stop fightiiiiing đ§
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
the jjk men realize how big of a mistake sending you back to tokyo was
incl: Gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna.
angst angst angst | taglist open
[EMERGENCY] GINZA LINE SERVICE SUSPENDED - TUNNEL COLLAPSE DETECTED â SERVICE TRAIN G08 PARTIALLY CRUSHED
REMAIN CALM AND FOLLOW STAFF INSTRUCTIONS
taglist:
@starlightanyaaa @not-aya @yourangel04 @m4n-eat3r @whoreforjjkmen @totallygyomeiswife @jjklover365daysayear @linaaeatsfamilies @jaemdonut @tatsuomii @perqbeth @yegrnn @chosostonguepiercing @samstrav @aquamarine001 @higuchislut @domainexpansionmypants @mortallyshadysoul @thigh-o-saur @hi-itsmee28 @go-go-gadget-autism @magalimachete @paula-bratu @miitsuis @eddiemxnsonlvr @raendarkfaerie @26xidk @sugurulefttesticle @chim-i @luvysmai @dovenu @waywardfanwinner @cherrymoon4 @lizzie3d2y @zaynerider @desi-laila @estellafake @ayumigotabittoolonely @byerno6 @kodzukensworld @bellsoftheball @patpatspatz @kxgumi @enerofairy @miizuzu @melimelisworld (i hope i got everybody)
âą synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal viâs injuries, you canât mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.
âą contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.
âą word count. 15.2k+
âą authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)
Youâve grown used to the sight of blood.
It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.
Youâve made it work, though. You have to.
Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic youâve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. Thereâs always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.
Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythmâwhen to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.
Maybe it was because you werenât trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.
The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. Youâve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the wallsâcheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesnât do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.
The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. Itâs your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, thereâs room for gentleness.
Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own wayâa drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. Youâve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, youâve earned it.
The fighting arena roars with life, the crowdâs cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonightâs fights have been loudâlouder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.
Thereâs been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.
Vi, they call her.
Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.
You havenât met her yet, but the bookiesâ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worstâtoo much pride, not enough sense.
The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.
It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you donât look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Rykerâs jawâa nasty wound from an earlier fight. Rykerâs been coming here for years, but never with complaints. Heâs one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.
âDonât fucking shove me,â a voice grumbles from the doorway. âFuck off, Loris!â
Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of themâa broad-shouldered man with a face like heâs eaten rocks for breakfastâcould easily pass for one of the fighters. But itâs the girl heâs dragging by the arm that catches your eye.
Sheâs all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.
âI donât need a medic,â the girlâVi, you hear the man mutterâsnaps, yanking her arm free. âI need a drink.â
âProtocol,â He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.
Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. âThis it? Cozy,â she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Rykerâs jaw. âYou can take a seat,â you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.
âNo thanks,â Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.
âToo proud to sit down, blue belly?â Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. âOr has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?â
âRyker,â you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.
But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. Theyâd brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.
Thatâs how it usually went with them.
However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.
Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. âI donât knowâdâyou wanna find out?â
You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. âDonât,â you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.
Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. âYou wanna go another round?â
Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. âYou wanna lose again?â she challenges, her voice low and sharp.
âThatâs enough,â you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.
âSit. Down,â Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.
You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. âYouâre done,â you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. âKeep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of troubleâfor your sake and your daughterâs.â
Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Viâs way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. âThanks,â when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. âYouâre too good for this place.â
You offer him a faint smile. âTake care, Ryker.â
He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieterâtense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, whoâs leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.
âAlright,â you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. âYour turn.â
Vi doesnât move from the wall. âIâm fine,â she insists, âpatch up the ones who actually need it.â
Your gaze flicks over herâthe bloody nose thatâs started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. âSit,â you say, your voice firm.
She doesnât budge.
You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesnât waver. You wonât repeat yourself.
Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. âSit down, Vi.â
She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.
You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like youâre some kind of nuisance.
âName?â you ask, clicking your pen.
âVi,â she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
âVi what?â
âJust Vi.â
You suppress a sigh. âWhatâs your full name?â
âI said, just Vi.â
Thereâs an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You donât. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. âFine. Age?â
âOld enough to fight.â
Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. âOf course, you are,â you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. âAlright, letâs start with the obvious,â you say, gesturing at her face. âYour nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.â
Viâs brow arches like youâve just said something funny. âI said, Iâm fine.â
âAnd I said, tilt your head back,â you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.
Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. âHappy?â
You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.
âDoesnât feel broken,â you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. âRelax,â you say softly. âIâm not going to hurt you.â
âCouldâve fooled me,â she mutters.
Your hand falters, just briefly. Thereâs a weight to her words, a sharpness you werenât expecting, but you push past it. âWell, I mean it,â you reply quietly.
Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.
âJacket off,â you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.
Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. âWhy?â
You give her a flat look. âBecause I canât stitch it through fabric.â
For a second, she doesnât move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.
Her arms are a messâold fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. âIâll do it myself.â
You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesnât flinch again. âYou can relax, you know,â you say, trying to sound light. âIâm just trying to help.â
Vi lets out a bitter snort. âYouâre not the first to say that.â
You pause, but you donât press. Sheâs lashing out on you. Thatâs the most you can make of it.
The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.
âWhat?â you ask, unable to help yourself.
âNothing,â she says, leaning back.
You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.
Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. âYou know, youâre wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldnât piss on you if you were on fire.â
The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything sheâs said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.
âGood thing I donât do this for their gratitude,â you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. Youâre trying not to let it get to you.
Sheâs new. Clearly, sheâs fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.
Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. âRight.â
You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.
You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. Thereâs a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.
âYouâre all set,â you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. âIâd suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.â
Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesnât look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. âIâll live.â
You wish Ryker had broken her nose.
You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.
Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. âThanks,â he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.
You manage a smile back, but itâs shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.
For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.
What the fuck is her problem?
You know you shouldnât be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antisâs brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. Itâs barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakableâthe muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.
Vi comes alone this timeâor at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.
The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. Sheâs holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.
You have to bite back a smile at the sight.
Sheâs ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top sheâs wearing looks like itâs seen more fights than she hasâworn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.
You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chestâa mix of frustration and satisfaction. âYou canât fight back-to-back nights,â you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.
Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. âI can do what I want,â she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. Sheâs hurting.
Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.
Youâve seen this beforeânew fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like thereâs no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they donât know how to stop. Thereâs always a reason. You canât help but wonder whatâor whoâVi is fighting for.
With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. âLet me guess,â you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. âAntis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldnât say no.â
Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.
She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. âItâs none of your business.â
âNo,â you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. âBut Iâm the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.â
She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worseâangry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isnât broken (unfortunately), but itâs close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like itâs been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesnât pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.
âYouâre going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,â you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. âYouâve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out thereââ
âI donât need your pity,â she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
âNot pity,â you reply, keeping your tone even. âJust words of advice.â
âI donât need that either,â she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. âJust patch me up so I can go. Iâm only here because Antis wonât clear me for my pay otherwise.â
âYeah, itâs protocol,â you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.
âItâs stupid.â
âIt was my idea.â
Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. Thereâs something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesnât answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. â...Still stupid.â
You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. âYeah, well, stupid or not, itâs keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.â
Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.
She doesnât respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like sheâs itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You canât tell if itâs pride or exhaustion keeping her thereâor maybe both.
For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.
As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. Itâs like sheâs bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.
You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. âYouâre good to go,â you say, your voice softer now. âBut you need rest.â
She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. âCanât rest. Iâm on a winning streak.â
You arch a brow. âYouâve only been here two days. I wouldnât count that as a streak.â
âDonât really care what you think.â
âYou should. Youâre sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.â
Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, âSure, doc. Whatever you say.â
You want to argue, but sheâs already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.
The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.
Itâs not long after that you learn her name is Violet.
The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.
Violets. Youâve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though youâre not entirely sure. Flowers arenât exactly a common sight in Zaun.
The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. Thereâs nothing soft or delicate about herânot the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.
She didnât tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasnât much of a âslipâ rather than straight-up telling you her name.
It happened a night at a bar near your work. Youâd gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.
Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.
Loris wasnât much of a talker, you realized. Heâd spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.
Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. âSleeping,â he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, âHer nameâs Violet, by the way.â
Violet. You didnât expect that, and it mustâve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.
It doesnât take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antisâs. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. âAntisâs money-maker,â they call her, and itâs not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.
At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didnât just winâshe dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.
