VI’s hand snakes into your underwear, guards still walking down the halls. “Stay quiet and we don’t get caught, got it?” You nod, the two of you definitely needed to lay off some steam; Vi got her shit rocked in some stupid fight over commissary or something, and you, well, prison life ain’t easy as is. No privacy, garbage food, and in Stillwater, hardly livable conditions depending on what floor the land you in

Her hands are calloused, but they don’t irritate you. It’s comforting in a way, being bunked with someone who was strong, can handle herself. She makes quick work; gently feeling over your wet slit, prodding at your hole before sinking one finger in to start. A noise leaves you, luckily it was a quiet one so she doesn’t scold you.

The two of you grew pretty close together, been stuck together in this cell for some time, only natural you go to each other for certain comforts. Another finger slips in, another noise leaves you but this time you get scolded. “Shh, what did I say?” Vi shushes you quietly. A rough palm covers your mouth; better safe than sorry.

Noises continue to leave you, muffled by her palm, hips moving in tandem with her fingering. You two had a natural rhythm together, her fingers well soaked from your needy cunt. Prison shower sex never cut it, far too public so this was a delicacy. “That’s it, good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut, so soothing despite the fact you guys are incarcerated.

“All mine, yeah?” She whispers to you, picking up the pace, still making you feel that sweet pleasure. You nod, her hand over your mouth still. The idea of anyone else but Vi was lunacy. After all these years, Vi knew every part of you and you every part of Vi. Then those skillful fingers find that dammed sweet spot, rubbing against it tenderly. Your back arches, slightly louder noises muffled against her palm.

airport patrons whir past you, their vigour leaving behind a slight draught that you shiver from, a crease in your brow as you rub your arms for warmth.

the place is busy. someone's sprinting to a check-in kiosk, others are nervously jittering about security, some are kissing loved ones goodbye. above all this is the miserable voice on the intercom, announcing imminent departures and further stressing those who've arrived too late.

but really, you don't mind. your mother stands beside you, less meek in expression, more tired by the cacophony around you. this is just another day for her; in fact, she can't wait for it to be over.

for you, this kind of day is sought after. there is a calm bliss that's overcome you, excitement simmering beneath it. this was your father's last work trip for a few weeks, just in time for his and your mother's wedding anniversary. they're heading off tomorrow for a sunny vacation.

the house is your own after that point.

past bustling crowds your eyes focus on the exit of the baggage claim. and as soon as you see the familiar flash of deep blue and gold walking out, you pick up in speed, leaving your mother in the dust.

there are obstacles in your way. the crowd, for one, but more importantly, your own father, who assumes he's where you're headed. why wouldn't he?

reluctantly, you meet his hug. warm cashmere scent envelops you, a stubbly kiss on your forehead. you peek over his shoulder as he whispers a greeting, locking onto the valley green eyes that you've been missing.

first officer williams.

ellie's been your father's flight companion for a couple of years now. with so many hours in the air and nothing to do, a tight bond's growth is to be expected. and that led to ellie's introduction to your family, the frequent inclusion of her at gatherings for around a year now.

as soon as you're freed from your father's grip you run to ellie. she meets you halfway, letting go of her suitcase to catch you. you heave a sigh of relief in her arms, and she's softly chuckling at your eagerness.

"hey, bug, careful. y'almost knocked me over!" ellie presses her arm against your back, squeezing tight to stop your attempt to pull away. not that you really want to—you're just hyper-vigilant around your parents.

and being this close, all you wish to do is press your lips to hers, which is not a good temptation to have at this very moment.

"sorry, sorry, i just... was excited."

"yeah, missed me, huh?" ellie grins, patting your back. her voice lowers to a murmur then, words spoken quick and falling undetected by your parents. "i missed you a lot, baby."

you think—know—that if she could, she'd have emphasised the sentiment with a kiss or two. there's silence in the air, space for the action, but you're left hanging with the forbidden nature of your relationship.

"hey, ellie. how're you?" your mother's voice startles you back to the present.

ellie releases you now, but her gaze does not, even while conversing with the others. you stare back, hands fidgeting. you hope she's looking at you with approval of your outfit choice. of course, you had it picked out all week with the hope that it will please her. it's been over a week since you did last see her, and you know when she gets back she's always eyeing you as though she's starving.

so, your offering of this little white dress is serving its exact purpose. low cut neck, skirt flaring out just above mid-thigh. ellie's excellent at pretending she isn't assessing the sliver of skin between your dress and thigh highs, easily maintaining small talk as your group starts the walk to the car.

"how was the flight?" your mother asks.

"same old, nothing special," your dad replies.

you're hanging back, walking alongside ellie. she chimes in, "it's never 'nothing special', come on. the view was especially neat this time. they would've loved to have seen it."

"sure they would, but they wouldn't've liked that turbulence." he gives a gruff laugh as he lifts his suitcase into the trunk of the car, then offers to take ellie's for her.

"it wasn't that bad," ellie mutters, handing over her luggage without complaint. "they could handle it."

"this one couldn't," your dad says, taking his cap and placing it on your head. as you look at him, you already see the gleam in his eye, that wistful look. and like clockwork, he says exactly what you expect. "she's too scared to follow in family footsteps."

you just happen to come from a long line of pilots. so came a lot of contention when you grew and decided not to attend flight school. years of your education were wasted under the pressure to set yourself up for aviation and exceed in physics and maths. at your refusal to attend flight school, your father bargained for something else in the industry, and was unhappy that you wouldn't even consider becoming a stewardess.

he still is. there's a piece of him present right now that's wishing the navy hat on your head was your own, and not his.

you huff softly, shoes scuffing against the road as you take the cap off, fiddling restlessly with it between your hands.

you feel ellie's hand smoothing down your back. "well, i think you'd rather a pilot who's confident in herself than one who doesn't like it."

"well," your father imitates, slamming the trunk closed. "at least she's a sweet girl. that's all i can say without riling myself up."

you look up, lip drawn between your teeth. even ellie's attempt in softening the situation is invalid. in fact, she feels like further insult to injury.

ellie's the daughter he wanted. it makes sense why he's mentored her for so long, welcomed her so eagerly to the family, and why she gets a ride to and from the airport with him. even still, he cannot appreciate both of you at the same time. it's always praise ellie, and tell you to do better.

you do wonder—how would he react if he knew ellie filled his spot in your life? would it be the same? he could celebrate her for not only picking the same career path, but also for picking up his slack, doing his job for him, and guiding you. or would he despise you both? the latter seems the more likely option.

your father is as self-important as they come. yours and ellie's rebellion means his power is dismantled. because what you do know after many years grappling with the uncertainty of your relationship with him, is that he doesn't like being reminded that he must be active in order to be the good father you need. his bare minimum isn't enough, and you've had to run elsewhere for support. and how dare you?

how dare you sit beside ellie in the backseat, let your thighs touch and let her ask if you've been keeping up with college work? how dare your heart flutter when she gives you the push to do what you're most excited about? she's interested, she lets you tell her about it. it's like she really believes in you, and that means everything to someone who's been underestimated for so long.

"i'm exhausted after that one," your dad sighs, rubbing his temples.

your mother, with her eyes on the road, snorts. "good thing you got all night to recuperate before we head off tomorrow, and a hearty dinner waitin' to be eaten."

you turn to ellie, a hopeful smile on your face as you murmur, "are you still coming tomorrow?"

"'course," ellie says with a nod. she grabs your hands to stop you fidgeting, squeezing your fingers. her voice stays low, the words private. "never too tired to look after you, bug."

"good," you whisper. habit tells you to lean your head on her shoulder, but the fear of looking suspicious to your parents stops you. you keep your heavy head up, knowing that if you can get through this night, tomorrow, she's yours to love without hiding.

whenever your parents take a trip out somewhere—and they love to do so often—they feel comfortable in leaving the spare keys to the home in ellie's palm. with your skittish nature, they feel they could never be too careful when leaving you. it's infantilising, yes, but this time it works in your favour.

at the dinner table, you sit across from your mother and father, ellie next to you. your father looks ready to hit the hay, yawning every few moments, but forcing himself to make it through the meal. your mother took it upon herself to make it as a gesture of gratitude to ellie, to have a family dinner of sorts, for her looking out for you. really, you could all do without this, but you don't mind a little extra time with her hand on your thigh.

it's pure adoration in the way that your eyes focus on her lips as she speaks, your face heating up at her raspy chuckles and confident voice. she's ditched the uniform for a crewneck sweater and some jeans, something comfortable after sitting in a suit all day, hair in the same tousled bun she started her day in.

beneath the table, ellie calms your restless leg with her hand, stroking along the goosebumps on your inner thigh. mindlessly you bend to her will, leg inching closer in her direction. only you're very aware of the boring conversation around you, your parents in the seats in front of you. and hell, ellie's probably not even trying to do this to you right now; it's not her fault you love everything she does.

"you okay, bug?" ellie's voice drags you out of thought, her head tilted towards you. her eyes are so gentle, her hand stilling in your lap. "very quiet tonight."

an excuse springs to mind, knowing the truth isn't viable in front of your parents. "oh, i'm just thinking about... some assignment... that's due in the next few days. sorry."

"you're fine," ellie reassures, giving you the kind of soft smile that makes your heart stop. you focus on that, rather than your father, who's crossing his arms. "that's important."

your mother furrows her brows, looking up. "is it stressing you out, sweetie?"

"it's fine, no, really," you stammer. "i'll get it done tonight, probably. it's not that hard."

"tch, payin' thirty-thousand dollars for you to read some books..." your father mutters, shaking his head. "what a waste."

ellie leans forward against the table, her brows furrowed softly. "she's good at her own thing. let her be. your daughter's smart, that's more than a lot of other people could say."

you almost flinch, not because of your father's slight against you, but because of the instinct ellie has to protect you. she has this innate readiness to risk a friendship just so she can ensure that what you hear about yourself isn't negative all the time. it's sweet, selfless, and unabashed.

and she continues: "i'd say you’re getting your money's worth from that education. she gets everything done on time. she's storing a lot of information in that brain, you know."

"i'm sure," your dad mutters. but really, he doesn't know; maybe if he spoke to you more often, he would see you for the intelligent and kind girl that you are. "i think i'm gonna head up to bed now. been a long day and i've got an early start tomorrow."

you observe a brief flash of annoyance in ellie's eyes. it's something like the defiance you used to feel when you were younger, which has been muted and dulled overtime as you accepted who your father is. she hides the frustration, instead nodding. "mm. i should get home soon."

"what time are you comin' tomorrow, then?" your mother asks her, standing to gather empty plates. your father pushes out of his own seat, too, and ellie retracts her hand from your thigh quickly.

"around the afternoon, maybe," ellie replies, looking up at your parents.

"we won't be seeing you then, we're headed out early," your dad says. quietly, you watch him outstretch a hand to ellie, who casually shakes it. he pats her shoulder. "i'll catch you later."

"take it easy," ellie says with a nod. her gaze falls on you then, sitting with your jaw clenched and wide, meek eyes.

