand times before. A song you knew so well you couldn’t even taste the individual words anymore, just the droning melody.

As you sang, your hair shone, even through the slick maroon now coating it like paint. The strands lit up, each one, like fine chains of gold. You pressed deeper into her torso and Vi’s eyes bulged. She knew your secret, now. But her breathing steadied as you sang, the color returned to her cheeks.

You had resented your gift your whole life. But just then, as you felt her flesh knit itself back together beneath your fingers, you couldn’t have been more grateful.

“How is this possible?” Vi’s voice came out a rasp, though her chapped lips had gone plump.

“Magic,” you said.

 “Magic,” she echoed, wonderstruck. Her hands patted her torso, over the blood-soaked gash in her clothes. Her fingers brushed over unblemished flesh, and she let out a sound of relief.

Exhaustion began to overtake you, the way it always did when you sang. You fought the fluttering of your lashes, and the new weight in your limbs.

Vi noticed. “Is something wrong?”

You shook your head. “Just tired.”

Vi turned back to the empty forest around you, and the body of the palace guard a few paces away. Your stomach heaved at the sight. Maybe now you would be sick. “I know a place we can rest,” she said. “Come on.”

The cave stood only a few minutes away, hidden by a gushing waterfall. You wondered how Vi knew of all these places. You knew better than to ask. She watched, hawkish, as you laid back against the stone floor.

 “This is why your mother locked you up, I suppose.” She gestured vaguely at your hair.

You frowned, sitting back up. You had expected more awe, more gratitude. “She guards me because she loves me.”

Vi clicked her tongue. “Lots of mothers love their children. They don’t usually lock them up in towers.”

“She had to. Or someone could steal me away.”

Vi pouted in faux sympathy. “And yet, someone did steal you away.”

You groped for a counterargument. “Well, I’m going back.”

You expected her to keep arguing. Instead, she said, “Turn around.”

Your eyebrows jumped. “What?”

“Turn around and sit. Your hair is going to get in the way. I’ll braid it.”

You didn’t move. “You know how?” Vi shrugged. “Would I offer if I didn’t?”

Always so mysterious. “I meant, how do you know how?” As expected, she deflected again. “Turn around, and I’ll tell you.”

This time you listened. She gathered your hair in one hand, and if she noticed the shorter piece at the nape of your neck, too thick to be natural breakage, she said nothing.

You were glad. That story you wanted to keep to yourself. Although maybe if you had told her how you had almost been stolen away as a baby, by bandits who coveted your hair and its life-giving power, she would understand why your mother guarded you so. She protected you.

And protected your power, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Vi’s whispered in the back of your mind. Since being cut, that strand of hair lost its magical abilities.

You had considered cutting it all away a thousand times, so that there would be no more reason for your mother to hide you. But she needed your magic to keep her alive, and she loved you, so you stayed. It was that simple.

You wondered, not for the first time, where your mother was. What she would think if she could see you. She would never forgive you for saving Vi, for revealing your secret. But you could not bring yourself to regret it, not as Vi sat behind you, healthy and whole.

“Done,” Vi said, letting the braid drop. You instantly missed the feeling of her hands in your hair, of her knuckles brushing against your spine.

You turned to face her, suddenly furious. “You said you would tell me where you learned to braid.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I forgot.”

“You forgot to tell me, or forgot where you learned it?”

She paused a moment, considering her options. “Both.”

This morning you would have taken that as an answer, but you had saved her life. That had earned you a story, at least. You told her as much.

So, she told you a story. Told you a story about a princess. One that had been stolen away when as a baby. She told you how every year, the king and queen launched a thousand lanterns on her birthday to help guide her home.

“The floating lights?” you asked.

She nodded.

You had wondered for so long what they had meant. For a moment you let the satisfaction of knowing wash over you. But your thirst for knowledge remained unquenched. “That doesn’t tell me how you learned to braid.”

Vi groaned. “You’re never going to give that up, huh?”

So, she told you about her sister, and her long, blue hair.

“As long as mine?” you asked.

“I don’t think anyone’s hair is as long as yours.”

She told you how her sister built little machines. How she loved to draw. Then, Vi stopped.

You let the silence hang a moment, before you asked, “Where is she now?”

Vi didn’t answer.

“Your sister,” you clarified, like you could have been talking about someone else.

“She’s gone,” she said. From the finality in her tone, the haunted look in her eyes, she could only mean one thing.

You were silent a moment, eyes wet.  You held out your hand. She took it, and you pulled her into you. She came easily, burying her face in your shoulder. She shook against you, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress. You wanted to say something, anything, that would comfort her, but you did not know what to say.

Instead of speaking, you pulled her in closer. She nestled her face into the crook of you neck and wrapped her arms tight around your waist. For an eternity you stayed there, interwoven; the silence only punctuated by the distant waterfall and the sound of breathing. When Vi pulled away her cheeks were wet.

You had never seen someone else cry before.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though you did not know what she was apologizing for. “I – I just…”

You shook your head. “It’s alright.” You swiped your thumb over her cheek, and she flinched away. She turned to rub the tears away herself.

“Fuck,” she said, and she let out a broken laugh, running her hands through her hair. “Let’s just rest for a minute. Get your strength back. Long day tomorrow.”

You laid down on the stone, back turned to her to give her some privacy. She sighed as she laid down beside you. One tattooed arm draped over your waist.

“It’s cold,” she offered as explanation.

You did not argue.

The magic had taken its toll on you. You slept the rest of the day, and through the night. Vi woke first the next morning. She crept to the waterfall, took off her shirt and waistcoat and ran them under the stream. The water ran pink, then clear. She wrung out the garments, and then laid them to dry on the rock. The tear would have to wait until she found a needle and thread. At least clean the garments would look more haggard than suspicious.

She turned back to you. Your dress would also need to be rinsed, but it seemed dark enough that it would not stain.

Her fingers ran over her stomach again. The area you healed remained unblemished. Even the scars that mottled the rest of her torso seemed faded. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. She should have died. But she was alive, thanks to you.

It had changed her. It should have left her hardened, but she felt… lighter. Maybe the magic had healed her on the inside, too. Or maybe it had been talking to you about what had happened to Powder. Talking to anyone. But especially you. A weight had been lifted.

She nudged you with her foot. You blinked awake, eyes foggy and then crystal clear as you turned away, hands covering your face.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, and she realized she was still undressed. She reached for her still drying shirt and pulled it over her head.

“I’m clothed, now. It’s safe.” She could not keep the amusement out of her voice, and when you looked back you still pointedly kept your eyes on her own.

“Today is the day,” you said. Your voice was level, but she could hear the excitement almost bursting through that layer of calm.

“Today’s the day,” she echoed. “Let’s get that blood off of you.”

When you removed you dress you kept your arms wrapped firmly around your front, even though your chemise and stays kept you well covered. That left it up to Vi to actually clean the garment.

“It’ll dry as we walk,” she promised, handing it back to you. Seeing your hair pulled away from your face was strange. Nice.

 You nodded and gestured for her to turn around so you could dress. She acquiesced.

“I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long. How long until we get to the beach?” you asked.

“Most of the day.” She threw a glance back at your over her shoulder. “We’ll be there in time for the lights, though, don’t worry.”

You ducked your chin down to hide your smile. Then your face fell. “What about the guards, will people be looking for you?”

She had forgotten about that, so wrapped up in the mysticism of it all. A stolen necklace seemed so mundane compared to magical hair. “Probably. We’ll be careful.”

“And is that what we’ve been doing so far, being careful?” you asked, mouth twisted with displeasure. She had to let out a bark of laughter.

“We’ll be more careful.”

It took most of the day, much of which passed in silence, but you finally reached the bay.

The rich blue water foamed white where it kissed the land. You shifted your weight, testing the craggy rock beneath you. That had been a surprise, you had imagined sand. There had been many surprises the past few days, not all of them good. You had watched a man die. Had almost watch Vi die. But there had been good things too. The cobbler. The daisy. Vi. You could never regret this.

You gazed out at the waves. You could almost picture the lights rising up above them, the way they would tonight.

“This is where we’ll watch?” you asked. You turned to look at Vi.

She nodded. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you echoed. And then it would all be over. But you didn’t want to think about that yet. You chose, instead, to think about the lights. About her. You would let yourself have today.

You crouched down, feeling lighter than you had ever been. Giddy. The tide lapped at your fingers, colder than you expected. A shiver ran down your spine, and you yanked your hand back.

“Let’s go.” Vi called from behind you. She was already turned away to leave.

“Go where?”

“To the city, we need to eat something, right?”

The city.

The market square you had visited the day before had been overwhelming, at first, but this? This was a different beast.

Everywhere you looked there were people. Even places you didn’t expect, like down dark alleyways or climbing up walls. And there was so much noise. Noise from shops and shop goers, carts and horses, noise from friends gossiping, vendors hawking.

Vi shot you a nervous look you pretended not to notice. She expected you to melt down again, in this wondrous city. You could get lost here. You could stay for days, years, a lifetime, and no one would ever find you.

That was a dangerous thought. After tonight, you would return home and put this all behind you. But it was nice, for a moment, to dream.

The two of you walked down the street. It was too loud to talk, so instead you would nudge and point when either of you saw something worth seeing. An ornate carriage wobbling down the cobblestone. An infant yawning. Dogs chasing each other down the street.

Eventually Vi tugged you to a stop and dragged you inside a shop.

It was quiet and dimly lit. You could still hear the din from without, but it was softer, muffled. You could hear yourself think, for better or for worse.

An older woman was seated behind a worn wooden counter, clearly distracted by the sheer length of your hair, which trailed well onto the floor even in its thick braid. Her own hair was pinned up neatly, like most of the people you had seen throughout the city. Heat warmed your cheeks as you wondered what they might be thinking of you. Finally, she asked, “Outside or inside?”

“Inside,” Vi answered.

The proprietress gestured behind herself to a small corner with a pair of rickety tables and a handful of chairs. Vi followed her silent instruction, and you followed Vi, your braid dragging behind you, brushing your calves.

Your hand flew back to inspect her handwork by touch. The braid was still secure. You allowed the memory of her, her legs pressed into her back, her hands tangled in your hair, to wash over you. The way you had slept the past two nights, her arms wrapped around you.

Vi cleared her throat. She sat, looking up at you, puzzled. Likely wondering why you were not seated as well. You mumbled an apology and pulled out a chair.

Sketches papered the wall beside you. They lacked technical skill, but the artist was prolific. One was especially charming, a family standing in front of a hearth. Maybe it had been drawn by the owner’s child.

“It’s good, right?” Vi asked, looking at the same drawing as you.

You shot her an incredulous look.

She laughed, and you would have bottled the sound if you could. “Go easy. The kid who made it was probably ten.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should see what I was painting when I was ten.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t actually…” Vi shrugged again, picking at the edge of the table, but you relented despite her nonchalance. “Okay, fine. When you take me back, I’ll show you.”

“They better be good.” Vi sounded distracted, eyes focused on the menu behind you. You were stuck on your promise. When you take me back. A frown tugged at your lips, but you fought it off. You were being ridiculous. Of course you were going back. You had to; Mother needed you.

Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Now you would spend the rest of your life alone, knowing Vi was out there. Would she even think of you?

Night fell too fast. Vi led you back to the beach, as candles slowly lit up the city. The candlelight only did so much, and you almost tripped on loose twice cobblestone, but Vi caught you in her arms both times, making it difficult to complain. The streets around you remained vibrant and bustling silhouetted by warm, low flame.

It felt like the whole city was vibrating in anticipation.

When you, and presumably the shopkeeper, were not looking, Vi had procured you a lantern. She revealed it to you on the beach, and you bit back a smile. You sank down by the ocean’s edge, and she followed.

The water was tame now, reflecting the brilliance of the stars above. But the stars’ shine was nothing compared to the radiance that was to come.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” you whispered, scared to break the silence.

“Me neither. I thought you were going to turn back miles ago.” You turned to her, ready to bite back, but she was smiling, eyes soft. Something about the look in her eye made you turn away again, suddenly fascinated by the paper lantern in your hands.