She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, medsâall of it consumed at an alarming rate. Youâve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isnât just the state of her after a fightâitâs what she leaves behind.
Her opponents donât come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness youâve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You canât help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?
Sheâs changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replacedâblack jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. Sheâs losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.
You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.
One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antisâs office. Youâre here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinicâs dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.
Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. âYouâre early,â he grunts, though thereâs no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. âPerfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?â
Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesnât meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. âHer⊠look?â
Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. âYeah. Gotta sell the whole package, yâknow? The crowd loves her, but theyâll eat up a good aesthetic, too. Weâre thinking something that screams âunbeatable.â Right, Vi?â
Viâs jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesnât. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like sheâs waiting for somethingâyour reaction, maybe, though you canât figure out why it matters.
You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesnât betray you. âShe doesnât need to change anything. Sheâs already pretty... unforgettable.â
Antisâs booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyesâa fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?âbefore she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself itâs nothing, just a trick of the dim light.
A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's differentâsheâs not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. Sheâs just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if sheâs unsure whether to knock or let herself in.
âDo you need something?â you ask, glancing up from where youâre restocking the shelves. âAre you hurt?â
She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. âNo, just⊠itâs quiet in here.â
Your brows knit together. Quiet?
She didnât seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. âYou came all the way here because itâs quiet?â
âYeah,â she says simply, her tone flat, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. âProblem?â
âNo... itâs justâŠâ You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. âNever mind.â
These visits became more frequent whenever she didnât fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesnâtâsimply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. Sheâll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chairâs edge, lost in thought, but thereâs a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.
She never tells you what brings her inâif something is weighing on her mind or if itâs just a need to escape the chaos. And you donât ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.
The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way sheâll let herself drift off into a light sleep. Itâs almost like youâre giving her a moment of rest she didnât know she needed.
Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediatelyâone of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.
Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your faceâwide-eyed and mildly incredulous. âDonât worry, itâs not for you,â she teases, her tone light and mocking.
You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. âThis from your fight last night?â
Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. âSome of my best work,â she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.
You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. âI donât know,â you counter dryly. âHe broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesnât sound like your best to me.â
Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises sheâs sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.
Vi flinches. Itâs quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. âSorry,â you murmur, your voice soft.
She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. âNo, uhâno. Itâs fine,â she says, a little too fast.
This time, when you move again, she doesnât flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you canât help wincing at the sight. âYouâre kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Viâ you mutter. âDid you even ice this like I told you?â
Her eyes roll so hard youâre almost worried sheâll sprain something. She grabs your wristânot roughly, but enough to lower your handâand shrugs. âYou shouldâve seen the other guy.â
You give her a deadpan look. âI did.â
Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesnât say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesnât pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.
âI brought you food,â she says suddenly, her voice casual.
You blink, momentarily thrown. âFood?â
She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadnât even noticed it when she walked in. âYeah, you know. The stuff you eat when youâre hungry.â
âOkay, asshole,â you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.
She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. âGot it for Loris and I, but heâs, uh⊠busy. Doing... someone else.â Her tone is flat, like she couldnât care less, but thereâs a flicker of something thereâan edge of amusement, maybe. âSo, more for us.â
You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, sheâs an enigma. Thereâs something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you donât let it show. âThanks,â you say simply.
âWell, donât get used to it,â she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though itâs written all over her expression.
She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people whoâve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, sheâs perched there like itâs nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.
âIs this where Iâm supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?â
She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.
You donât bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.
The days begin to blur into one another as Viâs visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated herâa pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually donât hate her company.
And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence bloomsâbold, intoxicating.
Youâve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.
At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her upâshe didnât just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.
But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots sheâs traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.
You realize that fighting for Vi isnât just about survival or enjoyment. Itâs an outletâa way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesnât want to face.
One night, you do something youâve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. Youâve seen enough carnage in the medicâs room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as everâcheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antisâs bell marking the start and end of each match. You donât join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.
And then Vi steps into the ring.
Itâs the first time youâve seen her fight, and itâs nothing like you imagined. Youâd seen the aftermathâthe blood, the bruises, the broken bonesâbut witnessing her in action is something else entirely. Sheâs skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.
The man sheâs up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesnât matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.
Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.
Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movementâitâs overwhelming.
Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.
You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds canât distract you. Viâs image lingersâsweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.
You never bring it up, and Vi doesnât either.
But something changes.
That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. Sheâs quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.
Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe itâs just your imagination. Youâre hyperaware of every small movementâhow her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.
She doesnât flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, sheâd tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.
Itâs almost unbearable.
Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.
âYouâre awfully quiet tonight,â you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.
Viâs lips quirk, but itâs a faint ghost of her usual grin. âJust tired, I guess.â
Itâs a lie, and you both know it.
You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. Sheâs sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.
âAlmost done,â you murmur, though it feels like youâre saying it more to yourself than her.
Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. Thereâs a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.
âTake your time,â she says.
Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how theyâve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitchesâjust barelyâbut itâs enough for you to notice.
âThere,â you say, pulling back slightly. âDone.â
But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. Youâre not sure if itâs you or her that doesnât pull away first.
Viâs eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You donât know if itâs the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like sheâs about to say somethingâbut you canât take it anymore.
âI should clean up,â you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.
For a moment, she doesnât move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.
âThanks,â she says.
You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesnât look back.
Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.
You try to shake it off.
To ignore it until you can't.
And then you visit her one day.
Itâs not in the medic room or the fighting ring. Itâs at her door, and itâs jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.
You canât tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. Itâs gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.
You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.
âWhat are you doing here?â she asks, her voice low and guarded.
Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but whatâs more disarming is the sight of her like thisâstripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think theyâre beautiful.
You open your mouth, but the words donât come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadnât thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.
Youâre not really friends.
âUh,â you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you canât help it.
Sheâs staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. âYou gonna stand there all day, or what?â
âIâyour hair,â you blurt out. âItâs⊠different.â
She scoffs, brushing past you as if youâre not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitationâor maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.
Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. Thereâs a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.
But itâs the quiet that hits you the hardest. Itâs so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.
âYou dye it yourself?â you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.
She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. âYeah.â
âAntis didnât make you do it?â
Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. âNo. He suggested green.â
You try to picture her with green hair and fail. âWhy black?â
âNeeded a change,â she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you itâs not her first drink tonight. âWhy are you here?â
The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. âOh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.â
Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. âThanks.â
âItâs no problem,â you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say somethingâsomething meaningful.
âYou... you okay, Vi?â you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.
âWhy wouldnât I be?â
You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if itâs the only thing keeping her upright. She looks⊠tired. Beaten down, in a way youâve never seen before.
âI donât know,â you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. âI guess you just⊠you havenât come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Donât worry, I wonât charge.â
The words sound too casual, too light like youâre trying to make a jokeâand you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, theyâre a clear sign of how badly sheâs been pushing herselfâsheâs been taking supplies from you without checking in, and youâve noticed. You know she hasnât gotten her pay yet. You havenât had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. Itâs a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she wonât acknowledge, but you know sheâs not getting the care she needs.
For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if youâve crossed a line, if sheâs going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like sheâs trying to figure out what your angle is.
You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.
Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.
âIâm fine,â she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. âYou done?â
Youâre about to say something elseâmaybe ask again, maybe push for moreâbut then you realize itâs not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. âYeah.â
You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. âGood luck tonight, Vi.â
She doesnât respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like thereâs something more to say.
Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. Itâs softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.
âThanks.â
As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you canât quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with herâand why it feels like itâs starting to settle on you too.
You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesnât need to know, and honestly, you doubt sheâd even care. If anything, sheâd probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.
Thatâs what you tell yourself.
The next time youâre sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.
âHey,â Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.
You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. âVi?â
It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like itâs given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her faceâthick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. Sheâs gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if itâs precious, her knuckles stained red.
Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. âWonât believe it,â she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. âHey.â
You frown, stepping closer. âAre you drunk?â
Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. âNo.â
âNo?â
âI just won,â she says, like that explains everything. âAgain. Beat that big guyâmetal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.â
Sheâs grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you donât laugh. Fighters donât go into the pit drunk, at least not that youâve ever seen. They also donât win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad donât bring in any moneyâheâll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.
You move closer cautiously, studying her.
She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strandsâsharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yoursâred seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.
She murmurs something, but itâs too soft to catch.
âWhat?â
âYou werenât here.â
Her words surprise you.
âYeah,â you say, unsure how else to respond.
