𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖊

when the crowd cheers as you're given a fat check from the prize and her eyes melt in envy, she cannot help but give you that look of disgust you can see mid-way the wide smile on your lips so you're now aware of how she feels about you: the hatred that comes from deep down due to the doubts you planted in her brain about her own skills (one thing is to win the second place, but the third? fucking stupid, delusional even) so it's funny in the end how she can get so annoyed to the point it turns her into a monster.

you've spoken with her, what? one? two times? forgettable interactions only making dumb questions that makes vi roll her eyes, always playing the optimistic card around people when asking what needle size is she using, if she prefers a curved magnum instead of a normal one when it comes to shading as if some of that mattered. an annoying prick with a cute face.

"good tattoo," you say when greeting her, but vi don't say a word in reply and it makes you laugh cause hell — you know people like her, ready to cut throat if necessary, unable to take a compliment from the competition, the enemy. "i don't know why you didn't get the second place, i think it's a really good piece."

"thanks."

you fucking rat. was that to punch her ego to death? suddenly vi wishes to never see your face again, turn around, practice double the harder and come back next year to take not only the money, but your pretty golden award that shines like diamonds under the yellow lights, that being said — how exactly she ended up in that party hours later, the one your friends throw after the event and gathers everyone around for a beer or two, meet new people, a celebration she does not belong in as there's nothing to celebrate about.

truth is? makes her feel pathetic, bronze medal on her chest, talking to people who congratulate her as if the third spot is something good and nothing to be ashamed of, as if vi's not going to toss it to the trash the very same moment she steps in her little apartment: the real problem here is that her friends also happen to be your friends and after being insisted on drinking her problems away, she's there regretting all of her decisions who only stab her in the back.

stabbing.

she's taking a lot of bad decisions lately — clearly, cause on a scale of one to ten, how much of a hypocrite would violet be when she's fucking you in front of the bathroom mirror almost two hours later? funny. when she's pushing your face against the surface so your cheek's now squished against the cold, hard to speak as she gets off from the sound your moans make as they slowly fill the bathroom she made sure of locking.

yeah-- how much of an asshole would she be when admitting how much it turns her on to see you there struggling to breathe with her medal around your neck? free hand that pulls diagonally and has the ribbon pushing perfectly against your throat: how did she end up crossing that thin line that diffuses the hate and love? taking advantage of you in a dirty bathroom instead of calling you out for being an asshole.

"you really are a hot third place," you say, and it's the laugh that pisses her off, your games while she pushes you harder against the mirror. you smell like weed, there is alcohol on her own breath, and it's a shame, but vi does not remember now why she was following you to the bathroom, ready to scream something about your constant mocking, of how you didn't deserve to win fucking anything. "even for a fucking loser you're not that bad."

it's violet now the one that suffers from a cocky smile, when you feel bold even when the strap on's well secured around her waist, tightly around each leg as she buries herself harder in your soaked cunt and uses both hands now to hold you in place, not really kind, far from the usual mercy as she squeezes your waist in hopes to keep you up in your feet, remind you about how you both are in a party still and not somewhere you can slip.

what did you expect, anyway? a pat on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek? it hits just right when her nails dig in your skin and she doesn't have to pretend to care about the pain it produces, how well it blends with the way her hips move now against you, sharp, controlled movements, how vi doesn't need to say a word cause you're melting in her arms and she keeps fucking you to her own fun, her own desires.

is it bad if it turns you on to notice how quickly violet vanderson can put you back to where you belong? jeans on the floor, underwear made halfway to the side, you're now vulnerable to her, trying to spread your legs further apart so she can go deeper even if the space is almost non-existent, tits crushed against the mirror and her own body, you're leaking against the blue dildo and making a mess out of vi's black boxers to the point she's sure it will leave a stain behind, a new victim to that delicious sound she can hear even from over the loud music outside, the one of your soaked pussy does when making space for her, when you invite her in.

there it fucking is. erratic moans, the gold medal looks better in her own chest more than it ever did in yours, ruined face imprinted in her brain now that you look back at her with pleading eyes, begging to go harder, deeper, anything so you can cum all over her rubber cock and vi can feel like a winner again.

"gonna make you my fool now," she replies in your ear, a reminder of how she's always in control — "gonna steal your first place and keep you to myself."

is it hatred now? holy shit, it's getting hard to tell. the music's so loud she's having trouble to hear her own thoughts and concentrate about anything but the way your body reacts to her touch, craving for more, needing her closer even when you spat incoherent words while she has a personal fight with your shirt, struggling for a moment to take it off due to the impatience and kiss the soft skin of your shoulders, nibble on the curve of your neck that now seems so tempting to bite, leave a hickey or two so you can be ashamed of it after, of how you let a loser take control of your surroundings, yourself.

take what's her own and let her take in return what's yours, let her invade so you become one, let her make a mess out of you as a reminder of who's actually better, of who deserves to be carrying the gold medal: she hates you, right? she hates you when she shoves a finger in your mouth and you gently bite the digit, it's that visceral feeling-- that need of having you drunk on her smell, on the feeling her cock leaves behind every time vi's hips withdraw entirely and you're hollow for a second before she fucks you back again so the rubber balls hit your entrance and you moan in plain delirious. full of her.

"don't cum yet," she orders, ignoring whoever is knocking on the door and daring herself to boss you around cause shit, she calls the shots, right? making you sweat in your cute little outfit, palm of the hand over your stomach so she can have the perfect angle to pull your ass back to her cock right how she wants you to be — "fucking hear me? nod when i speak to you. don't cum."

"yes--" at this point? vi's clit swollen too, the friction, the moment, she's soaked and it's easy to make her like the feeling, the way your ass searches for the rubber turning her sensitive on each thrust, "yes-- i hear you."

worst white lies have been told before, but she's moaning against your ear, moving with you and it's hard to say anything to take the contrary, remind her about how she's the third place still and you're not at her will. it's hard when vi's sucking on your neck like a vampire and her weight crushes you down, when she uses a hand to spread your ass for her cock and she doesn't care about the saliva coating her fingers, about how soaked you are so it's now staining your inner legs like the most delicious proof of want, how much time she's been locked with you in that shitty bathroom so there's visibly line outside, think of anything else other than how good she is at fucking the alleged enemy.

"c'mon- fuck yourself good-- let me see you" it's growing on her now, a sight that surpasses somehow winning any gold: ass moving on it's own rhythm so her thumb can slide through your folds and land on your clit, gently stroking it in slow circles to add even more pleasure, greedy when taking her time in touching and getting to know which parts leave you breathless, helping you move against the strap-on so you reach the very deep and take her entirely, no cheat.

who are you to blame when you cum? does nothing but drive the pink haired crazy, the narrow space boiling hot now due to human heat, the smell of sex staining on the white tiles of the walls when vi can physically feel the warmth throughout the fabric of the strap-on, staining her cock deliberately now with your sticky orgasm as she keeps moving, relishing that nasty sound that is now louder than any damn music outside-- who is vi to blame when she cums after too? consumed by the need to see you, even if the lights in the bathroom were so damn dim, be a witness to the way the blue dildo leaves your abused cunt so puffy for her it has vi salivating like a damn animal ready to kneel.

she hates you, right? to cum is to admit you're fucking pathetic. to cum is to admit that she has you by the neck, under her everlasting spell.

"wear my medal and i'll wear yours," you say, breathless. "is it a deal, third place?"

"you think anyone will believe i won outside?" vi asks instead as she lazily drags the shirt back to her body: was that the conversation you were having before? flirting and exchanging dumb medals hoping the rest will play along? "i don't want a medal i don't deserve."

her words don't seem to bother you however, when you add instead — "i don't care about what the rest believes, vi. i just want to keep you satisfied so you can fuck me later. it looks better around your neck anyway."

it's oh so simple.

according to her it all starts when you win the competition (or something like that, what-fucking-ever) cause why else would violet vanderson would be shoving her hand inside the back pocket of your jeans later that same night? only as a sign of possession when she squeezes your ass before speaking close to your ear:

"next year m'gonna make you my dog too, with my gold medal."

slowly, she regrets being ten minutes late to a party she almost avoided at first, after so long investing this much time in staying away? karma breathes down her neck and it surely catches vi in a low moment of her life, or at least, guilty enough to curse silently while her sister keeps talking unaware of how stiff she is. shit, how long has it been since she last saw you? six, seven years now? time's an illusion created by men when minutes don't pass like as would: you're careless now, unaware that she still exists, cool.