"goodnight, sweetheart," your dad murmurs, rubbing your back. the contact is not unfamiliar, but it feels strange. it always does. it's like letting a distant relative hug you, rather than your own father.

with your mother, it's different. she gives both you and ellie a hug and a kiss on the cheek. but as soon as she has rushed up the stairs to finish packing a few things in her suitcase, you feel ellie's eyes burning you.

"you want to talk about it?"

"no," you whisper, gaze flicking from the floor to her face. you give a tired shrug of your shoulders to appear less bothered. "i just need tomorrow to come as quick as possible."

ellie snorts, checking the staircase behind her before slowly moving towards you. "then you're gonna have to get a good sleep for once, huh? no texting me at three in the morning."

she takes your wrist and starts to guide you. you follow blindly, no protest or question. "that's only when you're working, come on. timezones."

ellie shuts the bathroom door behind you, flicking the lock. "that's not an excuse, darlin'. you know i'm fine, you don't need to worry yourself about whether or not i landed. i always do."

you nod your head to the side, giving her a cheeky grin. "you love it when i worry about you."

"i love the fact that you care, not that you deprive yourself of basic human needs over it," ellie deadpans, hand sliding up your arm and to the back of your neck. she's closer now, your noses a hairsbreadth apart. "do you think you can get that assignment done tonight and also get a healthy amount of sleep?"

you nod, staring at the quirked corner of her lips. all you can think is that she better not leave you waiting until tomorrow for a kiss. "i want to, anyway, because i want the whole weekend about.. us... not my studying."

ellie nods back. "yeah, that's right... but you're not getting sidetracked 'cause of me, are you? you're a smart girl. i want you to do what you love. promise me you'll get it done?"

"i promise." your voice is soft, just above a whisper, and your throat dry suddenly. the flash of pride in her eyes gives you a rush, a hitch in your heartbeat and slight tremor in your hands.

"good girl." ellie smiles fondly, and this time she knows what she's doing when she flusters you. her free hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing over your lower lip. "pretty."

"oh, kiss me already," you whine, full pout and puppy eyes unlocked. "ellie..."

she chuckles at that, pulling you closer to press a small, chaste kiss against your lips. "alright, baby. you've been waiting all day for that, haven't you?"

"for that? no." your pout only grows bigger, and she dodges you when you try to go for another kiss. "been waiting for all of you. come on..."

"manners," she chastises, eyes trailing down to where your thighs rub together. she almost growls, pushing you back against the counter. "are you wet?"

you're silent this time, lip drawn between your teeth and no resistance at all as she flips your dress up and slides her hand past the waistband of your panties. the damp lace stretches around her hand, fingers sliding through your folds. you suck in a breath, ellie mutters a curse.

"you... you are... so cute," ellie says. she slides her hand out from your panties, your slick oozing between her fingers like honey. she swipes her tongue across her lips, brows raised. "fuck. it really doesn't take much to get you worked up."

"shut up." you tremble, yearning for her hand to return to its home between your thighs. but ellie just leans over and runs it under the tap behind you, killing the hope you had. she makes up for it though, pressing her lips to yours firmly.

"baby, if you can be a good girl and focus on that assignment tonight, i will make this weekend the best ever for you, okay?"

you nod. the promise of a reward rings in your ears. it puts you in a sort of trance, one that stops you from even mithering about the way she's leaving you right now.

"that's my baby girl." ellie smirks, kissing your cheek. "be good for me."

afternoon sun blaring through the windows of your finally silent home, your body resting atop your bed in piles of blankets and stuffies.

your phone buzzes.

ellie: on my way ❤️

finally. it's felt like eternity waiting for this text.

everything's proceeded as planned. you worked diligently on finishing your paper and submitted it before the clock ticked over to midnight. you dreamt of her. you woke early to wish your parents well before they left, and since then, you've waited.

you've thought about what kind of fun the weekend will bring, especially now ellie's framed it like a reward for keeping up with your studies. you've anticipated privacy at last, where her lips can seek yours and she will hold you like only she can.

this wait for midday has been the most gruelling of your life.

with your lover inbound, you drag yourself off the bed for a last minute tidy. you potter around, remaking the bed and correcting any pieces out of place in your bedroom. it doesn't matter, but you want to make the effort anyway.

before long, the door's opening, and in comes ellie, carrying an overnight bag. you run downstairs two steps at a time, right into her open arms as always. despite the tight grip snaking around your waist, it feels like pure freedom.

"hey, babe," she whispers, kissing you gently. she pulls back, glancing around the place with a sly grin. "it's quiet in here, huh? won't be for long."

"oh— oh. well, okay," you say, giggling. no time wasted in getting filthy, that's how ellie operates.

"only if you finished your assignment, though," ellie adds. "you finished that, yeah? because if you didn't, you'll be doing that first."

"yeah, yeah, i did it," you grumble, fingers pinching her sleeve in an attempt at dragging her to the stairs. "come on."

"good. good girl, i'm proud of you." she follows you, of course still lighting up your eyes with sweet praises. "you are going to be the best journalist, you know?"

you duck into your room, closing and locking the door by force of habit. there's nobody here to catch you, but your relationship is so sacred to you that you feel the need to take drastic measures in protecting it.

ellie sits on the bed's edge, and leans down to untie her boots. you watch, head tilted. she notices, glances up and snorts. "what's up?"

"well..?" you vaguely gesture to her, then the bed, then yourself. "what's.. my reward? i did what you asked."

ellie stifles a laugh. "reward? oh, baby. we'll get to that, yeah? we have all weekend."

"but..."

all you ever do is pout. ellie chuckles, seeming to soften at the pitiful look on your face. she sits back against your pillows, patting her thigh. "c'mere. is it so wrong for me to want to hold you?"

"no," you mumble, already crawling into the open space between her legs, head resting on her shoulder. her arms wrap around you and her lips press to your temple.

"that's better," ellie says, sighing contently. "i always miss this the most when i'm away."

you warm, squeezing ellie's waist. "yeah, i... i miss it too, a lot. i feel so safe like this."

"yeah? well good. that's good." she grins, rubbing your back. "you are safe like this. and you get to soak it all up over the next few days."

"yeah..." you hesitate over the next words on the tip of your tongue. "do you think there will be a time where we can be like this more often?"

ellie doesn't seem to hesitate like you do when she replies. "yeah. i want there to be. i like to think i'm gonna keep you safe for the rest of my life."

it's hard to suppress the smile that arises from that. it won't ever be easy for you to reach the place you're discussing. the conversation is too candid, but you're happy to ignore that. "imagine coming back to me of all people after a flight."

"is that supposed to be a bad thing?" ellie murmurs. you can hear the amusement in her tone. "i can't think of anything better."

"hm... i guess not. i would take care of you," you say. "i can make sure you rest. unpack for you while you go to bed... i'll have food on the table if you're hungry. i don't think you'd be all grumpy like my dad is when he gets back, so i'd be happy to."

"oh yeah? you just wait 'till you see me after a red-eye flight, darlin'. i'm pure zombie." she chuckles, starting to squeeze you tighter than ever. "you won't be able to do any of that, i'll be like the cuddle monster. just like this..."

"stop!" you laugh, pushing against her vice grip. "ellie—"

"if you can't accept the cuddle monster then i'll have to rethink these future plans, babe," ellie jokes, loosening her grip, although her hands continue to roam now, unlike before. "all i'm gonna want is to get to bed and snuggle my pretty girl."

a noise elicits from the back of your throat when you feel her cup your ass, taking a gentle squeeze below your skirt. "snuggling? or something else?"

"snuggling, babe," ellie confirms in a low voice. "why?"

"i just— you're—" you stammer, curling your body closer to ellie's the more that her hands begin to feel and grope at your skin. your stomach flips when she gets bolder and squeezes your breast. "els..."

"what's wrong? feels too nice when i touch you like that?"

"mm..."

you start to squirm. ellie plants one hand on your hip to keep you in place, and the other continues to run over every inch of smooth skin she can find. you jump when she noses into your neck, quiet breaths fanning over your collarbone, kisses trailing up towards your jawline.

"you want your reward now, baby?" she whispers.

you nod, turning your head at an awkward angle just to try and kiss her. she hums into it, tongue pressing between your lips. as you move a hand backwards to mess her hair, ellie groans, pushing her hips into your ass.

your every little moan is swallowed up by ellie, overpowered by her own sounds. your fingers tighten around a strand of her hair and she snaps into action, pushing you off her lap and back onto the bed. she cups the back of your head with her hand and lays you on your back, hovering over you.

"c'mere, that's it," she grunts, pushing her hand into your panties and wasting no time in sliding two long fingers into your leaking pussy. she shushes your gasp of pleasure, catching your lips with hers again.

ellie's fingers curl deeper, probing at the silky walls inside you. her thumb finds your clit, circling the puffy nub. every movement is slow and precise, despite how quickly you found yourself in this position. all you can do is keep bucking your hips in the hope that it will relieve some tension.

"oh, you're fuckin' wet, huh?" ellie says, letting out a raspy and strained chuckle. she looks at you, almost astonished, cooing, "look at you whining for me..."

"ellie... ah, it feels so good." you look up, meeting the loving look in her eyes. it's like she's looking at something so precious, sweet, and endearing, the way she watches you right now.

"yeah, i know it does," she replies, smiling down at you. "i can see it."

"'m gonna come," you gasp. "trying not to."

"why?" ellie asks with a scoff. "come, baby girl. it's okay."

"it's t-too soon," you stutter, speaking between hitched breaths and choked moans. you tense every muscle, trying desperately to hold back, even avoiding looking into ellie's affectionate gaze. "i always do this."

"no, it's alright baby." ellie laughs. almost determined now, she tries things she knows you can't resist. she thrusts her fingers even deeper, fighting against the way your cunt squeezes them. "come."

"fuck." you squeak, trying to close your legs—ellie shoves them away with her spare hand and grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to make eye contact. this time you can't hold back, pleasure overtaking your body in waves of trembling shock.

"good girl, there you go," she coaxes, feeling you leak around her fingers. when it's over, and she pulls her hand back out of your panties, she admires the white ring around her knuckles. you watch her lick them clean, hear her hum at the taste. "i want more."

"oh—" your legs start to close and once again, ellie parts them. now she's tearing at your clothes, unzipping your skirt and tossing it to the floor, tugging your panties down without a second glance at the style you'd carefully chosen this morning.

she holds your thighs apart and all but dives in, tongue prodding against your sensitive hole. it's almost completely selfish, how first she laves over your folds, licking up your slick. she works up to your neglected clit, making you mewl. she's focusing too much on the overstimulated area now, sucking and kissing, ignoring your whiny pleas for something more.

your hands grip at the bedding beneath you, head thrown back as ellie purses her lips around your clit. she looks up at you through her lashes, hard eyes focusing on your expression; crumpled up and with quivering lips, body squirming around.

she takes pity, sort of, and decides to give you something more.

three fingers slide into your cunt. you cry out, hands rising to cover your face like protection. "ellie!"