âFour days.â
âI know.â
âWhy not?â
You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing sheâll see through it. âIâve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?â
âRight,â she mutters, though thereâs something bitter in the way she says it.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. Youâre counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.
Finally, she speaks. âLoris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.â
âMore of them?â
She scoffs, but thereâs a faint smile playing on her lips. âFuck off. I was gonna invite you.â
âYou want me there?â
âSure,â she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. âSince you and Loris are so close.â
You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. âOh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.â
She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesnât pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadnât realized you missed. You didnât know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.
When she stands to leave, thereâs a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.
âBut youâre coming, right?â she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.
You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. âYeah. Iâll stop by after I finish up here.â
Her smile catches you off guard. Itâs not the smirk or grin youâre used toâitâs warmer, something youâve never seen before. âGood.â
And then sheâs gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasnât gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.
You canât wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.
Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythmâcalm, focused, efficient. You donât dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, thereâs a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.
But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Viâs smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.
Itâs not just Viâs smileâitâs the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You donât let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than youâd like.
When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.
The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than youâre ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.
You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The waterâs cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth itâlike a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.
Itâs not enough.
Itâll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but itâs already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.
Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.
Inside, the place is alive.
Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the nightâs fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.
The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.
Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris firstâhis brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. Heâs leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.
He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.
âYou made it,â Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.
You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you canât fight the smile tugging at your lips. âHi.â
Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal itâs your turn to order.
You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesnât seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you donât mind. Thereâs a strange comfort in his presence.
You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.
The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.
âHappy youâre here.â
Lorisâs voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but thereâs a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.
âMaybe itâll keep Vi from doing something stupid,â he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.
Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but itâs nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. âWhat do you mean?â
Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. âShe gets into fights sometimes.â
Your stomach sinks further. âHere?â
âOnly happened twice,â he says quickly like itâs supposed to make you feel better.
âOh.â You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. âWhy?â
Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. âDunno. She wonât talk about it.â
You blink, caught off guard. âShe doesnât seemâŠâ You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
âLike a drunk?â he finishes for you. âSheâs good at hiding it, most of the time. But sheâs been drinking more. Gets worse when sheâs stressed.â
You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. âStressed about what? Fighting?â
He shakes his head, never answering. âSheâs stubborn as shit, you know that. But somethingâs been eating at her, and I donât think she knows how to deal with it.â
The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesnât burn as much this time, but it doesnât settle the knot in your stomach, either.
âI can keep an eye on her,â you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. âSheâs not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.â
He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. âSheâs lucky to have you.â
The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but heâs already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.
You look away.
And then you spot her.
Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someoneâs outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeksâlikely streaked from the rainâgives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.
Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.
Your heart jumps, and you realize youâve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming youâre really here. Then, she grinsâa slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.
The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.
She changes course, heading straight for you.
She doesnât look drunkânot like beforeâbut the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You donât miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.
When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.
âHey,â Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.
âHey,â you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. âYou seem surprised to see me.â
âNot surprised,â she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. âJust⊠glad.â
The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. âWhatâre you drinking?â
You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. âGood choice. Finish it.â
You blink, âWhat?â
She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. âCome on. Youâre here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and Iâll show you what that looks like.â
Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but thereâs an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, sheâs already holding out her hand.
âCome with me,â she says, and itâs not really a question.
Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.
Vi doesnât let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, thereâs a lightness in her expression, a spark of something youâve missed seeing.
Her usual confidence is there, but itâs softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laughâlow and huskyâeases some of your nerves.
The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. Youâre acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if sheâs drawn to your orbit.
Youâre staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.
You think youâre a little obsessed with her.
The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. âWhy did you stop coming by?â
Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but itâs enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.
âI like taking care of you, Vi.â
For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesnât answerânot with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.
Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize whatâs about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.
And then she kisses you.
Itâs quick at first, almost testing the watersâa soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.
You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.
âFuck,â she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. âFuck, Iâm sorryâI shouldnât haveââ
âNo.â The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. âNo, donât apologize.â
Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but youâre not looking at her eyes anymore. Youâre focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.
You tug her closer.
You kiss her back.
She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. Itâs as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.
The world around you dissolvesâthe music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaunâs nightlife fading into a muted hum. Itâs just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like youâre the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. Sheâs eager to have you close, to feel you.
You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.
The sound she emits makes your head spin. Viâs warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.
âI need toââ she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. âLetâs go somewhere. Outside.â
She doesnât wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until youâre stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.
The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like sheâs been running.
Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. âYouâre making me crazy,â she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.
âI could say the same,â you admit.
And then sheâs kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.
Itâs embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.
The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Viâs touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid youâll slip away.
You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.
Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her.Â
The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like thisâlike sheâs trying to consume you like sheâs been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.
Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear.Â
âVi,â you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.
Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she werenât holding you so tightly.
Your head spins. You feel like youâre dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you canât pull away. You donât want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.
Itâs overwhelmingâher heat, her strength, her desperation. Sheâs chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and youâre caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until youâre sure youâll burn to ashes.
Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.
Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You donât think youâve ever felt like thisâuntethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses sheâs broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.
Viâs hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.
You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. Youâre struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you canât quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keensâa quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.
Oh, you want her to do that again, youâre going to make her do that again.
Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. âFuck,â she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, âCait.â
You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. Itâs unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.
Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.
Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. Youâre hyper-aware of everythingâof the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she canât seem to hold back.
She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.
Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then youâre there, fingers brushing right against her clitâsheâs so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.
âVi,â you whisper again.
Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.
You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. Itâs a place you know well, one youâve touched countless times in the dim light of your medicâs room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, sheâd jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.
She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.
âGood,â she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. âFuck, feels so good.â
Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.
It aches, but youâre smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for somethingâyour lips, your skin, something to kiss.
You donât make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makesâa guttural, desperate moanâsends heat pooling low in your stomach.
She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. Thereâs a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.
And you will. Youâll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. Youâd give her your heart, too, if only sheâd take it.
Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You canât tell if itâs from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reactsâhips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperatelyâyou think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.
When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, itâs like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighterâ
âCaitâŠâ The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.
Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.
âCait⊠CaitâŠâ she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.
It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.
You freeze, suddenly sober.
Your hands falter, and Vi doesnât seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.
âWhatâ? Whyâd you stop?â Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.
âWhoâs Cait?â The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
âWhat?â
Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyesâraw and unguarded. Itâs a look youâve seen before, maybe once or twice.
âYou keep calling me âCait.ââ You canât meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.
You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. Itâs a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.
âI donât knowâŠâ Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.
âShit. Shit.â Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean toâI didnâtâCaitâs just⊠someone I used to know, alright?â
The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.
âUm⊠I think I need to go,â you mumble.
âYou just got here.â Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.
âI know.â You force the words out. âBut itâs been a long day.â You take a step back, and then another.
âPlease.â Her voice cracks on the word. âDonât leave.â
You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But itâs not fine. Not anymore.
âViâŠâ Her name feels raw on your tongue. âYouâre drunk. I shouldnât have⊠Iâm sorry.â
âNo.â She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. âNo, donât say that. Iâm not drunkââ
âYou are.â
Her words are rushed, and frantic, like sheâs trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.
âYouâre clearly not in the right state of mind right now,â you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask youâre slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. âIâll see you tomorrow, alright? Just⊠rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.â
She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. âFuck. Fuck!â The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.
The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you canât bring yourself to turn back.
Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingersâsmoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.
The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows youâve grown accustomed to.
You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken recordâViâs voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.
Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Viâs loss.
âSheâs never been this off her game,â someone says as they pass. âWonder whatâs eating her.â
You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.
The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the roomâthe cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. Itâs the first time youâve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.
You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that donât need organizing, folding bandages that donât need folding. You think about how Viâs presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throneâit had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.
But today, the chair stays empty.
Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against herâout of spite or fearâseemed shocked. Youâd caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponentâs hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.
Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.
You expected her to show up the way she always didâbleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.
Maybe sheâd gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasnât fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.
You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didnât careâit wasnât your job to chase after fighters who wouldnât take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.
The thought of her turning back to old habitsâof her brushing you aside like you never matteredâsettled in your chest like a bruise you couldnât rub out.
And then the door creaks open.
Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.
Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadnât bothered to wash off.
She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like sheâs bracing herself for rejection. Youâre about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.
âHey,â she says, her voice scratchy and low.
You exhale a breath you didnât realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. âTook you long enough,â you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.