“Do you have a match?” you asked, still refusing to look at her. She handed one over.

“What are you going to wish for?” Vi asked.

You looked at her, puzzled.

“When you light the lantern, what are you wishing for? You have to wish for something.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Something dawned on you. “Oh no, that means you need a lantern too!”

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Really.”

Your face burned at the endearment. You held out your lantern, finally brave enough to face her. “We could share?” you offered, head cocked to the side. You expected her to scoff, to make some comment about how she was too old for this. But she smiled again, that smile that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah, alright.”

You spotted the first lantern, climbing up into the sky. Alone, it looked almost like a lost lightening bug. But soon, it was followed by dozens of others.

“Now,” Vi whispered.

You struck the match, closed your eyes, and made your wish. You ignored the pang of guilt that followed.

You opened your eyes, and waited for Vi to do the same, before lighting the lantern and letting it float up into the air. You trailed it as climbed higher and higher, eventually joining its family up hundreds of feet overhead. Fingers brushed yours, once. Maybe an accident.

Or maybe not. You reached out and took Vi’s hand, and she let out a sharp breath beside you. But her fingers intertwined with yours, and she squeezed, once. Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Finally, it seemed that the lights had finished dancing.

You turned to face Vi, who was already looking at you. “What did you wish for?”

 She turned away, but her hand squeezed yours tighter. “You wouldn’t like it.”

You laid your free hand on her forearm. “How can you know that before you tell me?”

She scoffed. “Trust me, I know.” She looked at you then, and the expression on her face was familiar. You had seen it in the vanity mirror every day for years, imagining the world that existed just outside your windowsill. It was longing. She had wished for the same thing you had. More time.

“I can’t, Vi. I have to go back.”

 “I couldn’t agree more,” called out a voice from the darkness.

“So this is who stole my flower?” The woman eyed Vi, unimpressed. “Come, child.”

You had dropped Vi’s hand as soon as you had heard the woman’s voice, and at those words you scurried away from her. You looked back, once, regret plain on your face. Regret for what, Vi did not know.

Your mother looked nothing like you, and nothing like what you had described. Her hair was streaked with gray, face thin and lined. Without your magic, she was fading, and quick.

Vi could not hear what you were saying, but she saw your head lower in contrition. And she certainly heard the crack when your mother struck you.

She could not stop herself. “Hey!” she called out. Before she could take a step forward, her whole body froze.

Someone else had slipped into her skin. Her hands and legs moved of their own volition. Her body tremored with her fruitless attempts to regain control. She sank to her knees. Vi thrashed anyway. She had never run from an unwinnable fight.

Your mother’s face contorted with concentration and contempt. Her mottled hand stretched out before her. “You cannot stop interfering, can you?”

“Mother, leave her. Let’s go.” You took a step back, as if to head into the forest, but the witch did not move. Vi knew what to expect next.

Her throat closed in on itself. She clawed at her neck, but there was no relief.

“She knows too much,” the witch hissed.

“Mother – No! She won’t say anything, I promise!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Silence, child. How else will you learn?” Your mother’s face twisted into a sneer.

“Please, no, I learned my lesson. I’ll never leave the tower again, just don’t do this!” You shoved her outstretched arm, giving Vi a moment to breathe.

Then you were flung back onto the rock. The edges of Vi’s vision went black. Darkness circled in closer, and closer, and closer, until all she could make out was that wicked grin on your mother’s face.

For the second time in as many days, Vi knew she was going to die.

She wished she could turn her head, so you would be the last person she saw. She wished she could close her eyes, so the witch would not be.

Then, that wicked grin evaporated. Air flooded back into Vi’s lungs, all at once. She crumpled into the dirt. Her chest burned, and her head ached, but she was alive. She looked up and saw you holding a severed braid.

Your mother roared in agony. Lines cut into her face and hands. Her hair turned grey, then white, then fell off her scalp in clumps. She reached for you, but melted to the floor before she could even take a step. Vi felt for her knife, but before she could finish the job, the witch was nothing but dust.

A wail cut through the silence.

You fell to your knees and crawled to the witch’s side. Vi pulled you away from her and into her arms.

“It’s okay. You saved me,” she whispered into your temple. You shook your head furiously.

When your knees gave out Vi followed you to the ground. You wrenched out of her hold and crawled forward, hands groping at the remains. This time Vi stayed back. A sob tore out of you. You clutched at your mother’s dress, cradling it in your arms. You rocked back and forth, fingers sifting through the sand, body wracked with tears. Then your fingers caught on something. A necklace. Surprise cut through grief. You held it up to your face, letting Vi catch a look.

“What’s that?” she asked.

You shook your head. You didn’t know. As you stared, your breathing slowed, and the sobbing subsided.

Before she could ask to get a closer look, Vi caught the sound of hoof beats in the distance. At least five horses, headed to the beach. All the noise must have attracted them.

“Who goes there!” a voice called out from the woods.

Vi swore. “Let’s go,” she whispered, and you looked at her with wide wet eyes.

“What?” you said back, too loud.

“We need to leave, now.”

You lip wobbled, hands rooted in the pile of ash that had been your mother. “I can’t leave her like this.”

“You’re not going to have a choice if they find us–”

It was too late. A group of guards galloped onto the beach.

“What’s all this then?” The first guard, the leader, gestured for the rest to stop with a closed fist. “Our lucky day?”

He brandished a sheet of paper. A wanted poster. Her wanted poster.

“Grab her,” the captain ordered.

Vi weighed her options. She could run, but they would catch her. And what about you? Would they assume you had been her conspirator and lock you up in her place? She would have to give herself up and hope she could escape the way she had before.

But you spoke before she could. “Wait!”

The guards hesitated a moment. The authority in your voice even shocked Vi. She looked at you expectantly, and the guards mirrored her expression.

“I pardon her,” you said.

The guards roared with laughter. Vi’s face heated with embarrassment. You stood there, dress covered in dirt, face coated in tears, unflinching.

“You pardon her?” one of the guards guffawed. “You pardon her? And how exactly are you going to do that?”

You dropped the open your palm, dangling the small pendant you had retrieved from your mother’s ashes. The royal crest. “Because I’m the lost princess.”

The laughter died.

Vi took the opportunity to cut in. “It’s true. I found-”

“Silence.” The head guard turned to his compatriots, who were all murmuring to each other.

You were not the first to claim to be lost royalty. But you shared a striking resemblance with the royal family. And you had that necklace… Vi could just make out what they were all whispering – could it be true?

The captain spoke again. “I said silence.” A hush fell over the guards. “Take them both. We’ll do what we always do with lost princesses, present them to the queen.”

You didn’t know what had overcome you. Why you had said what you had, or how you had known it would work. A question remained: was it the truth?

Vi had been silent since the arrest. You snuck a glance at her, sat across from you, fiddling with something in her hands. You stood to look out the back bars of the cell again. Your hands were unbound, some proof they believed your story – or believed it enough not to risk leaving cuff marks on your wrists. But you were still locked up.

“That was quite the move back there,” Vi said, still focused on her hands.

“I had to do something.”

“How long have you known?” So, your bravado had convinced her, at least.

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I still don’t. I just guessed. I guess, I wondered since I saw the crest. The first time, in the tower.”

“And you were still going to go back with her?”

“She’s the only family I have. Had.” The shock of it all was still settling in. You didn’t know if it would ever really. She had been far from perfect, but she had raised you. And in return you—

Vi interrupted your thoughts. “If this works out, sounds like you’ll have a new family.”

“I suppose. A family of – what did you call them? Leeches?”

Vi grinned. Something made a clicking noise. She shook out her wrists, and the cuffs fell to the floor with a clang. “Something like that. You’re not half bad, though.”

Your jaw hung slack. “How did you do that?”

“A lot of practice.” She stood up and extended a hand to shake. You took it, dazed. “This is it, I guess. Good knowing you, princess.”

“The door is locked too, from the outside,” you protested.

“I have a plan for that,” she said with a wink. She walked past you with a pat on the shoulder.

“Wait – just wait,” you said. She turned back to you. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. You changed my life.” She stiffened, taken aback by your sincerity.  “And the necklace… its hidden under the fourth floorboard from the stairs.”

She let out a sound, half-laugh half-sigh. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”

Something inside you panged. You offered a wet smile. “That’s hard to believe.”

Vi looked at you a moment. She reached out, like she was about to stroke your hair or your cheek, then thought better of it. Her hand dropped to her side. Instead, she spoke. “Come with me.”

The carriage hit another rock, jolting you. “What?”

“It’ll be fun. Not as fun as lounging around in a palace, maybe, but it would be an adventure, and–”

You didn’t need to hear more. “Yes.”

“And—Yes?”

You nodded, and her answering smile was resplendent. “Okay. We should get out of here, then.” She took your hand to guide you to your feet.

The carriage rolled over yet another rock or root, and you tumbled into each other. You laughed, a bit too loud, and she pressed a finger to your lips, smiling herself. You were close enough that you could feel her breathing against your mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, and so, so inviting. It would have been easy to just lean in. To seal the pact with a kiss, like in one of your novels. 

Your eyes flickered back to hers. There was something in them you imagined were mirrored in your own. In a moment of courage, you let your eyes flutter shut and closed the distance.

It was barely a kiss, more a brush of the lips, but your face burned hot and your heart hammered away in your chest.

“What was that?” Vi asked, but she looked pleased.

“I don’t know.” Your stomach rioted against you. You shouldn’t have done that.

Then she leaned in again. This was a proper kiss. One that was long enough that she could take you in her arms and hold you flush against her. She was gentle, much gentler than you had imagined – and you could confess to yourself now that you had imagined it.

When she pulled away, finally, you were left breathless.

“You okay?” she asked, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as she searched your gaze. You nodded and took a step back to get your bearings. The cart lurched again, and you remembered, suddenly and violently, where you were. A glance through the barred window revealed you were in the woods still but would likely enter the city soon.

You turned back to Vi. “What are you going to do about the door?”

She grinned. “Just sit back and watch.”

❆ Kate’s day to day life changed less than she thought it would since deciding on giving shelter to stray werewolf. She had only lied to a handful of acquaintances about the unmistakable dog smell that clung to her when they got just a bit too close. Her explanation being that she had gotten a working dog to guard her home. Her local vet was excited to receive an exotic patient, Kate had to falsify papers of your DNA analysis to read that you were a rescued wolf dog. Kate also now had a very close relationship with her local butcher. She did feel better about giving her local economy a boost through the family business and local farm.

Despite being human you had the pent up energy of a canine. You hated the dog park so Kate took you to trails and open fields instead to let you run around. Your wolf form was quite intimidating to the public eye, Kate helped you pick you your leash and collar set. Both purple, accompanied by a muzzle strap. It didn’t actually do anything restrictive, just like the leash it was only for public appearances since Kate wasn’t worried about your behavior. She also made sure you always had a matching bow, and booties when you walked on pavement or establishments.

Along the months that passed, she got to see your true colors. Your patterns and habits. You liked to window watch like any dog does, happily pointing out various types of wildlife and which ones you found the best prey. She learned your favorite color and your favorite texture of fabric, opting to find blankets and large dog beds that you would like best. You did most of Kate’s house chores which took time for her to adjust to. She later found out that you scented a lot of her clothing as you folded them.

Kate was raised as a hunter to believe that werewolves were all the same monsters that hunted and preyed on innocent humans they got isolated enough to grab. That just wasn’t the case.

Through you she learned the real functions of a pack, and how it’s the head alpha’s decision on what they choose to do and hunt. There were larger established packs that were routed into a town for generations; and there were also more smaller packs that were nomadic, hunting game as they moved, even often crossing country boarders to avoid hunters. The same reason you had fled yours. You were a pack that stayed local to a rural area, and never hunted humans. One day a lone alpha sought out your already established pack to challenge your own alpha. You were barely eighteen when you decided to go rogue on your own. You were never ostracized from your pack like most, you left because you were unable to stomach the horrors that the rest of the pack adopted as normal.