"my best friend from school, you know her-- braces, weird haircut..." let cupid shoot his arrow twice cause you're far from the girl who once was drunk confessing a teenage crush in the middle of a starry night like a secret from the government — "c'mon be smart."

"i am smart--" vi replies offended, is this some kind of punishment for being late to her birthday party? for avoiding her hometown like it's haunted? "i know who that is. the troublemaker friend you had who followed you everywhere."

"well congratulate her and don't be a fucking asshole. she bagged this big job in the hospital of piltover to be part of the e.r team. it's a big night for her too."

the memory of when you were too drunk blurting out your hopes and desires settles in her brain and it's impossible to let go. pulls the corners of her mouth in an unexpected smile cause she can still go back to the words you mumbled between pouts and cheeky smiles, how she was already tired of zaun and how hot that summer was — you went too hard with the vodka, and she is, still too old for you.

"vi?" it's a knot in the throat when you become aware of her presence, say her name like you're missing one star all along, a new planet announced to the rest of the world. suddenly she turns into an old friend you hold close to your heart instead of that never-before-experienced-lover or your forever wonder. "oh god, how are you? jinx told me you were coming but i thought she was daydreaming-"

it's fast and it turns the air toxic as your arms surround her in an unexpected hug: god she's in such deep trouble. impossible not to freeze as her own arms welcome you back; she has the perfect excuse right? since you've been around each other at a young age you're an indirect part of her life, no? — she hasn't known anything about you in years so it's almost fair.

was it the mini-skirt? the way your hair smells as you're that close? she's a sucker for that kind of things — maybe it was the deprivation of good sex for what felt like a lifetime, or the sound of your voice when you talk so close to her. everything's a menace as your laugh seems to fill the entire place; her space at least, so inexistent at that point it makes vi afraid of having her sister wondering what the hell is going on.

"congrats on your new job, doc" it's nothing but politeness sprinkled with bits of flirting, subtle. "turns out you were a smart-ass after all, huh?"

"seems like it, yes-" is that cockiness in your voice? confidence? "thank you. been working hard for it."

"can tell you did" crooked smile, head slightly tilted to the right, she's been on this game for almost forty years: "you've always been annoying when you want something."

"i'd say determined, but yeah" you're now a very intelligent brat who seemed to have every answer to her playful banter. "you're staying long?"

"not much, your friend here's keeping tabs on me so i doubt that i can't leave before" maybe she should be more grateful of the volatile attention span of jinx already invested in another conversation to know what she's even talking about. "got a lot of work to do and i can't stay that long, the restaurant doesn't work well without me."

"well that's nice. j missed you quite a lot," maybe it's the smile that throws her off as you're called by your friends, when other people claim your attention and she wishes to have it all to herself. "see you around?"

"you call the shots, doc. talk to you later."

problems. she has a lot of problems nowadays to add another one to the list.

a sure inconvenience, but it doesn't stop life from making it considerably hard to pay attention to anything else after that hug, after having you so close, talk. it's only fair when she spends a good amount of time gripping her plastic cup too hard, surrounding herself with people who ask her about the job and how she is only to give back half asserted answers cause she lose the track of what she's saying, too damn tired to pretend she gives two fucks about anything else more than the cute friend of her young sister.

are you aware of how interested someone can be in you? how actively she's following your movements around and waiting for the moment to have the tender pleasure of your attention? just a simple conversation. makes her feel guilty when she realizes who she's lusting over, the inevitable years that separate the both of you: she's entering her forties and you're what? 28, 29? too young.

so vi stays on her side of the line. survival mode. avoid any further interaction cause she's too good to flirt with her sister's best friend, too polite to admit you're attractive. instead she turns the other cheek and forces herself to keep a normal conversation — remember that it's her sister's birthday and not a lesbian speed date event.

and plans would keep going amazing if she wasn't already tired of people, if the hours weren't so long and vi wasn't already moody from before. she kisses her sister's cheek before promising to come back tomorrow when the clock hits three in the morning, and she waves her friends goodbye before fixing her scarf ready to face the cold snow that gathered outside the bar: avoid you. she's fast when zipping up her jacket and pretends she's rushing for an emergency more than saving her own ass, not searching for you when the place's full.

thing is? it would be easier to escape from you if you — the prime headache, weren't outside the bar silently smoking a cigarette, if you didn't whistle loud enough to make her look at you. so much easier if the street wasn't empty and you weren't smiling all optimistic as you walk careful not to fall in the frozen streets.

"you leaving this early?" you ask, holding onto your coat to warm yourself from the cold "is the party too boring for the elderly?"

"twas a long trip" vi replies politely, now under the cold light of the moon and the reflection of the light in the snow she's capable of seeing you better, be a witness of the new details on your face: every mark on your skin, every line.

"so you're leaving without even saying goodbye instead."

"i'm not-" is there any excuse? like a teenager that's caught doing something wrong, vi's mouth rushes into a line at the lack of words — "are you supposed to even be smoking that, doctor?"

"this? nah, it should be the last of your worries." why is there something hot about it? about the way you lean against the wall of the last drop, the dim yellow light of the street lamp projected in your face, "trust me. this holds my last bit of sanity together-- do you really have to leave so soon? none of my friends wanted to join me here since it's too cold outside, c'mon. just five minutes. i'll let you leave when i'm done with my cigarette."

"well, it's freezing here your friends have a point" there's no doubt when she never thought twice to accept your words, almost embracing the failure of her plans as she sighs in fake annoyance, turns out she's quite bad when it comes to acting. "go on doc, smoke. i'll join you in your rush of sanity."

that's how she signs her ultimate contract with the devil in the end, when she stays still right next to you, silent, distant, deep in her thoughts: it may be the first time she's talking to you decently, so if the tension's palpable? you are good at ignoring while filling the air with a distinct smell that made her scrunch her nose in disgust.

"so," vi pauses for a second, too bad at small talk. "doctor, huh? always thought you were going to be something annoying like a lawyer."

you hum, and it's the most delicious sound vi can ever hear from over the distant noise contained in closed doors, savors it in her tongue as you speak again — "yeah, found out i really like to help people. be there. i wanted something to feel i dunno, tangible i guess-"

"so you turned into mother teresa, then?"

"shut up" you laugh, she does it too when pretending to be hurt from the push you playfully give her, even when in reality she can barely feel it under so much clothing, "and i also wanted to prove people wrong. i don't think anybody had the faith in me to do something like that."

"all of them can go straight to hell," fuck's sake, is she a five-year-old that can't keep her thoughts private? "people are used to do that, think you're less than what you really are."

"yeah they can go straight to hell, you're so right." man, why are you looking at her like that? pleading eyes, big smile, like some simple words found the path close to your heart and you just remembered why she was your crush back then when you were young. "i'm really happy you're here, vi. jinx missed you a lot and its nice to see her this happy in her special day."

so vi tries to find a rational explanation to why her heart skips a beat the way it does, resting her back close to where you are to the point the mix of the smoke and your perfume installs now in every corner of her mind making it severely difficult to not get invested like she's currently getting that night and wonder, deep down, if that crush you once got is still there gripping to the last bits of sanity that remains: impossible.

"thanks for being there for her," — "i don't want pow to be alone while i'm not here."

"well she has me, and ekko" you add, "she's been my best friend since i can remember, family. i fear she's stuck with me too."

"stuck with you, huh?" her brows furrow slightly at the thought. "poor pow. you two being annoying is something you can never get used to."

"teenage years were crazy" you chuckle. "a fever dream and my peak of embarrassment."

"why so?"

"please, as if you don't remember," how could she not? you're good at roll your eyes and play with the cigarette between your fingers as if it keeps you grounded, still and not nervous at all.

"do i, now? a lot happened while we grew up-"

"so you don't remember when i told you about my massive crush on you?" you question curiously, interrupting midway. "i literally spill my guts to you mid party. awful night, but i would be offended still if you forgot."

you're so casual while saying it, unaware that vi's soul drops in the very same second, almost losing balance as she can feel the heat coming from her insides staining her cheeks, burning her bones with fever as she crosses her arms right bellow her chest, suffering: how can a cigarette last so fucking long?

"i was trying to be polite," she tries to defend herself from your bad look — "you were so drunk it's really a miracle you can remember half of what you said back then."

