Sevika Always Sits You On Her Lap During Her Card Games, One Hand In Between Your Thighs To Enjoy Your

Omg im so super done with fragile helpless reader!!! Pls do sevika and reader freshly dating or even just seeing each other, they’re still still getting to know each other and sevika being herself she LOVES to tease and annoy reader and show off her strength and stuff expecting reader to be to be helplessly weaker than her, however when reader get fed up enough they start fighting back ^playfully^ and sevika making a mental note to not take readers warning for granted🙏🏼 basically reader unexpectedly humbling sevika

Challenge Accepted

"Look me in the eye and say that again." You said in a more gravely voice that usual as you shifted into a better sitting position, glaring daggers into Sevika's gaze.

This wasn't the first time Sevika underestimated your strength or wit. She had the habit of doing that because of the sheer fact she was so darn old and had seen a lot.

You admitted it, yeah she'd seen some shit in life but that didn't automatically mean she was untouchable.

"I dont think you'd be able to take me in a fight." Sevika repeated and put out the cigarette she was smoking in the ashtray on the bedside table.

"Oh, yeah?" You repositioned yourself so you were now over her thighs, straddling them. "Are you challenging me?"

"Why yes, sweetheart." Sevika stared at you with amusement, one eyebrow raising.

"Challenge accepted." You whispered and got off her.

Sevika blinked in mild shock before slowly getting off the bed too, to stand in front of you.

Sevika easily towered over you. But that didn't faze you really, you'd come to terms with the fact you were short as fuck compared to her.

"You really wanna do this?" Sevika asked as she crossed her arms, both flesh and mechanical arms flexing as she did so.

"You scared?" You taunted as Sevika flexed her flesh bicep purely to annoy you non-verbally.

And it worked.

It ticked you off.

You charged at her, but Sevika being taller than you took advantage of her height.

She scooped you up with ease, pinning you to the wall. "Angel, just accept it. You're weaker than me." There was no heat behind her words as she said it though. It was more playful than anything.

You simply gave her an amused look before locking your legs around her waist and grabbing her flesh hand, pressing down on the shoulder nerve making her wince and pull her arm back.

Because she did so, she let go of your frame giving you the opportunity to push her on the bed with all your strength and pinning her hands down with both your legs.

You grinned victoriously at her.

"Gremlin." Sevika whispered under her breath. You let up and let her get out of your grasp, Sevika flexed her mechanical arm and it's fingers before letting out a soft sigh.

"Fine, you win."

You smiled and laid back down in the bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight.

"Wipe that look off your face." You pulled Sevika close.

"Hmph."

She was clearly sulking. What a sore loser. But that's fine. She was yours after all.

As you laid down beside her, Sevika wrapped her flesh arm around you. You grinned a little and wrapped both arms around her, squeezing her making her chuckle.

"Even though I am prideful, I correct my errors if I notice them." Sevika kissed your forehead, it was a silent promise of always respecting your strength. That's all you needed.

Ambessa and reader who has mommy issues? Mostly in the sense that their mother blamed not being able to live her own life on reader and it shows with a need for validation and praise, extremely touch-starved yet touch-repulsed due to how foreign it feels?

Touch

I have mommy issues. I'm projecting <3

Contains mentions of parental abuse, mommy issues!r

The first time Ambessa Medarda laid a hand on you, you flinched. It was barely a touch—just the back of her fingers ghosting over your jaw as she tilted your face upward—but your whole body locked up, breath halting like an animal caught in a snare.

Ambessa withdrew immediately, her golden eyes sharp and assessing, but she made no comment. Instead, her fingers drifted away as if she hadn’t noticed the way the you had recoiled from something so simple.

She knew better than that.

She noticed everything.

Ambessa was not a woman who pried. She was patient—not in a way that was gentle, but in the way a predator knew when to bide its time. She let the you orbit around her, let you take the space you needed. She did not demand. Did not push.

It was infuriating.

Because that was all you had ever wanted. Space. Permission. Someone who didn’t see you as a burden, a weight shackled to their ankles, keeping them from flight.

Your mother had always made sure she knew.

"You ruined my life."

"I could have been something if it weren’t for you."

"Do you know what I sacrificed?"

It hit hard.

You grew up knowing you were an obligation, not a daughter. That your presence was something to endure, not cherish. And it showed in the way you sought approval like a starving thing, the way you craved warmth and shrank from it in the same breath.

It made no sense.

Or maybe it did.

You had learned that love was something conditional, something that had to be earned with good behavior, with silence, with obedience.

And touch… touch had been nothing but a means to an end. A slap to silence you.

A hand squeezing her wrist too tightly when you stepped out of line. A perfunctory pat on the head when your mother remembered she was supposed to pretend.

Nothing about it had ever meant comfort.

So why was it different with Ambessa?

Why did it burn through you like an ember catching dry wood, leaving you both raw and wanting?

"You hold yourself like you are bracing for war," Ambessa observed one night, her voice low, considering.

You were in the privacy of her chambers, where the rest of the world could not reach. Ambessa sat in her chair, legs spread comfortably, a glass of wine held and tilted between thick fingers.

She was relaxed, but there was something in her gaze—something that pinned you to the spot like a blade to the throat.

You exhaled slowly, a forced breath. "That’s just how I am."

Ambessa hummed, unconvinced. "No. It is how you were made to be."

You stiffened. Looked away. Ambessa did not press.

Instead, she set her glass down, pushed to her feet, and approached slowly, deliberately. She always moved like this around you—never sudden, never careless. It made something inside you clench.

When she stopped in front of you, she didn’t touch. She simply looked down at you, a titan made of flesh and steel, war-hardened and unshakable.

"Tell me," Ambessa said, voice quieter now. "What would happen if I touched you?"

Your throat went dry. Your hands curled into fists.

"I don’t know."

Ambessa’s brow lifted, but she nodded. "Then let’s find out."

She raised a hand, slow and open, giving you every opportunity to step away. When you didn’t, Ambessa’s palm came to rest against her cheek, warm and solid. But it wasn't a slap.

It was soft, caressing.

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your instinct was to pull back, to flee—but you didn’t. You stood frozen beneath the weight of Ambessa’s touch, overwhelmed by how foreign it felt. There was no demand in it. No expectation. No hidden blade beneath the surface.

Just warmth.

Your lips trembled. Ambessa’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, and you shuddered.

"You are touch-starved," Ambessa murmured, more statement than question.

You girl bit your bottom lip. Swallowed hard. "It feels—" your voice faded.

Ambessa’s hand did not leave your face. "Unfamiliar things are not always bad."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to shove the touch away before it dug too deep, before it uncovered the ache you had spent years trying to bury.

But you didn’t.

Not this time.

power couple | vi, arcane

basketball player! vi x cheerleader! reader

warning/s: cursing, minor injury (?)

summary: in which you and vi have been keeping your relationship a secret from the public, but that was until an unfortunate injury during the nationals.

note: i am so sorry if this sucks lmao, i haven’t written anything in like almost a year. also i’ve been obsessed with the wnba lately so expect the next few fics to be basketball related… oops! also i have zero knowledge about cheer and about a 30% knowledge when it comes to basketball. anyways i hope you guys enjoy! sorry for any mistakes and spelling errors, also i had no idea how to end that. plus this fic was written at 3 in the morning.

hiding your relationship from the public has never been easy, but you and vi have both agreed that it would be for the best knowing that both of your lives will always be under the watchful eye of the public. your friends have been very helpful in helping hide the relationship, but with all the rumours going around and “evidence” circulating the media they could only do so much. especially when vi has a habit of always needing to touch you, and you being a sucker for vi’s touch.

exhibit a:

after a tough but rewarding game against piltover university, zaun’s basketball team decided to celebrate by going to the last drop for a round of drinks. jinx, in true jinx fashion, decided to host a live on one of her social media platforms. the live started out quite normal, fans asking questions, fans wanting to see specific team members etc.

“yo vi,” jinx called out to her sister. “the fans wanted to see you.” she then panned the camera to her right, showing vi sitting at the corner of the booth with you on her lap and her head on your shoulder.

sevika, who was standing next to jinx snatched her phone away, her eyes bulging from her head as she nodded towards vi and you. jinx laughed nervously and immediately changed the topic, as you hopped o vi’s lap (much to vi’s dismay).

@iluvbball: DID U GUYS SEE THAT

@munchmadness: WAS THAT A GIRL ON VI’S LAP???

@zaunbball4ever: call me crazy but is that (name)??? lLIKE CHEER CAPTAIN (NAME)??

sevika snorts and rolled her eyes, “you guys are crazy. there’s no way vi can pull her or anyone actually.” jinx nods in agreement, yapping about how she would know since she’s vi sister.

you rolled your eyes playfully at two, snickering as you ordered another round of drinks. vi squeezes next to jinx to say hi to the live, lying through her teeth saying that she just came back from the bathroom but the fans weren’t having it.

@igotjinxed: STOP LYINGG

@sevikasarms: bro ur nose is growing stop lying

@ilovegert: no because who else would have that fuckass haircut???

“yo leave my haircut out of this,” vi whined as her teammates cackled, which only made the fans eat the dating rumour up.

exhibit b:

after the chaotic live at the lost drop, you and vi (plus the whole basketball team) decided to be more careful. always making sure to hide from the cameras, started to plan date nights in your dorms, and just trying to tone down your interactions.

during your one year anniversary, vi booked a weekend getaway for the two of you at a cabin located in a small town two hours away from zaun. the two of you were still cautious of course, wearing your caps low and sunglasses resting on your noses. but of course, it’s still not enough.

during your last night at the cabin, you and vi decided to visit the village park to check out the local festival. the two of you were seated at one of the benches watching the fireworks when a camera flash from the distance caught your eye. vi froze as you buried your head in her neck,

“did you think they caught our faces?” you whispered as vi placed her arm around you, her hands covering your face. she shook her head, “i don’t think so, plus we both have our hoods up so they can’t drag my hair into this.’

you giggled, “poor you.”

the next day, on your back to zaun university, a call from sevika interrupted you and vi’s road trip karaoke sesh.

“have you guys opened any of your social media accounts?” she screeched, holding jinx’s cracked phone up. lo and behold, it was the picture from last night. vi’s arms around you, your head on her shoulder, but the two of you had your backs turned from whoever took the picture. the photos were grainy, a bit blurry, but there was one where you can make out the faint features of vi’s side profile as her head faces you. a small tuft of her pink hair peeking from her jackets hood, her crooked nose adorned with her nose piercing, and those powder blue eyes soft with affection.

you shrugged, “i don’t think its that bad.” vi nods in agreement, keeping her eyes on the road. “we literally have seen worse,” she added.

when the call ended, you decided to open your socials making sure you were using one of your dump accounts. “the comments are crazy,” you laughed, reading vi your favorites.

@nationsnumber1: okay but this is actually so sweet i want to cuddle and watch the fireworks too

@wassapphic: idek if this is actually vi and (name) like pls its so grainy and they’re not even facing the camera BUT this is so them coded

@iluvwomenwhohoops: nah man see that pink hair in the last photo??

@hoopsalot: idc if this isn’t them, my delusional heart say it is

exhibit c:

one of the perks of being in the cheer team is that you get to watch to vi play and cheer for her at the same time without anyone twisting it into something else. so here you are, courtside with the rest of the cheer team, clutching your pompoms as vi and the girls go neck to neck with piltover for the nationals.

every time vi shoots a three (or a two) she shoots you a quick glance, a smug smile on her face. she’s been doing this since the two of you started dating, but she’s been way more obvious about it recently. her gaze would linger, hell she’d even shoot a wink and it was enough for fans to notice. the next thing you know edits of you and her starts taking the internet by storm. but the crowd’s favorite edit is probably the one that has guilty as sin by taylor swift as the background music of a video compilation of you and vi.

@zaunufaves: is this wlw?

@getmiloed: you mean GAYlty as sin

@wlwbballs: i love the basketball player x cheerleader trope

@basketbawler: very “he was a punk and she did ballet” coded

“so much for being subtle violet,” you sighed, resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you scroll through tiktok.