"you can take it darlin', you're a good girl. i know you got this." that's the only consolation ellie offers before she resumes, tongue washing over your pussy carelessly and fingers stretching you open.

you're panting between every moan, gasping for air, as the feeling of burning oversensitivity fades into pleasure once more. it builds up again, that familiar tension in your stomach growing until there's nothing you can do; your body jolts, your vision whites, and now ellie's lapping up every last bit of your release.

"oh, god," you whisper, watching as ellie finally sits up. she mindlessly wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her button up, giving you a wicked grin.

"hungry, baby? we should get somethin' to eat."

"what... are you fucking joking?" you ask, furrowing your brows.

"no." ellie caresses your face, leans in and gives you a soft kiss. "i'll order something in, okay? we'll get some rest and have some dinner."

you barely respond, only sighing and sitting up. "there's no way you're hungry after all you just did," you mutter.

"shush." she snorts, tossing her phone to you. "can you follow some instructions for me?"

your eyes flit between the phone and ellie, and you nod. "yeah."

"i'm gonna wash my hands and get something to clean you up with. choose whatever you feel like. i'll come back and finish ordering."

"okay."

"good girl."

some time later, cleaner and warmer with your face tucked into ellie's chest and takeout settling in your stomach, you think you're finished. she holds you intimately, peppers kisses into your hairline every so often, whispers praises.

you have no idea what else is really coming.

"you've been doing so good for me today," ellie murmurs. she keeps her voice low, all of her touches on your body very light now. "i knew you would. you know you're always really good for me, don't you?"

"i try to be," you reply, warmth blooming in your chest, her praise filling you with pride. it was never often that you received acknowledgement for something you put your efforts into until ellie first walked through the door a year ago.

"yeah..." ellie smiles down at you, squeezing your shoulder. she presses a kiss on top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. "i know. and good girls deserve to be taken care of. they deserve to be kissed and touched... and fucked. they deserve whatever it takes to stop all that overthinking."

"ah.." you swallow thickly, feeling ellie's hand slide further between your thighs. it has its desired effect, the distracting touch and the powerful words making your head feel a little foggier. even the way that you willingly open your body up to her this time shows it.

"i told you i was gonna make this weekend the best ever," ellie says. "i just wanna treat my clever girl now. you want that?"

"yes." you lean closer, holding onto ellie's arm as she gently rubs your clit. it's as though she's just warming you up, trying to get you desperate again, and if that's the case, it won't take much for ellie to get what she desires.

"easy, girl," ellie whispers against your ear. you can hear smugness in her voice, but it's mildly thrown off by you writhing back against her. she stifles a moan, beginning to rock herself up into you. "you wanna be filled again?"

"yes, please, god..." you whine, "need your fingers again."

"not this time, baby girl," she murmurs. "that just isn't enough this time, don't you think? i brought somethin' else for you."

"fuck," you mutter, squeezing ellie's wrist as your brain catches up, the implication of her words hitting you. "your strap?"

"yeah." ellie starts to move you already, sitting you down on the bed. "you want my cock?"

"mmh, yeah." it sounds great to you. you look up, big eyes admiring ellie while she stands, searching for the harness in her bag. "please," you add.

"of course, darlin'." ellie glances up with a reassuring smile. "this is exactly what i mean when i say that you are such a good girl. you deserve this so much."

that praise just goes straight to your head. you're certainly a little more sensitive than you remember being earlier now. softer, lighter, easier.

she undresses and pulls the harness up quickly, practised and comfortable. your eyes fall to the heavy silicone hanging from her hips, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to tuck your own hand between your legs and ease the throbbing arousal that's waiting for her.

"hands and knees, sweet girl."

you move immediately, waiting in position. ellie stands behind you for a moment, admiring your shiny, wet pussy, before finally she climbs back onto the bed and grabs you by the hips.

"take a deep breath, baby."

you do. it's interrupted with a satisfied moan as ellie pushes in behind you, and she lets out a deep sigh of her own. it's almost like she's finally found peace, she's at home in you, right where she belongs.

it's one long, slow thrust. the toy's not huge, but it's decently sized, still thicker than her fingers and reaching far enough for the tip to kiss your cervix.

no rest. ellie holds your waist tight enough to bruise, drags her hips back, and then roughly drives forward again. the goal is to fuck you stupid, and she's certainly on track with the brutal pace she sets.

you shriek her name with every hard thrust, she pulls your hips back to meet her hips every time, inching deeper and deeper. skin slaps against skin, two sets of moans fill the room, and your arms feel like giving out any second.

"ah, you take me so fucking well, baby," ellie groans. "good girl."

you've strayed from cries of her name to incoherent sounds, even trying to muffle yourself so that you can hear ellie as clearly as possible—that praise only drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

"you're getting close baby, i can tell," ellie rasps, "so am i. you gonna come, babe? show me how much you love my cock."

"mm," you moan, starting to feel your brain turn fuzzier with every passing moment. the strap brushes over your softest spots with precision, blurring your filter, and you can't control your own voice anymore. "daddy, daddy, love it s-so much, 'm so close."

"d— fuckkk, you do, yeah?" ellie lets out a breathy laugh, but her stomach tightens at your weak voice and the title you bestow upon her. "come for daddy."

less than a second later, you fall onto the bed, face stuffed into pillows and sobbing her new title like it's a hymn.

and ellie can't control herself either, now burying all the way in so that the base of the strap nudges against your ass. she comes, collapsing on top of you and rutting as close as she can against you, panting heavy into your ear.

she takes a second to recuperate, then clears her throat and pushes herself up again. "hey, baby. you okay?"

"mmhm." you nod.

ellie nods, giving you a gentle pat on the back. "i'm gonna go get you some water."

"noo, no, don't go, daddy. stay." ellie's every move just about shocks your overstimulated body. and, almost as if the strap is real, it makes you feel so much closer than you ever have been to ellie. "i want you."

you hear a whispered curse from behind, and ellie is struggling not to smile. this? this is too cute.

she'd be evil if she didn't obey.

"alright, i'm here. shh."

ellie does still manoeuvre you so that you're lying on your side. she wraps around you from behind, cheek smushed against your shoulder and hands splayed across your tummy.

laboured breath turns to light huffs, a tender break to calm down—or try to—because you seem to be insatiable today. ellie's doing her best, quietly talking you down from the intensity of it all. you don't seem to want this to end just yet, and ellie's more than okay with that.

she spends some time rubbing gentle circles around your clit. nothing more, nothing less. it's perfect for a while, and you let out tiny whimpers into the pillow under your head.

but then, with such subtlety and slowness that ellie barely notices at first, you start to writhe, fucking yourself back onto her cock.

"fucking hell." ellie sighs.

her hand sinks into the underside of your thigh, hooking it back and over her waist—the change in angle is everything, and it gets you cooing for her again.

"daddyyy," you whimper, drawing out each syllable. your whole bed creaks and rocks against the wall with the way ellie thrusts up into you, each stroke hard and fast and hitting your cervix. she keeps her arms wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you in place.

"shh, shh, i got you," she says in a wavering voice, "daddy's got you, baby girl."

you let your eyes slip shut, back arching. "s-so close."

"i know, i know, uh, fuck, same." ellie sounds truly almost as wrecked as you now, tired and shaky and full of bliss the more that she ruts into you.

neither of you last much longer. ellie's chasing a high, movements all becoming rough and miscalculated, but what really gets you is the guttural moan she lets out before her efforts give in. she's all but whimpering into your neck, squishing your body in her arms like a snake would its prey.

it has you shivering, coming with a silent scream.

it's like the world's stopped spinning as you come down from the peak, slowly opening your eyes and closing your legs to ease your core—it's beating like a second heartbeat.

"alright baby girl, hey, you with me?"

"yeah," you answer.

"good girl," she says. ellie rubs up and down your side, and finally pulls out. you let her this time. "you need some water now, babe? or just sleepy?"

"oh, um... i don't know," you say shyly. you hear the unbuckling of the harness, and feel the bed dipping below ellie's weight as she sits up.

"that's okay darlin'," ellie coos. "here, just drink a bit of water for me and we'll go to bed. it'll help you reset your breathing a bit."

she fetches you her water bottle from her bag, handing it to you and watching closely while you sip away at it. once you're done, she takes a drink herself, and then untucks your bed.

"c'mon. in."

without a word, you roll into bed properly, and ellie slides in beside you. her lips find your forehead and she lets you snuggle up into her chest, where you close your eyes and focus on the safety.

"goodnight baby. daddy loves you."

your breath fades into an even pace before she finishes her sentence. she knew you were spent, but not that much—she snorts almost silently, looking down at you with nothing but pride. you took it so well, just like she knew you would. you wanted more than she thought, even.

tomorrow, she's testing the limits all over again.

𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆'𝒔   𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆   . . .   ౨ৎ  hi hi hi, blowin u a kiss for readin all that filth ! this is one of my fav aus that i've created. i luv pilot!ellie sosososo much, i Need her with a capital N. she is so fine !!! hopefully this makes up for me not writin as much as i wanted to for kinktober :( p.s. i know u came for the smut so sorrie i projected my irl daddy issues into this a lil 2 hard in the beginning. unfortunately daddy issues are just gonna have to be a common theme in m fics from now on bcz that was therapeutic n i've been holding back a lot for a while . . . oops ! ! love you though readers ♡

vi’s hand smooths up the bare expanse of your back, your shirt and bra long-since discarded onto the bedroom floor. when her hand reaches the back of your neck, she hooks her thumb over your jaw to redirect your mouth to hers and slot your lips together. you sigh into the kiss, and when vi pulls back, blinking at you with an unmistakable hunger in her eyes, she murmurs something under her breath that you can’t parse.

“hm?” you hum, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“i said,” vi starts, nose nudging against yours, “i want you to fuck me.”

when she sees the smirk on your lips, you swear vi blushes redder. 

“oh, vi,” you coo, voice saccharine. “is that what’s got you all needy?”

you might be imagining it, but you swear you see vi’s eyes get glassy from embarrassment as she bites her lip, nodding her head in response to your question. 

she mutters quietly, “yeah, that’s…that’s it.”

what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t give her what she wants? no - what she needs?

you sit up on the mattress, hands finding the waistband of vi’s boxers again and pulling them slowly down her thighs. you toss them to the mixed pile of clothes on the floor, focusing instead on the way vi’s chest heaves when you pull her legs apart to reveal her center, where’s she’s already glistening with slickness. 

“bet you’ll take my fingers like nothing,” you muse, one hand reaching forward for you to dip your fingers in vi’s wetness. her abs flex when she feels you between her legs, your fingertips spreading her arousal until her whole cunt is shining with it. 

“don’t you think?” you ask vi, gaze flickering up to hers. when she nods, you smile and give her thigh a pat with your other hand. “good girl.” 

the hand between vi’s legs moves in closer until your fingers breach her entrance, your middle and index sinking into her warm, twitching walls. 

