Vi & Sevika Lover

the lock clicks shut behind you, the familiar sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the apartment.

you’d texted ahead, a simple coming over, but there’s no pitter-patter of eager feet, no breathless “mommy?” greeting you at the door.

just a low, muffled sound from down the hall. a wet, rhythmic sound, punctuated by a shaky exhale.

you toe off your shoes, your movements deliberate and quiet.

the door to the bedroom is cracked open, a sliver of golden lamplight spilling into the darkened hallway.

you push it open with one finger, the old wood groaning a soft protest.

and there she is.

vi is sprawled in the center of your bed, a mess of pale flushed skin and pinker hair.

her jeans are a tangled pool around one ankle, her shirt rucked up under her armpits, exposing the sharp jut of her ribs and her prominent bush and happy trail.

her head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack and wet.

one hand is fisted in the sheets beside her head, the other is buried between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out of herself with a frantic, desperate rhythm.

her hips buck up to meet her own hand, a silent, selfish little dance.

she doesn’t see you. not yet. she’s too far gone, chasing that quick, cheap finish she thinks she can steal before you get here.

a low, broken whine escapes her throat. “fuck… almost… c-close…”

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

you watch her for a long, silent moment, the way her thighs tremble, the way her breath hitches on every inward stroke.

the betrayal is a sharp, cold thing in your chest, but beneath it, there’s a darker thrill.

the thrill of correcting her to come.

“having fun, puppy?” you ask, teasingly.

her eyes fly open. her hand freezes, still buried inside herself.

the color that rushes to her cheeks is almost violent, a deep, mortified crimson that spreads down her neck and across her chest.

she scrambles to pull her hand out, to yank her shirt down, to cover the evidence of her disobedience.

but she only manages to tangle herself further in her own clothes.

“m-mommy! i— i thought you weren’t— i was just—“

you push off the doorframe and walk to the edge of the bed. she looks up at you, wide-eyed and panting, her fingers still glistening.

the scent of her is thick in the air, salty and sweet.

“you thought i wasn’t coming,” you finish for her, your voice soft. deceptively soft. “so you decided to help yourself. without permission.”

she opens her mouth, a pathetic excuse already forming.

but you hold up a single finger. she snaps her jaw shut.

“i didn’t say you could speak.”

a shudder wracks her body. her thighs press together, a futile attempt to hide the wet heat still pulsing between them.

you reach down, not to touch her, but to pluck her hand away from her core.

you bring her fingers up to the light, examining the slick shine coating them.

“look at this mess,” you murmur. “all that work I put into teaching you patience, and this is what you do the second my back is turned? you get greedy.”

her eyes are wet, her lip trembling. “m’sorry, mommy. i just— i couldn’t stop thinking about you, and i— i needed—“

“you needed,” you repeat, dropping her hand.

it lands on the sheet with a wet slap. “you needed. what about what i need, puppy? what about the rules we agreed on?”

she has no answer.

she just stares up at you, a perfect portrait of shame and desperate want.

you sigh, a sound of theatrical disappointment. then you reach down, grab her by the ankle, and drag her to the edge of the bed.

she yelps, her body sliding across the rumpled sheets until her ass is hanging off the side, her legs dangling.

“you don’t get to cum tonight,” you say, the words dropping like stones into still water.

“you lost that privilege the moment you put your fingers inside yourself without asking.”

a sob hitches in her throat. “no, mommy, please— i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll be so good, just let me—“

“shh.” you press a finger to her lips. she falls silent, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. “you’ll be good because i’m going to teach you how to be good. and right now, being good means taking what i give you and not a single drop more.”

you step between her spread legs, the rough denim of your jeans brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

she shivers, her hands coming up to grip your hips, a desperate, pleading touch.

“hands off,” you say, and she snatches them away as if burned, fisting them in the sheets at her sides.

you take your time. you look at her, laid out like a feast, her chest heaving, her cunt slick and open and waiting.

she’s so wet you can see it, a glossy sheen coating her folds, a small pool of it darkening the sheet beneath her.