—

it’s been two years of you and vi hiding your relationship from the public, but at this this point the whole world believes that there truly is something between you and her. the only reason why it’s not official yet is because, well, the two of you haven’t hard launched or confirmed anything. during interviews where reporters would bring up your relationship status, the two of you would always redirect the question or answer neutrally, not really denying or confirming anything. but that was until the nationals, zaun university vs the university of piltover. the game of the century, violet lanes vs. caitlyn kiramman, coach vander vs. coach silco.

the game was tough, both teams are going neck to neck, at the end of the second quarter piltover and zaun were tied 38-38. both teams were getting ready to head into their locker room to regroup and discuss the game plan, which means it was time for the cheer teams to shine. on your way to the court, you passed by the team and a series of “goodluck’ were exchanged.

“i’ll be watching you baby,” vi whispered under her breath as she passed by you, jinx groaned in annoyance and pushed her inside the tunnel after giving you and the other cheerleaders a high five.

ekko, one of your spotters and jinx’s boyfriend, elbowed you. “man you guys are so obvious.” he teases, you laughed and rolled your eyes. “let’s just focus on the routine.”

the routine went well as expected, heck it was perfect. your coach smiled and cheered from the sidelines, proud of you and the rest of the cheer team. as you guys got into the last part of the routine, somehow something went wrong. during one of the last stunts, one where you were thrown in the air, one that you and your team have practically perfected, you slipped. one second you’re in the air and the next thing you know you were falling. you tried your best to land on your feet in attempt to somewhat save the routine, but the landing was off as expected (since you weren’t supposed to land on the ground at all).

you clutched your ankle in pain, face paling as you looked at the way it bended unnaturally. your team scattered around you, shouting for medic and blocking you from the camera’s view. you laid there, tears streaming your face as your ankle swell up. your coach knelt next to you, “you did great (name), you’re okay.” she whispered ass you apologize profusely.

as you tried to even your breaths out, you heard vi shouting.

“move!” your girlfriend shouted, squeezing through the huddle your teammates made. vi was immediately on your side, her hands cupping your face. “you’re okay baby, breathe for me.”

“what are you doing here?” you whispered, ignoring your coach’s stare. “the media will—“

vi shuts you up with a kiss, “fuck that. you’re injured (name), i don’t care what they say.”

you nodded, resting you head on her lap as you waited for the medical team to arrive.

ekko handed you a towel which vi draped over your head as they loaded you to the stretcher. you can’t help but groan when your ankle was moved, vi immediately gripped your hands and told you that it was going to be okay, that the pain will be temporary. as the medics take you away vi followed, well attempted to but you shooed her away.

“you have a game to play violet,” you whispered harshly. she shakes her head, “but i want to be beside you, help you feel better.”

“the only thing you can do to help me feel better is if you win this vi,” you argued. “you practiced and trained your whole life for this and i’ll be damned if i let you miss it just because i got my ankle sprained.”

vi sighs, she squeezed your hand tight. “you sure?”

“knock ‘em dead violet,” you smiled, squeezing her hand back. vi nods slowly as she let your hand go, but before she went back to her team she pulled you in for a kiss. you kissed her back, a soft sigh escaping your lips when she pulled away. “make sure you watch yeah?” you replied with a nod before ushering her away as the medical team took you to a tent.

—

as the medics treat your ankle, you watched a live recording of the game on your phone. two quarters later, zaun emerges victorious winning this year’s national.

“oh thank god,” you murmured. you quickly sent vi and the rest of the team a short congratulatory text before putting your attention back to the livestream. a smile formed on your lips as members of the basketball team were pulled individually for short interviews, you laughed at how everyone was energized and pumped up (especially jinx who was literally vibrating during interview). then last but not the least was vi, your girl had a huge grin on her face as she happily answered the reporter’s questions but you could tell she wanted to get out of there quick.

“okay vi last question,” the reporter said. “during the halftime cheer performance, we all saw how you ran to cheer captain (name)’s side. heck, you even helped her onto the stretcher and refused to leave her side until she told you to go play and win tonight. the two of you have always never denied nor confirm the dating rumour that’s been brewing for two years now, but i think tonight changes that now? especially because of the sweet kiss you shared before you went back courtside, any comments?”

you groaned, completely forgetting about the kiss. you watched vi, you can see the cogs in her head turning. she stayed quiet for a minute, you knew how important it is for her to ask your opinion on what to and what not to say publicly about your relationship, but at this point the kiss pretty much confirms it.

“yeah i guess the cat’s out of the bag.” vi smiles at the camera and shrugs, “(name) and i have been together for awhile now. we weren’t really trying to keep it a secret, just private. but tonight changes it you know? seeing my girl get injured like that was just— yeah.”

the reporter nods, “thank you vi. before you go, is there anything you want to say to her? knowing that she’s watching this?”

“hey baby.” vi smiles cheekily at the camera. “i cannot thank you enough for the support and motivation. i couldn’t have done it without you, i love you so much my cheerleader.” she winked as everyone laughs.

“sweet, thanks vi.” the reporter said as vi went back to her team as they presented trophies. “there you have it folks, this year’s national champions and couple of the year.”

your jaw drops, you were absolutely speechless. the nurse who sat at the desk near you let’s out a chuckle which only made your cheeks grew 10x redder than it was.

—

“i swear the internet is eating this up,” jinx said, as you and the rest of your friend group lounged at vi’s dorm. jinx’s phone was connected to the tv as everyone watched replays of the games, fan edits, and fan reactions to the championship game. you and vi were tucked away at the corner of the couch, your feet propped up on one of foot rests as she cuddled you.

after a couple of minutes of mindlessly scrolling through tiktok, jinx stumbled upon a new fan edit of you and vi. the clips were taken from her interview and the kiss that happened on live tv.

“i cannot believed you guys did that,” sevika said as she shook her head, laughing as jinx scrolled through the comments projecting it through the tv.

@ho0p3r: AND THE GAYS WIN AGAIN

@iloveyn: i told you guys they were dating! can’t believe i got called crazy for shipping them

@zaunch33r: this may or may not be the best thing to happen in women’s college bball

@ynandvi4ever: (ship name) deniers how are ya’ll feeling

@sapph1csports: me and WHO

you rolled your eyes playfully and just buried your face in vi’s chest as she laughed. she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “at least we won’t have to spout anymore stupid excuses.”

Being touch starved and touch repulsed at the same time is such a weird combination, as if two totally different entities reside within me, one part loves hugs, holding hands, etc, another part is scared to even give a simple high-five.....like how do I deal with it I want a partner to hug her, give her hugs and kisses but at the same time i am like ew humans ew :( such a dilemma

"A fighter" sevika x fem reader angst

Summary: If there was a soul mate for everyone, sevika would think "and was sure" there's none for her. people,they are connected by their scars their pain and how they could heal one another. People see the broken pieces and offer what they have in exchange for what they want and sevika had nothing to give and plenty to get. she was so broken that the scars on the surface, were the surface. and one should reach out too deep to find a sign of her and only than to try healing her. and sevika wouldn't be that cruel to anybody. that was until you came along and sevika found herself for the very first time...wishing for something selfish...something entirely hers

Sevika is a fighter. not that she likes it or she gets off on it but she is one simply because there's the need for it. she needs to be one, silco needs her to be one, the nation of zaun and all of the people of undercity, needs her to be one...so she became one...and to hold that title she is required to be tough, to man up and forget her weakness...to avoid weaknesses and lately you're becoming one.

she needs to keep her distance from you and she was telling herself that from the day she met you. But somewhere along this mission she failed. somewhere between the beautiful smile you gave her everytime you saw her and the sweet little voice of yours telling her "good morning sev" every morning. Somewhere in the way your beautiful eyes shine everytime she talks to you and somewhere when she felt that tingling feeling inside of her heart after seeing you.

And frankly she thought she could do it. She thought whenever she absolutely had to, she can just cut you off for the greater good. That's what being in the top of the chain of power requires, so she would do it. I mean how hard could it be, she could just forget about all of that there was and get on with her life, with the plan big enough to save thousands of lives... at least she tells herself that before thinking of you and drifting off to sleep.

Why she doesn't do it now?she just simply wants another taste...everytime she tells herself that. she only need one more good morning, one more worried look whenever she shows up beaten, one more time of having you clinging by her side when she's fixing her arm, one more time seeing you looking at her with awe when she wins in card games.

And every time she repeated that sentence that "just one more time and I'm done" it's a fucking lie. she's becoming addicted to you and everyone can see it except herself.

Everyone knows they're not to mess with you and it's showing on their attitude towards you. creep wouldn't dare to look at you in a bad way and the meanest people who won't give a damn about anything bite their tongue before anything bad about you leave their lips because they know better to mess with sevika and getting their shit rearranged.

And that was what encouraged you to take the first step and ask her to have a dinner with you at your place. Because although sevika seemed interested enough for someone like her more than enough you knew she wouldn't take the first step or at least she wouldn't use her words for it, so you would get stuck in between a lot of nothings. So you asked her...

And when you did so your heart was in your throat, you could feel the coldness and numbness creeping up your fingers and toes as you played with the hem of your clothing. daring to only take one breath per second.

Sevika on the other hand was stunned. what did she do to make it to this second, standing infront of you, noticing how you were more dolled up compere to the other times and how you were trying to distract yourself from her gaze and avoiding it with all your might and even though it was just a few seconds, she felt like she's missing it...she's missing how your pupils dilated at the sight of her and how your eyes would tremble everytime it was forced to hold her gaze more than mere seconds.

"Sure why not"

She was fucked...not because she said yes...because she didn't even thought of saying no and it would only become harder and harder with every and each passing day. knowing you was both a blessing and a curse because the more she got to know about you she fell more onto the depth of loving you more.

Everytime she got to wrap her hands around you when you were sleep, easily pulling you in her embrace. breathing at the nape of your neck welcoming the most beautiful dreams that she never had she would fell lower.

When she would wake up seeing your messy hair tickling on her neck and chest while sun shining on them made them a little bit lighter she would fell lower and lower.

When she kissed that very kissable lips of yours taking in your lipstick from them and painting them with a flushed redder look that she adored so much she would fell lower and lower and lower.

And when she would make your face blushed make your body get cover in a thin sheet of sweat, quivering underneath her with sweet sweet moan skipping you lips, calling her oh so beautifully she would fell lower and lower and lower to the bottom of that pit.

And than she hit the ground.

When silco warned her about how she was growing too clumsy too much eager to get back home before getting the job done. how she's losing the sense of survival, how she's failing as a fighter a warrior.

And it hit her, the bottom of that pit the end of the days she was living for herself...

She came home that night,trashed, wasted. stumbling on her feet, eyes seeing two for one and stomach burning with dread and alcohol, struggling so long to put the keys in the keyhole that you heard and opened it at last...when she thought of that she was glad that it was you that came to the door that night opening the door her for the last time...she had plenty of time to open that door by herself to an once again empty house.

"Sevika... are you okay? what happened?"

You called her and her ears despite her drunken mind picked up on the sound, devouring everything you gave, every call you create. placing them in the back of her mind, safe from the chaos.

"Get out"

She rasped out as she stepped in, voice hoarse from all the unnecessary yelling and cussing and drinking. she quickly get done with that, ripping of the bandage like she always does. she didn't spare you a look as she made her way to the kitchen grabbing another bottle.

"What do you mean?"

You were shocked to say the least not knowing it's just drunk talking or she's fucking serious right now you. frown in shock a rare sight.

"Do I have to repeat it now"

She said with a calmness in her tone that was far away from the mess unfolding within her. she slammed the bottle down on the counter, turning to look at you with her gray eyes, drowned in emotions so much you couldn't even see anything in them.

"Get out of my life"

She continued, taking an step forward.

"Get all of your bubbly shit all the hope you're trying to put on me all your sickening love and get the fuck out"

You looked up, wide eye feeling like someone dumped hot boiling fucking water all over you your lips moved without any sound coming from it.

"What...what do you mean...where is it coming from...did I do something?I swear to god I didn't"

You sound...desperate voice shaking and body trembling. you could feel the coldness creeping up to your fingers you could feel your heartbeat in your throat but you weren't playing with the hem of your clothes anymore, only thing playing was time with the both of you.