You saw Kate as your new pack, after she had saved you in the woods and gave you a safe place to heal it didn’t take much more for you to trust her. When she had displayed so much care and adapted her life to your needs that you didn’t think twice before considering her part of your lack,

You started to catalog whatever you could offer on the different creatures that posed threats. You wanted her to have the best chance to come home after each job. She had to be careful which ones she brought you out on, afraid that if another hunter came across you with her they wouldn’t hesitate to feed you a silver bullet. While she went off on solo jobs, you promised to stay inside, curtains drawn and keep your guard dog illusion.

After saving her in Maine and living with you as you healed, the weeks together blended to months before she couldn’t ignore the pull to you. Despite everything that she had been taught, Kate began to grow aware of your courting behaviors and did nothing to correct them. Instead she began to reciprocate them as best as she could and made your relationship official.

You like to scent her things, even if Kate didn’t have the nose to smell exactly what you were doing. Her last job she went on she had found your panties folded up in her own luggage. Intentionally done so to ensure that Kate smelled like you and to ward off opposing suitors.

As daylight savings approached, your behavior escalated. You usually slept in your wolf form, curled at the base of Kate’s bed, but now in you’ve been in human form, huddled close to her. You touched her more, asked to wash her hair in the shower, combed her hair whenever you could, organized her closet, and begged her not to go anywhere that wasn’t dog friendly.

Finally Kate had enough curiosity to voice the questions she had been thinking. You were propped on her lap, arms curled around her shoulders to comb her hair. You diligently fingered through every small knot in her hair you found, wearing just a pair of panties and a tank top after declaring the room too warm.

“Hey, you alright?” She asked you carefully.

“Hm?” You hummed absentmindedly, still occupied with grooming Kate.

“Is this… a wolf thing?

Your hands stalled at the question, fingers curled around her dark strands.

“And if this is…?” You carefully answered. You felt Kate’s body tremble with a laugh.

“I’m only curious, babe, I don’t mean to push.” Kate added on with a gentle laugh.

“It doesn’t… weird you out?”

“No, I’d just like to know what’s going on. If something is bothering you, I want to help you feel better.”

Your thoughts churned to a halt, head tipping to better smell Kate’s scent. You had to physically hold yourself still in her lap. Of course, you didn’t expect Kate to know exactly what your behavior meant, she was human. Her kind offer to ask you what was wrong had been perverted into an act of courtship. She wanted to ease your discomfort, but you believed she wasn’t meaning the way your body was reacting for. You still feared her possible rejection.

“You can just let me do this.” You said.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Your hands resumed their task of running through her hair, this time starting at the base of her neck. Your nails scratched against her nape eliciting a groan from Kate as she shifted in her seat, allowing you to start your alleged necessary detangling.

After a few passes your hands stalled again as her scent started to shift, you took a cautious but deep breath of her body’s pheromones. You felt your entire expanse of abdominal core muscles tighten as you fixed yourself to stay focused. You felt Kate laugh beneath you again, both hands coming up to rest on your thighs. The action alone had your brain firing off a mile a minute as your heartbeat loudly thumped against your ribs.

“You’re really not going to explain any of this?”

You stayed quiet as you physically held yourself back from bucking up into her hands. Her palms were warm against your already seated skin, you were embarrassed by the thought she may have noticed. It would be foolish of her to think that she wouldn’t have any knowledge of werewolf mating cycles in her profession.

“Kate Bishop, are you playing dumb with me?” You accused.

“I’m playing, respecting my girlfriend’s boundaries.”

It was your turn to laugh now.

“You know what happens this time of year, don’t you?” You asked vaguely.

“I know of what happens. Never really seen it first hand, you know.”

“Then why are you making me say it?” Her light eyes squinted at your question. . “Just please let me be clingy.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be clingy. I want to know that you feel fine.”

“I don’t!” You let slip out of frustration.

“What do you need?” Kate asked.

Her words stirred that feeling in your gut that you had been pushing down. Your hips twitched forward as new impure thoughts of Kate filled your imagination. The hands that gripped your thighs tightened as if to remind you of their location.

You needed a lot of things. You needed Kate to stop teasing you. You needed both of you free from your clothing. You needed whatever foreign smell of her hunter friend that was still lingering on Kate, despite her shower and your scenting, to go away. You needed her to fuck you.

“Nothing?” She teasingly asked, watching as your eyes glossed over. You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Stop that.” You whined playfully.

Despite it being natural for you, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassment gnaw at your thoughts. Kate was human and had only had human partners prior to you. You also felt the anxiety that you could potentially cause her physical harm if you got too out of hand. Not that Kate wasn’t capable of handling herself, but you would never forgive yourself if something like that happened.

Your lip wobbled in frustration. You had thought you would have figured out what to do in this situation at this stage in your relationship. Instead you were about to start crying like a baby.

Your fingers tightened their hold on her strands, intentionally pulling on hair. Kate groaned softly, knowing she didn’t need much more to get you to cave into your needs.

“Baby, I can’t help you if you can’t tell me what’s going on.”

Kate heard you curse under your breath, back arching as you tried to find comfort in a position. Kate’s hands slid up your thighs and around your grab at your ass, working to roll your hips for you. Despite nothing coming in contact with what you truly needed, you couldn’t help the moan that slipped out.

“Kate.” You whimpered out.

She hummed in response, hands gliding up and down your back gently. Your overly sensitive skin twitched under her touch, heat beginning to bloom everywhere.

You felt your instincts begin to work up another gear. You heard the thud of her own heartbeat, nothing close to the speed of your own but still faster than her normal.

“I’ll wait however long you want to talk about it.”

The idea of her being so nice and patient with you despite how she was predisposition to monsters was like a punch to the gut. She deserved your attention just as much as you were craving hers.

Hands still wrapped up in her hair, you freed yourself as best you could to wrap your arms around her torso. Kate groaned as you tugged on her hair again. She heard your muffled voice feeling it vibrating against the skin of her neck.

“I didn’t understand that.”

“I’m horny!” You rushed out quickly, voice still echoing off Kate’s neck. “I get lost in my head. I don’t want to hurt you on accident… It’s weird.”

Kate made a coo.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” She laughed. “I’m offering my help. Whatever you need, don’t be embarrassed or scared.” You finally sat back, looking at her for the first time. Her eyes were genuine, pupils dilating as her gaze stayed fixed on you.

“You’re sure?” You asked her. She nodded.

“Do whatever mating rituals you need to do.”

“It’s sounds embarrassing when you say it like that.” Your hands traveled to cup at her face now brushing the pads of your fingers across her soft skin.

“But very sweet of you.” You added on watching a blush creep up her neck.

“Sweet enough for you to quit being so stubborn?”

“I think so.” You hummed, deciding to focus on the flicker of desire in your gut.

You eagerly began pulling Kate free from her hoodie. Unlike yourself, the winter chill in the air had more of an effect on her, prompting her to layer up. Goosebumps bloomed on her newly exposed skin. She allowed you to explore, not like it was something completely new to you, but you were taking your time. Letting you continue scenting her in places she couldn’t see the importance of.

Kate felt particularly mortified when you nosed at her armpit, but made sure to show no recoil. She didn’t want you to get the wrong idea and think that she was rejecting your advances. She knew you would never do something to make her uncomfortable. You clearly found nothing strange in your own natural behavior; so why should she?

Your nose traveled to her chest, still bound by her dark purple sports bra. You paused for a moment of eye contact to be sure she wasn’t going to back down. You wasted no time peeling it off of her, nosing at the warm skin of her breast. One of her hands left your thigh curl around the back of your neck, thumb passing over the area that made you always turn to puddy in her hands. Your movements stuttered mouth dropping open as you fought off a moan.

Your lips latched around her nipple, her other hand beginning to work your own top off. You parted from her chest to allow her to peel your tank top off, reattaching your mouth back to her chest.

You hummed happily from your position as your tongue laved over her, savoring the taste of her skin. A moan bubbled up out of Kate’s throat as you rolled your tongue over her peaked bud. You released her nipple with a gentle scrape of your teeth, breathing in the scent of musk that lingered between the valley of her breasts.

When you felt Kate’s nose nudge at your own neck just below your ear, your body reacted, body being racked with a harsh shudder. You moaned high in your throat hips grinding down against her lap in search of friction.

You felt the heat under your skin sink deeper as your mind leaned closer into your instincts. You felt her fingers at the your waistband of your panties eagerly slipping inside to feel you. As suspected you had ruined the material, arousal soaking it through. Your breathing stuttered against her shoulder jaw itching to playfully bite into her shoulder.

Her fingers dipped between your folds, starting to massage at your clit in slow nonsensical motions. You stuttered out a moan against her skin, tongue laving at the dip of her collar bone. Your hips ground down to meet her motions.

She felt a little guilty for using you to feed her subtle curiosity about werewolf anatomy and to see if what they were taught was correct. It seemed that you didn’t care, happily accepting any form of attention from her. Her fingers traveled further to your drooling hole, amazed with how wet you had become. Even more so when she immediately slipped two of her fingers inside. You clenched down on the intrusion, your thighs trying to close around her hips.

The hand around the back of your neck tightened its hold and immediately folded against her. She could feel the rapid beating of your heart through the contact of your skin. Your chest felt sweaty and hot against her own less heated skin. As an apology she rubbed her hand down your bare back. Her fingers had never stopped against your core, exploring the seeming never ending gush of liquid. You felt the pressure snap as your first orgasm arrived. Your fingers tightened their grip on her hair, tugging harder in your throws of pleasure.

She slowed her hand’s movement, letting you ride out or orgasm as you wished. When you officially caught your breath, enough to speak. You peeled your face from her skin.

“Kate.” You whined out her name. Begging for something else, anything beyond her soft touches, but she withdrew her hand instead.

“Stand up for me.” She asked you, ignoring your plea.

Kate was almost astonished on how obediently you were behaving. You immediately moved to stand on your shaky legs, now facing where she sat on the couch. Your eyes caught the wet stain you had caused on her sweats, looking to her with a face displaying eager anticipation for her next order.

Kate reached for your panties, pulling them down your legs and guiding you to step backwards out of the ruined fabric. Instead of seating you back onto her lap, she stood up as well. You didn’t back up, seeing no point in losing the closeness. She almost wanted to laugh at your behavior.

You were reaching for her when she grabbed at your wrists. Your eyebrows drooped in confusion, but she wordlessly guided you to her bedroom. Another space she had so willingly shared with you.

Kate had noticed in your wolf form you tend to be the most territorial of the bedroom. Growling and staring out the window if you heard or saw any wildlife outside. Not allowing certain smells she brought back from jobs into the bedroom. The first time she came back after a werewolf job you reacted terribly to the opposing smell. Kate started to stop at laundromats on her way home to protect your peace of mind.

You immediately settled onto the large mattress, face pressed into the spot you knew Kate turned to sleep.

“I bought something for you.” Kate’s hand reached for the side of your face, your eyes opening to look at her curiously.

She disappeared to the side of the room, coming back with a satin bag. She placed it before you, allowing you to pull open the cinch. She enjoyed the way your eyes lit up in surprise as you saw the contents of your gift. The phallic purple silicone stood out against the dark fabric. It wasn’t of usual mold, instead this one had a bulb at the base of the shaft. A knot. You blinked.

“Do you like it?” She broke the silence, hand petting over the top of your head. You nodded your head, curiously reaching into the bag and pull it free.

It was thicker than any of the dicks you had seen in Kate’s collection. Out of the corner of your eye you watched her pull her long hair into a ponytail. While you were distracted, she took the chance to disappear into her walk-in closet.

As if you had the comprehension of a newborn, your heart clenched in displeasure. You knew that she was in a closet, and her only choice was to return back into this room. You could still hear the steady thump of her heartbeat, echo of her breathing, but it felt like she had just left the face of the earth. The negative thoughts were accompanied by a new wave of need. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling slippery with your with arousal. You bit back an embarrassing needy moan, instead you tucked your head back into Kate’s scent on the quilt. You directed the sound into the fabric grip slipping from the silicone.