When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. Thereâs no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.
You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. âWhat happened?â
Her shrug is stiff, âGuess I wasnât fast enough.â
Thereâs an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. Itâs self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesnât pull away.
âWhy didnât you come sooner?â you ask, your tone soft but firm.
Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. âDidnât think youâd want to see me.â
You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and youâre not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. âI still like to take care of you,â you say quietly.
Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. âThatâs your job.â
âYeah, but,â you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. âI like doing it.â
The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she canât bear to look at you.
You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, âYou shouldâve come earlier. You shouldnât do this to yourself.â
âWhy not? Seems to be what Iâm good at.â
Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesnât see it.
âViâŠâ You hesitate, unsure of what to say.
She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. âI donât get it. Iâm a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, Iâve been a dick to you since day one. Why donât you just⊠let me fuck myself up?â
âIâve thought about it,â you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. âBut then Iâd be a pretty shitty medic, wouldnât I?â
Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesnât quite stick. âIâm sorry,â she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. âFor everything.â
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
âI didnât mean toâŠâ She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. âI didnât mean to hurt you.â
The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesnât change the truth. âItâs okay,â you manage.
âNo, itâs not.â She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldnât quite place. Regret? Shame? âI⊠You deserve better than that. Better than me.â
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. âYouâre being dramatic. Iâm fine, really.â
Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. âYouâre not. Youâre just too good to say it.â
Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but thereâs something else, tooâa longing that mirrors your own.
But itâs not enough.
You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. âYou should rest. I gotta fix your nose.â
Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know youâll never forget this image of her.
As you work in silence, you canât help but wonder what it wouldâve been like if things were differentâif whoever Cait was didnât haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.
But deep down, you know the answer.
Sheâll never be yours.
But youâll always be hers.
When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesnât know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like sheâs summoning whatâs left of her strength, makes your heart ache.
âThanks,â she says.
âOf course. Itâs what Iâm here for.â
As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if sheâd just let you. You could make her believe that sheâs worth more than the pain sheâs carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. Itâs soft, strained, and bittersweet.
She doesnât meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like sheâs carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, itâs as if sheâs pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.
And then, sheâs gone.
The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesnât reach you anymore.
You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, sheâll always carry pieces of someone else with her.
the baddies and their overprotective big brothers
Game over
GAME ON - part 1
STILL PLAYING? - part 2
Summary: It is a known rule that your best friendâs sister is off limits. Too bad Vi doesnât care about this rule, nor about the consequences that will come with it.
Warnings: modern!vi, bbf!vi, cursing, dirty talk, smut, dom!vi, sub!reader, vi is kinda rough, tit play, thigh riding, vi is a piece of ish? MDNI!
A/N: Letâs pretend Jayce is still in his 20s. Reblogs and commesnts are always welcomed!
MASTERLIST
She is as much of a piece of shit as I am.
Those words kept appearing in your head ever since Jayce came in your room to ask you about Vi. You didnât quite understand his reasoning for the sudden interest in your life, since he never cared enough to give you any kind of advice until⊠you started messing with his best friend. The timing was truly strange. Did he finally start caring about you in his wierd way? Or his intrusion was because he figured what was going on and he needed some kind of confirmation?
You have tried so hard to avoid thinking about your conversation, abour eveything that was said that day⊠but you simply could not ignore the feeling that something was going on. By comparing Vi with him, he was definately hinting at something⊠something youâd wish you didnât know. He treated his lovers poorly by not communicating exactly what he actually wanted. He got in relationships when he still had feelings for an ex.
He was not a good guy, and definately not the type of person that just gives out advice out of nowhere, and not to you out of all people. Ever since you were little, you two didnât talk much, nor get along, nor care that much about one another. You had different interests, different hobbies, and even your parents realized how less their kids had in common, so they stopped trying to make you like each other since it was a waste of time.
And you were fine with it.
Youâd have some fights here and there, youâd say something, he would say something, you even expected some of his friends to throw insults at you or even talk poorly about you. But you have never heard them theow a bad comment in your direction. He would probably deny, but Jayce never allowed anyone else to treat you with disrespect. He did it because he was your brother, but when it came to his friends doing it⊠he wouldnât allow it. But since this was about Vi, his approach was different.
You never thought youâd have to do this, but there were so many unanswered questions that only Jayce could answer unfortunately. You couldnât really ask Vi about her plans with you, since you just hooked up two times. She didnât really owe you anything, but youâd prefer her not to play any games or use you in any kind of way, and Jayceâs words hinted just that.
You were aware there was only a physical attraction between you two and you were fine with it for now, but somehow hoped that in the future these hook ups would turn into something more, maybe actual dates where youâd talk more, where youâd know each other better. Vi was a charming girl and you knew sheâd soon make her way towards your heart. But you didnât know if you should allow this or not.
With a deep sigh, you stood up from the bed, as you had postponed this discussion with Jayce as much as you could, but the desire to find out more ate you alive as the seconds passed. You went straight to his door, your footsteps heavy and slow on the carpet. The hallway felt endless as you walked, your heart thumping in your chest since you were worried about what youâre gonna find out.
When you finally reached his door, you stopped in front of it and took another deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You were afraid to not start a fight since the subject of your discussion wasnât the best. You hoped he wouldnât be mad at you, but he had all the reasons since one: you lied to him when he first asked, and two: it was Vi of all people.
You decided it was time to just do something, since you were wasting time and overthinking, when the answers were just few seconds away. You bought your hand up and finally found the courage to knock on the wooden surface, landing two knocks, then stepping back and waiting. After a few seconds, you heard a muffled âcome inâ from the other side. You closed your eyes for a bit, trying to seem more composed, then you reached for the door knob, twisting it.
You opened the door wide, revealing Jayceâs room. Only the blue leds offered light to the space, creating a overall nice ambiance. The walls still had the same old science posters on them, some rock bands, some pictures⊠the bed was still on the right side and his desk, which had all the gaming setup, was in front of the bed, right next to the door.
Your eyes landed on his figure as he finally spoke.
âIt took you long enoughâ he chuckled as he took off his gaming headphones, placing them on the desk. He looked at you with amusement, making you frown since you didnât expect such a jovial attitude from him, but it helped you to calm down a bit.
âYou⊠you were waiting for me?â You questioned as you closed the door behind you.
âYeah, but I kinda lost hope on the wayâ he joked as he shook his head.
âWhy are you in such a good mood?â You asked with caution, not understanding what was going on. âI suppose you know why I am hereâ
âI know, I know. Itâs a complicated situation⊠anger will only make things worseâ he replied, taking you by suprise.
âWow, thatâs very mature of you. Who are you and were is my brother?â you joked and he chuckled again. âYou sure arenât mad that I lied to you?â You pushed the matter again and he rolled his eyes this time.
âNo, I am not. Look, I know we donât have the best brother-sister relationship, but I am not that dense. I know when to be calm and understand each personâs reasoning behind their actions. For you it was best to lie, since the truth wasnât the good option in that momentâ he explianed as he stood up from his chair and signaled you to come sit on the bed next to him.
âWell⊠thank you for understandingâ that was all you could say since you were taken aback by this behavior. It wasnât like you didnât like it more, but you werenât too familiar with this side of Jayce. âDidnât expect you to be so nice to meâ you smiled as you took a seat bised him.
âI can be niceâ he defended himself, frowning a bit as he leaned backwards on his palms.
âWhen your friends are not around, so very rareâ you reminded him and he scoffed.
âBut do you know why I am mean when they are around?â he asked and you shook your head in disapproval. You didnât even think it was a certain reason for his actions.
âTo avoid these kinds of situations⊠if they always see us fight, they understand to not get involved with you since you seem difficult to deal with. Theyâll leave you alone and you wonât get hurt. I know itâs not the best tactic, but it worked⊠until now at least.â He shurgged as he looked down at the carpet.
âI know I donât have the best people around me so I want to protect you. Itâs questionable what I am doing, but Iâd try everything to not see you hurt. If itâs me who hurts you, itâs okay. The worst you can to is drop my toothbrush in the toilet as revenge⊠if one of them hurts you⊠itâs differentâ he further explained and you raised your brows in surpise after his confession. You never thought you would be so important to Jayce, but actually hearing him say he did all of this to protect you was heart-warming. It was also fucked up, but you were gonna deal with this later.
Your body moved on its own as you raised your hands and wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging him as you felt like words could not really describe how much you appreciated Jayceâs efforts. He seemed surprised at first, but neverthless he hugged you back, his chin resting on the top of your head while his hand moved up and down your back.