"yeah, i know. it doesn't count either way" holding the smoke in, you kick the snow that gathers at your feet aware of the weight of her gaze. "sorry if i weirded you out-- i was young and full of hormones back then. adolescence is pretty rough."

you're aiming to play dumb, and she's willing to play along in anything you decide at this point, indulge you a bit, keep feeding that spoiled attitude bubbling like champagne; and the universe itself knows that vi would love to keep flirting there, truly. yet she suffers from the epitome of bad luck when she's trying to avoid the most random accident, unable to answer — so fast it does not give her enough time to blink.

how did you trip? was it the snow? did she get in the way? it doesn't matter when she's trying to save your butt from touching the freezing cement, strong arms that hold you and help you defy gravity before you hit the ground but does not stop your savior from losing balance herself: the pavement's froze due to the weather, and it's hard to stay on her feet as she lands on the snow, somehow avoiding a bigger injury.

"oh god," she can hear you as you get up by her side, kneeling in front of her. "are you okay? did you hit your head?"

maybe it's the doctor part that kicks in, makes vi wonder for a moment. your hands are gentle when you slowly touch her face, gaze searching for her blue eyes in any sign of confusion or pain. it's dangerous, how much she enjoys it even when your hands are super cold, worried about her while you ask a bunch of questions she ignores since it's difficult to pay attention to a single word you say more than the worried look in your face this close.

"don't move, take it easy," you pick the perfect path to your future it seems, cause you're not even half as affected vi is that moment, professional even when her heart's beating loudly in her ears, palms sweating against the snow, stupidly nervous. "talk to me, yeah? tell me how you feel, vi."

"is this how you treat your patients in e.r, doc?" — "you truly a lifesaver."

"how many fingers do you see?" ignoring her tries of flirtation, you're definitely good at doing your job, make sure she's alright, and vi? man, she's loving every second of it, having your eyes scanning every inch of her face while your fingers touch the back of her head, your eyes on her own: there is no need to even ask cause the answer would lack coherence.

it's a fact that the closeness got her speechless for a moment, cause she cannot think about an existent number when you're like that, when your brows furrow in concern and she can notice a wrinkle or two now that she's too close, now that she can smell your nice and sweet perfume again and you're looking at her like she's the only girl on earth.

"hi there, you here with me?"

"uh, three--"

"what?"

fuck. she needs to look again before correcting herself — "fingers. i see two fingers. sorry."

"can i touch you?"

"uh, what?"

"your head, vi" your smile is beautiful even from where she is, still freezing her ass. "i need to see if there's any wound or irregularity in your head."

"oh-- yes, i'm sorry" god, she needs to get a fucking grip.

your hands are already in her head wandering around her pink hair, gently they touch unaware of how devastating it is for a person who has endured solitude as a way of living, how she crumbles and wishes to have further beyond.

"are you in pain?"

"well, not really."

the world turns silent for a moment, her mind finally stays shut and the moment seems eternal in the pages of her head. fuck. fuck-fuck-fu--

"i think you're okay," can you realize how she's flirting with you and not caring about anything else? how she's looking at you now that you're busy touching her? "it was just a scare."

"you think i'll live?" you laugh at whatever she's saying and it has no right to be that delicious; not even pretending to be normal when you stare at her eyes checking on the size of her pupils: were you always this composed? this professional. "tell me the truth doc, i can handle bad news."

"you'll live, unfortunately" funny. it's the alcohol who makes the pink-haired stick her tongue out in response. — "don't hit your head again, though. try and keep your old ass out of the emergency room, can you?"

"dunno ma'am, i suffer from bad luck in this city."

"then i'm afraid i'll be seeing you around more than i want to, huh?" are you flirting with her too? she's having trouble to tell as you offer her a hand to stand up from the floor. blame it on her head. "thanks for staying with me while i smoke."

gentle, your voice's like a kiss on the cheek, a reward. it may be awkward for a second and vi's unexpectedly happy when she can notice you're nervous, nervous as you go from one side to another, as you play with the ring in your index finger, as you avoid looking at her as if you were back to being seventeen and she's still that cool uni girl too busy to pay attention.

"it wasn't so bad," even if her ass hurts and she will get a bruise or too. "thankfully i got you to take care of me, doc."

now this fucks with your head entirely, when she kisses your cheek goodbye this time and shoves her hands inside her jacket, watching you leave like it was the worst vi experienced in her life.

"are you going to stay in the door or going in?" the girl teases you when you stop mid-way the entrance — "can't keep the door crowded, an emergency can happen. you know that stuff."

"going in," unsure, you have to turn back to look at her one more time. "i'll see you around, right?"

it's just a simple question. not that deep. not that important-- yet the way you say it? makes her gulp the saliva contained in her mouth cause it's the tone you use, how your fingers grip the wood of the door nervous of the outcome, nothing but you gathering enough courage to admit you want to see her again somehow. subtle. almost a delusion of her own mind.

"you bet, peach." she likes your smile almost too much, how some words can lighten up the entire night. "take care of yourself for me and don't go falling around in this bad weather, yeah?"

lesbian things are happening lately.

vi can tell.

now.

it's actually funny when vi's in the emergency room two days after.

the place is full, the heat is on and she can swear she's paying some kind of punishment due to the miserable crying of a random kid for the last 40 minutes while she's there installed in the uncomfortable black chair of the waiting room with her sister, holding onto her arm with a new white cloth she was given by one of the nurses like her life depends on it.

it was all an awful joke.

i mean-- she was helping jinx with some house stuff vi could totally explain. sane. it didn't hurt that bad but still she wanted to get checked out either way cause — well, she would love to see you again, and it's clear that she does not know how to put it in words like a normal person would, ask for your phone or admit she's interested, so instead? she's at the hospital.

bleeding.

cause she's a noble knight. the most helpful sister.

and she kinda needs stitches.

so she remains optimistic the first hour: it's a big emergency room and the place is chaotic, but she chooses to believe that she can find you amidst the chaos, that somehow you'll end up being her doctor; by the second hour though? she knows it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, that you may be busy, that it may be your day off, anything to make her remember why she hates coming back to the city so much.

hours seem eternal before she's finally called, still holding onto the bloody cloth now seated in a stretcher that's much more comfortable than the chair from before.

"pow, you're making me nervous like that-- i'm fine," she's thankful for the silence before her sister insisted on walking from one side to another — "they're not going to come any faster if you burn a hole in the ground."

"i know, but i'm both worried and bored," jinx later adds, a dangerous combo. "m'gonna go find my girl. maybe i can speed things up."

"wait no--" it's too late when jinx's already leaving to admit it's a bad idea, invisibly cuffed to the hospital bed as the silence finally fills the room and vi can enjoy a moment of silence without side quests: turns out enduring the waiting room was the first part of the task, now she needed to wait for the doctor to appear.

ten, fifteen minutes, she knows her sister has the attention span of a sardine so there are strong chances of vi being left behind for an iced coffee and something nice to eat, yet minutes don't matter when someone is waiting outside the door — someone whose voice can be recognize from before.

"good evening miss--" holding on to some papers in your left hand, she can't help but check you out as the black ambo uniform seems more than comfortable for 12-hour shifts, pretty even."vi? what are you doing here? what happened?"

"hi- uh, i was helping out pow," stupid. her brain turns stupid with you near and it's much worse to admit how she made a huge mistake to you than to anyone else — "she wanted the chimney to work so i was you know, chopping some wood."

now. you're worried, she can tell when your brows furrow and your eyes scan the blood on the cloth she was using, you're quick to disinfect your hands again with alcohol gel and enter the action under your big glasses, get on her side.

"let me see," you ask before inspecting the wound. "well you gonna need stitches, but i need to know if anything's infected here, was it with the old axe?"

"yes,"she can handle pain, always been good at the uncomfortable — yet nothing prepares violet for watching you in your zone, when you scan every inch of her teared skin under gloved hands and a serious expression while she's there feeling dumb as fuck.

"who's idea was this?" you ask, going back to the computer on the left, already writing orders for the medicine you need and creating a new tab for vi's medical records to include the incident that just happened. "cannot think of a worse idea than chopping wood with a rotten axe."

"me," it makes her blush when admitting it, and while you talk with the nurse, vi's actually happy you're distracted enough to not realize how she's already hiding under a pile of shame. "i was doing okay until powder distracted me."