Your ears picked back up on her entering the room again. She reappeared without her sweats, in their place, was her harness. Kate tightening it against her boy shorts as she approached the bed.

“Still with me?” She asked.

From her perspective you almost didn’t seem conscious. Your skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, your breaths were taken with stuttering inhales. One hand gripping the quilt tightly.

“Yeah.” You breathed out, pushing your torso up off the bed with the one hand to see her properly.

You tried to be as convincing as you could be, but you were feeling like you had to concentrate on breathing.

She may not have the facility to comprehend your wolf activity on a biological level, but she could read behavior and she has had experience owning dogs before. That collected with her knowledge of your supernatural race left her fairly confident in how to care for her werewolf girlfriend.

Kate slipped it into the o-ring before moving back towards where she left you. Your eyes trailed from the strap, up Kate’s defined torso before landing on her face. You pushed yourself up onto your knees to match her height, eagerly racing to place your lips on hers. You kissed her sloppily, unashamedly licking at her lips. She allowed you to try and take her dominance, finding the display cute. Your elongated canines scrapped at her lip causing her to withdraw. Her hand moved from your neck to your parted lips. Thumb pushing at your tooth as a warning. You let out a heady moan, dropping down to sit on your hunches.

Your hand grabbed at the strap, bringing your lips to seal around the tip. She kept her eyes on you, hand at the back of your neck scratching at your skin the way you had previously reacted well to. You took the silicone deeper into your mouth, just until your lips touched the swell at its base. She held you there, taking in the view of you. Your pupils had blown wide, the color of your iris barely visible. Curling her hands into the hair at the nape of your neck, she pulled you back.

A trail of saliva connected your lips to the tip of the dick and messily clinging to your chin. Your locked gaze had your entire body reacting to her. She wasn’t afraid of you, nor was she repulsed by your physiology. Instead she was feeding into your instincts and filling gaps in your relationship that you didn’t think would happen. You wined loudly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the energy of her presence.

Kate answered your pleas, nudging you backwards. You folded instantly, ungraciously falling backwards onto the mattress. Kate could pick up the sheen on slick gathered on your inner thighs, watching the way your hips canted and wiggled against nothing. Back pressed to the quilt, you turned your head to the side baring your neck to Kate as a sign of submission. You didn’t expect her to pick up on it, but she started to recognize some sort of significance to the behavior.

Brushing her hands along your heated skin, she curiously slipped a hand back between your legs to feel how wet you had grown, allowing you to move your hips against her. She braced herself on her other hand, dipping down to kiss at your shoulder.

She thrusted two of her fingers up into your cunt, working them at a steady pace. Her kisses traced inwards, nipping the skin harder as she moved towards your neck. Thinking back to the spot on her own neck that you had focused on, Kate did her best to navigate where it may located be before she bit down.

Almost like she had hit some magic button, your body jolted, legs clamping down on Kate’s wrist before going limp with a loud moan. It was accompanied by a surge of new wetness coating her fingers between your legs.

“Did you just…”

You nodded airily, basking in the moment of reprieve. eagerly moving your hips against her .

“Please.” You began shamelessly pleading. “Kate, please. 's not enough.”

Your hole clenched around nothing as your blown out eyes looked up at her expectantly.

“Please.” You drew out the word with a breathy tone.

You began to feel your conscious ability to function slip from your control as pleasure took the front seat of your thoughts. Your free hand reached between your folds to push at her hand.

“I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me.” You exaggerated.

Kate rolled her eyes playfully watching you roll onto your stomach, raising yourself onto your knees. Kate got into place behind you, positioning the tip of the strap at your entrance. You keened eagerly as the tip slid in without any resistance. You clenched around the intrusion, feeling a new gush of arousal around the toy. Kate withdrew her hips when she had worked the dick over halfway up to the knot.

“Better?” She snarked.

You nodded, biting your lips shut and staring down at the bedding you had began to clutch. Sparks erupted behind your eyes as you felt her push back in, working it in deeper. She developed a rhythm, now thrusting so deep you could feel the kiss of the knot kiss against your lower lips. Every thrust punched out small sounds of pleasure from you, each one knocking you down closer to the quilt below you.

You bit down into the fabric as you felt your next orgasm build up. Eyes squeezing shut, you refocused on Kate’s scent filling the room as you let the pleasure take hold. She was growing more aroused, the idea that you were pleasing her sending you into your climax.

“I’m-!” You didn’t finish, your words cutting off into a loud uncontrolled moan.

She stayed inside of you, stilling under your clenched muscles. You recovered faster than she expected, sinking lower onto your knees for her. Kate resumed her thrusts, this time beginning to push the knot of the toy against your resisting drooling hole.

After so many thrusts, your back arched impossibly deeper, allowing the knot of the toy to slide through the final push of resistance. Kate watched the muscles of your back dance as your entire body jolted. Your knees bent, meet leaving the mattress as they gave the illusion of keeping Kate into place behind you.

Another orgasm exploding like lightning through your veins. One of Kate’s hands left her hold on your thighs to reach around to your swollen clit. She gave you a few gentle circles before lightly pinching it between her fingers. Your heady moans finally finding a louder volume from the sudden pain, crying against the crumpled bedding. The feeling catapulted you into your next orgasm before your last one had even settled. You felt your claws ripping into the fabric of the quilt where it was still gripped in between your fingers.

Your cunt clenched around the knot impossibly tighter, Kate stilled her hips, instead chasing your movements to prevent it from slipping out.

Kate had no idea how much she would actually love this. Maybe it was just a massive flare to her ego as a hunter, to have a creature that she was told was so dangerous bent over on her knees and at her mercy. You were pliant and willing to do anything to please Kate in return for anything she would give you. It made her trust in you grow tenfold, returning the trust you had shown her throughout the evening.

She gave your clit a slow rub with her fingers, feeling down where the you were tightly stretched against the toy. You released a choked sound, feeling the final waves of your orgasm roll through your nerves. Her hand continued to stimulate you slowly while you calmed down, lowering herself to kiss at your heated back.

You hummed softly in response to her kiss, the only indication that you were still with her mentally. She playfully ground her hips into you, now feeling herself had grown impossibly wet.

“Ah!” You vocalized.

“Too much?” Kate teased. Referring to your earlier statements of not enough.

You shook your head, turning your head to peek at her. You clenched around the silicone testing its give against your hole. Kate let it slip from free with an obscene slick sound. You crumpled to your side, allowing Kate to manhandle your fall, eyeing the gape between your glistening swollen folds.

Kate pulled your outward exposed leg up over her hip and with a sick curiosity she pushed the strap back in, watching you eagerly swallow the toy with almost no resistance this time. You moaned as she bottomed out again, allowing you a moment to breathe before capturing your lips in a kiss. You kissed her back greedily, chasing her as she withdrew with her hips, this time faster than she had before. She didn’t pull all the way out, instead thrusting back in. She worked you against a slow rhythm, speeding up her pace as your cunt loosed impossibly further against her dick.

You moaned high in your throat, hand reaching to try and grip onto where her wrist held your thighs open. She had pushed your leg up higher, allowing her more space to hold you against her.

Your final orgasm was more gentle than the rest, Kate helped you ride it out grinding her hips against your own. She sunk her strap as deep as she could get, making sure you could feel the full weight of her as she pressed against you.

You took in a deep breath and moaned lowly. You felt so full, satiated and stretched around the purple silicone. The weight of her pushing you down numbed your thoughts enough to not even notice when she withdrew from you. She was deliberate and slow, unsure if you be overly sensitive from her action.

She allowed you to catch your breath and recollect your thoughts. She found a soothing rhythm as she skimmed her hand up along the heated skin of your back and then down to the globes of your ass. You begin to stretch out your limbs into new angles, finally twisting to face her, but never did she pull her hand from touching you.

Strap now discarded, you had only one thing in your mind and it was clouding up all of your senses. You unceremoniously pulled Kate up over you, hooking your arms around her firm thighs. It was a brief reminder to Kate of your very inhuman strength, how easily you lifted her into place. She made a mental note to keep her wiggle to a minimum, less she get damaged by your nails. They had grown dark and elongated, more resembling a claw. Kate pretended she didn’t notice, clearly it was something out of your control.

You, nosed at the skin of her inner thigh, wasting no more time before immediately flattening your tongue against her dripping entrance. You hummed at the taste of her, something you had been smelling and fantasizing about all night. Kate was so kind to tend to your physical needs first, but you feared she may not have bargained for this much.

Finally moving to her neglected clit, you rolled your tongue against it slowly before pulling it between your lips. Kate moaned loudly, pulling a hand free from its place on the wall to grip at your hair. She found a rhythm working against your mouth.

Eagerly lapping at her taste you tightened your hold on her highs. You breathed in deep, cataloging her intimate scent while pushing your nose up against her clit. Kate jumped slightly at your actions, moaning out your name while grinding her hips down. She couldn’t squirm out of your hold if she tried to, your supernatural strength keeping her exactly where you wanted.

You hummed in response, vibrations adding to her building pleasure. Your tongue explored lower towards her drooling entrance, working with the rhythm of her hips. After working you for so long she was pent up, the coil of pleasure in her gut winding tight.

“Oh my god.” She breathed out.

It didn’t take long before the coil had snapped, Kate folded forward in pleasure bucking her cunt against your mouth. You held her firmly in place, claws dimpling against her muscled thighs. You drank down her release, still lost in the pleasure clouding your brain. You could feel her pulling, attempting to flee from your pleasurable assault. You were too tucked into your thoughts to notice, and your grip was tight.

After ignoring her calls of your name, Kate figured out that you wouldn’t release her from your hold. She braced herself for the second orgasm that she felt building fast. You took her clit into your mouth again and began to nurse.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Her orgasm hit her hard, feeling herself fall into the clutches of pleasure. When the overstimulation grew too much for her she reached back to your breast, tweaking your nipple harshly to break your primal focus. You released, fanning hot deep breaths against her.

Kate was finally able to lift off of you now, muscles of her thighs jumping in exertion. She was focused on the string of your combined fluids connected to your glistening lips to her. Your breathing was fast, chest heaving as you regained your oxygen supply.

“So how did I do?” Kate asked watching you roll over and stretch out your muscles.

“You want a performance review?” You laughed as she nodded.

Kate reached out for your ankle, feeling your pulse slowing down beneath her fingers before innocently moving her touch up your leg. You couldn’t fight the smile that inched onto your face. Your heart soared at the thought of her being concerned if she performed had well for you.

Kate knew female wolves were known to lash out at unwanted or unreceptive mates, both in and out of packs. She had a personal curiosity if werewolves were the same.

“So you would say I am adequate suitor?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Perfect.”

Still, she wasn’t proud.

Training under Ambessa had taught her that small victories meant nothing until you’ve conquered the crown.

Ambessa sighed heavily before adding, “knowing when you need help is also a part of your training.”

“I don’t need help,” Vi said, wiping her bleeding nose with the back of her hand.

Ambessa stopped walking. Vi did too.

For a second they both stayed quiet before Vi finally broke the silence and asked, “what?”

“You’re upset because you didn’t manage to take down Viremont’s soldiers.” Ambessa stated the obvious truth.

“Yes,” Vi agreed. “I am. They were literally right there and it would’ve been easy for me if—”

“But it wasn’t.” Ambessa cut in.

Vi went quiet, just listening now.

Ambessa continued, “and so you’ll try again. And again. And again, until you finally do manage.”

Vi didn’t say anything for a bit. Her head felt heavier now that the blood loss was settling in. She gritted her teeth, swallowing her pride before asking, “and if I don’t manage?”

Ambessa looked away. “Then you’ll train harder.” She paused for a good minute to let the heaviness of her words settle before she said, “but you’ll do fine, so you don’t need to think about any alternatives. Now go. Get yourself checked out.”

“I’d think you’re tryna get rid of me,” Vi said with narrowed eyes full of mischief and a weak chuckle.

Ambessa fought a smile herself— this girl had really grown on the Warlord— then said with a final breath, “go.”