âThank youâ you said after a few moments of silence. âFor protecting me in your wierd wayâ you chuckled and he smiled at your words.
âI tried my bestâ he assured you as you two finally let go of the hug. âBut now we have to get to the real talkâ Jayce added and you sighed, knowing this moment will eventually come and you were afraid of what he was gonna say to you, but at the same time it was better to find out now when you didnât have romatinc feelings for Vi. Better sooner than later.
âI am listeningâ
****
âI missed you so fucking muchâ Viâs words left a sour taste in your mouth, even if her voice sounded so sweet and alluring, so full of desire.
You moaned louder when you felt her lips move down your neck, leaving wet kisses on your hot skin. She was so overwhelming and all over you as if she couldnât get enough of you: her hands were grabbing your ass, squizzing your boobs, leaving finger prints on your thighs. Her lips were kissing any part of skin which was on display for her, marking as much as she could. And God, her scent. She smelled so good, her parfume was intoxicating your lungs, but you still inhaled it as if it was oxygen.
The cold attitude you wanted to maintain didnât even last 2 seconds when you finally saw her. She came to your room again, messaging you before and you said yes with a plan already made in your mind. You wanted to get straight to the point and end things as soon as possible, but when Vi came and wasted no time to pull you close, you lost your senses. Your walls just dropped and you welcomed her again, letting her enjoy you how she wanted⊠but only for a while. If you had to suffer as well, you wanted to at least feel good one last time.
âYou sure you missed m-me?â You asked as you felt her hand move under your shirt and harshly grab one of your breasts, her thump rubbing your nipple.
âOf courseâ Vi replied as she began sucking on your skin, making you whimper. He other hand moved under your skirt and instantly pulled your underwear to the side. Her fingertips grazed tour sticky folds and you felt her smile on your skin at how ready you were for her and she didnât even touch you that much.
âAnd I think you missed me tooâ Violet teased, reffering to your wettness which you couldnât deny it wasnât because of her. âDidnât have anyone to pleasure you while I was gone, yeah?â She asked as she began rubbing your clit, making you let out another moan.
âN-noâ you bit your lip and closed your eyes.
âBut even if you had, I bet they werenât as good as meâ she said proudly and made you gasp when you felt one of her ringed fingers enter you, streching you out.
âVi! Oh my God!â you moaned her name as you wrapped your hands around her neck, pressing your chest onto hers. âMove it, pleaseâ you whimpered when you realized she wasnât doing anything else.
She smirked at your request, but instead of giving you what you wanted, she took out her finger and bought it to her lips, licking it clean.
âJust wanted to taste youâ She replied, winking when you finally looked at her.
Her hands moved down on your body, as she placed them on your hips and pushed one of her legs between yours. Her clothed thigh came in contact with your cunt and you moaned loudly at the feeling.
âGonna make you ride my thigh, yeah baby?â Vi questioned, but it sounded more like an order and you bit your lip.
âY-yesâ you replied on a breathy voice. âPleaseâ You begged and she smirked at your eagerness.
Her grip on your hips remained the same as she started to move you up and down her muscular thigh at a slower pace, making you whimper at the pressure that was applied in your clit. Your slick was now smeared all over her jeans, leaving a wet patch behind, but that was one of the least problematic things tonight. You couldnât really do much else then just accept what she did to you, since she was much stronger and you felt powerless in front of her. But you didnât need force to make her feel weak for you. You had other things up your sleeve.
As she maintained the movements on your lower region, you bought your lips to her neck, beginning kiss her skin, going up until you reached one of her pierced ears. Even if she was pleasuring you right now, you didnât forget your true intentions. You applied one more kiss on her neck before bringing your glossed lips towards her ear, brushing them against it and whispering:
âWhoâs Caitlyn?â
scammers get scammed buddy
4th chapter
SUMMARY: Being in her presence had an unclear effect on you, but how far would you allow yourself to go with it? WC: 3K PAIRING: Vi x Fem!Reader WARNINGS: alcohol, underage driving, miscommunication A/N: let's pretend we didn't watch the last episode of arcane girls Previous chapter
Waking up to another headache from drinking had you thinking you really needed to refuse having your glass refilled. You sit on the bed and take in your surroundings, it was strange to wake up at someone else's bedroom, someone you barely knew.
As you were getting up, you could hear laughter coming from the living room. Your phone was still on the night stand so you grabbed it and opened the door.
"So you just punched him?â a familiar voice asked.
"Yeah, had toâ" Violet turned her head around and saw you standing by the door frame, she was about to grab a cup from the cupboard, "Morning, sunshine."
"Good morning," you answer while she's filling the cup with coffee, then hands it to you, "Uh..."
"Cait made it, don't worry," she says when she sees your face twisted in disgust, the clear memory of a coffee made by Violet still haunting you.
"Cait?" you ask in confusion then walk to the table and see your best friend sitting with her own cup of coffee between her hands. Caitlyn greets you and smiles, "Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I had to bring some stuff and Vi told me you were here, so I stayed," she replies and takes a sip at her coffee. You nodded in response and drank your own coffee, listening to them chatting about what happened last night with that costumer Violet had to kick out.
Your headache wasn't as painful anymore but you could feel your body asking for water. Just when you were about to ask Vi for it, she hands you a bottle and winks at you. Feeling your cheeks already warm, you thank her and drink, your throat getting finally hydrated and more fresh. Caitlyn was watching you curiously, seeing your face heated up after that small interaction with Violet but she said nothing about it. Instead, she finished her coffee and got up from her seat, saying she had to go back to work or else Marcus would literally kill her.
"Already?" Violet asked her, getting up herself and grabbing her keys while Caitlyn walked to the door.
"Yes, but I'll text you the rest of the details later." Caitlyn says before waving you goodbye and walking out of the apartment with Violet behind her.
You sit there in silence, staring at the mug; it had little drawings on it, very colorful just like the ones hanged on the wall downstairs, and one single letter "V" on the side. Was this Violet's mug? Maybe her sister made it for her, it certainly was a few years old, you could tell the colors were a bit washed out.
While you were inspecting that, something on the table catches your attention; an envelope directed to Violet, sealed with a stamp you'd recognize anywhere. It was the Kiramman's stamp. Your stomach twists in a knot and you grab the envelope, refusing to believe Caitlyn would write a letter to Violet. It seemed impossible, you knew Caitlyn, she wouldn't do that kind of thing for a random personâ so this meant they were really close, for her to even use her family stamp on it.
"Why do I even care?" you think to yourself, unable to figure out the reason behind this awkward feeling, but you couldn't stop looking at the envelope, a million questions going through your mind at the same time.
The door slides open and you rapidly leave the envelope where it was, your heart beating fast at the sight of Violet walking in. She catches your fast movement and looks at you confused but she shrugs it off and walks to be beside you, holding herself with one hand on the back of your chair. Being this close to each other was too much for your nervous system.
"So," she begins, "shall we get into it, cupcake?" Feeling blood rushing to your cheeks and your heart beating faster than before, you stare at her in disbelief, unable to formulate a single word, and her eyes widen. She laughs outloud and covers her face with one hand, you couldn't understand what was so funny for her while you were feeling like your heart was a little bird trying to get free from your ribcage. After a few minutes of hysterical laughter from her, she clarifies, "I meant studying."
Oh God.
That did nothing to help you calm down, you felt so stupid and embarrassed. What were you even thinking? Of course she meant studying, that's why you were here in the first place. That was the whole reason you got to meet her at all.
You let out an awkward chuckle and nod, then go grab your bag and take out the same things you used the day before for her tutoring. Taking your previous seat, you start your lesson.
The red light was on as Caitlyn waited, her hands on the steering wheel and her fingers softly hitting on it; her brain was working a thousand miles per hour, trying to figure out a strategy for the case she was currently assigned to. She could hear her mother in the back of her head, saying "You have to earn all of this."
Once the red light turned to green, she continued driving to the office. Looking for a place to park wasn't difficult, she had her own special spot, a big hand-written like sign with her name on it. She got out of the car and sighed, looking up at the building with her eyes furrowed; it was still on remodelation, some of the letters were missing and the new door gave an imponent feeling, it was beautifully hand-made, its frame had little details of gold and the thin windows on both sides allowed the insides to be seen. Of course, you couldn't miss the big 'CK' carved on the panels of the door.