"Stop it"

She cut your voice

"I'm tired of it...I'm tired of you taking my life trying to fix things that I built under pressures that you have no fucking clue about...get out I'm done playing this game"

You didn't know how you left how you put everything you could in a bag sobbing as you close the door fat tears coming down your cheeks sevika didn't know how she could bare the sound of your cries that night and you didn't know how you're going to live from now on...and so did sevika.

YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night… 

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

Just a reminder nobody wiped away her tears

i just loathe you lately — .✦

ᯓ VI ARCANE X READER

SUMMARY : 5k+ word count one-shot! (sorry if you dislike longer fan-fiction) ; the secrets of highland parks are kept under lock and key, never to be whispered beyond its borders.

“whatever happens in highland parks, stays in highland parks.” — you’re a registered, licensed FBI agent who's made a name for herself in the world of crime-solving. working alongside a team of sharp-minded professionals, apart of what's become New Jersey's go-to crew for getting things done. their reputation? polished, and trusted.

then, there’s vi west: your work partner, equally sharp but just a step ahead in some ways. almost too close for comfort. who would've thought work partners could be this competitive? the irony? they’re unstoppable together, but neither is quite the same without the other.

WARNINGS : fbi agent! vi ; fbi agent! reader. eventual smut. tons of self doubt. modern fbi! au. inaccurate descriptions of the profession! i’m not a professional. this is for fun. work rivals (one sided beef) to lovers. LONG AS FUCKKK SORRY I YAP. female reader with female anatomy. y/n is used. “thorne” is your last name. vi’s last name is “west”. you refer to her by her last name mostly. reader is high-key a crash out and mean. reader is an overachiever and insecure. vi and powder aren’t related. tons of banter. bottom! reader & top! vi. spitting. praise. fngering r! rec. pussy eating r! rec. detailed descriptions. crime scenes mentioned.

A/N : also i’m not that great at writing and my english isn’t spectacular, so i apologize for any confusion!

this was previously written in THIRD person with OCS previously, and is edited to be in second — so I apologize if things seem odd! I didn’t wanna overuse y/n. it switches from vi to violet when perspectives shift, and and the end, it’s because they get intimate. this also sucks I genuinely do not like how it turned out, but I wanna post this sooo badly.

MINORS + MEN DO NOT INTERACT! GO AWAY!

"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes at the red light like it had personally offended you. One hand gripped the leather steering wheel, while the other balanced a bagel slathered in thick cream cheese and peppered with everything seasoning. You took a bite, savoring the soft, fresh bread—a far cry from the jaw-breaking bagels they served at the headquarters.

No need to spend the rest of her shift nursing a sore jaw, right?

South Jersey always gave you this weird ghost-town vibe. It was like all the real Jersey energy got stuck up North, and down here? It was all tumbleweeds and out-of-towners. And the drivers? Somehow even worse.

"Dude, go!" you groaned, smacking the horn with your free hand.

The truck in front jolted to life at the sound of your obnoxious horn, hesitating like it couldn't decide if it actually wanted to move. But you were late for work, and patience wasn't exactly on the menu today. The light had barely turned green when the Ford finally screeched forward, turning right without so much as a flick of its blinker.

Not even surprised.

Okay, maybe calling this place a 'ghost town' was a bit dramatic, but it wasn't exactly buzzing with life either. A population of five thousand? It wasn't tiny, but small enough that you pretty much knew everyone, or at least recognized their faces.

You rip off another chunk of your breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as you kept her eyes on the road ahead.

The headquarters sat smack in the middle of town, like the town's claim to fame. Not that it had much else going for it, anyway. The place was known for one thing and one thing only: a team of agents who dealt with crime and shady stuff, navigating the waters of illegal activities with professional ease.

And you were one of them. FBI agent—living the dream. Except for mornings like this, you weren’t so sure. Some days you questioned all of it. Why didn't you go for Wall Street like every other uptight, middle-aged guy who loves his over priced suits and has a receding hairline? But, of course, you were not a man. And would never be a man. So, that was that, unfortunately.

Other days though? Absolutely loved it. The thrill, the purpose. It kept you going.

You slammed your car door shut, the headlights flickering as if saying goodbye. Your boots clicked on the pavement as you tossed her brown paper bag with trash into a nearby bin, finishing off the last bite of the bagel while juggling your bag and keys in one hand.

(Y/N) Thorne. Not exactly the name that struck fear into anyone's heart. You were, after all, everything someone would want in a woman: totally normal. And boring as hell.

"G'morning," you called out, voice rippling through the main office full of her co-workers as you scanned your ID and pressed the door open with your forearm. Inside, it was warmer — nothing fancy, just your typical government building. Functional, plain, and definitely not the kind of place that got decorated for Thanksgiving.

November in Jersey wasn't exactly charming. Sure, it had its cozy moments but it was mostly cold, wet, and kinda depressing. You shrugged off her trench coat, and tossed your bag onto the desk, just as Jayce swiveled around in his stool, that annoying smirk plastered across his face.

"Wow. You're late," he teased, his eyes darting to the clock behind her.

"Like, late-late. Late as hell."

You then shot him a look, knowing full well that you was over half an hour late. Unlike everyone else who was seated and working as usual.

"You think I don't know that? I got caught up in traffic," you say, the lie slipping out as easily as it always did on mornings like these. The truth? There was almost never traffic in Highland Parks. Maybe during the holidays or when something big was going on, but never on a random weekday morning.

You started unloading your personal bag, pulling out the essentials: a still-steaming insulated cup of coffee, pens, some files you’d taken come to look over, and your planner. Everything else was digital of course, but you liked having these things on hand. It just made you feel more grounded.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her excuse. "Traffic? Don't tell me you're coming down with schizophrenia, (Y/N)."

You then rolled your eyes, brows pinching together. "You don't 'come down' with schizophrenia, Jayce. It's not a cold that comes and goes." You didn't bother looking up at him, already used to the back-and-forth banter. They both were close enough for this to be just another day in the office.

"That still doesn't explain whatever you've got smeared around your mouth," Jayce quipped, pointing at you like he'd just caught you in some criminal act.

You halted, then swiped at your lips, just now realizing the cream cheese from the bagel you were eating earlier had betrayed you. "Shut up."

Jayce spun back around to his dual monitors, both lit up with the usual chaos. One screen was a mess of opened unnamed files, highlighted sections jumping out at him like some kind of fucking neon nightmare. The other? A classified CIA document he probably shouldn't have access to but, hey, Jayce was Jayce. A pain in the ass sure, but damn good at what he did, and you could respect that at least.

You plopped into your chair and rolled it forward, the familiar hum of the workspace coming to life. Resting your head in your hand, and letting out a sigh that felt as if it had been building up for days on end. Sleeping through your alarm again. It was becoming a pattern, and you was starting to seriously think about just camping out here at headquarters.

At least then you wouldn't have to rush to work every other week because of your growing bad habits.

You glanced around the room. Everyone else was locked in, focused on their screens, their tasks. A hushed few conversations floated in the background —just the usual work chatter between people you’d known for years now. They were solid. Resilient. You felt lucky to be surrounded by a team you could count on, even on days like this where your brain felt like it was running dry.

You wiped away the last remnants of cream cheese from her lips, still mildly annoyed that Jayce had been the only one to point it out. Not that you wanted everyone in the office to make a big deal out of it, but seriously, not one person gave her a heads-up?

Jesus Christ. It was way too early to care about that kind of still, especially right now.

Outside, the sky hung heavy with thick clouds, the kind that obviously promised rainfall later—great just what you needed. You moved your hand over the cursor, pulling up the files for the marriage fraud case you’d been slogging through. It was equally as exciting as watching paint dry on a fence. But a job's a job, and no one ever said working for the government was supposed to be fun.

Your eyes scanned the screen, index finger clicking away as you moved through the organized files. Your routine, monotonous. It was keeping your hands busy, at least. If nothing else, the day had nowhere to go but up from here.

"The money transferred to the spouse was unlabeled, and we're talking a decent amount. Anywhere from a grand up to five grand. Normally, separate bank accounts wouldn't draw too much attention, but in this case it's a red flag." You say, half to yourself as you rummaged through the stuffed file drawer. One folder was delicately tucked under your chin, held in place as you flipped through files with your manicured fingers. Brows furrowed in concentration as you searched for a similar case.

Tax fraud cases were like the PP&J to your workload, with a few shady marriage fraud scenarios thrown in to mix things up. Sometimes the scandalous ones were entertaining enough to break the pattern, but this one? Torture.

Jayce stood nearby, leaning back against the marble counter, which was digging into his lower back. He took a slow sip of his iced oat-milk latte, listening to you work and ramble through your day's work. It had been a quiet morning, with nothing dramatic or exciting happening, which should've been a good thing.

Still, it left you with that uneasy feeling—like the calm before a storm.

You were never relaxed for this long. Clocked in for almost three hours and had surprisingly plowed through a solid amount of work, even with a fried brain that was practically begging for a nap. That was another thing you found weird—you were usually a mess by now, half-distracted or complaining about some new crisis.

The files slapped onto the counter with a loud thud as you set them aside, hands brushing together like you was dusting off the whole ordeal. Jayce’s eyes flicked to her bare hands—no ring, no sign of marriage or any serious relationship. You were always all work, never any talk about a significant other or anything personal.

You slowly sighed pushed your hair back from your face, shutting the file cabinet with a firm click and locking it for good measure. Sliding your personal key into your pocket, ready to move on from whatever boring task awaited her next.

"This Wren Staples woman is kind of smart. I mean," Jayce held up a hand before you could even start to question his logic, giving you that familiar look. "I'm not saying it's right, but if someone offered me five grand a month to stay silent and just show up to some fancy business dinners? You wouldn't have to ask me twice."

He paused, waiting for a reaction, but you just stared at him, face scrunched up like you couldn't decide if you was more irritated or confused. Clearly not amused. Jayce let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like this conversation was nothing but a lost cause. Adjusting his belt, he gave it one last go, this time sounding more defeated than the first time.

"Forget it." He waved it off dismissively, taking a long sip of his drink while you mentally rubbed a hand down your face in pure frustration.

"Yeah, I will forget it," you say dryly. "Because if anyone heard you say that, you'd be stuck at the front desk while a janitor took your place. Or," you added, picking up your files, "you'd just be fired."

Jayce smirked, a dimple creasing his cheek. "You're obsessed with the idea of me getting fired, but who else would have your back when West over here starts breathing down your neck?"

At the mention of West, your mood took a nose-dive. Violet West—the co-worker from the literal pits of hell. If you had to sum her up in three words it, was be easy: haughty, a know-it-all, and self-indulgent.

You’d like to say you didn't hate West, but that would be a lie. And sure, lying wasn't illegal, but pretending to tolerate Violet felt criminal. The woman was all sharp words, choppy hair, and superiority complex wrapped in a suit.

"Yeah, you mean 'she-who-must-not-be-named'?" you mutter as you both walked down the dim hallways, the usual morning light blocked out by the overcast skies. Jayce snorted.

"What? Is she a forbidden topic now, Ms. Thorne?" Jayce raised an eyebrow, teasing as they headed back to the main room. You shot him a long side-glance, silently telling him to knock it off as they neared West's usual... territory.

You scanned your ID at the door, unlocking it with a beep and pushing it open for the both of them. Your expression blank, and voice deadpan.

“Just very, very taboo.”

You rip a piece of tape off the roll with your teeth, holding it between yours lips for a moment before carefully sticking it onto the document you were patching up. The team had already gone through a ridiculous amount of ink today, and printing another copy of this page would be a waste. A little tape, and it was good as new. Well, good enough. No one would notice unless they were trying to be a detective about it.

Smoothing the tape down with the pad of your thumb, stood up, and pushed your chair back with a small scrape. So far, this week wasn't too bad. It was only Tuesday, but still better than the disaster that was yesterday. Not that it mattered much — work was work, and that was that.

"Lunch started ten minutes ago, (Y/N)."

You turned to see Mel, stirring honey into her tea, the spoon gently clinking against the glass. The smell hit you, and seconds in you were already fighting the urge to grimace. Tea wasn't your thing. It always left this weird aftertaste, like lukewarm juice that had been forgotten in a car on a hot day. Gross, but you get it.