As Vi laid sleeplessly on her bed that night, she thought about things. She thought about the royal family lineage. Was there anybody she could use to turn against the rest of the royals? She couldn’t find any loops. She groaned and buried her face in her arm— outside Noxus buzzed with energy that didn’t die even at the dead of the night. Vi wanted to be the one to crack this so badly, she was starting to feel a little embarrassed but nevertheless she knew how important this was to Ambessa.

With a sigh, she got up. Maybe a drink somewhere close by would be a good idea.

The tavern— that’s where she went. It was close by to the border which served as a sharp reminder that Noxus although was like her home now, she always needed to be on high guard. That was the reality of living in this world.

She told herself— just a drink or two.

Ambessa didn’t like the idea of her soldiers getting wasted under any circumstance at all. Handling your alcohol was a key trait of being in the army after all— a test of controlling greed.

She groaned as she pulled over a wooden chair, which creaked the moment she sat down. She leaned her side on the counter, wound throbbing. She knew alcohol would only slow her healing process… but she needed a drink badly to get her head off of the things that had already unfolded.

That’s when she saw you— sitting there like you belonged but the ring on your hand caught her attention— that was a royal sigil. Not just any royalty.

Viremont.

Vi’s eyes narrowed at the sight, she took the drink the bartender passed— downing it in one go, feeling the way it burnt her throat before she moved towards you.

Her hand was on the hilt of her blade under her coat.

She walked to you, “who are you and why are you here?”

You turned, but your gaze wasn’t vile. “Oh.” You simply uttered, voice soft, as if this was enough.

Vi stared with a look that clearly expected more than “oh”.

“I’ve heard of you,” you said conversationally, as if you weren’t in enemy territory, “lots of things about you, Violet. And General Medarda.”

“Good things I am supposing,” Vi said bitterly.

You paused, as if giving it a second thought, “mostly.”

Vi’s eyebrow twitched. You laughed— airy, soft and way too light-hearted for a Noxian tavern. She crossed her arms.

“Oh, I’m just teasing. All good things, I promise,” you smiled, “I came here hoping to meet someone who… could benefit from what I have to provide.”

“You’re joking.” Vi said with a face carved from steel that clearly would never share the same sense of humour, “what kind of benefit?”

“I don’t trust you enough to tell you,” you leaned against the bar, “but I will if you show me you really are the Hound of Noxus.”

“You ask to be taken into the Estate.” Vi stated.

“Exactly so,” your eyes glinted mischievously.

“That… can be arranged,” Vi paused, “how do I know you mean well?”

“I suppose you’ll have to take your chances.” You said sweetly, “now come on, let’s get out of here before the smell sticks to me.”

Vi blinked at you as if you were a madwoman.

She walked anyway, holding an arm out, “after you.”

You walked out, shoes clicking against the strong wood before hitting asphalt.

You turned, “walk with me. We are not in Viremont.” Vi wordlessly stepped at your side and you both walked, footsteps coming into sync eventually, “I am the spare princess of Viremont.” You said before giving her your name, “you can choose to call me by my name or my title— I do not object.”

“You may assume Noxian soldiers to be merciless, but we certainly dignify those who bear a title worth respecting.”

“Aww, aren’t you a sweetheart?” You smiled easily, “I am quite accustomed to it though.”

Vi raised a brow, “how so, my Princess?”

“Oftentimes in Viremont, their Majesties forget all about the spare princess. I am respected because of my title and that alone— otherwise, I don’t hold power.”

“That must be hard,” Vi said quietly.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her, “after a few years of the same treatment, the hurt dies down and you get filled with the urge to seek vengeance.”

Vi didn’t say anything. The night air was cool to the skin, Vi could feel the shivers when you said “vengeance”, she knew that all too well. Too sore. Too close.

Too personal.

“We’re here.” She claimed, stopping in front of large double doors painted in a woody red color, golden lines bordering the wood.

You took a deep breath, “lead me inside,” you said to her, “I wish to speak to the General… and you.”

Vi didn’t refuse. She held a hand to the guards, “she is with me.”

They eyed the sigil, eyed you like you were some parasite. You didn’t flinch, but you did shift closer to Vi instinctively. You both ascended up a flight of stairs which had lavish red carpeting and you were led to what seemed like the meeting room.

“Call General Medarda.” Vi said to one of the guards.

He nodded and left. She gestured to you to enter the room with her, you followed her inside.

“How long have you been a soldier?” You asked, hands clasped in front of you.

“Long enough,” Vi answered in a clipped tone.

“I can see it must be strange— that someone like me wanted to speak to the Noxian soldiers amidst a developing war.” you said averting your gaze as if you were choosing your words very carefully.

“It is quite strange,” Vi agreed.

“I promise I come with good intentions,” you looked up when the door opened.

Ambessa stepped in. The aura of the room immediately changed, it felt heavier.

The General walked to the desk without a word, stopped behind it and finally looked at you.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me here, General. I, Princess of Kingdom Viremont, came with a proposal.”

“What kind of proposal?” Ambessa asked in a careful tone of voice.

“Something that is sure to benefit Noxus. Greatly.”

“I am listening.”

“Viremont plans their attack to be on every source of food and port to cause mass famine on all of Noxus,” you placed one of the darts on the main port of Noxus, “nothing is going to stop them.” You paused, “unless you do exactly as I say.”

“And why, pray tell, would their own royalty be here warning us Noxians about the incoming attack from Viremont itself?”

“I suppose you should consider how they treat their spare princess,” you said with a bitter laugh, “if I owed anything to the crown it is my tarnished childhood. Their Majesties do not see me as fit for the crown solely based on the fact I am younger.”

Ambessa looked finally— really looked. There was something in her golden eyes that told you she understood exactly how you felt.

“Were you promised to anyone?” Vi asked.

“Yes, when you’re royalty, especially when you’re a princess, you’re promised to someone twice your age before you’re born.”

Vi made a disgusted expression, “that’s awful.”

“It is. It was,” you said with a smile, “I don’t plan on being overshadowed much longer, which is what brings me here.”

“So you are proposing to leak confidential information regarding Viremont’s attack routes to help Noxus win over them,” Ambessa said slowly, “what do you want in return?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” A pause. “But, now that you do bring it up, immunity after the people realise who ran her mouth would be nice.”

“Consider it done,” Ambessa turned to the map, “what else can you provide?”

“I can bring back more concrete information but I cannot directly hand it to you,” you said simply, as if you’d been scheming for too long— which you have been— then said, “however it would be far easier to come exactly where I met your soldier.” You turned to Vi.

Vi stiffened. “I can pass the information.”

Ambessa turned to Vi as if silently calculating the risks and the trust factors, “very well. I entrust you, my Hound, to bring me back every grain of information the princess provides,” Ambessa said with a vague gesture of one hand, “and in return, you get your immunity when you step on our land— I will personally ensure that.”

“Thank you, General,” you said with a polite bow, “I fear it’s time I go back before anyone realises I am not there.”

“One more thing,” Ambessa stepped forward.

You looked over.

“If I find out you are endangering Noxus or my soldier—” she nodded to Vi, “through fake information, I will make sure every piece of flesh on your body gets ripped off your bone.”

---

That night you had returned back in a hurry, and Vi followed under the guise of making sure no Noxian attacked you. She stood right there as you crossed the border. Before leaving, you paused for a second, then turned and told her—

“You should really get your wounds looked at,” you nodded to her side.

Vi’s eyes widened. “How did you—?”

But you were already hopping away.

Vi smiled, despite herself, hand scratching the back of her neck. She watched your silhouette disappear within the night fog as she thought to herself, “spare princess, huh?”...

---

Since that day, it had been there. The subtle flirtatious looks exchanged. The giggles. The exaggerated kiss on your hand whenever you did show up at the Tavern. Vi was smitten. But she also did recognise this may be something Ambessa may forbid. The thought made her clench her teeth till her jaw hurt.

“Hey, what are you thinking?” You asked, voice smooth, legs crossed.

“Why don’t you move to Noxus with me already?” Vi suddenly asked, then caught herself right after the question was already out there, “sorry, I shouldn’t be—”

“No, it’s okay.” You put your hand on her thigh, “I get why you’re trying to rush me. It’s about General Medarda, isn’t it?”

“... Yes.” Vi paused. “It would be solid if we were officially together instead of having to hide it like this.”

You blinked at her, then with a tilt of your head you asked, “you haven’t told her yet?”

“I didn’t think we’d get so…”

You smiled.

“... So close.” Vi finished and looked at her drink, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything but I suppose I am still afraid as she is my mentor and I look up to her a lot.”

“I can see that,” you replied with warm eyes, “Violet.”

She looked up.

“If she doesn’t bless us, I still won’t leave you alone. Not until you tell me to.”

Vi stared at you, “promise me that.”

“I promise.” You leaned in, and so did she.

She whispered breathlessly, “kiss me, my princess.”

And you did. The kiss was desperate as if both of you had maintained too much restraint for the last few days, which wasn’t entirely false. Everything flashed within seconds.

Bodies worked before minds could catch up and you ended up in her bed quarters. You both kept kissing, your lips now sore from it. Vi nipped at your bottom lip and pulled it slightly before smirking with her scarred lips.

“You look like you’ve never been kissed this way before, Princess,” her voice was low, fingers dancing threateningly close to your crotch.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not in such a rush…” you mumbled.

Vi nodded. “I know, but you want this too, don’t you?” She held the side of your face.

You swallowed thickly, “yes, I need you. Please… please, give me all of you.”

Vi did. She was between your legs, one thigh pressing against your soaked panties through several of your skirts as her hands worked on your blouse. She unbuttoned it with patience that made you roll your eyes and join in with the fiddling fingers.

You both brushed fingers, you blushed harder and Vi only smirked wider like she’d been fantasizing about this exact moment every night.

She pulled all your clothes down at last, revealing your naked body to herself. “You’re a spectacle.”

“You should strip, too. It’s only fair,” you pointed out.

Vi nodded, “alright, amor. Try not to faint.”

She was cocky and soon you learnt she had every reason to be cocky. Her abs were sculpted from stone, nipples hardened by the cool air. Dark fiery pink hair spread over her mound and thinned to her belly button. Your breath hitched at the sight of her abs— rock-hard and solid.

Vi climbed onto the bed, grabbing your legs. “Do you trust me with this?” She asked before proceeding.

You nodded, “with my life.”

Vi started moving. She pressed herself against your wetness. You gasped and held the sheets as she started rubbing, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curled. Your eyes were hazy with pleasure as you stared at her, Vi had a big satisfied smirk on face but fuck, she looked so happy with herself.

“I have waited every night, just imagining how beautiful you’d look under me,” Vi whispered.

“So, you’re saying I’m your fantasy?” You felt your chest flutter.

“You are, oh you have no idea,” she groaned and reached down to squeeze your breasts, her thumbs rubbed over your pebbling nipples, “I dreamt every night that I would make you feel good. I would make you moan.”

You gulped, “then make me moan.”

Vi pulled back, her abs flexing. And she started moving.

Her hips rolled, soaked folds pushing against your own. Your pussy was throbbing for more already and Vi had barely touched you. She rubbed herself against you, her cunt leaking cream everywhere. She coated you with her cream before she reached down one hand and pulled the hood of your pussy back to reveal your pulsing clit.

“Look at that, baby. You need me so badly,” Vi smirked to herself.

Her words made your cheeks redden, “we have to be quiet…”

“Correction— you have to be quiet. Can you be that?”

You nodded, “I think I can handle myself just fine.”

Vi had a smug look, “okay, baby…”

Although you both lost yourselves during the act, it was an obviously heavy truth that filled the air anyway— one day or another you’d both have to come clean to Ambessa about this relationship. And whether she accepted or did not would impact the future.

Sometimes Vi can be a rough lover. She clamps a hand over your open mouth to muffle your squeals as she bites down on your shoulder, grunting into your ear. She folds you into the mattress some nights, the bed squeaks and groans as the headrest repeatedly thumps against the wall, her strap reaching places you can only dream of reaching with your fingers.