Although her relationship with her mother was a bit rough on the edges, she had to give it to herâ she had amazing taste. Remodelating was Cassandra's idea, she thought giving a new image would suit the firm, she wanted to tell they were not stuck in the past. They were moving forward. And that's something Caitlyn agreed on completely.
Caitlyn was greeted with a pile of papers laying on her desk and a little note saying "Quick" on its side. She was tired of this meaningless paperwork, but knowing that if she could finish it early then Marcus would let her dive fully into what really mattered: her new case.
It wasn't long ago she was assigned to it after tiredlessly trying to convince her boss; he had said she wasn't experienced enough so he would look for someone else to assist him, but if Caitlyn had a remarkable virtueâ or flaw, it was her stubborness. In the end, he ended up agreeing to make use of her unexperienced assistance under the condition of overworking her with all that meaningless paperwork.
To no one's surprise, Cassandra wasn't fond of the idea of Caitlyn helping such a delicate case like this. She prefferred her to dedicate her education and time to more lucrative ones, or like she calls them, "educational"; cases where her daughter would have to defend wealthy tycoons who spent their lives taking advantage of their privileges to commit crimes or abuse their position.
"Hurry up, Kiramman." Marcus was standing by the door, watching Caitlyn carefully as she wrote down on her notebook. She nodded without taking her eyes off the papers, her hand working rapidly on those letters. "Take those to my office once you're done."
She heard his footsteps getting away and stopped for a minute, it felt like she had been working all day on this and it was barely half way done. Looking at the little clock on her desk, it was a bit past lunch time and her stomach was growling at her, pleading for something more than just the coffee she had for breakfast.
Putting her pen down, she got up from her seat and walked towards the cafeteria. One of the requests she had made to her mother when she offered her the job was to treat her like any other intern, no cafeteria privilege either, so she got in line like everyone else and waited for her turn to order.
Once her sandwich and, of course, coffee were ready, Caitlyn took a seat near the window. Her mind was too focused on her case of interest, she felt personally and emotionally involvedâ which under no circumstance should happen, but it did and she couldn't stop thinking about it. Being able to help such a dear friend of hers was worth all the effort and extra hours she had to do.
Violet broke into her life by coincidence. Actually, more like by a literal accident; Caitlyn almost got crashed by Vi's little sister who had decided she wanted to drive Vi's motorbike and so she did. While Caitlyn was parking her car in front of her best friend's building, she heard someone yelling at her and before she could react, the little blue haired teenager crashed her open door. After many half apologies and some insults from Jinx, Caitlyn was taken to The Last Drop to meet the real owner of the vehicle.
She was already familiar with the place but only from outside, never dared to cross the door given its reputation and the prejudice she carried in the back of her mind, always present. Violet actually apologized to her and reprimended her younger sister, called the inssurance and made sure to give Caitlyn everything she needed to make the claim and then offered her a drink.
That afternoon, after some disgusting coffee made by Violet, was life changing for her. They chatted and Caitlyn found out they took a few classes together, but they never met each other because of Vi regularly skipping. Her never ending curiosity served to make Violet tell her a bit about her life and the bar, she said that it has been closed for a few days due to a tragedy and her ownership was at stake since someone named Silco wanted to sue her for it.
It didn't seem fair that Violet should lose her father's legacy because of an old society that held no legal weight, so Caitlyn offered to help. She put the accident aside and decided this was the reason for her to be working in the firm, these were the kind of cases she wanted to work on; she wanted to help people as much as she could.
Those memories stood deeply in her heart even now as she was finishing her sandwich. She returned to the office more motivated than before and kept working, hoping Marcus wouldn't bother her until it was finished.
Violet waved goodbye to her tutor and closed the door behind her, walking upstairs and getting into her apartment again. It was late in the afternoon and she'd have to open the bar soon and prepare everything to receive the usual customers.
Not many people went drinking during the week days but the ones who did were always at The Last Drop, ready to spend the rest of the night sulking or causing trouble; Vi didn't mind that, she got used to dealing with drunk men and was happy to show them some moves and kick them out. They always came back and apologized once they were sober, then asked for their usual drinks again.
Even though she spent most of her day studying and taking notes, she felt refreshed and full of energyâ it didn't feel tiring or draining, the way her tutor explained different concepts and stated the connection between them, how she would prepare actual drinkable coffee for both of them; Violet would make an exception and have some as well, then watch how the other girl's face twists when she realizes her coffee is too hot and burns her tongue a bit, looking back at Vi and laughing.
The little breaks they took in between allowed Violet to get to know her a bit better, to ask about her interests or listen to her anecdotes, her complains about some of the classes which were proving to be harder than expected; she paid more attention to that than the lesson itself. When she cried that night, it had moved Violetâ she wasn't expecting that kind of reaction after joking about what Powder used to say, and although the girl was sobbing, she didn't take pity on neither of them, she didn't make any comment about how sorry she was or how strong Violet must have been to deal with any of it, she just cried and then laughed at herself for being too drunk.
She checked her phone and saw a text from Powder, saying "Ooooout tonight sis!" and sighed, then received a second one from Ekko telling her that he had invited her sister over to watch Scream's whole saga and eat burgers. Rolling her eyes at how dramatic her younger sister was and how much she enjoyed making her worry, she put her phone away and got into the shower.
Hot water dripping down her body was all Violet needed before work so after being all cleaned up, she got changed into her usual bartender attire, a black shirt and trousers, and headed downstairs. She turned the neon lights on and played some music, then opened the doors and stayed behind the counter, waiting for people to start coming in.
Her mind drifted for a bit, remembering she wouldn't have the next lesson until next week. That bumped her down a little, she was hoping it would become a regular thing, like part of her routine, since she already got used to having her tutor aroundâ which was unsettling.
"She's just doing her job." She reminded herself while pouring whisky on a glass for her own delight. Violet knew she enjoyed her company but wasn't sure what her tutor thought of her; she seemed a bit awkward when they were together, avoiding her gaze or fidgeting. Perhaps she didn't like her that much since Violet did post that embarrassing picture of her after all.
Vi grabbed her phone and instantly deleted that post she had made the night of the party, not caring anymore about the exams or the tutoring lessons, all she wanted was to at least befriend that girl. She thought about asking Caitlyn, but what would she even ask about? Why did she care so much?
She decided to take matters into her own hands and stop acting like an anxious teenage girl, so she typed a simple question and clicked to send it then immediately put her phone down. God, what was wrong with her?
You were completely exhausted, combining tutoring and studying for your own classes was taking its toll on you. It was a relief Violet understood you would be busy for the rest of the week since you were far behind on some key topics for the upcoming tests.
"Keep reading this last book and take notes." You had told her earlier before leaving her apartment.
"I'll surprise you, cupcake." She had answered, making you blush with that stupid nickname.
Your exams should take priority, you knew that, but part of the reason you decided to take a break from her was because of the envelopeâ you felt completely out of place, Violet had some kind of effect on you which was unclear to you just yet, but you didn't want to get in between anything. If there was something going on between her and your best friend.
Taking the left overs from the fridge, you take a seat on the couch and turn on the TV. Your mind was far away and you couldn't pay attention to the romcom playing in front of you, these people were so lucky it made you envious.
On the little table beside the couch, your phone made its particular sound alerting someone had sent you a message. You unlocked it and scrolled through your notifications; most of them were from group chats, people taking the same classes as you discussing which topic was more likely to appear in the exam and helping each other with some questions. You keep scrolling until your best friend's name pops up, she had texted you last night when you were completely wasted at Violet's place, saying she still needed your help with her current case and asking when would you be available for that. Sighing heavier than needed, you answer that she was welcome to bring food this weekend and you'd be happy to assist.
Guilt was flooding your senses, it wasn't fair to Caitlyn that you were feeling like thisâ she hadn't done anything wrong. Who could blame a girl for having a life? Certainly not you. But you just wanted to know what was going on without coming off as nosy, which you were.
She replied straight away saying she'd bring your favourite food as a way of thanking you. Laughing at her exaggeration, you keep scrolling until one message makes your eyes widen. It was from Violet. Your heart pace quickened as you read her text, which said "wanna come see me boxing this weekend?"
Unable to difere a thought from another, you stare at the little letters on your screen uncapable of believing she would invite you anywhere. Did this mean you were getting closer? Maybe she just wanted to fill an empty space cheering for her.
"Sure, should I bring a cheering sign?" You asked jokingly, trying to act cool and less like a nervous mess.