“you wanted to cum so badly,” you say, trailing a single finger down her sternum, between her breasts, over the soft curve of her belly. “you were so desperate for it. so let’s see how long you can last when you’re not allowed to have it.”

your finger reaches its destination, tracing a light, teasing circle around her clit.

she jolts, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. her hips buck, trying to chase the pressure, but you pull your hand away.

“ah-ah. stay still.”

she whimpers, but she obeys. her body is like a live wire, trembling and taut.

you lower yourself, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of her head.

she looks up, confusion and fear and desperate hope warring in her eyes.

you don’t explain.

you just swing your leg over her face, the rough fabric of your jeans brushing her cheeks.

“you wanted to taste me so badly,” you say, your voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “so taste.”

you settle yourself over her mouth.

she hesitates for only a second, and then her hands are on your thighs, not pushing, just holding, anchoring herself.

her tongue darts out, a tentative, kittenish lick against the denim.

“use your teeth,” you instruct. “i want these off.”

she fumbles with the button, the zipper, her fingers clumsy with desperation.

you lift your hips just enough for her to shove the jeans and your underwear down your thighs, and then you sink back down, skin to skin.

the first touch of her mouth is pure, unadulterated relief.

she’s eager, her tongue flat and broad, licking a long, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit.

a low moan escapes you, your head falling back. your hand finds her hair, fisting in the pink strands.

“that’s it,” you breathe. “that’s my good puppy. you know how to use that mouth when you want something.”

she moans against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core. her tongue circles your clit, flicks it, sucks it between her lips.

she’s good. she’s always been good at this, a fast learner when she wants to be.

but she’s also impatient, greedy. you can feel her hips starting to squirm beneath you, her thighs pressing together, trying to get some friction.

you tighten your grip in her hair, pulling her head back just enough to break the seal of her mouth.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

she looks up at you, her chin wet, her eyes glazed. “n-nothing, mommy, i just—“

“you’re humping the air like a bitch in heat.” you click your tongue.

“so needy. you can’t even focus on my pleasure for five minutes without thinking about your own.”

tears well in her eyes. “m’sorry. i’ll be still. i promise.”

“no.” you shift your weight, lifting yourself off her face.

she makes a small, bereft sound, her mouth chasing the loss of you. but you’re already moving, turning around, straddling her chest instead.

you look down at her, your knees bracketing her ribs.

“i don’t think you deserve my cunt right now,” you say. “i think you need to be reminded of your place.”

you slide forward, up her chest, until you’re hovering over her face again.

but this time, you don’t lower yourself onto her mouth.

you keep going, your thighs framing her head, until you’re positioned directly above her.

you look down the length of your own body, past your breasts, past your stomach, and meet her wide, terrified, hungry eyes.

“open.”

she does. her mouth falls open, a perfect, waiting O.

and you sit.

your cunt presses down against her mouth, but you don’t grind, don’t rock.

you just sit, a dead weight, your slick flesh sealed against her lips.

she can’t breathe through her nose; she has to breathe through her mouth, which means she has to breathe you.

every inhale is a lungful of your scent, your taste. she’s drowning in it.

“you don’t move,” you say, your voice calm, almost bored.“you don’t lick. you don’t suck. you just lie there and take it. you wanted to be filled so badly? well, here i am. fill your mouth. fill your lungs. let me be the only thing you can taste, or smell, or think about.”

a muffled whine vibrates against your flesh. her hands fly up, gripping your thighs, her nails digging in.

she tries to push you away, but to hold on, as if she’s afraid she’ll float away if she lets go.

minutes pass. or hours. time loses meaning in the warm, wet dark of her mouth.

you can feel her trembling beneath you, her whole body a live wire of denied pleasure. her tongue twitches, desperate to move, to taste, but she holds it still.

her breath hitches, stutters, but she doesn’t try to turn her head.

you feel the first tear slide down her cheek, hot against your thigh.