“oh god, mm,” vi moans. her eyes flutter shut and you watch her expression change with every thrust of your fingers; her brows wrinkle, her nostrils flare, her lips twitch. and every time she feels your thumb press against her clit, you’re rewarded with the sweet sound of vi’s needy whimpers. 

but it’s not long before your fingers aren’t enough. vi cants her hips upward, watching your hand work between her thighs, and her voice is all ragged and wrecked when she tells you, “more - i need more.”

so you give her more. you dig in the nightstand drawer for your harness, a purple silicon dildo hanging from the o-ring, and vi watches you adjust and fasten the strap, her hair beautifully disheveled as she lies in the center of the mattress, waiting for you to fuck her senseless. 

climbing back onto the bed, you slot yourself between the redhead’s spread thighs. 

“you look so beautiful like this, you know,” you tell her matter-of-factly, your eyes taking in every inch of her naked frame beneath you. vi’s cheeks have taken on a permanent shade of red, a flush that creeps down her neck and towards her chest. she laughs shallowly at your compliment.

“i mean it,” you say, voice a tinge firmer. “my beautiful girl, i can’t wait to stuff you full.”

“fuck,” vi curses. “you can’t just… say stuff like that.”

“of course i can, i’m the one wearing the strap, vi,” you remind her, wrapping a hand around the base of the dildo and moving your hips forward to smear the silicon tip through vi’s soaked folds. her reaction is immediate - she gasps, back arching prettily off the mattress. 

“see?” you smirk. “so beautiful.”

vi doesn’t have time to protest, because you push the head of the strap into her cunt and every thought in her head comes leaking out of her ears, gone. you watch with reverence as the strap sinks further and further into vi’s entrance, your hands finding purchase on her hips once again.

you move your hips in shallow strokes at first, slowly working up to a quicker pace. with every push and pull of your hips, vi falls apart further, her eyes squeezed shut as she hooks her leg around your waist to encourage you closer. 

you’ve only done this a handful of times - vi’s usually the one who likes to pound you into the mattress, but you’re not bothered by the change of roles. even if it’s not often, you love seeing your girlfriend like this - pliant and needy, clinging helplessly to you as you spear into her again and again. 

“so deep,” vi pants out, the blunt ends of her fingernails digging into your arms as she grips onto you for steadiness. “fuck, i might - i might come.”

“let me help you,” you respond, voice a little breathless. one hand leaves vi’s hip to snake between your bodies, fingers deftly searching for the place where she needs your touch the most. when your middle finger begins tracing circles on vi’s clit, she unleashes another punched-out moan, tears stinging in her eyes from all the stimulation. 

“like that,” she gasps, voice desperate, “fuck me like that, oh god…”

it’s the combination of your punishing thrusts and the wet glide of your fingers on her clit that finally makes her come, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her vision goes white. pleasure explodes throughout her body, and though you don’t stop moving your hips, you slow down to admire the sight of vi when she reaches her peak - a sight you’ll never tire of.

only when you’re sure vi has rode out her orgasm do you pull out from her, your eyes rolling when you hear the filthy, slick noises of the silicon leaving vi’s abused cunt. you part your lips and you’re about to make a comment about how hot that was when you notice a wet spot beneath vi’s hips on the bed. 

you shoot a surprised glance at vi, then return your gaze to the wet spot. you knew vi was wet, but this… this is practically a puddle beneath her. 

“babe,” you say, finally, “i think you… squirted.”

exhausted from her orgasm, all vi can do is lift her head from the pillow to glance at the wet spot on the sheets. she turns red again. 

“never done that before,” she remarks. 

you grin, climbing on top of vi again to smother her with a searing kiss. when you pull away, you have a wicked glint in your eyes as you ask:

"Baby," she said.

I blinked. Tried to focus. Her face was right there, beautiful and close, but the words... the words didn't make sense.

"Hmm?" An intelligent response.

Her smile widened. She looked amused now. That was good. Amused was good.

"I need to ask you something," she said.

I nodded. Or I think I nodded. My brain was having trouble connecting to my body.

"Are you listening?"

"Mmhmm." I was definitely listening. Probably. Her lips looked very distracting, though. So close. So kissable.

Vi's eyes sparkled. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. "What did I just say?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"...Yes?"

She laughed. That low, warm laugh that went straight through me.

"That's what I thought." She kissed me quickly, just a peck. "You're completely gone, aren't you?"

"Gone?" I managed. "Where?"

"Lost. Dizzy. Incapable of forming coherent sentences."

"Oh." I considered this. "Yeah. Probably."

Her laugh again, fuller now. She pressed her forehead to mine.

"I love you," she said, clear and slow. "You're adorable when you're like this."

"Mmm." I kissed her, quick and clumsy. "Love you too. So much. So, so much."

"I know." She traced my jaw with her fingers. "I was going to ask if you wanted to try something new. But I don't think you're in a state to make decisions."

"Try something?" That got through. "New? Yes. Whatever. Anything. With you."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know what it is."

"You." I kissed her neck. "Whatever you want." Her collarbone. "Always yes." The spot behind her ear. "With you."

She shivered. Good.

"Babe."

"Vi."

"You're impossible."

"You love it."

"I do." She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes soft and warm. "But we're talking about this tomorrow. When you can form sentences."

"Can't we talk now?"

"You can't even remember your own name right now."

I thought about this. She might have been right. After a few embarrassing and hesitant seconds, I offered my name.

"Yes. That's you. Well done."

I grinned, proud of myself.

Vi shook her head, still smiling, and kissed me again.

Tomorrow could wait.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 

the rain hammers the roof of 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄, a steady drumroll against the tin that vibrates through the sticky floorboards.

inside, it’s all low light and louder laughter, the air thick with cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and the damp wool scent of too many bodies crammed in from the wet piltover night.

vi shoulders through the crowd, a low thrum of pain radiating from her ribs with every breath.

the adrenaline’s long gone, leaving behind the familiar ache of a hard fight, knuckles split and swollen beneath hastily wrapped gauze, a fresh cut stinging near her eyebrow, the deep bruise purpling along her jawline a testament to a lucky uppercut.

she smells like sweat, leather, and copper.

she doesn’t need to fight her way to the bar. the regulars see the fresh marks, the weary set of her broad shoulders, the dangerous glint still lingering in her powder-blue eyes, and they part like water.

she slides onto her usual stool at the far end, the scarred wood cool beneath her forearms. she doesn’t even look up, just lets her head hang for a second, exhaustion a physical weight. the din of the bar fades to a dull roar behind the pounding in her skull.

then, the glass appears. a double shot of piltover’s roughest rye, neat.

condensation already beads on the heavy tumbler. it slides across the polished wood with practiced ease, stopping perfectly aligned with her clenched fist.

vi lifts her head.

you’re already there, leaning slightly against the back counter, arms crossed. your gaze, sharp and knowing despite the warm bar light, sweeps over her.

the split lip she can taste, the bruise darkening her jaw, the way she favors her left side.

your expression is unreadable for a heartbeat, that cool bartender facade firmly in place. but vi sees it. the slight tightening around your eyes, the almost imperceptible clench of your jaw before you smooth it away.

you know. you always know.

“rough one, sweetheart?” your voice cuts through the haze, low and smooth as the whiskey you poured. not pity.

never pity. just… acknowledgment. an edge of something else beneath the professional calm. something possessive.

vi grunts, a non-answer, and wraps her fingers around the glass. the coolness is a shock against her bruised knuckles.

she knocks the rye back in one burning swallow, the fire a welcome distraction from the deeper aches.

she sets the glass down with a soft clink. “s’alright. won, didn’t i?” her voice is rougher than usual, scraped raw from shouting, from taking hits.

“mm.” you hum, already refilling the glass without her asking. your movements are economical, efficient.

your eyes never leave hers. “looks like he won a few rounds too.” you nod slightly towards her jaw.

vi touches the tender spot, wincing. “bastard had an elbow like a pipe.” she tries for a smirk, but it pulls at the cut on her lip. she watches you instead.

the way the dim light catches the strands of hair escaping your ponytail, the curve of your neck as you lean to grab a clean rag, the subtle shift of your hips beneath your dark trousers.

you’re a constant in the chaos, her anchor after the storm. and right now, the possessive glint in your eyes, the way you track her every wince… it does things to her tired body. lights a different kind of fire low in her belly.

“needs cleaning,” you state, matter-of-fact, gesturing to her lip with the rag dampened with disinfectant that smells sharply medicinal beneath the bar scents. “c’mon. back room.” it’s not a request.

it’s an order wrapped in that velvet voice, and vi’s pulse kicks hard against her ribs, a different kind of fight response entirely.

she doesn’t argue. just pushes off the stool, the movement stiff, and follows you through the swinging door marked ‘private’, leaving the roar of the bar behind.

the back room is cramped – shelves stacked high with liquor boxes, a small desk buried under invoices, a single bare bulb casting harsh shadows. it smells of cardboard and stale beer. sanctuary.

the door clicks shut, muffling the outside world to a dull throb. the sudden quiet is thick, charged. vi leans back against the door, the cool wood a relief against her heated skin.

she watches you turn, the rag still in your hand, your expression shifting. the bartender mask slips, revealing the raw concern, the simmering intensity beneath.

your gaze is a physical touch, tracing the lines of pain on her face, lingering on the blood at the corner of her mouth.

“look at you,” you murmur, stepping closer. the air crackles. the small space shrinks further.

vi can smell the faint citrus of your soap beneath the disinfectant, see the flecks of gold in your eyes usually hidden by the bar’s gloom. “all busted up.” your voice drops lower, rougher. possessive. “mine.”

the word lands like a blow, but the sweetest kind. vi’s breath catches. the exhaustion, the pain, the lingering aggression of the fight.

it all coalesces into a single, desperate need. for you.

for this. the possessiveness in your tone isn’t controlling; it’s claiming. sheltering.

it strips away her own carefully constructed toughness, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, and aching in an entirely different way.

you raise the rag, gentle despite the command in your posture.

your free hand comes up, fingers surprisingly soft against her jaw, tilting her head just so. your thumb brushes the unharmed skin below the cut on her lip.

the touch is electric. vi’s eyes flutter shut for a second, a low sound escaping her. half-pain, half-something else entirely.