"make it pink and bright." Violet replied almost instantly, making you laugh softly in the solitude of your apartment. You definitely didn't care about studying anymore, this was all you were looking forward to now.
"I'll be your number one fan then."
"you better." Smiling to yourself at her answer, you decide to head to bed and sleep everything off.
TAG LIST: @pokiiks, @wickedlovely121
Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst đ«
Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader
(Previous part)
Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.âšïž
Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw
Reader has no set pronouns!
((Not proofread))
She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.
You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.
And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.
Why, why, why.
Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.
Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.
"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"
She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."
Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.
She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.
"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.
It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.
Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.
The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"
Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.
"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.
She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.
There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.
For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.
Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.
The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.
"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?
"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.
Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.
Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.
Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.
To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.
Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.
Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.
And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.
"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.
"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."
He let you win.
She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.
You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.
And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.
She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.
Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.
"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.
"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.
"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.
Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."
Summary: youâre a little worried about how much time Vi is spending with her new friend
Warnings: viâs kind of a dumbass, ngl. Angst probably. R plays a sport for the plot (just vibe guys) loser!vi au
WC: 1.6k
Vi made a new friend.
That was a rare feat for her, seeing how out of the few people she considers a friend included you, her girlfriend, and Jinx, her sister.
She came home beaming after her usual workout at the gym. There was a new face she didnât recognize and to Viâs surprise, the friendly chat turned into a new friendship.
Her name was Caitlyn Kiramman. You knew her name, seeing the title âKirammanâ around a few buildings. Caitlyn was studying abroad for a few months, hence why Vi didnât meet her until now. And yet, the new friendship was blossoming quickly. You didnât mind, just happy that she managed to make more friends without you being present.
That was until Vi started hanging out with her more than you.
Srry, babe cant make it. At the gym wth Cait đȘđ»
11:23am
You frowned a bit at the recent text Vi sent you. You were at the library waiting for her for your weekly study date but when she was almost half an hour late you finally texted her. Only for your girlfriend to take a raincheck. Again.
Seeing how Vi wasnât showing up, you still decided to stay for at least another hour; work still needed to be done with or without her. When you did decide to leave, you had to pass by the gym in order to go home. You figured Vi was still inside so you didnât bother to linger until you heard a familiar voice.
âIâll see you around, cupcake!â
Cupcake?
You turned to see Vi and Caitlyn leaving the large building. Vi immediately saw you and rushed over to you. Caitlyn gave you a polite wave before going her own way.
She was calling her âcupcake.â You felt a little irritated at theâat yourâ nickname Vi called Caitlyn. Granted, âcupcakeâ wasnât one that was used very often, only when Vi was teasing or being purposely irritating to you. But still. It was your name.
Pushing the negative feelings aside you greeted Vi with a kiss. She smiled into it then pulled you into a tight hug, her arms almost crushing you.
âYou stick, Vi,â you muttered into her neck.
A soft laugh escaped her. âYou enjoy it. What are you doing here?â
âGoing home. Then I saw you andâŠcupcake.â
âDonât be like that,â Vi groaned, trying to play it off. âI didnât mean anything by it.â
âNever said you did.â You tried to change the subject, not wanting to make it a big deal. âAre you going to my game Friday or are you going to be too busy with Caitlyn. Itâs the last one of the season, Vi.â
âHey, have I ever missed a game before?â She asked rhetorically. âBut if it makes you feel better, I promise that Iâll be there.â
âGood.â
Vi then wrapped her arm around you, putting you in an almost headlock, and started walking in the direction of the same apartment. âLetâs go. Iâm exhausted.â
While what Vi said did ease some of you worrying, it didnât stay for long. For the rest of the week, Vi was still with Caitlyn. Even though you attended most of the same classes, and stayed in the same home, you only saw her in passing or for only an hour at night. And every word that came out of her mouth was about the other girl.
âI really think youâll like Cait, she reminds me of you.â
âCaitlyn squatted 210 today! Sheâs catching up to me.â
âIâm sorry, baby. Cait and I made plans to see that movie. You can still come!â You hate to admit it but that comment made you pissed off more than anything.
Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn. You havenât even properly met the girl yet it seemed like you knew everything about her.
When Friday finally came, you just hoped Vi would pay more attention to you rather than her friend. Unfortunately, you were proven wrong.
Hey, pretty, the game is starting soon. Are you still coming?
6:37pm
Yoooo Viiii??
7:01pm
Violet, dude, where are you??
7:15pm
Your leg tapped nervously against the ground, scanning the crowd for the familiar pink haired girl, but you came up dry. In the crowd you could see Jayce, Viktor and Mel who all gave you encouraging smiles. Even Jinx showed up, sitting next to Ekko. She gave you a small shrug at your questioning glance before turning back to your phone, possibly texting her sister.
The coach got your attention, urging you to join your teammates on the court. And with a heavy, disappointed sigh, you got up from the bench. You couldnât focus on Vi anymore, but you still hoped that she would show up sometime during the game. She did promise after all.
But throughout the game, that familiar full head of pink hair was nowhere to be seen. There was an empty spot next to Jinx that was never filled. Trying to ignore the wide open space was almost impossible, but the game was won without Vi cheering for you. Sure, the ball did slip from your hands more times than youâd like to admit, but your team won.
Your friends that did decide to show up wanted to take you out for the rest of the night, a congratulatory dinner, but you werenât feeling it. And while Jinx doesnât like saying the word no, she surprisingly let you go home after you refused. You really just wanted to see if or when Vi would be home.
It was nearing nine at night and Vi still hadnât called you and your recent text went unanswered. The TV was playing a show, mostly used as background noise as your thoughts took over you.
Almost thirty minutes later, you could hear some noise coming from the hallway.
The door to the apartment opened and you could hear Vi humming a song to herself when she locked up for the night. From your spot on the couch, you saw nothing wrong with her so you were glad to know she was safe. But now she had to dig herself out of the hole she dug.
Vi actually seemed surprised to see you but the smile she gave you was instant. âOh, hey, babe. Why are you still up?â
âWaiting for you,â you shot back, moving to get closer to her. âItâs been hours Vi, we all have been calling and texting youââ
Vi showed you her phone, a black screen staring back at you. âIt died a while ago. Whatâs with the third degree?â
âDo you remember what day it is?â
âUmâŠthe tenth?â
âUm, maybe itâs the day of my game that youâd promise to come to,â you mocked. Yeah, you were being petty but you thought she deserved it.
Vi muttered a small curse to herself and she looked genuinely apologetic. âY/N, Iâm so sorry. I swear, I was going to come but then my phone died, and-and I was with Caitlyn andââ
A heavy sigh escaped you at the name. âCaitlyn, right yeah. That makes sense.â
A look came on Viâs face, one you knew too well when she was about to become argumentative. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYouâve been spending a lot of time with her, Vi,â you pointed out. âIâve noticed itâ we all have. Youâre always with her.â
âWeâre friends!â
âYouâre friends with Jayce but whenâs the last time youâve hung out with him since meeting Caitlyn? Is she too rich for chargers so you couldnât check your phone for five minutes?â
Vi scoffed at you. âWhat, you want me to stop hanging out with Caitlyn just because youâre jealous?â
âI have nothing to be jealous of, Violet!â You yelled. âCaitâs a friend, I get that. But you have been blowing me off time and time again for her. And the one time I actually needed you, you were with her instead. How the hell do you expect me to feel?â
A short pause came from Violet. And what she said next, set your skin aflame.
âI just think youâre overreacting. Itâs a fucking game, Iâll just watch the next one.â
âOkay, you know what,â you paused, running your hands over your face; it didnât do much to calm your heated nerves. âIâm not doing this with you, right now, Vi.â
Viâs tense posture immediately changed at the tone of your voice; it was shaky, as if you were holding back tears. You almost never cried, at least in front of her, so the new sight was worrisome. She heard you breath in harshly before continuing.
âIâm way too upset at you right now to even finish this conversation,â you said quietly to her. âIâm tiredâŠand honestly just want some space from you.â
Vi swore her heart stopped at those words. Space? âYouâŠY/N, you canât be serious.â Space was the main thing Vi hated. It meant you leaving her.
âI am, actually.â Your back was turned from her at that point so you couldnât see her face fall in disbelief at the sight of you getting ready to leave the apartment.
She knew you made up your mind and were done hearing her but Vi still had to try. âBabe, donât go. Youâre right, is that what you want to hear? Iâm sorry, alright?â
âGlad you came to your senses,â you muttered, albeit bitterly.