“shh,” you coo, reaching down to stroke her hair. “i know. it’s hard, isn’t it? having what you want right there and not being allowed to take it.”

she sobs, a broken, wet sound. her hips are bucking against the empty air, a frantic, unconscious rhythm.

she’s so hard, so swollen, her clit a desperate little pearl begging for attention.

but you haven’t touched her. you haven’t even looked at her cunt since you sat down.

“but this is the punishment for being greedy,” you continue, your voice a soft, cruel lullaby.

“you get everything you want, except the one thing you need. you get to taste me, but you can’t swallow. you get to feel my weight, but you can’t move. you get to smell my arousal, but you can’t make me cum.”

another sob. her chest heaves beneath you, her breath hot and frantic against your core.

“are you going to be a good puppy from now on?”

she nods frantically, as much as she can with your weight on her face.

“are you going to wait for permission?”

another frantic nod.

“are you going to cum only when i say you can?”

a desperate, muffled sound that could be a “yes, mommy.”

“good girl.”

you shift your weight, lifting yourself off her face. she gasps, a huge, ragged breath, her mouth and chin slick with you.

she looks wrecked. her eyes are red-rimmed, her mascara smudged, her lips swollen and shiny.

but she’s still hard. still wet. still desperate.

you slide down her body, your skin sliding against hers, until you’re kneeling between her spread legs.

you look at her cunt, pink and puffy and glistening, her clit peeking out from its hood, hard and needy.

“look at this,” you murmur, running a single finger through her folds.

she jerks, a sharp, punched-out gasp. “so wet. so ready. and you thought you could just take what you wanted without me.”

she shakes her head, her eyes fixed on your face. “no, mommy. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

“i know you are.” you circle her clit with your fingertip, a featherlight touch. her hips buck, chasing it, but you pull your hand away. “but sorry doesn’t fix disobedience, does it?”

“n-no.”

“no. it doesn’t.” you position your hand over her cunt, your palm hovering just above her. she’s watching, breath held, waiting. “so here’s what’s going to happen. i’m going to make you cum. but not with my fingers. not with my mouth.”

her brow furrows in confusion.

you raise your hand, and then you bring it down.

the slap is sharp and loud in the quiet room, your palm connecting with her wet, sensitive flesh.

she screams, a high, broken sound, her body arching off the bed. her hands fly down, not to protect herself.

but to grab your wrist, to stop you, to pull you closer, she doesn’t even know.

“count,” you say, your voice flat.

“w-what?”

you slap her again. another scream, her hips jerking.

“count,” you repeat. “every slap. you’re going to count them, and you’re going to thank me for each one. because this is what happens to greedy puppies who don’t wait.”

you slap her again. slap. “one!” she sobs. “thank you, mommy!”

slap. “two! thank you, mommy!”

slap. “three! thank you, mommy!”

her cunt is red, angry, slick with her own arousal and the sting of your palm.

her thighs are shaking, her breath coming in ragged, hiccupping sobs.

but she’s not trying to close her legs. she’s spreading them wider, offering herself up.

slap. “four! thank you, mommy!”

slap. “five! thank you, mommy!”

tears are streaming down her face, mixing with the drool and slick on her chin.

she looks beautiful. ruined. yours.

you stop. your hand is stinging, your palm warm.

you look at her, at the mess you’ve made of her, and you feel a slow, satisfied smile spread across your face.

“good puppy,” you say, and the words are a benediction. “you took that so well.”

she whimpers, a broken, grateful sound.

you lean down, your mouth hovering just above her abused cunt. she holds her breath, her eyes wide.

“but you still haven’t cum,” you whisper. “and i haven’t decided if you deserve to.”

a fresh sob wracks her body. “please, mommy, please, i’ll do anything, i’ll be so good, just please let me come, i need it, i need it—“

“shh.” you press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, soft and tender. “i know you do. but need isn’t the same as deserve.”

you sit up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you look at her, sprawled and broken and beautiful, and you feel a surge of pure, possessive love.