Some nights she spends what seems like hours nestled between your soft thighs, lapping you up, groaning at the sweet taste of your arousal. You fist at her hair as she sucks and licks at your sensitive clit, pushing you over the edge more times than you can count. She throws an arm over your abdomen to hold you down when you try to squirm out of her grasp. Daring to take away her meal.

It's on either of these days that you're so glad she's a master at aftercare. So willing to tend to your needs after leaving you shaking, seeing stars and blinking away tears of pleasure and/or overstimulation.

It's like a switch flips the moment she's done with you.

The softness in her eyes returns as she holds you like a precious gift. Never in her life would she ever dare actually hurting you. The very thought of it makes her sick. That's why she spends so much time soothing you and cherishing you as you come down from your high.

"Breathe, deep breaths, Angel." She softly coaxes you down from your umpteenth orgasm of the night. Her words like sweet honey in your ears, your eyes half open as you feel the muscles in your legs twitch and relax.

"You with me, Baby?" Vi whispers, a hand cupping your cheek, her thumb swiping away a stray tear that you must've shed from the overstimulation. You blink slowly a few times as your eyes focus on your lover leaning above you. Your lips curve into a lazy, sleepy smile at the sight of her serious gaze, her cheeks flushed in the low light of the bedroom.

"There she is." She murmurs, smiling as her thumb strokes over your soft, swollen lips. You reach your arms up, hooking them around her neck as you pull her closer.

"Did I hurt you at all? I didn’t push you too far, did I?" She looks you over, her worries somewhat eased by your blissed out smile.

"No, no.” You shake your head slightly. “Well, maybe a little. But fuck, that was great. I feel really good.” You chuckle softly, fingers snaking through her messy pink hair.

"Good. Stay here." She pecks your cheek, trailing small kisses down your body before rolling out of bed, putting on some boxers, a loose shirt and moving to the bathroom. You close your eyes and steady your breathing as you listen to the tap running in your connected bathroom.

Vi comes back in a moment later with a warm washcloth and a glass of water that she puts on your bedside table. You feel the bed dip slightly as she climbs back in, sitting between your legs. You jolt with a small gasp as the warm towel brushes over your oversensitive clit.

"I know, babe. I'm sorry." She coos sympathetically as she cleans up the mess between your thighs. You can feel yourself falling asleep under her soft touch.

After letting you fully catch your breath, she carefully lifts you up onto a sitting position, her hands softly snaking up and down your arms.

"Arms up." She whispers gently as she slips one of her big shirts over you. You take a sip of the water she brought you before lying back down with a thump on the soft pillows beneath your head.

Still not finished her routine, Vi crawls next to you and carefully moves your legs up and down, stretching the sore muscles that were previously folded and looped over her shoulders. You giggle as you watch her stretch her back, laughing at the pops coming from her spine and neck.

After all that, Vi crawls under the covers with you, laying on her side and pulling you into her. Your back snuggly fits into the curve of her chest as she nuzzles her nose into your hair, squeezing you tight and inhaling the divine smell of your shampoo.

"You sure you don't need anything?" You ask, remembering how much she’s done for you.

Her lips moved against yours automatically as if she’d rehearsed this exact scene in her head a couple times already. You smiled in the kiss.

“Drought, huh?”

“Needed to say something so you wouldn’t lock me out.” Ellie answered, her mouth still on yours.

You pushed her back by the shoulders, “aw, baby, you could just say you wanted to touch me.”

“That’s embarrassing,” Ellie murmured before her lips dragged down to leave marks on the skin of your neck. She moved slowly, sucking dark spots on the skin to leave hickeys in her wake. “You like it when I mark you, baby?”

“Mhmmm…” you tilted your head back, allowing her more skin to mark.

“Shit, you’re so pretty like this,” she cupped your jaw, pulling your face down to see you properly. The water clung to your lashes making Ellie let out a tiny moan under her breath. “You’re unfair.”

“How?” You laughed.

“By being so fucking pretty.”

Ellie dropped to her knees, her knees hitting the tiles with an audible this.

“Our downstairs neighbours will think we’re tapdancing in the bathroom.”

“Let them.” She leaned closer. “Soon they’ll know who’s getting head.”

Ellie parted your legs and licked your pussy first— bold big stripe over your vulva. Her fingers found your entrance, she rubbed your stickiness down to make sure you were lubed enough and comfortable before she gently pushed them inside. Your pussy stretched around her digits.

“Fuck… Ellie…” your hand reached down to grab her hair.

“Shhh, you’re doing fine, baby,” Ellie closed her eyes, tongue focusing on your clit as she gave it attention.

Her tongue worked slow circles around the nerves, teasing you. Ellie’s skillful fingers pumped inside, then curled at that exact spot, searching for that texture patch and— you gasped, she stroked your g-spot. Your thighs were shaking so badly you were afraid you’d lose balance.

“Fuck, fuck, there we go, baby.” Ellie encouraged. “Come on…”

“Ah— shit.” Your pussy clenched as Ellie worked her fingers faster.

The squelching sound mixed with the gentle pattering of the shower water on the floor of the bathroom. Your moans echoed. Your hips bucked and—

“Ellie!” You moaned her name as you came undone.

Ellie smirked up at you. “Taste so good, baby…” she whispered as she cleaned you with her tongue, ensuring that she managed to lick every drip of your cum away.

The Firefly House is slammed. It always is during Saturday dinner rush, but today is Valentine’s day, which means the restaurant is filled with every obnoxious idiot who wants to impress their date without spending all their rent money. Lights are low in the dining area, quiet jazz playing from the band in the corner slipping behind mixed conversations. Servers maneuver effortlessly around the tables, balancing perfectly plated dishes and freshly poured drinks. 

The kitchen is another story.

“DOES ANYONE IN THIS KITCHEN HAVE A FUCKING BRAIN?!”

Abby’s voice cuts over the clatter of frying pans, shouting out orders and insults in equal measure. Somehow, her voice is louder than the sound of Nickelback blaring on someone’s shitty portable speaker. 

Ellie’s on the line, searing scallops while Jesse works the grill station. 

“Hey, Jesse?” She says, tossing a towel over her shoulder. 

“The fuck do you want now?”

Ellie laughs and tosses some butter in the pan, flicking her wrist to spread it around the pan as it sizzles. “Bucket of fry oil to throw at Abby.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. 

Abby either doesn’t hear or ignores it (probably ignores it).

“I need that scallop dish in thirty seconds!” She shouts. 

“Yes, chef!” Ellie calls back, rolling her eyes. They both know damn well that those scallops won’t be plated for at least a minute. 

She drops the scallop pan back onto the burner so she can stir the risotto simmering in the back.

Then Abby’s calling out a ticket– “Table nine, one filet, one lobster ravioli!”

Ellie immediately looks up to the pass, trying to catch a glimpse. Table nine is your section, and she hasn’t seen you all night. Some kind of silent treatment bullshit that she can’t figure out, because it’s not really silent, you’re just being really fucking polite and distant and it’s messing with her mind. Because you don’t do polite. You do teasing, you do eye-rolls, you do casual banter and flirting like it’s your love language. Ellie wouldn’t trade it for the world, but you’ve taken it from her without telling her why.

So when she sees you there over the counter, just turning away, she immediately jumps away from the stove. 

“Jesse, get my scallops!” She calls out as she rushes towards the pass. “Behind- watch out– hey! Y/N!”

You stop and turn towards her, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

Ellie pauses as Abby glares at her and Jesse yells from the back. 

“...Hey,” she finally says. “Want to grab a drink later?”

You think for a moment. Why are you thinking?! Usually you’d just say sure or make a joke about making her pay. 

“Maybe,” you respond. Maybe. Maybe. Two nights ago you were bouncing on her strap and screaming her name, now it’s fucking ‘maybe’. 

Ellie blinks. “Maybe,” she repeats. And then you’re walking away. 

She heads back to her station, head spinning. Jesse glares at her as he wipes the edge of the freshly plated scallops. 

“She’s being weird,” Ellie declares. “I asked her to get a drink, she said maybe.”

Jesse steps back to his grill, shaking his head. 

“Damn, what a surprise. The girl you didn’t want to commit to isn’t acting like a committed girlfriend.”

She stirs the risotto too roughly, then throws a serving of the prepped ravioli into some boiling water. 

“You don’t get it, man. We agreed to keep it casual months ago, now she’s acting weird for no reason. And I mean no reason.”

“Last time she got weird for ‘no reason’, it was because you forgot her birthday,” he points out. 

She pauses for a moment. Birthday… fuck, no, it’s months from now. Right? Right. It’s definitely not that. She’s thinking hard as she builds up the sauce in a saute pan, but she’s got nothing. 

“I don’t fucking know, man,” she finally says. “I got nothing.”

Jesse gives her a look. “And do you expect me to know? Dina’s dumped me like, five times this week.”

Abby chooses that moment to start shouting again. 

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY SCALLOPS?!”

────────────

“Can you believe her?” You scoff, pulling Dina aside to rant as you stuff your pen back into your waist apron. “She seriously asked me if I wanted to ‘grab a drink’. I can’t believe her.”

Dina sighs. “At least she asked you to do something. Jesse’s probably just going to pass out on the couch after work.”

You roll your eyes. 

“How are they so clueless? How do you forget Valentine’s Day when you’re literally working the rush?”

“They’re stupid.” Dina grabs a few straws and puts them in her apron, trying to seem busy. “It’s that simple.”

“They’re lazy,” you mutter. “And useless.”

“You know, you seem very upset about this for someone keeping it casual.”

You give her an unamused look. “Not the time, Dina.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. Whatever. I have to get back to work.”

You groan. You really should be getting back to work, too. You’re supposed to be fetching drinks for the couple at table ten, not ranting about your situationship’s failures to your best friend. You give her a mocking little salute, then head to the bar to put in their drink orders to the bartender. 

“Table ten needs a whiskey sour and one of that Valentine’s champagne thing with the stupid name. Please actually make it pink this time.”

The bartender looks like he’s about to argue, but you give him your best pleading look and he gets to work on the drinks. 

You have a minute to wait around for them, so naturally your thoughts go right to Ellie. Do you want it to be casual? No, hell no. But when the conversation came up, you’d freaked and immediately went for the easiest option. Which is really biting you in the ass now. Valentine’s Day is for girlfriends, not whatever you and Ellie are. It was stupid of you to go and buy new lingerie just to show her. Stupid of you to buy her that leather-bound sketchbook and set of charcoal pencils.

God, you’re so stupid.

Glasses clink as the two drinks land on the service bar behind you. You immediately turn, grabbing the drinks and setting them on a tray so you can head over to table ten and stop thinking about stupid stuff. 

But you don’t stop. You navigate through tables on autopilot while your mind races. Why didn’t she do anything for Valentine’s? Does she just hate the holiday? That would make sense. Most everyone who works in a kitchen hates Valentine’s Day with a passion. Even you have some degree of disdain for it, but you don’t hate it. Maybe Ellie does. Or maybe she just doesn’t think the relationship is serious enough to do something for Valentine’s Day. 

You reach table ten before you can deal with how that particular thought makes you feel, and the smile you give feels weak. 

“One whiskey sour, one Cupid’s Kiss,” you say in your best customer voice as you set the drinks down. “Your appetizers will be out in just a moment. Let me know if you two need anything else, alright?”

The couple nods and says a couple polite thank yous, then you’re off back to the pass to pick up seven’s appetizers. 

You reach the counter just as Abby sprinkles chives on a plate of crab cakes.

“Perfect timing,” she says, pushing the dish towards you. 

You carefully take the plate and the salmon crostini beside it, setting both onto your tray. 

“Thank you, chef,” you say with a smile. Then you’re off. 

You don’t get far before Dina corners you. 

“I’ve got it,” she says excitedly. “I know exactly how you’re going to get back at Ellie for being a lazy shit.”

You’re about to protest, gesturing up to the tray still in your hand, but her words are a little bit too intriguing to resist. 

“...Go ahead.”

“Okay, so,” she starts, glancing back at the pass for a second. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Abby totally just checked you out as you were walking away. Like, stared at your ass for a full three seconds.”