“hold still, fighter,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin. you dab at the split lip. the sting is sharp, immediate, but vi barely registers it.

all she feels is the heat of your body inches from hers, the focused intensity of your gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly against her jaw despite your steady hand with the rag. it’s the tremor that undoes her. the tiny crack in your own composure.

she opens her eyes. yours are dark, dilated, fixed on her mouth. the rag stops moving. the air between them is thick, heavy, vibrating with everything unsaid.

the tension isn’t just thick; it’s a live wire, humming with pent-up yearning, the shared knowledge of bruises beneath clothes, the desperate need to touch, to confirm, to claim.

vi doesn’t think. the pain, the exhaustion, the possessive heat in your eyes — it’s all fuel. she surges forward, abandoning the support of the door.

her good hand comes up, tangling in the front of your work shirt, fisting the fabric.

she pulls you in, ignoring the protest from her ribs, the sharp twinge in her knuckles. it doesn’t matter. nothing matters but closing the distance.

your gasp is swallowed as her mouth crashes onto yours.

it’s not gentle. it’s desperate. hungry. a collision. the taste of copper from her lip mingles with the faint sweetness of whatever you last sipped behind the bar.

she kisses you like she’s drowning and you’re air, like she fought her way through hell just to get back to this. to you.

your hands fly up – one still clutching the damp rag, the other tangling in the short, damp strands of her undercut, pulling her closer, deeper.

the kiss is messy, fueled by adrenaline’s ghost and a deeper, more primal ache. teeth clash, lips bruise further, but it’s perfect. it’s healing. it’s just yes.

you kiss her back with equal ferocity, a low moan vibrating in your throat. the rag falls, forgotten, to the floor.

your hands are everywhere. mapping the tense muscles of her shoulders, skirting the edge of the bruise on her ribs with feather-light caution before sliding around to her back, pulling her flush against you.

the possessive edge from before melts into pure, unadulterated need. yours. hers.

tangled together in the harsh light of the storeroom, the rain a distant rhythm on the roof, the world outside the door ceasing to exist.

there’s only the desperate slide of lips, the shared breath, the frantic press of bodies seeking solace, confirmation, and the sweet, burning promise of more.

the fight is over. this… this is coming home.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate , okay bye . . .

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐈. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, trace, translate, or claim my work as your own. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators. ⠀𝄢

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

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

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

Lacy at the helm of all your indecision.

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips remain concealed.

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

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

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

"How do you know about that?"

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

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

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

No. It couldn't. It can't be—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She never told me it was you."

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

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

"It wouldn't have done any good."

"Yeah, right. Caitlyn."

"And you and Lacey."

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

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

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

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

“Why are you telling me now?”

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

“I still don't believe it’s you.”

Another lie.

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

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

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

God, you are every bit of screwed.

“That's never going to happen…again.”

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

You can’t look.

You don’t want to.

Liar.

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

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

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

Your bid leaves no room for interpretation.

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

⸻

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

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

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

And Violet.

She's such a show off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're scaring me."

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

"The ultimate shag of your fucking life!"

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

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

"Like it means anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

You ought to be proud of yourself.

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

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

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

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

No one will love you as much as me.

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

Lacey over everything, yourself included.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s never worked out that way.

Why would she be any different?

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

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

Did she just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not important."

"And I think it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're really…confident."

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

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

"Yes what?"

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

"Vi….just fuck me."

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

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

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

"Your good girl?"

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

Fuck….

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

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

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

"Fuck, I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Violet, look at me."

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

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

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

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

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

And it rips you, the feeling that never dies.

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

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

⸻

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

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

Violet isn't predictable.

She surprises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that truly relevant?"

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

"Uh, well…"

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

The walks went on for nearly three months.

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

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

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

"I'm not in love with Violet.

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

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

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

"I didn't tell you we shagged."

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

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

⸻

⸻

"Spill, you fucking maniac."

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not entirely bad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now you're just being a dick."

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

"Fine. Speak."

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

"Well no—"

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

"You don't even know what happened."

"Oh, I definitely do."

"How could you possibly know?"

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

"Yeah?"

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

⸻

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

A real smile.

You didn't force it.

Vi wonders if you even could.

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

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

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

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

The headlines drenching her in blood.

Everywhere she turned to online patiently awaited her return.

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

She'll be back stronger than ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Violet.

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

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

Vi would happily bleed for you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Look—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to get her this time.

Vi slides the door shut behind her, and you turn back to the sky.

“Do you want to go home?” she asks. Her voice is soft and warm, and you want to wrap yourself up in it, in her. Which is the problem.

When she offered to be your date to your ex’s wedding, you had turned her down. You weren’t even planning on going. You deleted the invitation as soon as you got it.

But Vi had been persistent, had hatched a plan between shifts. She would pretend to be your girlfriend to show everyone you had moved on, that what Bianca did hadn’t broken you. And eventually you agreed. A few strategically posted Instagram stories later, and she showed up at your front door, dressed to kill (or at least break some hearts), and ready to take you to the wedding of the woman who had shattered you.

Vi ambles closer to you and wraps one arm around your waist. The door behind you is glass, and you can practically feel the gaze of curious wedding-goers burning hot against your back. They’d been gawking all night. Because of that, and only because of that, you nestle in closer. She’s warm and solid against you, finally some relief from the bitter chill.

“No,” you answer her question finally. “I’m fine.”

She laughs. “That’s why you’ve been hiding?”

You bristle at that. “I’m not hiding. I’m taking a smoke break.”

There was no cigarette in sight. That was a joke between the two of you. Vi was quitting, but still insisted on taking her smoke break every hour. “It gives me time to think,” she would say.

“Ah, I see.” Vi nods sagely. “Well, I think it might be time to go back into the party.”

You groan and bury your face in her shoulder. “Don’t say that.”

“Another hour and we can leave,” she promises. She tilts your face up to look at her. “You look beautiful.”

Your face burns hot despite the cold. “You said that already.”

“And it’s still true.” She grabs the door for you, and you murmur a thanks as you step through. Things like that come easy for Vi. Holding open doors, compliments, tender embraces. You know life has never been kind to her, but somehow some part of her has managed to stay soft. It makes you feel better about your own mushy center.

Stepping back in from the balcony feels like being transported into another world. The city outside is grey, painted blue by the moonlight. Everything inside is white, beige, cream, accented by the gold of dangling chandeliers. You always knew Bianca’s family had money, one of the many points of conflict between the two of you, but not like this.

“It’s too much, right?” Vi whispers next to you, close enough you feel the words more than hear them. “The decorations? It’s tacky.”

You smile and nod, but there’s a pit in your stomach. Eight months ago, you would have killed for this to be your tacky wedding. Instead, you found your girlfriend, the love of your life, tangled up with her coworker in your bed. And so, you had to completely restart your life. Everything was tainted with traces of her. Your apartment, your shared friends.

The only thing that’s stayed the same since then was Vi, your coworker at The Last Drop. Nothing had changed between the two of you. Until now.  

Vi takes your hand in hers brings it up to her lips. The gesture shocks and thrills you. It’s too much, too over the top in its affection. You should tell her to dial it back, tell her that she’s overdoing it. Bianca never did things like that. But you can’t quite bring yourself to stop her.

“Let’s dance,” she says.

It’s not a request. She drags you after her onto the floor. The song is slow, so she pulls you in close, positioning you like a rag doll. She sways the two of you to the beat; she’s got an alright sense of rhythm. The music is gentle and hypnotic. You want to rest your head on her shoulder, to melt into her. You stay upright though, and smile when her eyes meet yours. You feel lighter.

Vi has that effect on you. That’s why you were hiding. Not Bianca.

Because you told yourself were done with all of this – with dating, with relationships. But when Vi smiled at you, or held you in her arms, it was too easy to forget why that was the case. Vi seemed different, but you never guessed Bianca would have done what she did. It wasn’t worth the heartache.

And that’s your mantra as Vi pulls you in closer. What you tell yourself as you succumb to her gravitational pull and bury your face in the crook of her neck. The song ends, and you pull back. The spell isn’t broken. You still feel warm and gooey, melted through.

You don’t go back to your seats. You dance through three more songs, one slow and two more up tempo. During the last song, Vi spins you so fast you the room blurs, and you can’t help but laugh. You know people are staring, that the two of you are making a scene. You can’t help it.  

Then it’s time to say goodbyes. This is the moment you had been dreading. “We can just leave,” Vi suggests, face close to yours. The whole dinner she had been in your space. Hand on yours. Arm wrapped around you. Anchoring you.

“We have to,” you say, stomach tight. It was why you came.

You wait in line, Vi’s hand in yours. She squeezes, once, and shoots you a tight nod. “Moment of truth,” she whispers. You smile back with a confidence you don’t feel.

When you finally reach Bianca, you almost bolt. The last time you saw her you were telling her to rot in hell.

She smiles when she sees you, but you’re not sure it reaches her eyes.

She hugs you, and your skin burns where she touches you.

“I didn’t think you would show,” she says, when she finally pulls away. Her hands stay on you, rubbing wide circles on your upper arms.

“Then why send the invite?” Vi asks. Her tone is clipped.

Bianca doesn’t answer, and instead asks you, “And who is this?” Like she didn’t already know.

Moment of truth, like Vi said. “This is Vi. My girlfriend.”

Bianca’s eyebrows twitch, slightly. Her hands fall to her side. Then she schools her expression. “Am I allowed to say you moved on fast?”

Vi answers for you. “No.”

Bianca laughs amicably. “I guess that’s fair.”

It’s so warm in here. You miss the cool night air.

“But it seems you were wrong,” she continues. “Jess and I are the real deal.” A petty reference to one of the many things you had screamed at her that night - that she and Jess would never make it because Bianca was a heartless monster.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Vi asks, hand on the small of your waist.

“Nothing,” you say.

“Inside joke,” Bianca says, with a wink. Your face heats hotter still. You wonder if everyone else can hear your conversation, if they’re silently judging you. Pitying you. You wonder whose side everyone is on. Is it even possible that it’s yours? After all, they showed up tonight.

“We should go,” Vi says, looking at you, concern clear on your face. You can’t bring yourself to wish that she was better at hiding her emotions. You like that it’s all out there, that she’s an open book.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice small. You turn to Bianca. “It was good to see you.”

Bianca smiles, eyes crinkling this time. You wonder if that means you lost. “You too.”

She looks like she wants another hug, but you turn before she can reach for you. Vi’s hand is firm on your back, guiding you to the door.

Before you leave, she stops you. “She’s watching,” she says. You know who she’s talking about. “I’m gonna kiss you, okay?”

You nod, palms wet. Vi leans in, and suddenly it’s all too real. And you consider stopping her, just for a second. It’s too late though. If you do, everyone will catch on that it’s fake. Or they’ll think you’re fighting because of her. So, you let Vi’s kiss you.

She’s a good kisser. Lips soft, with a firm hand on your jaw guiding you. If you weren’t floating in outer space, looking down at your own body, you probably would enjoy it. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead on yours. “I think she saw that.”

That jars you back to reality. You remember where you are, that people were watching at all. It had just been so long since you had been kissed, you tell yourself. It was confusing you.

“Let’s go,” you beg.

She rubs her thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Sure thing. Walk slow”

In the car, it takes everything in you not to cry. “She was such a bitch,” Vi says.

She was. And the crazy thing was, until you had to talk to her you were actually having a good night. The best.

“You hungry?” Vi asks. You hadn’t touched your food all night – you hadn’t thought she noticed, though. Before you can answer, she’s punching the address to the closest fast-food place into her beat up android.

You both order way too much food, and Vi pulls into the closest parking spot so you can feast.

Your stomach is getting dangerously close to eating itself, but instead of unwrapping your sandwich you look at Vi, who experiences no such hesitation.

“Why’d you do this?” you ask.

Vi looks bewildered. “You seemed hungry.”

“Not the food.” You shift in your seat. “Why’d you come with me tonight.”