Mel wasn't bad, though. Laid-back, easy to deal with, which was more than you could say about most people at the HQ. In your mind, everyone had something annoying about them, and you weren’t shy about digging for it. Nobody's perfect, why pretend?

You laid your stack of papers down, giving Mel a tight, thin-lined smile with a small shrug. "Who else is gonna organize our cases by date, importance, and agent?"

"You do know there are six other people working in this office, right?" Mel raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by your martyr complex.

You knew you were not technically responsible for everything. You weren’t dense. But every time someone else tried to handle the file-work, things ended up in a chaotic mess, and that drove you crazy. You’d rather just do it on your own, your way, even if it meant taking on more. Loosening your tie, slipping a finger into the knot and giving it a tug as you got back to sorting through the paperwork.

Policy guides? Tossed onto the pile on her left. Investigation files? Those got dropped into a drawer with a firm hip-check to shut it. Personnel records? Neatly tucked into a black folder. You had a system, and it worked.

"Exactly," the words came out as a drawl, not really in the mood for chit-chat as you worked through the stack. You still needed to collect some files, but that could wait until later, maybe even tomorrow. The week had been more relaxed since most of the tasks were in-office, which was honestly a relief. The days when public affairs or training sessions were on the agenda? Those were the ones that pushed you to the edge of madness.

As you started to walk away, Mel called after you, "Tell Jayce his phone's rung fifteen times in the past twenty minutes!"

Of course it had. Jayce avoided work calls like the plague.

You shut the door behind you and slipped a hand into your right pocket, pulling out your cellphone. It was mostly your work phone—you kept your personal life strictly separate. The idea of mixing the two was a disaster waiting to happen. Scrolling through your contacts, you found the number you were searching for, and tapped it. You needed to update the attorney general. Your boots clicked softly against the floor while stroding down the hallway, phone pressed to your ear.

It rang a couple of times before a voice answered. "FBI Legal Division."

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to gather your thoughts before responding. Tone direct, professional. "Thorne, (Y/N), speaking. Just calling to update you—we've covered all files and documents this past week. Fingerprinting is being handled by Shimes, and the lab services are currently in progress. Everything else looks good for now. If anything changes, I'll let you know as soon as possible."

You kept it short and to the point, just the way it needed to be.

A satisfied hum came through the line. "Great work, I'll review the details and let you know if I need anything else."

You thanked your attorney, lowering the phone as you pushed open the doors to the lounge. You had about twenty minutes to eat which was more than enough, though the thought of food didn't exactly thrill you. When your mind was full of work, your stomach didn't have room to complain. Sliding your cellular device into her pocket, you noticed a few co-workers giving her a glance.

"Where've you been?" Powder asked, nosy as ever. Powder Shimes was hunched over, chewing on what looked like the remains of a sad, microwaved breakfast burrito—probably from hours ago—and washing it down with a can of Dr. Pepper that looked far too room temperature. Was that ketchup on her burrito?

Ekko tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "Probably the HQ. She looks pretty pissed."

You rolled your eyes and yanked open the lounge fridge. Taking her time to riffle through the bagged lunches, each marked with large initials to avoid any office food theft drama. You grabbed your pre-prepped Caesar salad—the one you didn't have time for the day before—and a small bottle of water.

"Where's Jayce?" you asked, settling into a chair a seat away from the two of them. You ignored their commentary about your supposed "pissed-off" look. It wasn't like you were mad, but your resting face had always given off those vibes. "Matter of fact, where's everyone at?"

Powder and Ekko were always together, so their presence wasn't exactly surprising. Mel was eating at her desk while taking phone calls. Jayce was MIA for reasons unknown, even though he was usually first to hog the entire couch in the break lounge. Caitlyn popped in sometimes after training, but she hadn't expecting to see her today.

You popped the lid off the salad and grabbed a plastic fork from the tin holder nearby. As for West? Well, she wasn't here either, which was a relief. Lunch without Violet West around was a small victory in itself. It wasn't like seeing her would brighten your day. If anything, the distance was a blessing.

You stabbed at the Caesar salad, spearing a few leaves and bringing them to your mouth. A quiet lunch was all you really needed right now.

"Caitlyn went to grab some stuff from Home Depot. Something about the sink breaking—something with the piping. I don't know," Ekko shrugged, digging into his half-full peanut butter cup ice cream with a plastic spoon. Meanwhile, Powder took another horrific bite of her ketchup-slathered burrito, opening yet another packet of ketchup like it was a delicacy.

You uncomfortably clenched your jaw, doing your absolute best to ignore Powder’s obnoxious eating habits. She gulped down her food with an unnecessary loud sigh and crushed her soda can with a loud crack. "Like Ekko said, Cait’s at the store. Jayce? Off doing whatever, said he'd be back after lunch. Vi?" Powder raised her hands once mentioning the girl in mock surrender, a crumpled napkin in her palm. "No idea where she is, and honestly? Don't care."

You picked at the chicken in the Caesar salad, chewing slowly. You really needed to up your protein intake, especially with how grueling training days had been. But Caesar salads? The only kind you could enjoy without wanting to throw the bowl out the window. "So it's just you two?"

"Yup," Ekko confirmed, licking his spoon clean.

Spectacular. Stuck with these two for the next fifteen minutes. Not that long, but in moments like this, you found herself wondering how they were the same people she did real-world investigations with. Ekko, a grown man, devouring ice cream like a five-year-old, and Powder, well.

"That's disgusting, Shimes," you deadpanned, eyeing the ungodly amount of ketchup Powder was consuming. Ekko barely stifled a laugh, grinning against his spoon. You rubbed your temples, trying to ease the headache that had started creeping in. Who knew the break room could actually make things worse?

Powder scoffed, leaning back in her chair, her work jacket tossed aside. Now just in a wrinkled button-down, she looked far too comfortable for someone whose eating habits were under fire.

"Like I care. That was delicious. I'd give it like an eight out of ten—only because it was kinda cold in the center."

That earned a grimace from you. You did not need to know how cold her burrito was or how much she enjoyed it in great detail. As much as Jayce could be a pain, you’d trade this scenery for his company any day. At least Jayce wasn't… this.

Just as you were starting to imagine a more peaceful lunch break, a gruff female voice broke through your thoughts. "Thanks for saving me a seat."

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor made you freeze. Ekko shot you a knowing look, and Powder’s grin only widened.

"Surprise guest!" Powder announced with a clap, running a hand through her hair like she was prepping a show.

Surprise guest? More like surprise loss of appetite. Because who else would be sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder, than Violet West herself. No invitation, no polite "is this seat taken?" just West, plopping down like she owned the place.

Your fork hovered above your salad, chewing coming to an abrupt stop. You stared down at the greens, the moment of peace you had been savoring now utterly ruined.

You've got to be kidding me.

Three shots rang out. You adjusted your earplugs with one hand and tightened your grip on the Glock 19M with the other. The gloves were pulled snug over your hands, and you squeezed the gun a little harder than usual. You didn't bother with safety glasses during training. What was the point? You didn't wear them on the job.

Agents like you practicing shooting all kinds of targets — stationary, moving, from cover to cover, on the move. The whole deal. Training days like these were crucial for staying sharp, and even though they ran these drills once a week, you always tried to push yourself, especially with your Glock. The gun had a way of making your skin crawl every time she fired, but you had to be good with it. You hadn't had to use it much in the field, thankfully, but when you did, it never felt great. Obviously.

"Not bad, Thorne," Caitlyn muttered as she patted your wrist, adjusting it slightly and motioning for you to fix your posture. You hadn't even realized you were holding the gun so close to your body until she gave that look. A lump of saliva slid down your throat and you nodded. Caitlyn was a solid instructor. She didn't sugarcoat anything—if you were doing something wrong, she told you straight up, step by step, how to fix it.

You appreciated that.

The days rotated every week. Monday meant outdoor training, Tuesday indoor, then back outdoors on Wednesday, and so on from there. Weeks of drills. Not your personal favorite, but it was part of the job, and you had to be ready to reach for your waist when things went sideways. And in a town like Highland Parks, things often did.

You bit your cheek, thinking about how unpredictable this place was. The citizens too. Not that you were any better — you wasn't exactly a poster child for predictability yourself. You let out a breath, firmly holding the handle of the Glock as if it could settle your nerves.

Caitlyn handed you a pair of safety glasses, breaking your focus. "You need to wear these. None of that 'I'm too good for this' nonsense. If you lose an eye because you're being stubborn, you're not touching a firearm again. Take them."

Irritable but not wrong. You weren’t offended. Rumor had it someone lost an eye once because they ignored safety, though that was before her time.

"Thanks," you say, slowly taking the glasses from her hand. She stomped off, her heavy boots thudding against the ground as her vest shifted with each step. You put on the glasses and popped your knuckles, already feeling that strain in your hands that would stick until the end of the month.

Nearby, Powder was lounging with his legs spread, while Jayce gnawed on a marshmallow-studded protein bar. Powder’s face was slick with sweat as he gulped water, some strands of her azure hair sticking to her forehead. Ekko was swapping out his gun, peeling off his thick vector gloves.

You placed your weapon down and rolled your tense shoulders, feeling a knot in your neck release. The relief was short-lived, though, she glanced over at Caitlyn, who was now standing in front of West. Another knot formed in your gut, this one a mix of annoyance and envy. You clenched her jaw unconsciously.

Of course, Caitlyn was probably praising the hell out of West. She was the best with the weapons out of everyone, aside from Caitlyn herself. Powder was more into forensic work, Ekko handled lab services, and Jayce was a crime-solving machine, and (Y/N)?

Just... good. At a little bit of everything. You were organized, which was great, but that was also Mel’s job. A deep inhale filled your lungs, and you sighed heavily. You was useful — a great help, a mix of skills, but nothing extraordinary.

Ekko’s voice snapped you back to reality. "Dude, instead of choking back a hundred protein bars, try starting with eggs in the morning. Those are food, but God damn."

He was talking to Jayce, who was hunched over elbows on his knees. You resisted the urge to critique his posture. You didn't, but that was primarily because it would make you a hypocrite. Caitlyn had just corrected hers. You slipped off your own gloves, then decided to stand and stretch your legs, feeling more awake on your feet.

"Eggs are nasty as hell," Jayce waved Ekko off, and Ekko shrugged, half agreeing as he lazily sipped his water.

"Cottage cheese? Tofu? Greek yogurt?" Ekko continued, trying to offer solid protein options, but Jayce’s chewing slowed at his suggestions. Even though Ekko’s advice came from someone who clearly knew what he was talking about, Jayce’s eyes narrowed, his olive-tanned skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

A firm smack on your back snapped you upright before you could even think about it, body reacting on instinct. Caitlyn’s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her about her posture, and for a split second, you wondered if she'd hunched over under the weight of your responsibilities again. But when you turned to see who had hit her, it wasn't Caitlyn and her sharp, fine eyebrows. Instead, you were met by a different pair—thick and scarred along the edges.

West.

Your stomach dropped. Caitlyn, she respected. Caitlyn had the right to correct your posture, whether in training or in office. Violet, on the other hand, had not. Jayce could get away with being a little touchy sometimes, and Caitlyn, if it was educational, but Violet? No. Never.

"You aren't a Pilates teacher," you say in a calm, yet perfectly passive-aggressive tone. Your brows furrowed as you tried to smooth out the back of the suit jacket you had on, trying to ease any trace of Violet’s unwanted touch. In another timeframe, you might've smacked her hand away, but today you settled for being politely firm.

Violet, of course, gave you another pat, this one being more condescending than the first. "Another profession? I'd be making bank. Every housewife would be in my classes," she replied, her voice smug and dripping with fake charm.

Your skin prickled with irritation, patience running thin by the second. You would've given everything for earplugs at the moment. The sound of Violet’s voice was enough to make your head throb. Meanwhile, Jayce, ever the opportunist, chose this exact moment to stay silent, focusing more on his marshmallow protein bar than on you, clearly about to bite down hard enough to crack a molar.