You blink. 

“Dina–”

She cuts you off. “No, listen. You need to flirt with Abby. Ellie has that weird rivalry with her, it’s so perfect. You have to– oh my god, please do it.”

“That’s insane,” you hiss, glancing back to make sure neither of them are listening in. “Okay, yeah, it would make Ellie lose her mind, but that’s so messed up. I’m not going to flirt with Abby just to make her jealous, I do not need to drag Abby into our drama and I don’t need to play with her feelings.”

Dina groans. “Girl, Abby wouldn’t care. She flirts with no real intentions behind it all the time. You are so doing this. If you don’t, I’m never speaking to you again. Never.”

You shift on your feet, glancing back through the window in the pass. Abby is concentrating on plating something– until she feels you looking and meets your gaze. Then she winks. 

You quickly look back at Dina. 

“...Fuck it.”

────────────

The next time you get to the pass, Ellie tries her best to keep her focus locked onto the four different pans she’s juggling. She really tries. 

And then she hears your laugh, the one that always pulls her full attention to you by reflex.

Her head whips to the side immediately, and she’s faced with the sight of you talking to Abby. You’re smiling, twirling a bit of hair that’s fallen out of your ponytail, and you’re laughing. For Abby. 

“Daaaaaaamn,” Jesse says from the grill. “You are so fucked.”

Ellie throws a towel at him without looking away from your little display. She can’t hear the conversation, and that pisses her off even more. What the hell are you saying to her? More importantly, what the hell is she saying to you to make you laugh like that?!

Her feet move before her mind, and before she knows it she’s dropping her station and walking over. But you’re turning away with that tray on your shoulder already, and she’s too late to get to you. 

Not too late to turn on Abby, though. 

“What the fuck were you two talking about?”

Abby raises an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you at your station? I need that risotto a minute ago.”

“What was that about?” Ellie repeats. No way she’s letting her slip out of this that easily. 

“Oh, I can’t talk to one of my servers?”

Ellie’s jaw clenches so hard it hurts. That little phrase– my servers– like you’re hers, it makes Ellie want to throw something. Or hit someone. Or throw someone. 

Before she can try, Jesse shouts from the back. 

“Yo, you’re burning shit over here!”

Ellie glances back, eyes wide. “Fuck–” She turns back to Abby. “Just watch it around her, alright?”

Abby laughs. “Sure.” 

By the way she says it, Ellie knows she has no intention of backing off. But right now her job is on the line, so she gets back to her station. 

It seems like hours before you get back to the pass. Ellie’s got another pan of scallops searing, but she drops it in a second, wiping her sweaty palms on a towel before she starts making her way over. She shouldn’t leave the line, but you’re more important.

She can hear bits and pieces this time around, now that she’s closer. She hears the way you giggle and accuse Abby of showing off. She sees Abby lean in and say that she’s only showing off for you. 

“Having fun?” Ellie cuts in. “There’s still a room full of customers waiting out there. Maybe a bit less flirting, more serving?” 

She tries to sound calm, but she sounds just as jealous as she feels. And she’s too busy glaring at Abby to catch the hint of satisfaction on your face. 

“There a reason you’re not at your station right now, chef?” Abby asks. 

Ellie glances back at you– you’re gone, along with the plates you came for. She didn’t even notice you walking away, but you’re gone now. Not that she cares that all that’s left is the faint scent of your perfume (she does, she cares so much it makes her chest hurt).

She turns back on Abby with a snarl, because that’s easier than facing the fact that you walked away. 

“Is there a reason you keep flirting with my girl?” Her stomach drops as soon as she hears the words come out of her mouth, but she doesn’t try to take them back.

Abby laughs and goes back to plating. “Didn’t know she was your girl. Don’t think she knows, either.”

Ellie’s eye twitches. That’s… fair. She has no right to be calling you hers. You want this casual, she should be respecting that. But you’re not here, and Abby is. 

“I’m warning you,” she hisses. “One more fucking time, Anderson.”

Abby straightens up to her full height. Ellie’s not intimidated. If anything, it just makes her want to punch her even more. Her eye twitches as she’s forced to look up to keep the eye contact.

“You threatening me?” Abby asks, wiping her hands on her apron.

Ellie scoffs, but she doesn’t respond. She’s acting dumb now, but she’s not dumb enough to keep going with this. So she backs off, returning to her station where Jesse is frantically trying to cover everything. 

She wants to go find you, but she can’t. 

“Face it, dude,” Jesse says, shaking his head like he’s witnessing the greatest defeat in history. “You’re done. Accept the single life.”

Ellie grits her teeth. “Yeah? Is that what you did?”

“Fair point,” he laughs. “Nah, I got on the floor and begged her to take me back. Like a man.”

“I really shouldn’t take relationship advice from you.”

Unfortunately for her, she’s clean out of other options, so she’ll try anything. Even if it means dropping to her knees and begging you to let her love you right.

────────────

“What if this is a mistake?” You groan to Dina, hovering by the counter as the two of you wait for the bartender. 

Dina sighs like a disappointed teacher. “Did she notice?”

“Yeah, but–”

“But nothing. You need to be patient. I’d be willing to bet that just one more time is enough to solve all of your problems. Flirt with Abby one more time, then just ignore Ellie until she gets desperate.”

It seems so simple when she says it like that, but you know it’s not. 

“What if she doesn’t get desperate?”

What you want to ask is ‘What if she doesn’t care enough to get desperate?’ 

Dina waves a hand dismissively. “Babe, Ellie is so whipped for you. You’re like, the only one who doesn’t know. She’s probably seething already.”

You groan again. It seems like that’s what everyone tells you, that Ellie is head over heels. Sometimes you almost believe it. Other times you remember how quickly she’d agreed to keeping it casual, like she was relieved about it. 

“The whole point of keeping it casual was so things wouldn’t get complicated,” you grumble. 

Dina picks up two of the drinks from the counter and loads them onto her tray. “Too late. Now, go make your not-girlfriend regret being so lazy.”

Then she’s off, back to work.

The next time you get to the pass, you put on that same flirty smile that’s usually reserved for Ellie and rich-looking customers. 

Abby winks at you, and you imagine it’s Ellie in her place. 

“Hey. Getting hot in that kitchen, hm?” You say, leaning on the counter. 

Abby responds, but you don’t really hear it. You’re not looking at her anymore, because Ellie is moving. The kitchen doors swing open as she bursts through, ripping her apron off and tossing it to the side. Then her hand is on your arm, pulling you through the back door as the kitchen goes quiet. You let her pull you around. 

As soon as you get outside and the door slams shut behind the two of you, her hands are on your shoulders, steadying herself more than you. 

“Ellie–” you start, but she interrupts. 

“What the fuck was that?” She snaps, then immediately flinches at her own tone. “Shit, sorry. Fuck. I just– Abby? Seriously? You’re suddenly into Abby? Did I miss something? Did I fuck up that bad?”

You freeze for a moment. You were expecting her to get jealous, but you weren’t expecting a direct confrontation. Which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid of you, seeing as Ellie is probably the most confrontational person you know. 

She takes your silence as a confirmation. Her hands drop from your shoulders, and she takes a step back. 

“Look, I know this is casual, I know you wanted freedom, but I–”

She stops, running a hand through her hair and making it even messier. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out before you can stop her. “I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. It’s my fault, I’m stupid. Is it something I did? Or are you just moving on, are you not into me anymore–?”

“Ellie,” you say, cutting her off. She stops the rambling, green eyes wide. She looks almost panicked. 

One hand loops around the back of her neck, and then you’re pulling her in for a rushed kiss. She melts into it immediately, arms going around your waist and tongue flicking at your bottom lip. It’s quick and desperate and over way too soon when you pull back. 

“I need you,” she whispers, chasing your lips for another peck. 

“Ellie,” you murmur in between kisses. “I have to get back to work–”

She cuts you off with a deeper kiss, nipping lightly on your lower lip. 

“I don’t care,” she mumbles. “They can wait. They can fire me, I don’t care. I’ve been wanting you all day, I can’t wait anymore.”

It would be really, really stupid to give in to her. She’s always been reckless, but this is her job and yours on the line. Then again, the way she says she needs you has your legs going weak already. 

“...Fine.”

As soon as she gets the confirmation, she’s dragging you towards her truck as she fumbles with the keys in her pocket. When she pushes you inside, she’s climbing on top of you and reclining the passenger seat so you’re lying back. Her face presses into your neck, breathing in deep.

Her hands are all over you. They’re sliding under your shirt and pushing it up to your collarbone, then they’re sliding around to your back and unclipping your bra. 

Your hands go to her wrists, stopping her before she can take it off. 

“Right here?” You hiss. 

“Right here,” she whispers in your ear. “Not the riskiest we’ve done.”

You roll your eyes, but you let go of her wrists so that she can continue. She’s not wrong– it’s a very lucky thing that the cameras in the walk-in have been busted for months. It’s still stupid to do it here where anyone could walk up and look through the window, but those thoughts fade away as she tosses your bra away and her mouth closes over your nipple. Her teeth graze over the sensitive skin while her hand is already sliding up to knead your other breast.

She knows you well enough to know exactly when the ache between your legs is too strong to ignore. Her free hand slips down, trailing over your stomach until she reaches the edge of your pants. 

“Can I take these off of you, princess?” She mumbles against your skin, wet from her saliva. “Please.”

You nod immediately. “Take them off.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers pop the button as she starts to trail kisses down the center of your chest, then she’s pulling your pants down as far as she can. Her knees nudge your thighs apart so she can settle between them, reverent kisses going lower until she reaches the bow on the edge of your panties. The new lacy red ones you bought just for tonight.

She pulls back for a moment just to stare, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. 

“These for me?” She asks, voice low and rough. 

“And what if I said they are?” You murmur. 

She just grins, then licks a stripe over to your hip before catching the lace in her teeth and pulling slowly down. All the while, her eyes are locked on yours, watching every reaction as you lift your hips. Your breath stutters when her nose brushes your thigh. 

Then her mouth is on you, licking through your folds and circling your clit before you can even recover. Her tongue moves slow, too unhurried for where you are. It’s not enough, but you know her well enough to know she loves to make you ask for it. 

“Ellie,” you moan. “I need more.”

You feel her lips curve into a smile against you, and then her lips lock over your clit and suck. Your hips jerk, head falling back against the headrest as she gets to work. She knows exactly how to make you gasp, how to make you moan and say her name, and she uses that knowledge. The way her tongue flicks against you makes your vision go white for a moment. Every one of those deep moans she lets out into you shoots the vibrations right up your spine.

It’s not long before your legs are shaking, fingers tangled in her messy hair. Then she stops right as you’re about to fall apart. 

You whine, hips tilting to follow her mouth, but her hands on your thighs keep you firmly in place. 

“Ellie–”

She presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Be patient, princess.”

“Ellie,” you say again, more desperate this time. 

She listens. In a second, she’s diving back in. The slick drag of her tongue pulls a deep moan out of your throat. You almost forget that you’re still in her truck where anyone could walk by and see through the foggy windows. 

She flattens her tongue against you and sucks, and your whole body tries to arch off the seat. 

“Ellie–” your warning cuts off before you can get it out, but she already knows. Her grip on your thighs tightens, holding you firmly as your legs try to clamp around her head. She keeps the pace steady, sucking and licking like she’s still starving for you. 

The hand in her hair grips tighter. She doesn’t mind. The other one presses against the window, trying to support yourself as the pleasure overtakes you. You bite down on your lip to try and hold back the moans, but it’s a losing battle. All you can feel is her mouth on you, soft lips and warm tongue swallowing you whole. 

She slows her pace a bit once the biggest wave of it crashes around you, letting you ride through the aftershocks on her tongue. She doesn’t pull away until you’re squirming from overstimulation– then, she finally lifts herself back up to settle on the seat with you. Her face is still wet with your slick when she leans in to kiss you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispers against your lips. 

You freeze. That cuts right through the post-orgasm haze. 

“...What?”