She pauses before answering. The part of you that’s stuck in that bedroom with Bianca tells you it’s because she’s concocting some lie. A more generous part, the one that’s taken with the sharp tailoring of her suit jacket and the tussle of her hair, wants to believe she’s shoring up courage to confess. That this was where she would tell you that it was because she wants you, because she’s always wanted you –

“I thought you needed closure,” she answers, finally.

Oh. “You were being a good friend.” You offer a tight smile. It’s a good reason, even if it’s not the one you were hoping for in your heart of hearts.

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess we are friends, huh?”

You nudge her. “Of course we are. What else would we be?” But your heart is blistering in your chest.

She doesn’t hesitate this time. “Coworkers, obviously.” She grins at the way you roll your eyes and snatches one of your fries out of the bag.

“Hey!” You try to snatch it back, but it’s in her mouth in a blink.

“Too slow,” she says, mouth full. You wrinkle your nose, and she laughs, head thrown back.

You play with your fingers, giving them something to do, so you don’t do something stupid, like reach out for her.

It’s two AM when you leave the parking lot. You don’t want the night to end. You want to invite her up, but you can’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t make your desperation for her obvious.

She walks you to the door, tie loosened, suit jacket abandoned.

You turn back to say something, maybe just goodnight, but Vi beats you to it.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks. Her gaze is piercing, and the focused beam of her attention makes you want to squirm.

Instead, you raise a brow. “Can I stop you?”

“I like you. I think I’ve always had a thing for you. Ever since you started working at the bar.” The words knock the air out of you. You would accuse her of lying, of playing some kind of cruel trick, but she’s so solemn you know she’s telling the truth. “That’s why I wanted you to come to this. I thought maybe it would give you some closure, help you move one. I wasn’t lying” Her eyes go wide, and the earnestness in her gaze makes you want to gobble her up. “But, or also, I guess, I wanted to be there when it happened. Because maybe you would be ready.”

“Ready for what?” you ask, breathless. It’s funny how getting what you want feels a lot like having the wind knocked out of you. Like standing at the edge of a steep cliff, too scared to look down.

She doesn’t answer immediately, instead takes a half step closer to you. You stand your ground. So, she moves closer still. One rough hand curls delicately around the back of your neck. “For this,” she whispers, and her lips are on yours again.

You had thought she was good at this before. It turns out, Vi was better when it the real deal.

She starts to pull away, and you fist your hands into her shirt to keep her where she is. She doesn’t protest, just wraps her other arm around you and pulls you in closer.

Kissing her is a revelation. You can’t for the life of you understand why you had never done it sooner. You would kick yourself, but you’re too thrilled.

You pull away, just a hair, to whisper, “Do you want to come inside?”

Her fingers skim along the edge of your face, kissing your cheeks. “Not tonight, princess.” Your stomach flips at the nickname even as it sinks in disappointment. “Have to take you on a real date first.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, maybe too fast from the way that Vi laughs. There’s nothing mean spirited about it, though. She kisses your cheek. You close your eyes and will time to slow down. It doesn’t.

“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Another brush of your cheek. And then, just like that, she’s headed down the stairs. She throws another look at you before turning the corner, grin rakish and entirely self-satisfied. You can’t bring yourself to be irritated. Your whole body is vibrating with excitement.

Maybe you’ll regret this. Maybe you’ll look back on this night and curse yourself for ever letting someone else in, for letting yourself get hurt all over again.

But for now, you let yourself hope.

they had, unfortunately, dipped last minute for some reason, saying their car broke down and they had to get it fixed or something. they told you to get ahead, they'll follow once they got their car towed.

convincing yourself to get your skin permanently marked by something was one thing, but now you had to brave through the dark alleyways by yourself to get that matching tattoo. it was scary, but you did it for them.

you went your way, worrying your lip between your teeth the whole ride. you badly wished they were here beside you, squeezing your hand in theirs and comforting you. 

as you got down the cab, you grimaced at the smoke that greeted you. this tattoo parlor really was in the shadiest part of town. everything felt intimidating — the narrow alleys, the flickering lights every 5 meters or so, the eerie sounds coming from around you. you wanted to turn back, so close to dashing out of there and hailing for the first car that passed. but then you saw it.

the neon lights standing out in the loomy area that read 'the last blade'. relief washed over you, and your tense shoulders slightly relaxed as you hurried into the salon. 

a man in a white muscle top layered under green overalls greeted you. his arms were covered with intricate designs, ones that were hard to peel your eyes from, had he not repeated his question a tad bit louder.

“d'you have an appointment?” he raised a brow, head slightly tilting to the left. 

“yes!” you bursted out nervously, shoving the picture of the schedule your partner arranged into the man's face.

“woah easy there,“ the man looked at you expectantly, peering behind you before further scrunching his brows in query. “it says the appointment was for two.”

“about that, my partner won't be able to make it in time. they'll follow later.” you explained, fiddling with the trinkets attached to your phone, unaware of the other person who stepped in the room.

“alright, let's get started then.” a voice in the back of the room called out to you. you turned around, lips parting in a soft gasp as you looked at the pink haired tattooist (whose name tag read vi) in front of you, black ink trailing from her toned biceps all the way up to her neck, peeking from under the black tank top she wore. 

butterflies erupted in your stomach as you followed her to a cubicle, eyes unable to stop wandering over her profile, as if imprinting the way her back muscles moved as she walked into your brain. you shook your head in a poor attempt to rid yourself of distractions, opting to check your phone again for any notifications. 

no new messages.

seemed like you were really gonna have to do this alone, with no hope of them coming anytime. you sighed, wondering which was making you feel queasier — the fact that they ditched you last minute for your first ever tattoo appointment, or the fact that you were gonna have your skin marked by a hot 5 foot something artist, who you just couldn't seem to take your eyes off. whatever it was, you were sure this session was not gonna be something you'd forget. 

“are you sure?” she asked as she was now facing you. the whole walk to the small room completely past you by til you found yourself in front of a leather chair, with vi's eyes going up and down your form before meeting yours and awaiting your answer. “i'm warning you, it's gonna be painful.”

“wow, that's comforting,” you frowned at her, knees getting weaker by the second st the thought of needle penetrating your skin.

“'m just being honest,” vi replied as she raised her arms in defense, causing a bit of her top to ride up and expose just a sliver of the toned abs that lie beneath. you sucked your teeth, the reaction pleasing the tattooist who raised a brow in amusement.

realising what you'd just done, you looked to the side and blurted whatever coherent thought came to your mind, anything to hide the sudden bashfulness you feel. “is that really what you should be saying to someone who's doing this for the first time.”

“your first time, huh?” the mood drastically changed with that one line, vi's words sending excitement through your veins. she huffed. you were such a pretty little thing, a sight for sore eyes indeed — what with your manicured nails and pink everything, eyes that twinkled every time you bat your lashes, and god your outfit, that damned low cut blouse you donned and the miniskirt that ended just a bit below your hips. plus, there didn't seem to be a single thought running through your head. you probably didn't even know the effect you had on her. and it frustrated vi that you could get her this worked up without doing anything.

“i warned you,” her low voice cut through the silence, making you stare dumbly at her due to the unexpected remark. you shifted your weight on your feet.

“get on the chair.” 

her words felt weird, the commanding tone mixed with her gruff nature sending chills down your spine as you sat, the leather squeaking against the parts of your thighs exposed by your mini skirt as you made yourself comfortable. 

as vi prepared the equipment, you remained quiet and waited for what she would say next, hanging on to her words like a puppy. you don't know why, you were just inclined to. the pink haired tattooist could feel your stare the whole time, the burn of your gaze nearly setting her aflame. she knew you were interested in her, even a blind man could see that, so she decided to play with fire for a little.

her next instruction had you gaping at her with eyes wide open. “take off your shirt.”

“oh, is the cut not low enough? here, i can pull it down—”

“come on, sweetheart. haven't got all day.” she continued, completely ignoring your suggestion. you figured you would end up getting strained holding your shirt the whole time anyway. slowly, you put a hand on your sides, pulling the fabric over your head and placing it on the armrest. the cold air hitting your skin made you cover your chest, bottom lip finding its place between your teeth as you kept your gaze low, too shy to meet vi's stone grey ones. 

“hands on the side, cupcake.” not even a stutter. you figured she was probably used to this, as it was part of her job, so you convinced yourself this all meant nothing. 

her gaze darkens as her eyes rake over your almost nude upper body, intense gaze lingering on the pink lace lingerie cupping your tits, spending more time than what was appropriate on your cleavage. you didn't think anything of it though — she had to so she could map out where exactly to put your tattoo, right?

“are you sure about this?” she asked while stepping closer to you, alcohol swab in hand. 

your answer was cut short to a yelp as she started rubbing the area below your collarbone, the slow circular motions of her fingers causing your thighs to squeeze shut, an action that makes vi smirk. “getting a matching tattoo with an asshole? do you really think that's a good idea, princess?”

“hey! they're not an ass—”

your mind was spinning — everything about vi, the clearness of her voice from being inches away from you, the shift of her brows now and then, the strong scent of her cologne taking over your senses, and the petnames, the godforsaken petnames, were all sending delicious ecstacy to flood your veins, making you want more, need more. 

“oh yeah? leaving a princess like you all by yourself to go to places like this?” her hands ceased cleaning the patch of skin and pulled away, your body leaning forward slightly, already missing her touch. “who knows what kind of people might take advantage of you.” 

acrylic nails dug into the leather cushion, tongue swiping over your glossed lips before the words came out of your mouth without much of a second thought.

“please.” feeble hands came up to a desperate grip on her top.

“please what?” she leaned even closer, arms coming to the sides of the chair to cage you, ashy eyes seeming to glow in contrast to the shadows on her face from the dim overhead light. no effort was made to close the gap, as though the two of you were frozen in place, faces a mere hair’s breadth away and eyes pouring with words you couldn’t say out loud, but hoped to reached the other. vi moved one hand to rest beside your head, gaze falling momentarily on your parted lips.

the gravity of the situation sunk in. this was wrong. 

snapping out of it, you leaned back against the chair when you became aware of the inappropriate proximity, the tight hold you had on her shirt relaxing til your hands moved to your sides to shield yourself from her gaze. and the cold, of course.

“fine.” you averted your eyes, attempting your hardest to brush off whatever the hell just happened. “'m not getting it anymore.”

“that's a good girl.” vi stood to full height, her composure intact, unlike yours that was a band waiting to snap.

“i'll talk it out with them again.” you stuttered, unable to maintain eye contact with the tattooist, feeling as though her eyes could see through your mind and read all your thoughts.

she headed out, with you tailing her shortly after fixing yourself and gathering your things (and taking a few deep breaths too for safe measure), the clacking of your heels being the only noise as the two of you made your way to  the front.

“besides, i don't think i was actually ready.” you confessed in hopes of alleviating some of the awkwardness you felt.

“good,” vi faced you unexpectedly, catching you off guard as you tried to add space between the two of you in the cramped hallway, afraid she’d be able to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “woulda been a real shame to taint that skin of yours.”

you nodded eagerly in agreement, that same weird feeling stirring in you. there was a moment’s pause, serving as a chance to take in each other one last time, before she kept going. the lobby was empty by then, the glass windows on the front reflecting the neon lights that lit the now darkened streets.