"You'd be making below minimum wage. No one would willingly attend those classes," you dragged out, voice flat and uninterested, though the tension in your jaw spoke volumes. Violet didn't have to do much to get under your skin, and honestly, she didn't even have to try. She was the walking embodiment of something that made your veins itch.

"Realistically, that is."

Violet studied your face, noticing the way your expression had tightened, a visible vein of pure irritation. It wasn't like you hated Violet once again—if you did, you would've moved locations a long time ago. But there was a thin line between tolerance and whatever the hell this was. Tolerable, in your world, meant zero contact. Silence. Absolute distance. And right now, West was far too close for comfort.

"Realistically, a business run by someone confident in their growth is more likely to succeed than someone who's just a follower."

Violet’s smug response hit you like a match to gasoline. You could feel the heat of your frustration under your skin, a familiar sensation that always seemed to bubble up during their rare, but tense interactions. Most days, they kept their distance, sticking to cold, judgmental glances. But on days like this, when they were forced into the same space, it was inevitable-snarky exchanges, backhanded compliments, and that thick, suffocating air of competition.

You bit back the flood of insults threatening to slip out. Pressing your chapped lips together, irritated by the dry, rough feeling but too focused on the current situation to care. "You can't speak from experience," you finally muttered, knowing full well that it was a weak retort. You weren’t in the mood to come up with anything clever. Keeping it safe was the safest bet for your sanity right now.

Violet, naturally, didn't miss a beat. "I'll have that privilege one day." she flicked her ID badge with a cocky flourish, the engraved letters of her last name catching in the light. Her face was twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that made you want to roll her eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

There was nothing motivating about Violet’s arrogance. Only aggravating.

You cleared your throat, forcing a thin smile.

"Fun talking to you, as always," you said, determined to get the last word in, as usual. Their exchanges were like a never-ending thumb war, both women pushing for dominance without truly getting anywhere. Two years of this, and nothing had changed.

Violet smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm flattered, but I can't help wondering if you're considering stand-up comedy for those with lobotomies, of course." She punctuated the remark with a firm hand on your shoulder.

Your stomach churned at the touch, and you shrugged off Violet’s hand like it was a spider crawling on you. Resisting the urge to vomit right then and there, you reached down for your Glock, thumb brushing over the magazine release as it could somehow end this insufferable conversation.

You needed to reload, which at least gave you a reason to focus on someone else.

"Be my guest," you said flatly, eyes fixated on the gun, not on the smug woman hovering over you.

West’s lips quirked again in amusement, but she stayed quiet, watching as you methodically reloaded the 19M, clicking the slide back in place with more force than necessary. You were hyper-focused now, anything to block out Violet’s presence.

You slipped the gloves back on, fastening the Velcro tightly, mentally preparing yourself to get back to training.

"Trainings over for the day, you know," West said, casually reminding you. She was annoyingly familiar with your habits on the range, probably because she always kept an eye on you, just waiting to see if you messed up.

You didn't bother looking up. "I'm aware everyone else is gone. I prefer extra training."

"You hate training," Violet replied, her tone laced with smug knowingness. She clearly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and right now, you kinda wound tighter than the Velcro on your gloves.

"No." you simply state, cocking your head to crack your neck.

I just fucking hate you.

Your raised the Glock and fired at the nearest dummy, ending the conversation with a bang.

The sweet relief of coffee never failed to satisfy Vi, even on days when everything else seemed to fall apart. She let her calloused fingers linger on the coffee maker as it hummed, her other hand twiddling a packet of sweetener absentmindedly. With nothing pressing on her mind or plate today, she pulled the pitcher from the machine and dragged her New York embroidered mug forward. The coffee poured steadily, just below the rim, and she tore the sweetener packet, dumping it in with practiced precision.

But before she could savor a sip, her forearm nudged open the lounge door, and—splash. Hot coffee cascaded over her freshly pressed suit, drenching her pants and top in a scalding, sticky mess.

What—the fuck?

Audrey's eyes slowly drifted down to the damage, the burning liquid stinging her skin beneath the fabric.

Her grip tightened on the mug as she looked up, fury already simmering behind her eyes.

And there, frozen in shock with wide eyes, was none other than you. Of course. Vi could see the words forming in her head before they even left your mouth; you never missing an opportunity to make things worse.

"Watch where you're going next time," you grumbled, tone dismissive, like the whole thing was somehow Vi’s fault. You had also whispered something under your breath, and it couldn't have been good. The coffee dripped silently between them, pooling on the floor and marking its territory on Vi’s ruined clothes. She had managed to get through the rain this morning without so much as a spot, but your clumsiness had managed to wreck her in mere seconds.

Vi’s upper lip twitched in irritation. Was she being blamed? Really? "What are you in hurry for, the last few munchkins in the fridge? You don't exactly look busy, (Y/N).”

Your eyebrows drew down slowly, eyes narrowing in offended disbelief. Vi might've found it amusing to mess with her in any other circumstance, but right now? Right now, it really irked her. She was being blamed for this, and she wasn't going to let it slide.

"If you've got time to throw insults, why don't you go and do Mel’s job again? After all, you went to school for years to play assistant at headquarters, right?" Vi’s words were sharp, deliberately cutting. It was a bitchy move, but she'd had enough.

You’d had been riding her nerves all week.

Monday, you’d shredded Vi’s files by "mistake," chalking it up to be tired. Tuesday, you’d nearly wrecked her Glock 17M and tried to convince Caitlyn it was just a mix-up. Wednesday, there were dirty looks and backhanded compliments in the middle of a meeting. And yesterday? You’d almost derailed an entire investigation with your impatience.

Two years of this, and it was finally pushing Vi to her limit. It wasn't just competitive banter anymore—it was real animosity. Vi had always tried to keep things light, a little teasing here and there, but (Y/N?). (Y/N) downright hated her, and it was getting mutual.

You, ever so unfazed, didn't even glance at the mess you’d made. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't worry about how I handle my tasks around here. Why don't you go cozy up to Caitlyn while I keep things easy and simple for you? Sound good?"

Audrey clenched her jaw, her fingers tight around the now empty mug. This woman...

"You've got a lot of nerve," Vi snapped, her voice low but sharp, each word deliberate. "I don't have an issue with you, but for some reason, you're always trying to get on my bad side. I try to be halfway decent with you, but you always find a way to ruin that too." Audrey stepped closer, exaggerating her words, hoping it would hit you harder. For someone who walks in heeled boots everyday, the shorter woman still hadn't quite figured out how to own them.

Before you could fire back, Audrey cut you off.

"And if you want to accuse me of cozying up to Caitlyn, then take a good look at yourself, Thorne. Your last name fits you precisely. You're like a thorn to someone's side."

You let out a sharp huff, clearly caught off guard by Audrey's sudden willingness to stand her ground. You weren’t used to being confronted, especially by someone you considered to be an annoyance. Vi could see the gears turning, the effort you put into keeping your voice steady as she shot back.

"At least I have a good relationship with everyone. You pick and choose who you talk to. You're not down to earth, (Y/N). You're just a shitty person."

You felt your blood simmering, but you kept your expression neutral, even as the insult landed. By habit loosening your tie, fingers trembling just slightly with adrenaline, and tossed your now-empty mug into the trash bin by the door without a second thought.

The satisfying crack of glass echoed through the room, but she didn't care.

Not about the mug, not about your words. Not now.

She brushed past you, not sparing a second glance as she headed toward the restroom. The coffee was already soaking into her clothes, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She peeled off her ruined pullover as she walked, letting it fall down her arms before she entered the bathroom, where she was greeted by her reflection.

Vi stared at herself for a moment, hair falling messily over her eyes. It had grown longer than she liked, brushing just past her nose slightly. She pushed it away impatiently and leaned over the counter, scrubbing at her button-down with frustration.

"Come on," she muttered through gritted teeth, working at the larger stains with more force than necessary. The top had cost her over fifty bucks, and the thought of it being ruined because of your clumsiness made her blood boil. If it had been some cheap shirt, she wouldn't have lost her cool like that, but it wasn't.

"Fucking come out, Jesus." Vi’s voice cracked slightly as she scrubbed harder, knowing full well she was only making it worse. But she couldn't walk back into HQ with this mess on her. Not after what had just happened. She wasn't about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her like this.

As the stains slowly faded, her mind raced. Were you insecure? Vi didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. The woman was a confusing mess of contradictions, and Vi had no desire to decipher her. All she knew was that you got under her skin, and made her head throb with frustration. An impatient groan escaped her lips as she managed to get some of the deeper stains out, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Vi stared at the shirt, feeling like the whole situation was ridiculous. And yet, here she was, scrubbing out coffee stains and stewing over someone who should've been nothing more than an office inconvenience.

The urge to tell you off bubbled up again, but Vi bit it back. Sure, she was pissed, but wasn't trying to escalate this any further. She had done the right thing by standing up for herself, like anyone else would. There was no point in pushing things to the point of no return, where they might both end up fired and jobless.

She slung her ruined pullover over her arm and walked out of the women's restroom, her steps heavier with the weight of her lingering frustration.

She wasn't about to let it go, not completely, but she wasn't going to make it worse either.

If nothing else, she thought, I'm not worse than (Y/N). That was for sure. Vi had rattled her pride a little with the teasing, but it wasn't like she'd gone overboard. In fact, if you had any sense of humor, they could've had some fun with the back-and-forth. But no, the hostility from you felt different, like it was more personal. You ribbed Ekko and Powder too at times, but with Vi, it felt deeper, like there was something else fueling it.

As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, she made her way down the hallways of the HQ, her mind still buzzing with the aftershocks of their argument.

"That was my favorite shirt," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the faint coffee stains that still clung to the fabric.

You grimace, hesitating before fully letting your eyes take in the crime scene photos clipped to the case folder in front of you. One side is filled with notes detailing the body discovered, the evidence collected by officers and K-9 units, while the other holds the photographs. It’s never easy looking at the dead, but this case in particular—one involving children and animals—settles like a weight in your stomach.

Just suck it up and focus.

Jayce is out today, which means his ridiculous pile of files is now your responsibility. For someone who jokes around constantly and eats while reviewing these kind of things, he’s got a stomach of fucking steel. You, on the other hand, find yourself letting out a quiet, uneasy strings of grunts as you shuffle a set of dated photos into an envelope hastily. You barely register your own signature as you scrawl it across the front before tossing it into the small brown box beside you leveled on Jayce’s chair.

The barely touched coffee on your desk doesn’t help your mood. Mel had been nice enough to bring drinks from the local coffee shop for everyone, but yours? It tasted watered down, and the undissolved brown sugar left a grainy texture that made it hard to enjoy. You had set it aside, already planning to let it get cold so you could toss it out without feeling guilty.

Bad coffee is worse than no coffee. You’d rather suffer through exhaustion than force yourself to drink something made by a barista who clearly didn’t know a basic coffee rule: to stir the damn sugar while it’s hot.

You bite the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply, forcing yourself back into work mode.

Outside, thunder grumbles in the distance, and the printers rattle beside you, filling the silence of an otherwise empty space. The office is quieter than usual, the seat next to you noticeably unoccupied. Rainy Novembers are typical in Highland Parks, but in all honesty you don’t have much of an opinion on the weather. You spend most of your time indoors anyway.

Working.

Your stomach interrupts your train of thought, rumbling loudly in protest. You unconsciously glance at the digital clock near Jayce’s empty desk, its red numbers flickering back at you. Lunch passed a while ago. Not that it mattered. After spending hours handling Jayce’s case files, your appetite had disappeared. Your meal, along with your Diet Coke, was probably still sitting untouched in the lounge fridge.

Powder and Ekko are out training one-on-one with Caitlyn. Not your business, but you’re curious anyway. You always are. Why didn’t you ever get one-on-one training? Everyone else did.

Are you lacking something?

You chew on your thumbnail, the thought making an unwelcome home in your head. This always happened.

A sudden tap on the top of your head yanks you from your inner turmoil. You glance over your shoulder, expecting Viktor, the guy who fixes the printers and every other broken thing in HQ. Jayce is good friends with him, so, you are as well in that case. But instead, it’s Mel. Your shoulders loosen slightly. You’ve been tense all week.