She pulls back a little, wiping her face on her sleeve as she gives a slightly nervous laugh. 

“Yeah, uh… I’m guessing that’s what you were upset about.”

You just look at her for a second. Your mind goes back to the gift sitting in your car, the one you chickened out of giving her. Then you’re distracted by how good she looks like this– messy hair, sweat on her neck, lips still shiny from being buried between your legs. 

“What gave it away?”

She holds up those red lace underwear, dangling from one finger. 

You blink. That’s how she figured it out? Not the cold shoulder? Not the flirting with Abby in front of her? 

Well. Knowing her, that makes sense. Can’t take a hint unless it’s lacy. 

“Y’know,” she says, feeling the fabric between her fingers. “I can’t decide if I want to let you keep these so I can see you in it again or if I want to just steal them.”

You try to snatch the underwear from her hands, but she holds them out of reach quicker than you can grab. 

“And what would you do if you stole them?”

She pretends to think about it. “Huh, I don’t know. Maybe have them framed. Or maybe keep them in the back of my drawer for when I’m missing you.”

You blink, unamused. “You’re a freak.”

“You love it.”

You can’t argue with that. You can’t resist her when she’s acting like this. You can’t resist her when she’s acting normal, either, so maybe you’re the problem. 

“So…” she says slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You know exactly what ‘it’ is. All of it. It’s you and her, and all the weird feelings between you. The jealousy, the disappointment, but mostly the inevitable pull that always yanks the two of you back together. 

“Yeah. I guess we should,” you say quietly. 

Ellie takes a deep breath before she says it, plain as day. 

“I don’t want this to be casual.”

You go quiet. That’s exactly what you’d been secretly hoping she’d say for months. Now that it’s out in the open, it feels a lot less terrifying and a lot more like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

She keeps going before you can agree. 

“I know we talked about it,” she says, brushing her hair back. “I know you said you wanted casual, and I thought I was fine with that. Then I saw you flirting with Abby, and I realized that I’m really not okay with casual. I want you to be mine, princess. And I want to be yours.”

You’ve thought about this moment so many times. You’ve planned it out, imagined exactly what you’d say to her. But now that it’s actually happening, all those words are gone. 

All you can manage is a shaky nod and a whispered “okay.”

Ellie blinks. 

“...Huh?”

“Okay,” you repeat. “Yeah. Let’s cut the ‘casual’ bullshit.”

You can see her trying to process it, going over every decision and every word that brought her to this point. 

“You serious?” She asks.

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway– you wrap your arms over her shoulders and drag her in for a kiss. 

This one is soft, gentle. Like she can’t believe it’s real. You’re still in the passenger seat of her truck, but it feels like floating in a dream. 

When she pulls back for breath, she’s grinning. 

“I’m really glad you agreed,” she says. “Because I kinda already told Abby that you’re my girl.”

Her girl. Hearing that almost makes you giddy. 

“...We’re going to get fired after this, aren’t we?” You sigh, reality settling back in. The two of you walked out of Valentine’s dinner rush. Didn’t even sneak, just walked out right in front of everyone. 

“Yeah.” Ellie kisses the corner of your lips, grin not fading for a second. “Still worth it.”

────────────

a/n: finally formatting things okayyyyyyy hello 😛 also this is my first time ever writing smut please be gentle. i was expecting it to be hard but it was insane man i spent so long trying to figure out the right word for boob </3 also don't come after me for writing a valentine's fic in the middle of december it wasn't on purpose it just happened

i did so much research for this thing though ygs don't even know. the amount of threads i scoured on r/kitchenconfidential bro i was committed. then again i've never actually worked in a professional kitchen so i'm very sorry about any errors.

i really locked in for this one though like i've slept abt four hours in the past two days but the brainrot prevails. main reason i locked in so hard is bc i'm going out of town for abt a week and wanted to get this done before the drought. i am opening requests though so when i get back i can get back in the kitchen!!

pictures are from pinterest

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 dating 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 hadn’t 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 any part you did give me. 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 what 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.

You shake your head, instinctively.

The Lasso burns.

You gasp, your body jerking against the ropes, and Diana’s mouth curves in that slow, devastating smile.

“Liar.”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

She presses a finger to your lips.

“No. Let me hear them.” She leans in, voice like honey over a knife. “Tell me what you think about when I’m not around.”

You try to look away. The rope pulses again. You can’t lie.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I—I fuck myself thinking about your arms holding me down.”

“Go on.”

“I think about your thighs crushing me. Your hand around my throat. I think about you using me until I’m crying.”

“You think about crying for me?” she repeats, almost laughing. “Gods, you're filthier than I thought. Such a needy little pet.”

You nod, eyes wide. “I am. I’m your pet, I just want—want to be good—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “You are good. Just so pathetic while you’re at it.”

She grabs your waist and flips you with one hand, dragging your body like you’re nothing but a toy in her hands. You cry out as your bound thighs press against the mattress, still spread wide, ass up, wrists tied behind your back. She climbs on top, pressing her body down on yours, her weight pinning you like an anchor.

“Tell me more,” she growls, mouth at your ear. “All those little dirty thoughts. What else do you imagine when you’re alone with your fingers in your cunt?”

You whimper, face hot with humiliation.

“I think about choking on your strap. About being too full to speak. I think about you calling me your—your dumb little whore.”

The Lasso thrums, satisfaction humming through it.

She laughs. Pleased.

“Look at you. Sweet little thing, all soft and obedient out in the world, but under me? You just want to be used. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her hand comes down hard on your ass—once, twice, again—until you're sobbing into the sheets, humiliated and aroused and so fucking far gone.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” she murmurs, her palm now stroking over the red skin she just punished. “I see a toy. Something soft to keep me warm. To fuck when I’m angry. To pet when I’m pleased.”

You moan—honest, wrecked.

“You like that,” she hisses. “Don’t lie.”

“I do, I do, I like being your toy, ma’am—”

Another slap. “Pet. Say it.”

“I’m your pet,” you gasp, completely soaked. “Your little bitch.”

She growls at that, biting your shoulder, grinding her thigh between your legs like she’s trying to stamp her claim on you. You’re crying into the pillow, babbling, totally incoherent—but she’s not done. She sits up, flips you again, another show of effortless, raw strength, and now she’s straddling you, rope still tight around your thighs, your body entirely hers to use.

She grabs your face. Forces your gaze to meet hers.

“Last confession,” she says. “Say the worst one. What haven’t you told me?”

Your breath catches. The Lasso pulses, demanding truth. It forces it out of you like a purge.

“I want you to ruin me so no one else will ever touch me again,” you whisper. “I want to forget how it feels to come without you. I want to belong to you so hard it hurts.”

She stares down at you like she’s going to devour you.

“Mine,” she says, low and fierce. “Say it.”

“Yours.”

She kisses you, violent and claiming, and then she fucks you. Strong, relentless, grinding herself against you with her whole weight behind it. She holds your face, watches your expression twist in helpless pleasure, praises you and degrades you at once.

“My good little toy.”

“My messy little thing.”

“My soft, needy, desperate girl.”

She doesn’t stop until you’re crying again. Until your body is shaking and you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel.

When you collapse against her chest, sobbing into her collarbone, Diana doesn’t look tired.

She looks hungry.

And you, helpless and wrecked as you are, want to give her more.

“You’re doing so well for me,” she says softly, brushing your sweaty hair from your cheek. Her strength is in everything she does, even her gentleness. You feel the tension in her fingers, the weight in her palm as it cups your jaw. “But we’re not done.”

You nod without thinking. Your throat is dry. “Yes, ma’am.”

She leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “Use your words, pet. Beg me.”

You swallow hard. “Please, ma’am. I want more. I want to be ruined. I want to be used until there’s nothing left.”

The Lasso pulses with approval. So does she.

She pulls back and stands beside the bed, watching you with a calculating gaze. You recognize that look. That’s tactical. That’s the way she assesses opponents on the battlefield.

And right now, that’s what you are: something to conquer. Something to overpower.

“You want more?” she murmurs. “You’ll take what I give you.”

You nod eagerly, thighs trembling from how long they’ve been held open.

Diana walks over to the drawer in your nightstand. Her drawer, now stocked with toys she’s chosen, ones she’s brought, others she’s bought for the express purpose of fucking you.

She pulls out the harness first. Black, thick-strapped, sturdy. And then the strap-on, long, thick, mercilessly shaped. You whimper just from the sight of it.

She hears you.

Of course she does.

“Too much for you, little one?” she asks, arching a brow as she tightens the straps around her hips.

You shake your head immediately. “I want it, ma’am. I want all of it.”

Her smile is slow, sharp, cruel.

“I know you do.”

She climbs back onto the bed and grabs the Lasso again, re-wrapping it around your wrists and tying them behind your back this time, forcing your chest to arch forward, exposing your throat, your breasts, your trembling body for her.

“You’re going to take every inch,” she murmurs, her voice a low growl now. “And you’re going to thank me. Every time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you gasp.

And then she lifts you, effortless again. Her arm under your legs, your bound wrists pulled behind you, back arched as she positions you over her strap. You feel the head of it against your entrance and whine.

“Say it,” she commands.

“Please fuck me, ma’am. I want it—I want to be filled—I want to be used.”

She thrusts up hard, burying the strap in you with one brutal stroke.

You scream.

There’s no easing into it. She doesn’t give you time to adjust. She just holds you there, one hand on your waist, the other gripping your tied wrists as she uses you, bouncing you up and down on her cock like a ragdoll. Her strength makes it effortless, your body pulled down onto her over and over, each thrust deeper, harder, more punishing than the last.

“Such a tight little hole,” she groans. “So greedy. Look at you. Crying and cock-drunk and still begging for more.”

You’re sobbing, unable to stop the way your body clamps down around her with each thrust. It’s too much. It’s not enough. You’re slipping into that space she puts you in, where there’s only her, and pain-pleasure, and obedience.

“You were made for this,” she hisses. “Made for me. To be fucked, to be broken. My soft little hole.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you cry, voice wrecked. “Yours. All yours.”

She grabs your throat and holds you there, suspended half off the bed, bouncing on her strap, legs shaking. “You take me so well, my pet. Such a sweet, stupid little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes—stupid for you—ma’am, I—please, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet.”

You whimper, whole body locking up as she pulls you down hard and holds you there, her cock pressed so deep it feels like she’s inside your stomach. You’re sweating, shaking, clenching around her.

“I said not yet,” she repeats, leaning in to bite your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw.

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.”

Then she lays you back, still tied, still spread, and pulls out slowly. You feel empty without her. Desperate. She kneels between your legs again and brings out the vibrator—a thick, curved wand—and you try to scoot away, instinctively overwhelmed.

Her hand lands on your thigh with a crack, pinning you down.

“Stay still.”

You freeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She presses the toy to your clit, no warning, no buildup, and your hips buck, back arching off the bed.

The pleasure is immediate. Overwhelming. You cry out, throat raw.

“Count for me,” she commands. “Every time you come, you count. Or I start over.”

The first hits you fast, almost instantly.

“One,” you sob.

Then the second.

“Two—ma’am, please—”

She hums, watching you fall apart. Her cock still slick, her toy working your clit with brutal consistency, her hand holding you open like you’re her favorite thing to ruin.

“Look at you,” she says. “So obedient. So fucked-out and still trying to be good.”

The third has you screaming.

“Three.”

Your legs are shaking. Your voice is gone. You can’t think past the pulse of the vibrator, the heat of her body, the iron grip of the rope and her strength and her will.

When you hit five, you’re sobbing openly.

She finally switches the toy off and tosses it aside.

Then she climbs on top of you again, cradling your face between her hands. Her strength, still there—always there—but now it’s like armor turned inward, protecting you.

“My perfect little pet,” she whispers, kissing your cheeks, your lips, your jaw. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You choke on your breath.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She unties the rope, slowly, gently, and pulls you into her lap, arms wrapped around you like a fortress.

“You’re safe,” she murmurs into your hair. “You’re mine.”

And you feel it, more than pleasure, more than pain. You curl into her chest and let her hold you.