Vi was desperate at this point. âYou donât have to leave! I can sleep out here!â
âWhen I said âspaceâ, Vi, I meant completely,â you said. Your voice was starting to get tense, a tell that you were getting annoyed. âMy parents live a few minutes away, remember? I'll be fine.â
âY/N please, justââ
âVi! IâllâŠtalk to you eventually,â was the last thing you said before the door closed behind you.
- your old crush (the jjk guys) confronting you after your friend tells them about your feelings
pt. 4 of this smau series
nanami, geto, toji, gojo, choso, shiu, and sukuna
contains: hella angst, some of the guys lowkey suck here lmaoooo, unrequited love
a/n: sorry this took a while. this week has been so draining and exhausting.
likes, reblogs and comments appreciated đž
König, quien estĂĄ con reposo medico en un paĂs extranjero, solo quiere silencio en una ciudad ruidosa entonces decide frecuentar una biblioteca cerca de su residencia. Pronombres femeninos. No tw por el momento
âËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸâËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸ*âËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸâËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸ* 01 âËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸâËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸ*âËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸâËïŸâ§ïœ„ïŸ*
Sabias que estaba mal, era incorrecto, inmoral.
Sin embargo ahĂ estabas arreglando tu cabello frente al espejo dentro del baño de tu trabajo, sabes que estĂĄ mal pero aĂșn asĂ decides retocar tu maquillaje y rociar un poco de perfume en tu cuello.Â
Era la tercera vez esa semana que aquel hombre entraba a la biblioteca y se quedaba cuatro horas haciendo nada, simplemente se sentaba en un sofĂĄ del fondo y cerraba sus ojos mientras recostaba su cabeza. Aquel hombre era hermoso, magnifico, majestuoso.Â
Su altura alcanzaba fĂĄcilmente los dos metros, no solo era alto; aquel hombre era agraciado por donde fuera visto, una espalda ancha y unos brazos musculoso, probablemente no le resultarĂa difĂcil alzarte para luego...
No.
Sabes que estĂĄs actuando de una manera acosadora, sabĂas que reconocer cada caracterĂstica de su rostro sin alguna vez haber hablado con el era raro, pero, pero tambiĂ©n sabias que no podĂas evitarlo; aquel hombre era magnifico, un rostro masculino bien definido, nariz recta, su labio inferior era mas grueso que el superior y su labio superior tenĂa cicatriz que cruzaba hasta su mejilla, cabello rubio al ras y unos hipnotizantes ojos azules.Â
Te hubieras inventado una conversaciĂłn, probablemente hubieras chocado con Ă©l accidentalmente mientras regresabas libros a sus estantes y entonces habrĂa surgido una conexiĂłn, preguntarle si tiene un genero favorito, gustos musicales; tantas maneras de iniciar una conversaciĂłn si no fuera por ese anillo en su dedo anular.Â
Un maldito circulo dorado arruinĂł tus planes.
Era obvio que semejante hombre iba a estar casado, ÂżCĂłmo serĂĄ ella?Âżo Ă©l?ÂżserĂan felices? mierda, era algo con lo que no contabas.Â
Sabes que estĂĄ mal, sin embargo ya es muy tarde para arrepentirse cuando llegas hasta su lado, intentas tocar su hombro y antes de poder reaccionar ya estĂĄs contra el piso con el encima tuyo. Todo da vueltas y entonces sientes su pierna en tu espalda para evitar que te muevas, su respiraciĂłn es acelerada y su agarre es fuerte.
Todo se siente tenso y pasan unos pequeños segundos hasta que finalmente aquel hombre habla, pero no estĂĄ hablando tu idioma y tu no puedes tener mas confusiĂłn. Su voz es ronca y grave, esto causa estragos en tu estomago y si el escenario fuera diferente probablemente te estarĂas derritiendo ante aquel acento.Â
Cierto.
Aquel hombre seguĂa sobre ti y tu solo podĂas pensar en su voz, probablemente era la falta de aire que llegaba a tu cuerpo debido a la posiciĂłn en la que te tenĂa o tambiĂ©n podĂa ser esa atracciĂłn hacia Ă©l. Como fuera, debĂas actuar rĂĄpido antes de que aquel hombre te dejara inconsciente.
-ÂżpodrĂa por favor dejarme ir?- soltaste un suspiro de alivio cuando por fin te soltĂł, sin previo aviso te levantĂł y te dejĂł de pie, todo el esfuerzo puesto a tu cabello quedĂł arruinado, tu labial barato completamente esparcido en tu rostro. Aquel hombre habĂa causado un desastre en ti y ni siquiera de una manera sexual. Sus ojos mostraban arrepentimiento, casi pudiste compararlo con un cachorro al que acaban de regañar; aquello era imposible pues no existĂa un cachorro tan grande como aquel hombre. Sacudiste tu ropa sacando el polvo inexistente mientras aparentabas tranquilidad, por supuesto, que un atractivo hombre te tacleara era completamente normal, algo de todas las semanas.Â
Pudiste notar nerviosismo en su postura, tras unos eternos segundos de silencio, aclarĂł su garganta y hablĂł:Â
-Yo⊠de verdad lo lamento, fui tomado por sorpresa y aunque eso no tiene justificaciĂłn de verdad me disculpoÂ
Su voz era todo lo contrario a cuando hablaba la lengua que escuchaste anteriormente, esta vez era suave y arrastraba algunas silabas haciéndolas sonar cargadas, probablemente alemån. -No tengo excusa, yo-
-EstĂĄ bien- Lo interrumpiste - TambiĂ©n tengo culpa, no debĂ acercarme de esa manera a ti.Â
Ambos se miraron sin saber que decir a continuaciĂłn, tenĂas el presentimiento de que podrĂan estar ahĂ parados disculpĂĄndose todo lo que quedaba de tarde. Antes de poder reaccionar volviste a hablar:Â
-Lo lamento
-Lo siento
AhĂ, ambos al mismo tiempo ofreciendo disculpas te diste cuenta que te llevaba una gran diferencia de altura; estabas frente a el y no llegabas a su hombro.Â
-De verdad no hay necesidad de pedir disculpas, ya es algo del pasado- probablemente te iba a doler la espalda por el resto de la semana pero no podĂas desaprovechar la oportunidad de hablar con tu crush- De todos modos solo venĂa a decir que estamos por cerrar.
Era verdad, nadie habĂa presenciado el incidente porque ya no habĂa nadie en la biblioteca aparte de Ă©l y tu. QuerĂas cerrar pronto, subir a tu casa y tomar un buen baño de burbujas.Â
Ambos se sonrieron, aquella sonrisa rara e incomoda, dejaste el paso libre y entonces el iba delante y tu detrĂĄs hasta la salida. De verdad era un hombre grande, un paso de el eran dos tuyos y rĂĄpidamente te dejĂł atrĂĄs, mientras se disculpaba en voz baja, a su paso dejaba una fragancia masculina; un olor agradable que impregnĂł tus fosas nasales. Frente a la puerta de la biblioteca quedaron frente a frente y repetiste por ultima vez.
-De verdad ya no debes disculparteâŠ..
-König, mi nombre es König.
Dios, König estaba nervioso y extremadamente asustado, nunca pensĂł que ella se acercarĂa de esa manera hacia Ă©l, sabia que el entrenamiento no era una excusa; ella era una civil y la biblioteca no era el campo de batalla.Â
Estas en casa, todo es seguro.Â
Una frase que debĂa repetir todo el dĂa, cada segundo en su mente pues esta a veces lo traicionaba. Estaba perturbado, tanto ruido en sus misiones hicieron que el ruido de ciudad fuera insoportable, tan detestable que debiĂł buscar un lugar silencioso y nada mejor que una biblioteca. Nunca esperĂł que esta estuviera dirigida por alguien tan bella.
Era claro que eras mas joven que Ă©l, probablemente todavĂa en tus veinte y Ă©l ya se sentĂa un ser prehistĂłrico cerca tuyo. Tenia miedo de inhalar muy fuerte y llevarse tu juventud, sabia que no iba a la biblioteca solo por el silencio, si habĂa sido la razĂłn inicial pero cuando te vio inevitablemente pasaba casi todos los dĂas ahĂ, solo para sentir tu presencia.Â
Esa atracciĂłn hacia ti no le gustaba para nada, pues sabia que su esposa probablemente lo odiarĂa.