"so all of this was your sister, huh?" it's all an effort to distract her from the pain, but standing there in front of her with your hands in your waist like you own the entire piltover hospital? she'd let you do anything you want without saying a single word while you wait for the nurse to come back. wait for hours. "i'll numb the zone with lidocaine, yeah? it will take a couple of minutes, i'll check if it's infected and after that? you're good to go home with some stitches."

"what if it's infected?" the pink haired ask curiously while looking at the dried blood on her forearm.

"it's not a big deal," you reply calmly. "the wound's not deep, so you would need some strong antibiotics instead of surgery. nothing alarming."

"i trust in your judgment, doc" she's too optimistic to even think about surgery, cause there's no other doctor in the place vi would trust her life with. "i'm happy you are here-- i mean. for good luck purposes."

"good luck purposes," you repeat her words with a laugh. "i like that."

and the universe must know vi would like to keep talking, flirt until it's evident and she cannot longer hide the adrenaline of being interested in somebody, even if it's the hot friend of her younger sister who mind the world — it's definitely too young for the population to approve; yet it's impossible when the nurse's interrupting any try to keep on talking and the pain of the needle takes her for surprise the moment she's applied lidocaine to numb the entire zone.

flirting at what fucking cost?

"thank you nellie" you say, and vi may be biased but you're made for it, to offer that calm smile that says everything's okay, keep being professional while she's in cloud nine trying to keep her shit together, not be insanely ridiculous. "good news. your arm's not infected so you won't need antibiotics, only stitches."

"at least something nice."

"so. you ready for me, miss vanderson?"

"please be kind--"

so she's blushing again to the point that big ass needle you hold is nothing against her own sabotage, inevitable when she's staring at you. you are fixated in her arm, in doing a good job — so she's allowed to look, right? not be very subtle about it, she's stuck in that problem cause while you work vi's invested, invested in your lips there under the white lights, in that fucking uniform, in every detail, mark, scar as if roles were reversed now and she's the one pinning after someone that's out of reach.

"does it hurt?"

"don't feel a thing, love."

who cares about pain when the shape of your smile may or may not be imprinted in vi's memories? afraid she would miss something if she dares to blink, clear now about her intentions even when she doesn't have to admit it out loud: yes she's interested in you, yes, she wants you like this, so close she can smell the notes on your perfume, so close vi can tell you're nervous. there's no point in dismissing what's clear, in denying she's seated in a hospital bed, wishing-- begging, you'll look up and notice she's centimeters away from giving up the nice behavior she insists on pulling up.

you do your work in silence and vi's inevitably absorbed by it, not even wincing when the needle pierces her skin over and over again and she's attacked by a weird feeling running down her spine when the thread stitches the parted skin together. your chest follows a path in controlled breathings, and vi's eyes can't help but follow the inviting path of your neck, that necklace that hangs over your uniform and makes her waste time wondering how the charm would settle in your chest, half romantic half perv.

"you don't have to risk your health to have some time with me, you know that, right?"

there's no time to panic, and it makes her shiver even under your gloved hands, a smile that pulls the corner of her pink lips upwards in an unexpected smile. midway through the stitches, you face now turns her way to demand an answer, yet the only thing vi can think about is the lame reply of:

"so you think this is for you?"

"is it not?"

the game's immediate. the sudden tension, the way the air turns hotter the moment you respond and it's fun, it's interesting, stimulating in ways vi thought they were lost for the next eternity. you're a little monster and she can almost feed on it.

"if you're so intelligent peach, then please enlighten me: what do i have to do so i can have you more to myself?"

"you can do something else more than just look at me for starters," you reply before going back to the stitches you were working on, making her chuckle at your response — you're far from the shy kid who blurted out some teenage crush, medicine makes you grow guts. "i mean, you've been doing it since jinx's birthday. like you'd eat me for breakfast but can't seem to do anything about it. bit boring."

"interesting. so you want me to make a move on you?" a dumb smile takes over vi's mouth, impossible to keep it shut. "you do realize i'm way too old for you, right?"

"how old are you? forty? forty-five?" you question. "that's not old."

so she'd love to respond, say something in return since you decided to be such a smart-ass, but her sister's coming back with a cup of coffee before vi could think of a decent reply and you're greeting her without looking cause you're too fixated on stitching her skin like an embroidery set.

get in the fucking line.

"i was looking for you," the blue-haired says sipping on her drink. "i wasn't going to accept any other doctor so i was outside fighting for my sister's rights."

"we're a bit full today--" you explain as you finish the last stitch, turning to look at your friend as if you weren't shamefully flirting with her older sister mere seconds ago. "but there you go. stitched. i will cover it down but when you get home? let it breathe for a while, yeah? it's an open wound. clean it, protect it, change pads every 4-5 hours."

"sure thing doc."

god, that damn nickname.

the process after is annoying, boring and a waste of time when vi wants to keep talking to you, go further and beyond with her sacred flirting tries, make you zoom out just like she does when you fuck her brain up: make you useless as a way of revenge.

an hour later powder holds a good amount of papers as she walks close to her sister. hands in her pocket, vi's surely disappointed about the fact that you disappeared the rest of her visit, not seeing you again after you explained the painkillers she needs to take and clearly — ruining her plans of finally asking you out.

it wasn't so bad right? you're old enough to reject her if you feel like it, she's old enough to be salivating over her sister's best friend.

"turns out she was really busy," her sister rants as they reach the exit. "good thing is her free day tomorrow, i can't imagine the kind of stress she goes through working here every day."

dates. dates. dates.

"vi!" she think she's going delusional after hearing your voice until powder calls your name surprised, an un-gloved hand that reaches her arm to pull her aside: did you run after her? man, bless this patient-doctor confidentiality cause it makes immediate sense in her brain somehow when jinx stays behind, "you forgot this."

she didn't. the medicine you hold does not belong to her but vi takes it without even thinking twice. shove it in the back of her jeans pretending it was something quite important to have a doctor going to the waiting room on her own free will.

"how kind," she replies instead with a warm smile despite the new pain in her arm as the lidocaine dissipates. "what would i do without you?"

takes you off for a minute, as if you're going to have a headache due to how hard you keep thinking about it — "i dunno. would you have a date with me?"

"yes, gladly." pathetic, she can't even pretend to be cool these days.

"friday night?"

"sounds good to me."

"my place?"

"got yourself a deal, doc."

"amazing," you say with a victorious smile."bye j, see you around."

it's fast and you go directly to the point (is it possible to like you even more?) — even when you turn around to go back to the restricted area and she stays there planted in the same spot afraid of growing roots until she dares to remember where she is and how to act normal again, breathe, walk, act as if she's not affected by your ideas, your direct questions, you.

"what did she say?" her sister asks curiously as they leave together, almost running to catch up with vi's fast steps as they reach the car.

"nothing. something about the antibiotics."

"ah sucks, you have to take medicine--"

"at least i got all my fingers, s'not that bad…"

"well that's a way of seeing it sure."

violet vanderson's a filthy. fucking. liar.

she's a rare optimist when her fist finally knocks the door.

standing outside feels like an eternity before you finally open, nervous like a teenager facing her first date ever before registering the chaotic scene developing — apron tied to the waist, she's sure there is food in your hair and dried something on your shoulder.

"is this a bad timing?" vi asks curiously as she takes a look inside your apartment, small, cozy while a warm light falls to stain your white walls just like she imagined.

guilty smile, you shake your head in denial as you wipe your hands in the fabric of the apron.

"no, please" almost ashamed you fully open the door to give her an entire glimpse of your personal life, silently inviting her in. "thought it was a good idea to impress you with risotto. it's not working currently."

it delights her, head that tilts backwards when the smile transforms into a laugh she cannot contain now noticing the dried rice in your clothing, the messy bun and the face of guilt. she takes off her jacket since the cold's cruel on the way to your place only to leave it on a chair nearby:

"you want me to take care of it?" she's a chef, right? with a known restaurant back where she lives — she definitely should have no problem with it. "the rice, peach. i can help you with the food."

"no please, don't want to make you feel like i'm taking advantage of you," you quickly reply worried. "we can go out, i know a good place nearby."

"nonsense," vi says instead as she gently takes your hand, pulling it slightly forward as she searches for the kitchen where the smell is coming out. "you're not taking advantage of me. i want to teach you how to do it."

at this point? god, she wishes you would take advantage, do anything that implies your good. letting go of your hand, she hovers over the rice casserole with a furrowed brow — half smile of contentment when it takes the famous chef no longer than a minute to actually notice what is wrong with your dinner tries, turning to look at you with a pleased expression.