“i'm going to go make some tea,” you say, your voice light. “you’re going to stay right here. you’re not going to touch yourself. you’re not going to close your legs. you’re going to lie here and think about what you did, and how you’re going to make it up to me.”

her face crumples. “but— but mommy—“

no buts.” you stand, pulling your jeans back up, zipping them with a decisive click. “i’ll be back in ten minutes. if i come back and you’ve touched yourself, i will leave. i will go home, and i will not come back tomorrow. do you understand?”

the threat is a bucket of ice water. she goes still, her eyes wide and terrified.

“yes, mommy.”

“good girl.”

you walk to the door. you pause, looking back over your shoulder.

she’s exactly where you left her, legs spread, cunt red and wet and untouched, tears tracking down her temples into her hair.

she’s watching you with the desperate, devoted eyes of a dog who knows her master is the only source of warmth in the world.

you smile.

“i’ll be right back, puppy.”

and you leave her there, alone with her denied pleasure and the echo of your palm on her skin.

she's counting the seconds until you return.

─── 🏹 CONFIDENTIAL ENDING MEMORANDUM: hello my angels. i hope you enjoyed this attempt at a puppy vi fanfic. if you would like to see more like this, turn on your notifications and join the taglist. stay safe and get more gay. xoxo, the sacrificial lamb.

The first clue should have been the books.

Not because you owned books. Plenty of people owned books.

But because Sevika had never once seen you voluntarily sit at the kitchen table surrounded by six of them while looking like you were preparing for war.

The second clue was that every time she walked past, you’d quickly shut whatever notebook you were working on.

The third clue was that you’d become weird.

Weirder than usual.

Distracted. Frustrated. Quiet.

So naturally, Sevika got suspicious.

“What’s got you acting like you’re hiding state secrets?” she asked one evening.

You nearly jumped out of your chair.

“Nothing.”

“Mm.”

“Seriously.”

“Right.”

You frowned.

“I mean it.”

“Then show me.”

“…No.”

“Why?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow.

“See? Suspicious.”

You crossed your arms.

“It’s private.”

That was enough for her to leave it alone.

Mostly because she figured if it was important, she’d find out eventually.

And she did.

A few days later.

By accident.

She came home earlier than expected.

The apartment was quiet.

Then she heard it.

A muffled sniff.

Sevika frowned.

Another one.

Coming from the spare room.

She pushed the door open.

And stopped.

You were sitting on the floor surrounded by books and notebooks.

One notebook had been thrown across the room.

Another lay open beside you, covered in crossed-out answers.

And you were crying.

Sevika was beside you immediately.

“Hey.”

You startled.

The second you realised she’d seen you, your face crumpled even more.

“Oh, shit.”

“Baby… what’s wrong?”

You wiped furiously at your eyes.

“Nothing.”

“You’re crying on the floor, honey.”

You looked away.

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

Until finally you whispered,

“I’m dumb.”

Sevika blinked.

“What?”

“I’m stupid.”

“No, you’re not.”

You laughed bitterly.

“You’re biased, we’re married.”

“Exactly. Which means I’ve got years of evidence.”

You look at her incredulously.

“Baby, I love you with my whole heart. But that doesn’t mean I suddenly lost my ability to judge people.”

You sigh at that, gesturing helplessly toward the books.

“I can’t understand any of this.”

Sevika glanced down.

History.

Maths.

Science.

A bunch of random educational books.

Your notebook was full of practice questions.

Half-finished notes.

Definitions.

Attempts.

Pages and pages of attempts.

“Oh.”

The pieces clicked together.

You sat curled in on yourself. Knees tucked to your chest, resting your chin against them, making yourself look as small as possible. You looked utterly miserable. It made Sevika’s chest ache.

“Everyone always jokes about it.”