“Not exactly the best way to get my attention, Mel,” you say, stacking some of the finished files on your desk, head still heavy with lingering doubt.

“Lighten up a bit. You’re such a pessimist,” Mel hums, dropping the stack of documents onto your desk. “You should go eat. I saw you skipped lunch. Plus, Jayce can finish the rest tomorrow. You’ve done more than enough.”

You exhale, considering her words. Why didn’t you just work a role like Mel? She had a clear job, an essential purpose. Meanwhile, you felt like you spent most of your time quietly filling in the gaps—like a seat filler, temporary, replaceable. All that school for what?

A stubborn voice in your head protests the comment about your pessimism, but your hunger wins out. You push back your chair and stand, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness.

“You can take the file box then. I’ll be back.” Grabbing your ID lanyard, you stride out of the office, making your way through the mostly empty space.

The walk down the same hallway you’d been pacing for two years somehow felt longer every day. Realistically, nothing had changed—it was the same damn stretch of floor, the same fluorescent lights buzzing above. But lately, the need to move your feet, to just get to where you were going, had started to feel like a chore.

You had three keys to this building: one for the main office where the bulk of the work happened, another for the lounge, and the third just to get into the damn building in the first place. Underwhelming. Your pay was the same as Jayce’s, even Ekko’s. You were making more than both Powder and Mel combined.

So why did it still feel like you were scraping for something?

You pushed open the lounge door with your elbow, only to immediately regret it.

Violet.

A grumble of annoyance rumbled in the back of your throat as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at you. Her cool, ashy-blue eyes flicked to you for only a moment, but it was enough to make your skin prickle uncomfortably.

It felt like every time a coworker looked at you, it was out of pity, not respect. As if all the work you put in was just something to be tolerated, not acknowledged. The thought made your heeled boots feel loose, like you were one wrong step away from rolling your ankle under the weight of Violet’s occasional, unimpressed glances.

Why was she even here?

Yes, this was the employee lounge, but she never lingered here long. And yet, here she was. You weren’t even sure if she had food, and she definitely wasn’t making coffee.

You ignored her gaze, forcing yourself toward the fridge. Your hands were already clammy before you saw her, but now they were straight up sweaty. The cool air from the fridge was a small relief as you reached for your neatly labeled chicken and lettuce wrap, along with your untouched sealed Diet Coke.

It had been this way ever since the coffee incident. Ever since you’d—“accidentally”—ruined an entire month’s worth of her research.

West had stopped making jokes around you.

At first, that satisfied you. But now? Now, it made your gut feel like a crumpled-up sticky note.

Had you actually liked the attention? No. Absolutely not. Jayce spoke to you every day, cracked his ridiculous jokes around you, so it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t about communication. You and Violet didn’t even work in the same department. You weren’t exactly friends, either. Strictly coworkers. Two people who knew just enough about each other’s flaws to be annoying and pick at them.

So why was she bothering you so much?

Your flimsy fingers tightened around your wrap as Violet finally looked away. But she didn’t move. Didn’t eat. Didn’t make coffee. Just existed. Silently.

Judgment was awful, but silent judgment? That was even worse.

“Can you quit watching me like that?” you snapped before you could stop yourself, your voice sharp with the bitterness that always seemed to linger between you two. “It’s weird. And aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Violet barely reacted, just blinked at you, unimpressed.

“Lunch ended three hours ago,” you added, “unless you’re digging for Caitlyn’s crumbs.”

Your jaw clenched as you unwrapped your lunch, your teeth sinking slightly into your torn up bottom lip. Uncalled for. You knew that. And Violet knew exactly how to weaponize the moment.

“Thanks for the reminder, Thorne,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something biting. “But I actually don’t have to make that effort. Cait pays attention to me without me having to act like some crazy addict who thrives off her validation on every thought.”

Your fingers stilled.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t said worse to her before. The difference? Violet never hid behind her words. She always said them looking you dead in the eye, unwavering, direct.

The comment shouldn’t have hit a soft spot, but it did.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to play it off, pretending it didn’t get under your skin.

“You know me so well,” you muttered with a strained chuckle, though your jaw ached with the effort of keeping it together.

Because deep down, you knew exactly where your problem with Violet had started.

It wasn’t out of nowhere.

You’d been intimidated by her from the moment she got the job—without even needing an interview. She made more than you right off the bat. Caitlyn warmed up to her almost immediately. It wasn’t like Violet had ever rubbed it in your face, but envy was something you never handled well.

Do this better. Do that better. Finish this. Try harder. Ask to do more.

Violet ran a hand down the front of her work suit to smooth out the cotton. Ever since the coffee incident, she’d switched to wearing black button-downs under her blazers, likely to avoid another purposeful coffee disaster.

“You don’t exactly make it hard to read you,” she mused, her voice irritatingly casual. “Especially when you have a vein bulging from your forehead every time you see me.”

Your first instinct was to snap back—who wouldn’t be irritated when you think everyone is your buddy? But you knew better. And honestly? You didn’t have the energy for another round of verbal sparring this week.

Jayce was out. Your workload was heavier than usual. You hadn’t had coffee, and you hadn’t eaten all day.

So, instead of feeding into it, you focused on your food. You took a bite from the edge of your wrap, careful not to let the contents spill from the sides. It hurt to open your mouth too wide. Your lips had been painfully chapped for a month now. February was creeping closer, and with it came dry skin, exhaustion, and the growing desire to sleep at your desk instead of work.

Your bottom lip had split more times than you could count in the past week, but you hadn’t done much to fix it either. No time for chapstick when you could barely keep up with everything else.

Violet had noticed.

You always got like this in the winter; pushier, more irritable. You weren’t as unbearable when the weather warmed up, but your attitude toward her never thawed. You were always on edge around her, always competing, always watching.

She had caught you staring the day Caitlyn pulled her aside to discuss a raise, the same day you had taken on extra side gigs and hadn’t gotten so much as a mention. She had seen you fist your hair at your desk after downing your fifth cup of coffee. She had been on the receiving end of your little retaliations, the way you’d ruin her things in ways so small they could almost be called accidents.

Violet had always noticed.

“A chicken wrap with a side of blood,” she mused lightly, resting her hip against the counter.

Your chewing slowed for a beat before resuming, your brows furrowing just slightly. You still curled and coated your lashes every morning for work with an older tube of mascara you couldn’t seem to let go, still maintained some things about yourself, but you weren’t oblivious. You knew you looked rough lately.

“You seriously need chapstick,” Violet continued, eyeing your lips with something between amusement and concern. “That’s gotta hurt.”

It was the first semi-joke she’d made around you since November. It wasn’t even really a joke, but it was… easier to hear than the usual biting remarks.

You swallowed your food and huffed. “My lips are none of your business, nor your concern. I’m applying chapstick just fine. It’s allergies.”

Wrong.

Allergies were the least of your problems. You had been biting your lips raw and were probably vitamin deficient in more ways than one. Even Jayce had commented on it the other day, asking if you were cosplaying as a grumpy vampire or some other nonsense.

Violet scoffed. “Are you looking to eat your lunch or your lips?” She rubbed her own lips absently, likely remembering the thin scar that stretched across her upper lip from training. “You’re running on nothing but caffeine. Have you forgotten what real food tastes like?”

You scowled, cutting her off before she could continue. “Why are you in here?”

Audrey blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the abrupt subject change.

“I mean, I could be just as annoying, but I’m not in the mood, West.”

She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head with a small smirk, arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes hesitated for just a second, catching the way the layers of her uniform—button-down and blazer—did nothing to hide the muscle beneath them.

What kind of moron actually wore both layers inside HQ?

“Why?” she taunted. “Because you’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine? Or because Jayce isn’t here to defend you?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Are you fucking serious?” you huffed, your voice laced with disbelief. “You think Jayce not being here affects how I feel?”

The defensiveness in your tone was embarrassingly obvious, and Violet knew it. Her lips quirked upward, her smirk deepening.

“Well,” she dragged the word out in fake thought, pursing her lips in a way that made your eye twitch. “Can you blame me? Your only real friend isn’t here, and now you’re just moping around HQ. Moping around with your head down, and your ass up.”

“Do not say that,” you snapped, your irritation spiking.

Audrey grinned like she had just won a prize. “Really? You draw the line at a simile?”

Your brows furrowed. “A what? That’s a metaphor, you slow beet.”

Audrey should have been offended—I mean, you had just called her slow—but instead, she froze for half a second, her expression shifting to something almost amused.

“…Did you just call me a beet?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “A beet-root. For a choppy haircut, you’d think you’d at least change the color to redeem yourself. You look like a damn beet.”

Audrey’s lips twisted into a half-smirk, half-grin.

“Wow, (Y/N),” she murmured. “Did you just make a joke?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your pride plummeted.

She thought you were joking. Audrey—Audrey fucking West—thought you had joked with her?

The realization made your grip tighten around your soda can, your lips pressing inward as if disgusted by yourself. You wanted to grab the words back, throw them out, insist that you meant that as an insult, not a joke.

But you couldn’t.

And that grin on her face? That damn grin?

It made you want to rip your hair out.

“Never-fucking-mind.”

Vi undid the cuffs of her button-down, rolling up the sleeves until the fabric no longer restricted her movements. Tattoo work peeking out. The uniform was fine—professional, sleek, practical—but nobody actually liked wearing it. Not in the HQ.

Across the office, Jayce’s voice rang out, louder than necessary, pulling her attention. She glanced up briefly, watching as he bantered with one of the techs. Jayce was easy to get along with. Smart, good with computers, and a complete slacker when given the chance. She had no issue with him personally. When the two of them worked together, they wasted time more often than not, but when Jayce worked with you? Somehow, he managed to joke around and get things done. Maybe that’s why Caitlyn didn’t mind having his desk right next to yours.

Vi exhaled in amusement but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the office much, her job kept her busy elsewhere. Restocking gear, replenishing ammunition, training the interns who wanted to join the department someday. It was a privilege, but it was also pretty exhausting. Still, she knew she was the favorite around here, and that privilege came with its own set of complications.

Caitlyn had once commented on it—on you and her—during a routine weapons inventory.

“Everything good between you and Thorne? You don’t seem close, but your work styles mesh well. You’re both dedicated.”

The statement had been so off-base she almost laughed. Close? Not even remotely. But that wasn’t on Vi.

You had been different lately. More distant.

No spilled coffee on her desk, no mysteriously shredded files, no petty, one-sided beef getting in the way of the workday. Odd.

Then again, you had been odd lately in general.

The banter had lessened. Sure, a few snide remarks here and there, but the tantrums, as Vi fondly called them, had also significantly decreased. She wasn’t sure if she found that concerning or relieving.

Casually, her gaze drifted across the office until it landed on you.

You sat with your legs crossed, the tip of your heeled boot absently twisting under your desk. Your trench coat hung over the back of your chair as it normally did. You only wore it when the building’s heater was busted or if you had gotten caught in the rain.

Pencil skirt. Off-white ironed button-down. Navy tie. Black pantyhose.

Mel didn’t bother with the extra layers or formalities, but you did.

Vi exhaled at the realization. You had fashion preferences, apparently.

Funny. And a little uncanny, imagining you caring about anything other than being annoyed, irritated, or outright pissed. That’s all you were to her: a tightly wound ball of something pent up and ready to just snap.

Though… she did sort of pity you at times. Again, at times.

You turned in your chair, handing Jayce a stack of printed files, speaking lowly to him before refocusing on your own work.

Vi continued watching, still as an observer. Bored. You, Jayce, Mel, and Viktor held the office together while she spent most of her time outside of it. She only came in once a week, just enough to notice that, despite all your efforts, you were stretching yourself too thin.

You made things harder for yourself. She knew that.

Her gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to your legs.

She blinked.

Weird.

She had never really looked at you before, not past all the other stuff; the petty rivalry, the constant need to one-up her, the way you made every little thing a competition.

It wasn’t exactly easy to look beyond that.

And yet, she hesitated before glancing back, this time without moving her head, just her eyes.

You weren’t… unattractive.

Her fingers tensed slightly against the armrest of her chair before she shifted, leaning into her palm instead.