"c'mere, i see where you are wrong," the pink haired mumbles, and she could very well explain it out loud from where you are standing currently, yet she refuses to keep that nonsense of not being interested any longer as her hand finally finds your waist and she uses little-to-inexistent force to pull you closer, so close you can feel her breathing subtle and barely there against the back of your neck. "that's not the correct rice for what you have in mind love, nor the right temperature."

her words are similar to a kiss, tender and bruising to the soul. no one's looking when her body drags itself closer to you so there is no space left and pretend she's fixing the rice you did before even when she knows, damn well, that it has no way to be fixed truly.

the skin of your waist feels hot under vi's fingers and it makes the chef volatile, lost in the seconds she's able to get by luck.

"is there a way to fix it?" you ask before she gives you a bit of space, "or do we have to start all over again?"

"oh you messed it up badly, i'm afraid." dramatic, not entirely true, she just wants to see your face. "but don't worry sweetheart. i can handle it."

so she tries not to look your way when you sit next to her, up in the counter to have a full view of what she's doing and vi has a hard time not wanting to think about it — it's hot as fuck.

not many times in your life you can have an award-winning chef in your kitchen trying to fix your mess, walking around like she owns your place more than you ever did. she puts on the purple apron you used before, and your eyes wander on their own inevitably as you help her tie it on her back: all is fucking trouble.

it would be better if you weren't a pervert all along. if you weren't salivating as her muscles flex each time she moves your wooden spoon resting in the pan. you are that kid again with a massive crush as you swallow the saliva contained in your mouth, risotto. what a good thing it is to fail at making risotto.

"i will steal those mushrooms," she's concentrated and there is something hot about it as you're there, installed next to the greatest chef you know. maybe its the kitchen fire that keeps making you feel warm, or the pink-haired who keeps adding stuff to the casserole to save your ass.

"smells good," you praise, hoovering over to smell the vapor coming out. "you really are a top-star chef, huh?"

"wanna try?" she asks, not even looking at you before adding, — "open up." kinky, it is a wild ride still. turbulent as your lips part on their own and your eyes close to make this fucking sound it makes the chef hold on her breathing for a second as you savor the taste of a simple mushroom risotto. what's crazy here? the way vi cannot get a grip of attention in anything else other than your lips opening for the spoon, how your face distorts and what's supposed to be close to a moan.

"any thoughts on it? feedback?"

"you do risotto's back in your restaurant? holy shit, vi" you look up to her face and it does things to her, so much her thumb works on its own when it goes up to the corner of your mouth to wipe the excess of food there, makes you hold your breath as she takes the rest of the food back to her mouth to eat the crumbles.

"i do, but a fancier version."

"it tastes amazing," you say, licking your lips. "no feedback, i want a full plate please."

it feeds her ego, clearly. she's so normal with it, throwing species, smelling how its going — "its impossible there's nothing you want to change, no dish is perfect love."

"you're just pushing me to say something."

"c'mon. be brutally honest."

"then be careful with the salt," your comment makes her laugh before she's tries the risotto on her own, looking at you with a furrowed brow as you show your hands as a sign of innocence — "you told me to be brutally honest."

"yeah, but you're talking out of your ass" vi says not looking at you as she tries the risotto again. "'cause well, i haven't add any salt, that's what you poured before."

that's where it messes with her head. the intimacy of it. the way you laugh at her stupid jokes and her double intended comments, hands gripping the edge of the counter, messy hair, you let your guard down when she does and my god — it's just what vi needed, that injection of adrenaline that keeps her body awake through the course of the seconds, interest, that damn tension that comes every time she stares at you more than she should.

the smell fills the kitchen, makes it warm and inviting to be in, maybe that would explain why she installs between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as she reaches the plates you signal over your head. close. aching to trespass that miserable space left behind she left to be educated.

"you hungry?" she dares to ask.

"starving."

appetite.

how was it again? violet vanderson's used to experience the devastating appetite.

when minutes later she's full and resting your legs over hers, a simple touch that makes vi's mind run wild with imagination: twenty minutes alone with you means an eternity of longing, of craving something forbidden, unsatisfied hunger.

"what are you thinking about?"

can she be honest right now? not really, not when her hand rests on your upper leg and her thumb constantly rubs on your naked skin, when she doesn't give two shits about the cold risotto whose remains lie now on the table long forgotten.

"you're usually bad at cooking risotto or is it a general thing?"

"this would be offensive, but most of the time i'm too tired to cook or live," you reply before eating again, savoring each bite. "you'd be surprised but take-out works wonders if you know how to choose the place."

"so you're not much of a party girl either, i see."

"after a 12-hour-shift? all i crave is my bed, i have no time to flirt so i just go straight to the point."

"that's why you invited me to a date where i have to cook?"

"yeah. you can say that, thankfully you accepted it cause it would be extra-crushing to be rejected for a second time" it's crazy how you lack inhibitions now, how any trace of shame is now gone to the point vi can hardly tell you were full of it when you were younger. "most people would say no thinking it's just a code to have sex but to be honest? i cannot think of dressing up to go outside with this weather going on, plus fridays are always brutal."

a fake moan, vi's fist closes right over her beating heart before her eyes follow in a pained expression — "so you don't want any sex? i'm hurt, peach. i feel misled."

"please, as if you're not too cool for me."

"cool?"

"michelin chef who lives far away from here and never comes to visit? that's pretty cool."

"so that's what you think of me, huh?"

"you always knew i found you out of my reach," you comment as you finally finish the risotto — "i'm positive you thought the same too."

"well, uh, you talked too much about the lord of the rings back then."

"fuck off. you cannot say eowyn's not hot," her brows furrow as you prove your point: still a nerd deep down. "i don't know, i was young and you were so confident about liking girls, of being you despite what people think-- meanwhile i was trying hard to believe i wasn't a lesbian at all, you can't blame a girl for a crush."

"for the record, i think you are far too cool now."

"do you?"

"you saved my arm," vi replies showing you the covered injury that landed her in the emergency room. "that's a cool thing to do, doc."

"i studied for that, tons" you laugh at her remark, staring at the white bandages that cover half of her arm. "how is it, by the way? pain too bad?"

"amazing since i have the best doctor in town to take care of my ass" it's a beneficial position at this point cause you're far too comfortable to look at her covered arm, stupidly close to where she is seated, tangled legs, vi's grip still on your thigh with no intentions of leaving. "you'd be surprised by the benefits that it can have."

"you shouldn't be forcing it so much-- the risotto, the date…"

"yeah? you think so?" do you even realize how close you fucking are? are you doing it on purpose? your body leans against her own and it's a heat that turns impossible to control: she's wearing a tank top for christ sake and you're on a black shirt she's sure you wore at work earlier thin as parchment paper. "cause all of that was your fault, you know? the date you invited me, the risotto you messed up, you're the one inciting me to do things when i should be resting."

she's not bothering to hide it now (never did), that flirt, that constant back and forth as you seem to have an answer for everything. it's tangible and there is no point to regret it cause well —, you're flirting back right? allowing her to touch you like that, with that half smile pulling your lips upwards in a charming smile even after you're tired. it may be the most relaxed date vi has ever experienced in her life, and weirdly enough the best, so when she's using her index finger to pull you closer to where she is, it's nothing but the cherry on top; the sweetest dessert and what both deserve.

it hooks on your shirt and you don't pretend to be surprised about it, about the reveal of desire, the rush of blood that leaves goosebumps on your skin when her mouth blends with your own and her tongue invades it like it's now enemy ground: that's a real moan, one that comes from vi's mouth to crash against your parted lips. messy, there is too much saliva, infinite desperation that somehow she craves more than the perfect kiss, instead, vi finds herself aching for the flawed, the contained chaos and the imperfect.

"go home then and pretend it didn't happen."

you're a cheeky bastard. you know she doesn't care about the bandages on her arm, about anything else other than getting lost in the moment, in the smell of your skin as you strip off that stupid shirt you've been wearing for so long.