“hey cupcake,” vi spoke up for the last time, earning your attention and making you turn around midstep, hand resting on the door handle. she held out a piece of paper, nunbers scribbled on it similar to the way her name had been on the pin above her chest.

“call me if you change your mind.”

the rain paints piltover’s streets in slick, neon-reflecting streaks as you push open the frosted glass door of pink ink tattoo studio.

a little bell chimes, absurdly delicate against the low thrum of tattoo machines from the back.

the air smells of antiseptic, vanilla-scented disinfectant, and something deeper, like warm leather and ink.

vi is hunched over her workstation, meticulously wiping down her tools after her last client.

her muscled forearms, a canvas of intricate blackwork and vibrant florals, flex as she works.

she glances up, a quick, professional smile already forming on her lips. the kind she reserves for nervous first-timers.

it freezes halfway.

you stand just inside the doorway, shaking droplets from a ridiculously frilly pink umbrella.

you’re chewing gum, slow, rhythmic pops filling the small space between the rain’s drumming.

your eyes, wide and glossed with what looks like sheer, innocent curiosity, scan the framed flash art on the walls: roses, daggers, delicate constellations, before landing squarely on vi.

a faint, sweet scent of bubblegum drifts towards her.

"um, 'scuse me?" your voice is soft, slightly muffled by the gum.

you take a hesitant step further in, your gaze fixed on vi with an intensity utterly devoid of guile. "do thigh tattoos hurt? like… a lot?"

vi blinks. her usual repertoire of answers ranging from the reassuring ("it’s manageable!") to the blunt ("yeah, it’s a needle in your skin, cupcake") evaporates.

you’re chewing that pink gum, staring at her with those huge, liquid eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.

you look like you’ve wandered in from a pastel dream, all soft sweaters and impractical shoes, utterly incongruous amidst the sterile steel and bold artwork.

a strand of your curly hair, damp from the rain, clings to your cheekbone.

cute. the thought hits vi like a stray spark from her machine. unprofessional. distracting. dangerous. she clears her throat, trying to reassemble her tattoo-artist persona.

"uh. depends," she manages, her voice rougher than intended.

she leans back against her stool, crossing her arms, trying to project cool confidence while her pulse does something frantic beneath the phoenix tattooed on her collarbone.

"pain tolerance, placement, size… you got something specific in mind, sweetheart?" the pet name slips out before she can catch it. shit.

you seem utterly unfazed by the endearment, your focus entirely on the concept of thigh-based pain. you pop your gum again, tilting your head. the fluorescent lights catch the high gloss on your lips. "like… right here?"

you gesture vaguely to the curve of your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"something small? maybe… a cupcake? with a little cherry? or a bow?" you blink slowly. "do bows hurt more than cupcakes?"

vi chokes back a laugh that threatens to dissolve into something embarrassingly fond. the sheer, artless sincerity is disarming.

"cherries might sting a bit," she says, forcing her expression into something resembling seriousness, though the corner of her mouth betrays a reluctant smile.

"the stem details. cupcakes are usually pretty chill." she finds herself studying the spot you indicate, imagining the smooth skin there, the slight curve.

imagining tracing a stencil. imagining holding your leg steady… focus, vi, FOCUS. "first tattoo?"

you nod vigorously, making damp curls bounce. "uh-huh! always wanted one. just… never knew what to get. or where. or if it would hurt."

you shift your weight, chewing thoughtfully. "but you look like you know what you're doing."

your gaze sweeps over her own tattoos again, wide with admiration. "your art is really pretty."

the compliment, delivered with such open, guileless awe, hits vi square in the chest. heat prickles up her neck, blooming beneath the shaved sides of her undercut.

she rubs the back of her neck, suddenly hyper-aware of the smudge of green ink near her thumb knuckle. "thanks," she mumbles, ducking her head slightly.

"been at it awhile." she gestures towards the consultation chair opposite her station. "wanna sit? we can talk designs. cupcakes, bows… cherries. see what feels right."

you practically skip over, settling into the plush black chair, your pink umbrella dripping gently onto the polished concrete floor beside you.

you blow a small, perfect bubble with your gum and pop it softly, eyes still fixed on vi with that unsettlingly direct, glossy curiosity. "okay! so… does the color pink hurt more? because i really want pink frosting."

vi pulls her sketchbook closer, grabbing a pencil. her hand feels strangely unsteady.

the sterile shop air suddenly feels thick and warm, smelling overwhelmingly of bubblegum and rain.

outside, the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window, casting shifting patterns on the floor.

across the street, the neon sign of the late-night diner flickers, a mundane beacon in the wet piltover evening.

"no," vi says, forcing her voice into a semblance of calm professionalism, though her eyes keep flickering back to yours, to the way your lip gloss catches the light, to the utterly captivating cluelessness that feels like sunlight breaking through piltover’s perpetual drizzle.

"pink doesn’t hurt any different. it’s just… pink." she flips open the sketchbook to a fresh page, her pencil hovering. "so. cupcake. tell me about this cupcake."

inside, her thoughts are a chaotic hum, drowning out the rain and the machines: pretty little distraction walked right in. and she wants pink frosting. damn.

as she starts sketching a rough swirl of icing, she can't help but glance up again.

you're watching her draw, head tilted, chewing that pink gum with serene focus. vi’s chest tightens with a strange, sweet ache.

this consultation feels less like a job and more like the beginning of something dangerously, wonderfully disorienting.

a soft sigh escapes her, not from annoyance, but from the sheer force of trying to maintain surgery-grade focus while staring down the barrel of the glossiest, most distractingly pair of beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

"we'll make it perfect," she murmurs, more to herself than to you, already picturing the delicate lines of icing on skin, already wondering if you’d come back tomorrow.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate, okay bye . . .

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐈. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, trace, translate, or claim my work as your own. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators. ⠀𝄢

ellie swore this was “for educational purposes.”

which was exactly why you were trying not to laugh as she sat cross-legged on your dorm room floor, scratching the back of her neck while refusing to look directly at you.

“i’m serious,” she mumbled. “what if i finally pull somebody hot and i suck at kissing?”

“ellie,” you snorted, hugging your pillow to your chest, “you literally rejected someone last week.”

“yeah, because i was busy.”

“busy playing minecraft.”

“exactly.”

you laughed louder at that, and ellie’s mouth twitched into the smallest grin before she pointed at you dramatically. “see? this is why i came to you, babe. you’re experienced or whatever.”

“or whatever?” you repeated. “wow. so flattering.”

“you know what i mean.”

she looked cute like this — oversized hoodie, hair messy from running her hands through them all evening, glasses slipping down her nose while chemistry homework sat abandoned beside her. the little lamp near your bed painted everything warm gold, making her freckles stand out more than usual.

you tilted your head. “so your solution was asking your best friend to make out with you?”

ellie went pink instantly.

“practice kiss,” she corrected weakly.

“right. academic research.”

“exactly.”

silence settled for a second before ellie groaned and covered her face with both hands. “forget it. this sounded less pathetic in my head.”

“ellie,” you said softly, smiling despite yourself.

she peeked through her fingers.

“c’mere.”

that got her attention immediately.

ellie crawled onto the bed beside you slowly, like she thought you might change your mind halfway through. she smelled faintly like peppermint gum and laundry detergent, and when her thigh bumped yours, you noticed how tense she was.

“you’re nervous,” you teased.

“am not.”

“your hands are shaking.”

“that’s called a medical condition.”

you laughed quietly before reaching up to fix her glasses for her. ellie went still at the touch, eyes flickering between yours and your lips so fast it almost made your stomach flip.

“okay,” she whispered. “so… how do we do this?”

“you’ve kissed people before.”

“not properly.”

“what does that even mean?”

“i don’t know!” she huffed. “movies make it look easy.”

“movies also made you think you could pass chemistry without studying.”

“low blow.”

you smiled, softer this time. “just relax.”

ellie nodded once. then twice.

then she leaned in too fast and accidentally bumped her nose against yours.

you burst into laughter.

“oh my god,” ellie groaned, immediately trying to pull away. “i’m actually never speaking again.”

“no, no, come back here.” you grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie before she could escape. “that was cute.”

“don’t call it cute. that’s humiliating.”

“ellie.”

she looked at you again, cheeks pink enough to make your chest ache a little.

and then, quieter, you said, “just kiss me.”

this time she did it slowly.

hesitant at first — barely there, just soft lips brushing yours like she was testing whether she was allowed to want this. but the second you kissed her back, ellie made the tiniest surprised sound into your mouth.

your hands slid into the curls at the nape of her neck while hers found your waist carefully, like she still couldn’t believe this was happening.

the kiss deepened for only a moment before both of you pulled away laughing breathlessly.

“well?” you asked.

ellie stared at you. “i think i need more practice.”

“oh, do you?”

“scientifically speaking.”

you rolled your eyes, but she kissed you again before you could answer.

and again.

little quick kisses in between giggles and teasing comments and ellie mumbling horrible chemistry pick-up lines against your mouth.

“are you made of copper and tellurium,” she whispered seriously.

you groaned instantly. “absolutely not.”

“because you’re cute.”

“that was awful.”

“you still kissed me after.”

fair point.

by midnight, your homework was completely forgotten. empty takeout containers sat abandoned on your desk while some random movie played quietly in the background neither of you were actually watching.

instead, ellie had you tucked against her chest beneath a pile of blankets, her chin resting on top of your head while she absentmindedly traced shapes into your arm.

“so,” you murmured sleepily, “think you’re ready for real kissing now?”

ellie smiled into your hair.

“nah,” she said. “might need another lesson tomorrow.”

𓂃' 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate , okay bye . . .

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐈. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, trace, translate, or claim my work as your own. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators. ⠀𝄢

"you know touch-ups aren't supposed to happen every week, right?" vi asks, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, though the amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth ruins any attempt at sounding serious.

she watches you glance around the studio instead of meeting her eyes, glossy lips pursed in thought as you point vaguely toward the smallest line on your tattoo.

a line so insignificant she has to physically move closer to see what you're talking about. "this one," you insist. vi huffs out a laugh. there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.

still, she pulls on a pair of gloves.

the machine buzzes softly between you, the familiar sound filling the small room while you settle onto the chair. by now, you know where everything is.

you know which drawer holds the spare stencil paper. you know which playlist vi always forgets to change.

you know she takes her coffee with too much sugar and that she taps her fingers against the desk whenever she's concentrating. knowledge collected through weeks of suspiciously frequent appointments.

knowledge that vi pretends not to notice you gathering. "hold still," she murmurs, one hand resting lightly against your thigh to steady herself. neither of you acknowledge how long it stays there after she's finished.

afterward, she peels off her gloves and gestures toward the counter. "got somethin' for you." confusion flashes across your face until you spot the familiar snack sitting beside the register. your favorite brand.

your favorite flavor. the exact one you'd mentioned once in passing while waiting for your appointment.

heat crawls up your neck as you pick it up. "you remembered?" you ask quietly. vi suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting. "wasn't hard," she mutters. as if she hasn't memorized every detail she can get from you.

the next week, you're back again. and the week after that. and the week after that.

the excuses get progressively worse. a line looks slightly faded. a star seems uneven.

maybe the shading could be adjusted. maybe the placement should be checked. maybe, maybe, maybe.

vi shoots down every excuse with a single glance before booking another appointment anyway. she tells herself it's because she's being professional.

because customer satisfaction matters. because she owns the studio.

it has absolutely nothing to do with the way her day improves the second you walk through the door.