You had good facial symmetry. Nice skin—tired, sure, but even Jayce had made jokes about you cosplaying a grumpy vampire lately. It was funny, but to you? You were furious, but hey, you started to apply chapstick more often throughout shifts. Your makeup was always neatly applied, and your uniform fit well—not too tight, not too loose.

You also cared about appearances. Not just your own, but others’.

Vi silently grinned at the memory of your voice echoing through the office just a few weeks ago:

“So unprofessional. It’s embarrassing. Don’t wear a badge and walk around in saggy pants. You went to university for what? To not know how to measure your own waist? Gosh.”

You’d aimed it at Jayce after he had opted for a more relaxed fit, but your commentary extended to everyone who slacked off in dress code.

Audrey exhaled slowly.

Then, unfortunately, you caught her staring.

Her body tensed as your gaze flickered to hers, and she immediately cleared her throat, shifting to cover her mouth like she had just zoned out. Definitely not like she had just been looking at you for longer than necessary. Longer than she had ever looked at you, really.

You furrowed your brows, shook your head slightly, then returned to work.

Vi sighed, pressing further into her palm.

Her eyes shifted to Mel as she strode across the office, posture perfect, heels clicking at a steady pace, files balanced in one arm. A sweetheart. Objectively, Mel was a beautiful woman, but Vi didn’t know her well. Certainly not as well as she knew you.

When Mel passed, she caught sight of you again, now looking down at paperwork with those stupid reading glasses perched on your nose. Looking like you were gonna pop a blood vessel.

They looked ridiculous on you, far too big for your face, because Jayce had so helpfully gotten you the wrong size.

“Didn’t know they’d be big on you, (Y/N). Relax, relax.”

Indeed, you did not relax. You had thrown a fit.

It was… kinda cute.

Audrey blinked, her lips parting slightly.

Wait.

What? No.

She must be losing her mind. She straightened in her chair, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t blind, she could admit when someone looked good—but this was you.

You, of all people. The epitome of stress and irritation in her damned life. So what if you were pretty? Every woman was pretty in their own way. It didn’t mean anything.

Audrey forced her gaze away, focusing on the stack of paperwork she had been handed—a rare task for her, but one she had to do nonetheless. Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe her cycle was about to start. Definitely not you.

Another week passed. Your workload was heavier than usual, keeping you out of Jayce’s business, out of Mel’s, even out of Viktor’s. Caitlyn had given you a detailed to-do list. You. Not Beckett, not Zade, not West. Agent Thorne.

You had come into work on Thursday morning already exhausted, having snoozed through all three of your alarms. You almost knew this week was going to end badly—your track record with jinxing yourself was near flawless. But for once, it didn’t.

Your hands hovered over the case file on your desk. A fresh case. Not one of Jayce’s hand-me-downs, not something already combed through a dozen times. The seal along the side was still intact, a loud, physical reminder that no one had read this yet. Your heartbeat thrummed against your ribs.

Your fingers tensed as you looked up, scanning the office. Everyone was busy.

Was this actually meant for you?

The doubt crept in before you could stop it. Was it bad that you questioned this? That you questioned being given your own case? Jayce’s voice echoed in the back of your mind—“You’re too hard on yourself. Just take the damn opportunity.” You wanted this. You had been waiting for this. Caitlyn was trusting you with the first glance, the first look, the first opinions, the first impression.

You exhaled, shaking off the nerves as you sat down. The file was thin, because you were the one who would be passing it around, not the one receiving it after five other agents had already picked it apart.

“Soft tacos,” Jayce whistled in pure delight, stretching his legs out under his desk.

You didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning like a damn idiot. No one but Jayce would be eating soft tacos at eight in the morning. And not even the good kind, these weren’t the ones he brought back after holidays at his mom’s house. These were microwaved, doused in sour cream, and inhaled like he was running late to something.

Jayce plopped into his chair beside you, lifting the taco to his mouth, but he barely got a bite in before his body jerked forward, his eyes going wide.

You turned, brows pulling together. “Jayce, it’s a Dollar General taco. You—”

“No way! You got a case?”

Jayce cut you off, speaking through the mouthful of scalding-hot taco, eyes glued to the file in your hands. You grimaced at the sight. He hadn’t even swallowed before rushing the words out. But then, you realized that’s why he had burned himself. He had been so excited to say something that he hadn’t waited for his food to cool.

Pride? Your heart picked up slightly at the thought. Jayce, your desk partner, your closest ally in this damn office, looked genuinely excited.

“Oh, yeah. I— I think I did?” you said, unsure. “I mean, Caitlyn could’ve meant to leave this on your desk for all I know.”

Jayce raised his brows, leaning back in his chair. His taco hovered in his left hand, airing out now that he’d learned his lesson. “Mel was right. You’re a pessimist.”

“What?” You put the file down carefully. “It’s not pessimism. It’s called being realistic.”

“That sounds boring as hell,” Jayce mused, clearly amused. He was a realist too, but unlike you, he had an open mind when it came to cases. You treated every file like it was life or death, like one wrong note would collapse the entire operation.

“Whoever highlighted the third section word for word is an absolute idiot. No one is reading that. It doesn’t support the evidence or the tax fraud either.” You had once scoffed, tearing open a fresh pack of sticky notes.

Or: “Let me guess. Whoever started this case let an intern do the honors. Jesus. What is happening.”

“I’d rather be boring than wrong,” you countered, turning back toward your desk, firing up your computer. You draped your coat over your lap for warmth. Your office chair was always too cold in the mornings.

“You’re often both of those things.”

“Sorry—? Oh. It’s just you.”

Your voice flatlined the second you spotted Violet standing behind Jayce. Your face dropped, irritation slipping in as she leaned against the back of your chair, one hand perched on her hip.

Jayce twisted around, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “West! Good to see you, as always. Even if Cait put us on opposite ends of the office.”

You blinked in confusion as the two of them exchanged a ridiculously complicated handshake, your stomach twisting slightly.

Of course Violet was buttering up Jayce. He was your closest friend in HQ, and yet here they were, shaking hands like they had some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of. Not even you had a handshake with Jayce.

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet brushed it off. “I’ll talk her into putting me right between you and grumpy over here.” She nodded toward you.

“You wish,” you scoffed, clicking through your unread emails. The blue light from your screen reflected on your face, making your eyes narrow slightly as you read. Your legs pressed together under your coat, absorbing what little warmth you could get.

Violet teasing you in front of Jayce wasn’t new. Not even close. But something else was.

This wasn’t the first time you had caught her looking at you differently.

It wasn’t just the usual watching to make fun of you anymore.

It had happened in the lounge, on the training field, even when she thought you hadn’t noticed. She was good at eye contact—everyone knew this—but lately? Lately, she had been slipping.

Apparently, you had grown an extra pair of eyes on your uniform, because Violet had been staring at you more than usual.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Unfortunately, Jayce kept talking.

“Thorne got her first case,” he grinned, pointing at you with his pinky. You felt your fingers tighten around the mouse. Jayce. Seriously? Why was he telling people?

Audrey tilted her head, attention shifting fully to you. “Cool. I can give her a few tips and tricks, as someone who’s gone through a dozen or so.”

The last thing you needed was Violet West handing you advice. If she did, she’d rub it in your face for weeks. She’d take credit for half the investigation. She’d never shut up about it.

You snapped your gaze up, meeting hers.

“I’m good,” you said, your voice flat. “I don’t need your help.”

You barely moved, but there was a twitch, something small, something almost unnoticeable. Violet’s eyes flickered from yours, down to your tie. Your fingers moved automatically, adjusting it. A habit, one she had clearly picked up on, because she reached for her own and tugged it into place like she was mirroring you.

Was she taunting you?

“My desk has enough room for two,” Violet said, pivoting on her heel. As she turned, you caught a glimpse of that Roman numeral tattoo under her left eye, barely concealed beneath a thin layer of lazy concealer. It didn’t concern you. Why would it? Who the hell got a tattoo on their face?

So unprofessional.

“Yeah, I bet it does. Call a therapist.” You muttered the words just loud enough to be caught in the silence of HQ. Violet didn’t miss a beat, letting out a laugh that shook her shoulders slightly. Your eyes flickered to the way her body moved with it, a ripple of motion.

“Not what I meant, but alright, Thorne.”

Jayce, still chewing, raised a brow and looked between you and the door as Violet exited, then turned back to you.

“Is there something going on, or…?”

“Always,” you said, voice rough but not nearly as irritated as it should have been. That realization bothered you. Normally, you’d be clenching your fists, itching with irritation, but the usual sneer wasn’t there. Jayce definitely noticed, blinking at your quick response.

“…Ooookay then.” He dragged the word out but shrugged, returning to his disgusting breakfast taco.

Still nasty.

Never in your life had you thought you’d enjoy working on a murder case. It sounded strange from an outside perspective, but getting your first solo case had been something you had wanted—had waited for—for three years. And it was worth it. You had spent overtime in the office, completely immersed.

Highlighting sections, sticking tabs on documents, writing down key notes. By the time you finished, two markers had dried out, and a busted pen had leaked ink all over your palm from how hard you had pressed it against the paper. But it was done. You finally dropped the completed file on Caitlyn’s desk before clocking out.

Walking outside alone, the night air was cold, biting at the skin of your legs despite the sheer pantyhose you had layered under your knee-high boots. Practical, comfortable. You weren’t a fan of showing too much calf, it just felt better this way.

By the time Monday rolled around, you were dead on your feet. No one enjoyed a Monday morning, especially not in early March when climate change was kicking everyone’s ass. Walking into HQ, the air inside was warmer than the entrance, and shrugging off your trench coat felt like a small relief.

“Finishing an entire case file in a day. That’s impressive.”

You almost jumped out of your boots.

Some asshole had breathed down your neck, not literally, but close enough. You whipped around, half-asleep daze completely shattered.

West.

Again.

You exhaled sharply, so close to snapping. “Can you not go around scaring people half to death for once?”

Violet didn’t even look sorry. She stood there, perfectly smug, like she had just told the funniest joke of the century. You wet your lips, easing the sting from the cold. Your jaw tensed before you finally said what had been lingering in your mind for the past two weeks.

“Are you okay?”

Violet tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah, I’m all good. Perfect, actually. Woke up today, had breakfast for once—it was delicious. Had a cup of coffee, and—”

“I don’t care about your damn coffee,” you cut in, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Or how perfect and sparkly with unicorns your morning has been, West. You know what I’m asking. Don’t act dense.”

You weren’t the only one who had noticed.

The way you two spoke had changed. The fights were less. The banter was different. You had stopped arguing over stupid things; eye contact, for example. It had stopped feeling taunting and started feeling like…

Like something else.

Something you hated.

You scolded yourself for it, constantly. In meetings, when Caitlyn said something that involved Violet, your eyes automatically found her. You expected her to look back.

It made you uncomfortable.

And now, here she was, grinning like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I think unicorns are pretty cool, though. Can’t lie.”

You inhaled sharply.

“This isn’t about unicorns—! You’re actually going to give me a headache.”

You dragged a hand down your face, exasperated. Violet laughed, the sound light and unbothered, as she toyed with her lanyard. Her ID badge swayed slightly, catching the overhead lighting.

You hated that grin.

Mostly because you had no idea what it meant anymore.

The air felt different. It wasn’t just the stares that carried a new weight—it was the shift in body language, the subtle shifts that were hard to ignore. Your temper had settled, your instinctive irritation toward Violet dulled. Her jokes still grated on your nerves, but the feeling in your chest wasn’t heavy anymore.

Humiliating. That’s what it was.

Not liking Violet was what kept you going. As terrible as it was to admit, hating her pushed you— forced you to be better, to work harder, to be faster than her. But now? Now, that loathing had soured into something sickly, something different. Interest. God, even thinking that word made you feel ridiculous.

You shouldn’t be this hung up on whatever unspoken thing was happening. It was probably a joke. Another way for her to get under your skin. Or maybe she was just bored, looking for entertainment at your expense. You needed to cut this off, now, before it spiraled into something even worse.