"i may be a little rusty in this field," vi says looking at the cute bra you choose to wear, so red it's clear she's ashamed of saying it out loud. "be gentle with me, please."

the words come out on their own, the movie that keeps playing in the background, the smell that comes from the kitchen from a steamy casserole that still contains the warmth-- god there's tenderness in your touch, kindness in your kisses so much that she can be intoxicated with it after choosing a life of solitude and silence, after being too tired of having another person around. your touch is the one that surprisingly alleviates all worry, all bad.

you'd take care of her, right? cause fuck, she's your long-time crush, no? nice ass, delicious back tattoo. you can be anything she wants — happy to comply, happy to kiss her neck, happy to just notice how she holds her breath in when your tongue circles against that damn spot in her clavicle making the pink-haired sure you'll leave a hickey behind. suddenly your weight presses her down against your comfy sofa and it's a handful of real moans now, moans that keep so far from the fake ones she did before in a joke, ones that leave her throat dry only to turn you on.

how many times have you got your life crush there moaning for your kisses? hand on your waist, fighting to pull you closer and finally unhook your bra? even after a long shift, even when your bones are a weight that's annoying to carry, you kiss on the flesh to leave a mark, take her time in pleasing her cause you heard from jinx she's been having a rough time lately and she deserves it, right? when you get on your knees and you pull on her muscle tee upwards to kiss on her lower stomach making her shiver, you're a soldier to her pleasures, to simply keep going.

she encourages you, cause who's violet vanderson to ever deny any show of caring? her legs open to make space for you, and she gives you a pillow to put in your knees cause she knows how annoying it can be when the carpet sticks to your knees. knows.

"straight to the point, doc?" looking down at you, she's blushing as you unbutton her pants, helping you to finally get them off as they were always decoration of the floor.

"straight to the point," her arms rest behind her head and her muscles flex when you hit a sensitive spot gifting you such a nice view you can't pretend not to be checking her out — you want her like that, comfortable, relaxing, hazy eyes that stare at you almost as a dare, invested in every future move you make.

it's ridiculous. she's been slowly melting in a nice velvety sofa thanks to those heaty kisses you leave behind for the last fifteen minutes and it seems she cannot get tired of them, of how vi can see the saliva you leave behind on each proof of devotion: it's near pathetic to admit how she's been dreaming about you since her sister's birthday, stuck on your lips smoking that cigarette, that cloud that follows you around and only pushes her in.

so your touch becomes a vital need, a contagious disease when her whole body shivers and her hips buckle forward in need of having more of your face. she can't really complain about it when your tongue's invading her with practiced ease, pushing the chef to the edge of the seat so she can rest her legs over your shoulders and gift you the most comfortable access to her still covered cunt: turns out violent vanderson's a fucking needy mess who will cream her underwear before she's even touched.

when was the last time she had her pussy properly eaten? god, turning vi stupid even when she was relying on her five senses, a loser who soaks her underwear to the point its no longer usable. a mix of your saliva and arousal stains her inner thighs as she rubs herself against your mouth desperate to have more of your lips assaulting her covered cunt, soaked in every bit, somehow trying to make her underwear disappear so she can drown in the direct contact of your lips sucking her clit instead of the overwhelming torture of damn cotton.

"don't be rude-- please-" she trains on the gym every fucking day: why is she sweating like that? the image of having you there in your knees so eager to please fucking her brain entirely, soft voice that begs to be touched until you're pulling the fabric to the side and there it is — salty, it fills your mouth with a feast of flavors, pink and soaked hair from a pussy that's inviting you to take what you like, spread her out using your fingers, get dirty.

you take your time with her, cause you have it, right? you can have violet for the rest of the night. you can steal every breath when your tongue fucks her just right, nose rubbing on her g-spot on each try to go deeper, make her turn into a blabbering mess.

"fingers, ah--" it takes her a while, sensitive and overwhelmed and still greedy "can you like-, god…"

"you gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?" the way you say it turns her on more than it should, and her body betrays her when it keeps moving with the help of your hand now placed in her ass.

you're gentle at first, want to prepare her as a couple of fingers spread her cunt so you can slowly sink them until you're deliciously deep, sure she can feel you in that spot she needs. your tongue rubs on her clit without fully touching it, and vi's sure her brain-cells are close to combust, a constant movement she forces herself to continue on each motion her hips make: always full of your fingers, rubbing on that spot inside she now decides to love.

"there you go- s'good right? let me train this pretty cunt so i can fuck you better with another finger, yeah? god-- how can you look this hot, vi."

you're going to be her pending doom, the handsome devil that stalks every thought even when you don't try cause the way you look between her legs? demonic. hands gripping on her sides to pull her closer to your mouth, eyes staring back at her own, your tongue seems to go in full motion with you fingers and shit — how do you make it so good? what the fuck are you doing down there to make her feel this nice?

swollen clit, your fingers curve inside to the point and fuck-- vi's losing it, hand holding you close to her cunt so she can use you how she wants to, loud and erratic moans praising on your skills, on how good you are at eating her soaked cunt to the points its all over your cheeks.

"mmf-m'gonna cum like that--," rough voice, it's so nice to see her like that when she's usually so composed, so serious. her body moves on its own and her face finally distorts when finally reaching her peak, leaving her legs shaking, it's an arrow that's shot to the chest and steals the air from vi's lungs as you use a hand to spread her folds and take care of the mess you've done between the chef's legs.

she wants to keep going, adrenaline injected into the blood flow before vi pulls you up to her lap interrupting all tries to stay nested there in her cunt — it's all fun and games but deep down it's a fight for who's in control, isn't it all? even out of breath, hair sticking to the sides of her face as a lazy smile appears on her face: are you glowing? is it the sweat that makes your skin all shiny under the lights of your apartment? fuck-- crazy how vi starts to need you under her.

"you okay up there?" she asks instead, thumbs helping you to clean your cheeks in the last act of chivalry.

"i am" you reply, leaning against her touch to get more of the warmth of her hands. "are you, rusty lady?"

"think i am--, that was some heavy activity doc, thought i needed some rest."

"you rested. on the sofa. that was-- very low effort for you" it's a good point, and vi cannot think of a clever reply when your kisses are distracting her to form a thought on her own. "are you in pain?"

who the fuck cares about pain when you begin sucking on her thumb? making sure any trace of her stays on your mouth rather than your cheek or her hand — maybe it's the adrenaline of the moment, the rush of endorphins that run to leave vi full of the dopamine she lacked when she ends up turned on once again as if she wasn't chaotic already getting wet in your living room.

 "mmhm no, no pain-- does it taste good?"

"yeah, wanna try?"

she likes to be this filthy, mouth wide open, tongue up before her head's tilting backwards and shit: it should be illegal, a capital sin when you hoover just how you did when she was cooking before to now gather a decent amount of saliva and simply spit against her parted lips; it's her, right? mixed with your very own personal taste, a blend that stays there imprinted on her brain and makes her malfunction cause it's not something that common to have a pretty girl there willing to spit on her mouth after eating her brains out.

desire is radical, desire is unexpected and a curse cause there's no such rational thought when vi's pulling on your jeans with the insane need of fucking you to the verge of tears, no fight for dominance now as you shimmy out of your clothes already feeling sticky. desire is raw and turns her desperate, the vision of a person who once cared for comfort and now pushes you roughly back to her lap.

"where's your room?" so yeah, she wants to fuck you properly, pointing the closed door with your index finger, your underwear already rests in the floor midway before she's throwing you in the good-queen-sized bed, bad jokes, horny comments, vi has no trouble to move you around and put you in the position she wants you to be, one hand on your ankle while the other's on your waist so it takes little to no time to understand her intentions with no need to say a word.

she pushes you down when she places herself on top of you, tangled legs, vi simply fits against you without much effort so it becomes a sight there laying in the comfortable sheets, sweaty body, her tits bounce every time her hips rolls against yours so her mess is now your mess and the shapes of your body and her own blurry to the point of the erratic and you can't tell now about anything else more than the sounds you two make on each movement, when finally becoming one.

it's wet, fills the room so it's hot, so your breathing reduces considerably and you finally let her do the job, keep rubbing her soaked pussy against yours so it leaks to the bed and stains your clean sheets. loud moans, vi's ego's inflated with the pride of making you act like that, resting your weight over your elbows so you can spread yourself wider, give her more space so the contact can be even more devastating.

"good fuck-- you're such a greedy slut," a guilty smile, are you even aware of your existence anymore? when the bed hits the wall in the most annoying sound and her hand closes around your neck to keep you controlled, are you aware of your fucked-self? aching to keep you still as she forces your breathing channel, your cunt on each movement. "there you go, be good and touch that pretty pussy for me, yeah? help me out."

trembling hands, your fingers circle against your clit in slow motions, already overwhelmed when vi's leaning to spit directly to your working fingers, lubricating your g-spot so you can go faster, combine your movements with her own until you're moaning her name, praising the skills of your lover like they're sacred, a new religion to follow.

relentless, she doesn't stop until your body's rigid, limbs cramped before you reach the most delicious orgasm, sensitive cunt, it's a shared chaos that stains your inner thighs in a delicious mix vi suddenly crave to taste.