"you're impossible," she says one afternoon, shaking her head while scribbling something onto her schedule book. sunlight spills through the storefront windows, catching the silver rings decorating her fingers.

you grin shamelessly. "and yet you keep letting me come back." vi's pen pauses. for a moment, neither of you say anything. the studio feels smaller somehow. warmer. "yeah," she says softly, eyes lingering on yours for half a second too long. "guess i do."

the silence stretches. comfortable. dangerous.

the kind that makes her wonder what would happen if she reached across the counter and tucked that loose strand of hair behind your ear. the kind that makes you wonder whether vi's hands are always this warm or if it's just whenever she's touching you.

someone clears their throat from the front of the shop. both of you jump apart instantly.

"you know she's flirting with you, right?" caitlyn asks one afternoon, sorting through paperwork behind the counter while vi pretends to focus on cleaning her equipment. the question is delivered so casually it almost slips by unnoticed.

almost. vi's hand stills for half a second. "who?" she asks. too fast. caitlyn looks up slowly. "the girl who's had more touch-up appointments in the last month than most clients have in a year."

vi scoffs. "she's a client." caitlyn continues staring. "a client." "yep." "the client whose favorite snacks mysteriously appear behind the counter before every appointment?"

vi immediately finds something very interesting on the opposite wall. "coincidence."

jinx nearly chokes laughing.

"oh, this is pathetic," she says between cackles, sliding dramatically across the front desk. "you two are like one of those slow-burn romances where everybody wants to throw the main characters into traffic." vi tosses a crumpled receipt at her face.

jinx bats it away effortlessly. "seriously, though. she's obsessed with you." "she's not obsessed with me." "she literally invents reasons to come here." "she likes her tattoos." "and you keep feeding her." "she likes snacks." "you are impossible."

the next time you walk into the studio, jinx notices before anyone else does. she always does. the bell above the door rings and her head snaps toward the entrance instantly. the moment she sees you, a grin spreads across her face. "look who it is," she sings.

vi doesn't even bother pretending she wasn't already looking. you wave shyly as you step inside, glossy lips curved into a smile that immediately makes vi's entire expression soften. caitlyn catches it from across the room. so does jinx. neither of them miss a thing.

"hi, violet." two words. that's all it takes. vi somehow forgets what she was doing.

"hey," she replies, trying and failing to sound normal.

jinx makes gagging noises loud enough for everyone to hear.

as the weeks pass, your visits become part of the studio's routine. you show up claiming a line looks uneven. you show up claiming the shading seems different in certain lighting. you show up because maybe something needs fixing. somehow. probably.

vi always inspects the tattoo with the seriousness of a surgeon. she always ends up booking another appointment. caitlyn watches this cycle repeat itself so many times she stops questioning it entirely.

one afternoon, while you're sitting on the counter swinging your legs absentmindedly, caitlyn approaches with a cup of coffee in hand. "you know," she says carefully, "most people don't visit their tattoo artist this often."

your smile falters. "oh."

"unless," caitlyn continues, taking a sip, "they're interested in the tattoo artist."

heat immediately floods your face. across the room, vi accidentally drops an entire stack of paperwork. jinx collapses onto the floor laughing.

after that, neither of you seem capable of looking directly at each other for longer than a few seconds. unfortunately, that lasts approximately one day. by the following afternoon, you're back in your usual chair, and vi is sitting beside you while you tell her a story that has absolutely no relation to tattoos whatsoever.

caitlyn observes the interaction quietly from the front desk. vi is smiling. genuinely smiling. the kind she usually reserves for family. the kind that reaches her eyes.

"they're ridiculous," jinx whispers.

"yes." caitlyn whispers back.

"they've been in love for like a month." jinx whispers.

"possibly." caitlyn says.

"should we intervene?" jinx asks.

caitlyn glances over at the two of you. your shoulders brush together when you laugh. neither of you move away.

"no." caitlyn says.

"why not?" jinx asks.

"because," caitlyn says calmly, "watching them figure it out is significantly more entertaining."

days later, you stop by the studio without an appointment. just to say hello. just for a minute. just because you happened to be nearby. vi spends the entire rest of the afternoon smiling like an idiot. by closing time, even she realizes she's doomed.

jinx notices immediately.

"oh, she's gone." jinx says.

"what?" caitlyn says.

"gone. finished. done for." jinx gestures dramatically toward vi. "look at her. she's staring at the door hoping pretty girl comes back."

"i am not." vi says.

"you absolutely are." caitlyn says.

vi glares. the glare loses most of its effectiveness when she immediately glances toward the door again.

jinx starts laughing so hard she has to sit down.

caitlyn merely shakes her head.

somewhere between the touch-ups, the snacks, the lingering conversations after closing, and the way vi always remembers every little thing you mention, the entire studio reaches the same conclusion long before either of you do.

the only people unaware of what's happening are the two people hopelessly stuck in the middle of it.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate, okay bye . . .

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐈. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, trace, translate, or claim my work as your own. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators. ⠀𝄢

the rain paints piltover’s streets in slick, neon-reflecting streaks as you push open the frosted glass door of pink ink tattoo studio.

a little bell chimes, absurdly delicate against the low thrum of tattoo machines from the back.

the air smells of antiseptic, vanilla-scented disinfectant, and something deeper, like warm leather and ink.

vi is hunched over her workstation, meticulously wiping down her tools after her last client.

her muscled forearms, a canvas of intricate blackwork and vibrant florals, flex as she works.

she glances up, a quick, professional smile already forming on her lips. the kind she reserves for nervous first-timers.

it freezes halfway.

you stand just inside the doorway, shaking droplets from a ridiculously frilly pink umbrella.

you’re chewing gum, slow, rhythmic pops filling the small space between the rain’s drumming.

your eyes, wide and glossed with what looks like sheer, innocent curiosity, scan the framed flash art on the walls: roses, daggers, delicate constellations, before landing squarely on vi.

a faint, sweet scent of bubblegum drifts towards her.

"um, 'scuse me?" your voice is soft, slightly muffled by the gum.

you take a hesitant step further in, your gaze fixed on vi with an intensity utterly devoid of guile. "do thigh tattoos hurt? like… a lot?"

vi blinks. her usual repertoire of answers ranging from the reassuring ("it’s manageable!") to the blunt ("yeah, it’s a needle in your skin, cupcake") evaporates.

you’re chewing that pink gum, staring at her with those huge, liquid eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.

you look like you’ve wandered in from a pastel dream, all soft sweaters and impractical shoes, utterly incongruous amidst the sterile steel and bold artwork.

a strand of your curly hair, damp from the rain, clings to your cheekbone.

cute. the thought hits vi like a stray spark from her machine. unprofessional. distracting. dangerous. she clears her throat, trying to reassemble her tattoo-artist persona.

"uh. depends," she manages, her voice rougher than intended.

she leans back against her stool, crossing her arms, trying to project cool confidence while her pulse does something frantic beneath the phoenix tattooed on her collarbone.

"pain tolerance, placement, size… you got something specific in mind, sweetheart?" the pet name slips out before she can catch it. shit.

you seem utterly unfazed by the endearment, your focus entirely on the concept of thigh-based pain. you pop your gum again, tilting your head. the fluorescent lights catch the high gloss on your lips. "like… right here?"

you gesture vaguely to the curve of your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"something small? maybe… a cupcake? with a little cherry? or a bow?" you blink slowly. "do bows hurt more than cupcakes?"

vi chokes back a laugh that threatens to dissolve into something embarrassingly fond. the sheer, artless sincerity is disarming.

"cherries might sting a bit," she says, forcing her expression into something resembling seriousness, though the corner of her mouth betrays a reluctant smile.

"the stem details. cupcakes are usually pretty chill." she finds herself studying the spot you indicate, imagining the smooth skin there, the slight curve.

imagining tracing a stencil. imagining holding your leg steady… focus, vi, FOCUS. "first tattoo?"

you nod vigorously, making damp curls bounce. "uh-huh! always wanted one. just… never knew what to get. or where. or if it would hurt."

you shift your weight, chewing thoughtfully. "but you look like you know what you're doing."

your gaze sweeps over her own tattoos again, wide with admiration. "your art is really pretty."

the compliment, delivered with such open, guileless awe, hits vi square in the chest. heat prickles up her neck, blooming beneath the shaved sides of her undercut.

she rubs the back of her neck, suddenly hyper-aware of the smudge of green ink near her thumb knuckle. "thanks," she mumbles, ducking her head slightly.

"been at it awhile." she gestures towards the consultation chair opposite her station. "wanna sit? we can talk designs. cupcakes, bows… cherries. see what feels right."

you practically skip over, settling into the plush black chair, your pink umbrella dripping gently onto the polished concrete floor beside you.

you blow a small, perfect bubble with your gum and pop it softly, eyes still fixed on vi with that unsettlingly direct, glossy curiosity. "okay! so… does the color pink hurt more? because i really want pink frosting."

vi pulls her sketchbook closer, grabbing a pencil. her hand feels strangely unsteady.

the sterile shop air suddenly feels thick and warm, smelling overwhelmingly of bubblegum and rain.

outside, the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window, casting shifting patterns on the floor.

across the street, the neon sign of the late-night diner flickers, a mundane beacon in the wet piltover evening.

"no," vi says, forcing her voice into a semblance of calm professionalism, though her eyes keep flickering back to yours, to the way your lip gloss catches the light, to the utterly captivating cluelessness that feels like sunlight breaking through piltover’s perpetual drizzle.

"pink doesn’t hurt any different. it’s just… pink." she flips open the sketchbook to a fresh page, her pencil hovering. "so. cupcake. tell me about this cupcake."

inside, her thoughts are a chaotic hum, drowning out the rain and the machines: pretty little distraction walked right in. and she wants pink frosting. damn.

as she starts sketching a rough swirl of icing, she can't help but glance up again.

you're watching her draw, head tilted, chewing that pink gum with serene focus. vi’s chest tightens with a strange, sweet ache.

this consultation feels less like a job and more like the beginning of something dangerously, wonderfully disorienting.

a soft sigh escapes her, not from annoyance, but from the sheer force of trying to maintain surgery-grade focus while staring down the barrel of the glossiest, most distractingly pair of beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

"we'll make it perfect," she murmurs, more to herself than to you, already picturing the delicate lines of icing on skin, already wondering if you’d come back tomorrow.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate, okay bye . . .

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐈. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, trace, translate, or claim my work as your own. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators. ⠀𝄢

"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.