Her expression softened.

You rarely talked about your insecurities.

Which meant this one ran deep.

“They call me ditzy.”

You stared down at your hands.

“Air-headed.”

Your voice cracked.

“And they’re right.”

“No.”

“They are.”

“No.”

You looked frustrated now.

“Sevika-“

“No.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“I can barely understand half this stuff.”

“Neither can I.”

You stared at her doubtfully.

“Most of this looks like nonsense.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You literally run half of Zaun.”

“Doesn’t mean I know whatever the hell this is.”

She pointed at a page.

“Look at this. What does that even mean?”

You sniffed.

“Mitochondria.”

“Exactly.”

You huffed despite yourself.

Sevika continued.

“Do you know how many people I know who’d fail that?”

“Probably not many.”

“A lot.”

You rolled your eyes.

But the tension eased slightly.

Without a word, Sevika sat beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently drawing you close against her. Once you were settled against her side, she picked up one of the notebooks.

The thing was packed with notes.

Highlighted sections.

Practice questions.

More attempts.

You’d clearly been working at this for weeks.

“You’ve been doing all this yourself?”

You nodded.

“And you’re upset because it’s hard?”

“Because everyone else gets things quicker than I do.”

Sevika’s expression softened further as she rubbed your arm in slow, comforting strokes, her touch steady and reassuring.

“Sweetheart.”

The pet name nearly broke you all over again.

You looked away.

“People don’t explain things to me. They just laugh when I don’t know something.”

Her jaw tightened.

She hated that.

“Then they’re assholes.”

You snorted.

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it.”

She set the notebook aside.

“Look at me.”

She cupped your cheek and gently turned your face towards her until your eyes reluctantly met hers.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

You immediately groaned, dropping your head into her chest.

“See? You’re doing it again.”

“I’m not.”

“Sevika.”

“No, listen.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, directing your focus back to her.

“You know every animal in a ten kilometre radius.”

You laughed through your tears.

“That’s not intelligence.”

“You remember every detail about every person you care about.”

“That’s different.”

“You can tell when something’s wrong with someone before they even open their mouth.”

You opened yours.

Then closed it again.

“And,” Sevika continued, “you’ve spent weeks teaching yourself things because you wanted to learn.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek.

“Do you know how many people never even try?”

You swallowed.

“But I struggle.”

“So?”

You frowned.

“So that means I’m not good at it.”

“No. It means you’re learning.”

You stared at her.

Sevika sighed.

“Asking questions isn’t stupid.”

Her forehead bumped gently against yours.

“Trying isn’t stupid.”

Another bump.

“Not knowing something isn’t stupid.”

A third.

“Crying because you’re frustrated isn’t stupid either, baby.”

Your eyes stung again.

This time for a different reason.

“I just hate feeling like everyone thinks I’m dumb. Like I’m lesser than them.”

Sevika’s expression softened completely.

“Then they’re wrong.”

You laughed weakly.

“You have to say that, you’re my wife.”

“No.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I get to say it.”

A kiss to your cheek.

“My clever wife.”

You whined, burying your face into her neck.

“That’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because now I’m gonna cry again.”

“Good.”

You swatted her shoulder.

She caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“You know what I see when I look at all this?”

She gestured toward the notebooks.

You shook your head.

“I see someone working harder than anybody else.”

You looked down.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m proud of you.”

The tears returned immediately.

“Oh, come on, Vika.”

“Can’t help it.”

“You absolutely can.”

“I can’t.”

Sevika wrapped both arms around you and pulled you into her lap. She tightened her hold the second you curled against her.

“You know,” she muttered into your hair, “for someone who thinks she’s dumb, you somehow managed to trick me into marrying you.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“There she is.”

You rolled your eyes.

Sevika kissed the top of your head.

Then another kiss.

And another.

Until your shoulders finally stopped shaking.

“My smart girl,” she murmured.

You hid your face.

She smirked.

“Yeah. I said it.”