"well fuck--" it's a problem now, officially. her thoughts betrayed her so now she's lusting over her little sister's best friend to the point it becomes real, real as the warmth your body radiates when you crawl under the bed seeking for contact, a silence that weighs down the meaning of having a new shared secret, intimacy neither of you searched for. "so much for being rusty, liar."

do problems matter anymore? if powder gets mad because she fucked her friend, so what? it's a connection her sibling cannot control as vi laughs at your remark, leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder with the weird need to stay instead of leaving early like she usually does whenever someone's interested in her.

"i am rusty, you're just kind."

so maybe that's the last thing she needs, get all complicated like that, mix up her feelings with your own. she has a restaurant in another city, a life outside zaun and lots of money problems to take care of — so maybe she doesn't need a younger girlfriend that messages almost too much, who keeps her fucking horny all of the time.

"m'gonna take a shower in twenty minutes-- do you think we should order junk food?"

her face betrays her when she listens to your words, quickly shaking her head in response — "no fucking way. i think you should be saying goodbye to delivery apps for a while, peach."

she needs to stay, right? it would leave her arm in danger as she kisses you once again, always close: who would take care of her injured body?

so how was it again? ah. sure.

violet vanderson has experienced appetite before, plenty of times to be honest, but now she has a younger girlfriend to take care of it, more bills to pay and a very angry sister.

bigclit!vi who texts you cause her girlfriend will help, right? unsteady hands, leaning against the wall, the spot in her briefs only gets bigger and it's safe to say she's horny by the time she's opening your chat, aching to help herself soothe the pain of being untouched.

the flash of the camera makes her blush as she captures a photo of the main issue — panties made to the side, pink hair peeking just the correct amount, you can tell she's soaked despite the nature of the picture (a nasty nude on a public bathroom seems like homemade porn nowadays), sticky hair and glistening folds desperate for any type of attention, it just looks fucking hot: mouth-watering hot.

bigclit!vi who shamelessly sends the photo after, does she have the time to explain she wanted to surprise you with a nice breakfast? that you were too cute to wake up so she left you a little bit longer back in her bed? there's no such time for romanticism when she's drowning, drowning in an empty sea, so when she presses send? vi’s near ready for war.

torturing, her body reacts to her own touch. radioactive as it spreads to the corners of her body and she cannot wait for your answer when her thumb follows an invisible path to the edge of her underwear and it takes a mere second when her hips jerk forwards before she could think about it — it’s nothing but air, but the friction of the fabric with the simple movement got vi biting her lip, desperate to keep silent and move again.

bigclit!vi who's bad to ever deny anything to her girl, angling down the phone in a shaky video, enough quality to see how swollen her g-spot is, that sneaky hand who lowers her briefs so you can see what she's experiencing, how her knees shake as the air hits her cunt. a soft moan escapes her parted lips, and she wishes no one had heard when she's spitting a good amount of saliva in her fingers, not caring about how off the moment is.

bigclit!vi who can't help but make it nasty. fingers leaking with her own saliva, sticky pussy, melting in a small space while her fingers assault her clit in slow circles. the video turns shittier when her breathing turns erratic, slowly losing control of her limbs as she doesn't care about her phone anymore, anything but satisfaction.

she's greedy (how can you not, when you're masturbating in a bathroom?) and only takes what she needs as her fingers go faster, eyes closing on her own when her brain shuts down and she’s suctioned into a new reality.

bigclit!vi who fucks her fingers each time with bottled energy that explodes, runs through her tights, stains her jeans still pooling in her ankles, turns her careless as she moves her hips just in time with her hand, finally find that perfect spot she seems to hit over and over again and it's enough to make her moan, bite her shirt with desperation so she can somehow muffle the sounds she's making as if's not already bad enough to be in a public space.

bigclit!vi who cums in the palm of her hand, right when she indulges her needs so she can stuff her fingers in her dripping hole and the sound reaches her ears leaving her in a similar shade to her hair — it doesn’t take much after that, gasping for the stolen air, racing heart before she feels defeated, tears gathering in the corner of her eye and it's similar to be recognized by angels.

the orgasm is imminent and tears her to pieces, afraid she won't be able to move due to her shaky legs still fighting to hold her own weight.

when finishing her little show? vi presses send without thinking, red all the way up to her ears by the time she's aware of the mess she made in her secluded space: rests of arousal and saliva on her skin and clothes, the whole fucking bathroom’s smelling like pussy — she thinks fast when shoving her soaking panties in the back pocket of her pants, already uncomfortable enough when buckling them back on pretending she didn’t hate them minutes ago as her only problem.

bigclit!vi who leaves the bathroom nervous as fuck. not even daring to look anywhere else but the white marble of the floor at her feet almost ashamed of how primal she can turn when horny.

bigclit!vi who can't help but chuckle at your reactions when the weight on her shoulders finally disappears and she can go back being a normal person again, phone buzzing still when she reads the first new messages:

bigclit!vi who is cocky when answering your phone call, when she forgets about the romantic breakfast she planned first and instead goes straight home to get the most devastating sex she's promised between sleepy mumbles.

“you said no?” jayce asks, looking at you perplexed. “i thought lesbians loved u-hauling?”

“is it really u-hauling if you’ve been together for a year?” vi mutters. you frown.

“we talked about this,” you say, voice low enough strangers can’t overhear. “i just don’t-”

“i know,” she interrupts. “it’s fine.” she turns back to jayce. “another shot?”

you don't bother telling them you think that’s a bad idea (again). instead, you excuse yourself to use the restroom so you don’t have to bear witness to their joint stupidity.

on the way back a redhead stops you, just a few steps away from vi and jayce. “i just wanted to say… you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“oh! thank you,” you say, cheeks warm. you had put a little extra effort in tonight, maybe to show vi what she was missing. at least someone noticed.

the mystery girl reaches a hand out to shake and introduces herself. "i'm maddie."

before you can give her your name vi wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against her. “there you are, baby.”

then she kisses you, hard, with far too much tongue for an audience. when she pulls away you’re left panting and disoriented. the look in her eyes is a little wild. if you didn’t know better, you would say she was jealous. but that’s crazy, she doesn’t get jealous. and definitely not over random girls at bars.

vi runs her thumb over the plump of your bottom lip with a rakish grin that almost makes you forget she’s been giving you an attitude all week.

you turn back to your crestfallen spectator.

“um, maddie, this is vi," you say, still out of breath.

maddie chirps out a greeting.

vi looks her up and down. “hi, maddie.” vi’s tone is sickly sweet. “can you fight?”

the redhead goes wide-eyed before she scuttles away into the crowd.

you wrench yourself out of vi’s grasp. “what the fuck was that?” you hiss.

vi rolls her eyes, but her shoulders are stiff. “it was a joke.”

“have you lost your fucking mind? you can’t talk to people like that.”

vi steps toward you, and you take a step back. “you need to relax, i wasn’t gonna do anything.”

the audacity almost knocks the air out of you. “i need to relax? i need to relax? this is exactly what i was talking about, you never think things through—”

“oh my god, jesus, i’m sorry, okay?” she doesn’t sound sorry. “you want me to track your little girlfriend down and apologize to her too?”

you cross your arms. “i want you to go home.”

vi freezes. she’s silent a moment. “seriously?”

“yeah.”

“angel—”

“don’t.” this kicked puppy routine might work when she’s late to dinner, but not right now.

she grabs your hand and cradles it to her chest. “i’m sorry, i am. really.” she kisses your knuckles, and you fight to stay resolute. “i shouldn’t have… i’m sorry.”

you pull your hand back. “i know, vi. just go, cool off.”

you need to cool off too. vi slinks away to her apartment upstairs, and you return to the stool next to jayce.

“everything good?” he asks, as if he hadn’t been close enough to hear everything.

you decide to be honest. “no.”

jayce sets his glass down, giving you his full attention. “am i going to be a child of divorce?”

you roll your eyes. “fuck off, dude, you’re like thirty years older than us.”

“seriously, what’s going on?”

“i don’t know.” you look down at your hands, folded in your lap. “i thought things were going well.”

jayce nods sagely. "you need another drink." you roll your eyes.

you head up to her apartment at closing time. vi opens the door moments after you knock, red eyed.

“hey, angel.” she offers you a weak smile.

you don’t return it. “we need to talk.”

she swallows, hard. she nods once, slow, before stepping aside for you to come in. “so that’s it? we’re done?”

“what?” your eyes go wide. you reach for her hands, gripping them like a lifeline. “no, baby. of course not.” you can't believe she'd think that.

her whole body sags with relief. she pulls you into her. you let her, wrapping your arms around her neck as she crushes her lips into yours. its different than the perfunctory hello/goodbye kisses she'd been giving you since the fight started. different even from the kiss downstairs. it’s hungrier, deeper.

"missed you," she mumbles against your lips. you hadn't gone anywhere, but you don't correct her. you know what she means. you've missed her too. she buries her face in your shoulder. "never wanna fight again."

the fight isn’t over, not really, but you say, "me either." her arms tighten around your waist. she's warm and solid against you in a way you'd almost forgotten. "what was that down there?" you ask.

she groans into the crook of your neck before begrudgingly pulling away to face you. you look at her expectantly.

"i just – i didn't like the way she was looking at you."

you and jayce had figured it was something like that, but having it confirmed still shocks a laugh out of you.

vi looks unamused. "i don't see why that’s funny."

"really? it's hilarious. after everything, some girl telling me i'm pretty is what pushes your over the edge?"

she frowns. "she said gorgeous."

your grin widens, "oh, my bad. then maybe i should go back down there–" you move for the door, but vi yanks you back into her.

"you're not funny," she says.

"i thought you don't get jealous," you whisper.

"i don't." her hands wander down your back until she's grabbing your ass. "i'm not. why would i be? she's downstairs, alone, and i have you all to myself."

it's a compelling argument.

the air thickens around you. her gaze is a hot, heavy thing. she runs a finger along the strap of your dress. velvet, ending just above the knee. "gonna take this off for me?" she asks. heat pools in your stomach.

silently, you turn. you can feel her move behind you, feel her calloused hands rub your shoulders, down the sides of your arms, before moving to the zipper of your dress.

she lowers the zipper, her lips trailing just behind her fingers, leaving soft raindrop kisses on the newly exposed skin. you shiver, and she smiles against you. the dress pools at your feet. "so pretty," she whispers.

"not gorgeous?" you ask, fighting a smile. you turn your head just in time to see the way her expression sours. a giggle escapes you.

she turns you the rest of the way around by the hips and pins you to the door. "you want me to fuck you or not?"

you shrug. "if you don't wanna, i'm sure i can find someone downstairs—"

"you've lost your mind if you think i'm going to let you do that." and then she's on you. hands in your hair, lips against yours. they trail down your jaw, down your throat. she kisses down your sternum, down your stomach, until she's on her knees in front of you.

she kisses you over your panties and grins when your hips buck. “you gonna tell me who this belongs to?"

you shouldn’t reward bad behavior, but you can’t help it. you tell her it’s hers, that you’re hers. that you love her so, so much.

you expect to see that stupid cocky smirk again. but maybe you were a little too sweet to her, because instead she looks up at you glassy eyed. your heart pangs in your chest. you're filled with an overwhelming need to kiss her.

she feels it too, from the way she scrambles to her feet.

“i love you,” she whispers. the kiss is slow, languid. her hands cradle your jaw butterfly wing soft. your eyes sting, more from relief than anything.

you pull back to say, “love you, vi.” a tear rolls down your cheek. but vi is quick to catch it, kissing it away.

you fist your hands in her shirt and you make a frustrated noise. “this is not how this was supposed to go. we were supposed to have hot, angry, jealousy-fueled makeup sex.”

vi lets out a wet laugh. “we still can,” she offers.

you pause for a moment. “yeah?”

“yeah.” she kisses you again, like a promise. “get on the bed.”

you do, leaving your dress on the floor.

vi gets into character quick. she unbuttons her shirt, slow, as you watch her from her mattress. her body language changes, tense again.

“take your panties off,” she says.

you hesitate a moment, reluctant to be fully naked when vi hasn’t taken off anything.

“come on, angel.”

you still remember the first time she called you that. she had left her water bottle at your place (on purpose, you later learned) and you had brought it to her at practice. ‘you’re an angel,’ she’d said.

vi snaps you out of the daydream. “hey, what’re you thinking about? think about me.”

you bat your lashes. “i’m always thinking about you.”

vi goes pink. “you can’t say stuff like that. i’m trying to be sexy.”

you hum. “you're very sexy.” you cock your head and trail one hand down your stomach, fingers barely kissing your skin. “need you so bad.”

vi flushes harder. “just take your panties off.”

this time you listen. vi spreads your thighs open. “fuck, can’t even remember what we were fighting about.” she brushes her thumb along your core. you shiver at the contact. she leans her head down, and you expect her to kiss your pussy, like she usually does before going down on you.

instead, she spits on it.

you gasp, loud and embarrassing.

“oh, baby,” she soothes. she slides two fingers in you with no preamble. she’s silent, for once, as she fucks you, eyes locked on where her fingers disappear inside you.

that ends when the knot in your stomach tightens. you grab for her free hand, and she interlaces her fingers with yours.

“you close?” she asks. you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. “is that really all it takes? i don’t remember you being this easy.”

your face burns hot.

“it’s okay, you just missed me, right?” she lets go of your hand to smooth your sweat slick hair out of your face.

you nod, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

she smiles, predatory. “missed you too. missed this tight fucking—”

your whine cuts her off. you tip over the edge, and vi catches you, fucking you through til the end.

“fuck,” you gasp.

“good?” she asks, though the grin on her face tells you she knows the answer.

“shut up.” you let your eyes flutter shut.

vi doesn’t pull her fingers out. instead, she starts moving again. the sensation is just shy of too much. she’s slower this time, gentle, but the sensation still makes your toes curl.

she presses her lips to your temple. “you’re too pretty, angel. can’t keep my hands off you.” you shiver. “i must be the luckiest girl in the world, ‘cause you’re all mine.”

“all yours,” you echo. you’ve recovered enough that vi’s new pace is too slow. you buck your hips, and she speeds up.

she kisses your forehead. “all mine, forever.” the words come out sweet, but the possessive undercurrent makes you clench around her fingers.

you can’t tell her — she’d never let you live it down — but it had been hot, before, with maddie. pointless, immature, but so hot. you get it now, why she’s so insufferable every time you get jealous.

vi curls her fingers just right and you go tumbling off the edge again, harder this time. you’re going to have to marry this girl.

she pulls out, finally. “ready for bed?” she asks, sounding incredibly smug.

you roll your eyes. “take your pants off.”

she’s not entirely off base. your limbs feel warm and gooey, and you’re sure if you let your head touch the pillow it would be lights out immediately. but that would mean you couldn’t eat her out. and eating vi out is perhaps your favorite pass time.

vi’s unbuttoned shirt is still on, and her sports bra underneath, but you’re too impatient to ask her to undress all the way. instead, you bury your face between her thighs.

her hands immediately tangle themselves in your hair. “like that, angel. just like that, please.”

there’s a lot of things to love about going down on her. the way she tastes, the way she whines your name. that little gasp she lets out when you suck on her clit, every time. but above all, you love seeing her after, panting and wrecked.

she’s close, you can feel it from the way those strong thighs clench around your head. “can i?” she begs.

you know what she's begging for. she wants to grind against your mouth until she finishes. she’s being good and asking, so you nod. she lets out a sigh of relief and tightens her grip on your hair. you go still and let your tongue relax while she takes what she needs.

she’s done quick, and you crawl up her frame to lay down on top of her. you nestle your head into the crook of her shoulder. she rubs wide circles over your lower back.

you’re both silent a moment. then you say, “i still don’t think we should move in together, not yet.”

she groans. “this is terrible pillow talk.”

“you still need to figure out the soccer thing, and i’m working three jobs—”

she shakes her head. “i don’t care about that stuff. i just, i wanna know you’re serious about me. about us.”

you lift yourself up so you can look her in the eye. “of course i am.”

“good. because you’re it for me.” it’s not the first time she’s said something like that, but this time feels different.

you run a hand through her hair. she shuts her eyes and leans into the sensation. “i’m going to marry you one day, violet lanes.”

her eyes shoot open. for a second you worry it was too much. then she breaks into a grin. “yeah?”