You turned, walked back to your desk, and dropped your bag beside your chair with a sigh that rattled through your chest. You weren’t stupid. You were looking for something, some kind of reassurance, confirmation that Violet wasn’t thinking the same things you were. But it wasn’t there. She was still watching. And when she got up, taking something of Caitlyn’s to the lounge, your body moved before your brain caught up.

Jayce didn’t even bother questioning it. You’d been making excuses to leave all week. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you inhaled deeply and stepped out, boots clicking steadily against the floor. You swiped your ID at the lounge door, pushing it open, already knowing exactly who you’d find.

Violet did a double take.

She hadn’t expected you to follow. A conversation in the office? That was normal. You coming to her without Jayce nowhere nearby? Not so much.

“Had a feeling you’d follow me here,” she lied.

“Sure you did,” you deadpanned, dropping your ID onto the counter and leaning against it. Violet eyes flickered, hesitated. She was staring again, and you noticed. You both noticed.

This wasn’t the usual hostile tension between you two. It wasn’t irritation or resentment. It was something else, something you didn’t want to name. Something that made your skin burn.

“This needs to stop,” you cut in before she could say anything.

Audrey’s brows knit together, feigning confusion. But you knew she understood.

“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, Thorne.” Her voice was slow, calculated. “You started this. All of it, I mean—picking fights, sabotaging me, making this job feel like a competition.”

You didn’t have an ego. That’s what you told yourself. But your pride? It had always been fed by approval. A nod from Caitlyn, praise from the department, respect from your coworkers.

But none of that ever filled the hole, did it?

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight, irritation slipping into your tone. A familiar reaction. One Violet was used to by now.

It shouldn’t be her attention that made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t be her opinions that made your skin tickle. And yet, here you were. A few days ago, you had actually questioned whether thinner tights would make your legs stand out more. Whether a thicker lash would make your eyes more striking during those lingering glances. Whether she had noticed the slightly darker tie you had worn that day.

She had noticed all of it.

Violet’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts. “Do you hate me?”

Your breath caught. You stiffened. Yes. Yes.

But your lips pressed together.

“No,” you managed.

“No?” Violet repeated.

“Yes, I do,” you corrected, but your voice wobbled. It sounded weak, like even you didn’t believe it. Violet head tilted slightly, her maroon hair slipping over her face the way it always did.

How was she not dying in a suit like that every day?

“Yes, no, yes, no,” she mused, her tone deliberately teasing. “You’re stuttering.”

Your legs pressed together instinctively, your pencil skirt suddenly feeling too much, too tight, too revealing.

You were a pain in the ass. That was the best way to describe you. Someone who knew exactly what to say, what to do, to get a reaction out of you.

Violet was someone who never needed approval, who carried herself like she owned the room. And now, that smugness was focused entirely on you.

The room felt hot. You reached for your collar, but before your fingers could slip beneath the fabric, Violet voice stopped you.

“You don’t have to wear that tie if you have to keep loosening it.” Her voice was softer now, but still edged with something knowing. “You have tons of bad habits. Can’t expect you to just stop.”

Your fingers froze around the fabric.

Then, she stepped forward.

Her presence was impossible to ignore. Broader frame, heavier stance, rougher edges. Her hands slid into her pockets, the motion easy, casual, like she wasn’t closing the space between you two on purpose.

She was.

You were still against the counter, meaning she had the height advantage now. Even though the difference wasn’t that much, standing above you like this, she felt taller.

Her fingers hesitated before brushing against the smooth white collar of your shirt. Your breath hitched. Your skin burned.

Your eyes flickered, searching for an escape—except you didn’t want to escape. Her thumb traced up and down along your pulse, slow and deliberate. Your stomach curled.

Then, she nudged your chin up. The silence was unbearable.

“Violet,” you breathed.

Her hand faltered.

Three years of strict last-name basis, and now you had just said it.

No one called her Violet. No one. It was always something shorter, sharper, less personal.

You sounded good saying it.

“Violet? So professional,” she taunted, her fingers tapping against your cheek. It wasn’t meant to piss you off. But you wanted to piss her off.

Your fingers shot out, grabbing the tie between them, yanking her closer. Embarrassingly, your noses bumped. But that didn’t stop you. One hand fisted around the tie, the other gripping her bicep, steady, grounding. You felt the way her muscles tensed beneath your palm, felt the pause as her breath hitched.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips caught hers, firm, certain, and when she didn’t pull away—when she didn’t resist—you took.

You felt the scar along her upper lip, traced the curve of it with your own mouth, tasted the hesitation that melted into something hotter, something heavier. Mapping her out like you were willing to change professions.

Violet didn’t know what to do with her hands at first. They hovered at your back, hesitant, but her eyes were barely cracked open, watching, waiting.

Either you could stop here, or you could throw everything out the window.

Then you bit her fuller bottom lip, tugging and letting it ripple into place.

Violet groaned.

And suddenly, the second option sounded so much more appealing.

Vi hadn’t expected this—ever.

You had always been untouchable. Not in the literal sense, but in every way that mattered. Unreachable, impenetrable, untamed in your own rigid way. You did what you needed to do: woke up, worked, excelled, then left the HQ like none of it ever touched you.

But this?

Vi barely had time to register it before her hands moved, gripping your hips, pulling at your pencil skirt with little care, silently begging, urging for things to move further.

Your knees buckled as Vi backed you against the table, the cool marble pressing into the backs of your thighs as she settled between them, crowding you, consuming every ounce of space.

Her fingers looped through the knot of your tie—that stupid, fidgeted-with-like-a-necklace tie—and with a single, sharp tug, it came loose. Slipping down, forgotten.

Then, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pressing her lips against yours with something so deep, so thick with years of this, years of tension, of misplaced resentment, of fuck, how did we get here—

And yet, neither of you wanted to stop.

Vi’s fingers traced from the back of your neck to the front of your throat, just barely gripping, teasing, testing. It was already hard to breathe, but the idea of that, of her taking it just a little further, had your stomach twisting.

Kissing the woman you had despised for years was going to be hilarious to explain.

But later.

Not now.

“Is the door—locked?” you barley managed out, your glossed lips brushing against hers, voice raw, uneven. Vi shook her head, hummed, lips curling against yours.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, hands moving—one sliding down to your thigh, gripping, pulling, propping it around her waist.

Then her mouth descended.

Hot, wet kisses trailed down the slope of your throat, her tongue flicking out just slightly, tasting, savoring the mix of sweat and whatever faint perfume lingered on your skin.

Your pulse pounded beneath her lips, and Vi felt something deep in her tighten at the sound of your breath hitching, the way your body gave just slightly, as if caught between pure instinct and resistance.

Then, smack.

Her palm landed against the underside of your thigh, firm, not particularly harsh, but deliberate.

A sharp, raspy gasp broke from your lips, your body twitching against hers, your bottom lip swollen from the way you had abused it between sloppy, desperate kisses.

Vi’s eyes flickered, catching the way you tensed, how your cheeks were burning, how your hands trembled against her chest.

Everything needed to come off.

Her fingers dragged up your thigh. Rubbing in slow, lazy circles before moving up, slipping beneath the first few buttons of your work blouse.

One by one.

Single-handedly.

Meticulously.

You slowly sucked in a breath, your own hands fisting the fabric of her blazer.

This was—just kissing. Yeah.

Vi let go of you entirely, her fingers deftly working the rest of your buttons open, sliding the blouse off your shoulders before tossing it onto the chair beside the table. Her gaze swept over you, dark and unreadable, before she bit her bottom lip, teeth raking over it as she exhaled through her nose.

She didn't know what was better; finally having you, the woman who had spent years making her job hell, unraveling beneath her touch, or the sheer fact that you looked this damn good doing it.

Her hand moved instinctively, fingers splaying across the lace covering your chest, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric. She pressed a kiss between the valley of your breasts, slow, before trailing up, tongue flicking over your collarbone, tasting the faint traces of perfume and heat.

The sounds leaving your lips sent something sharp through her, something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before now. Your legs tensed around her hips, a slow, burning heat building between them. Your pussy was drenched.

Then, she moved. Rolling her hips forward, pressing herself against you, the friction earning a shaky grunt from your throat.

You felt good.

Her hand traced down your spine, unhooking your bra with ease. The straps loosened, fabric slipping from your body, and Vi took a step back to let her eyes drag over you.

She dampened her lips. "I'm so lucky to see you like this. So gorgeous.”

Her voice was lower now, rougher, hands returning to you. Thumbs circling your nipples, teasing, before sliding down to your waist.

She sat you up, lips grazing your jaw, before murmuring, "What happened to that mouth of yours?"

Her fingers flicked over your erect breasts, and your breath hitched, body arching slightly before you could stop yourself. The sound you made earned a knowing chuckle from her, and before you could snap at her for it, she was moving again, pressing you back against the table.

Then, her hands slid down your thighs, rolling your skirt up at an agonizing pace.

Vi huffed, giving your knee a light tap.

"Is the pantyhose really necessary?"

You exhaled sharply. "Yes. It is."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something amused behind it, something fond—before her fingers traced slow circles over the thin, black fabric covering you.

And then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers through the material and tore it.

A sharp gasp left your lips. "Vi! Those were expen—"

She silenced you with another sharp tug, the ruined fabric giving way enough to give her the space she wanted. She could have pulled them down, but this was much better.

The sight of you like this, obedient beneath her, legs trembling slightly, breath uneven

She wanted to ruin you further. Needed you.

Jesus.

Her hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting and adjusting them until they rested over her shoulders.

Your breathing hitched, erratic. You knew what was coming, felt it before it even happened, but when her lips finally met your pussy; wet and painfully slow. You gasped, your spine curving inward, nails curling into the marble beneath you.

A broken sound left you, high and breathless. "That’s so good."

Vi huffed a quiet laugh against you. "I haven't even started yet."

She hooked your panties aside, her mouth pressing against you fully, tongue dragging slow, then flicking, savoring, sucking on your swelled clit. She worked like she had time, like this was something to be unraveled piece by piece, something she could take apart and put back together again.

Your clammy hands flew to grip the edge of the table, your body shifting under her touch, her mouth sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"Fuhh—ck, Vi." Your voice cracked.

That only spurred her on, hands gripping your thighs tighter, nails pressing into your skin as she curved her tongue, shifting her movements, searching, memorizing what made you fall apart.

She had spent years watching you, knowing exactly how to get under your skin. It was fun to put it to use.

Vi’s mouth worked you over with hungry desperation, her tongue sucking every inch of skin she could reach. Your folds, pulsing clit, labia—every so often, she flicked her gaze upward, watching you writhe against the table, back arching, lips parting in helpless, breathless sounds.

If she had known this was the key to shutting you up, to making you melt, to finally silencing that sharp mouth of yours—she would have done this sooner.

Her lips curled against you, satisfaction lacing her voice as she murmured, “Good girl. How’s this, hm? Yeah? So good?”

Her breath was hot, damp against your skin, sending a shudder through your sopping core.

Your only response was a whimper, your hand sliding up to your chest; grasping at yourself, desperate for anything to ground you. But the moment you tried to regain control, Vi sucked on your clit once more with enough force to break it.

Your spine arched off the table. Another sharp, wrecked gasp slipped past your lips. Vi’s grip tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer, forcing your legs to stay apart as she devoured you like you were her last damn meal.

The pleasure was too much—too sharp, too overwhelming—but stopping now wasn’t an option.

“So—” your voice trembled, barely coherent, “so, so good, Violet.”

Your hips rocked against her mouth, helpless against the way she was working you over, the way she was holding you down, keeping you open, keeping you hers.

This was insane.

Doing this in the employee lounge? Absolutely wrong.

“Keep your legs around my shoulders,” Vi ordered, voice rough, edged with something close to command. “If you move, I’m stopping.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could protest, she lifted her hand to her lips, sucking two fingers between them, coating them with her own spit. Saliva moved down the digits in thick beads.

Then, she thrusted them inside of you.

Your body jolted, your nails scraping against the table as the pressure spread you open, slick and hot and perfect. You were definitely cracking a nail today.

Audrey whistled lowly, amused, before curling them just right—

“My—God!”

The sound ripped out of you raw and shameless.

Vi hummed, the vibration shattering against you, her fingers sinking deeper, curling again, chasing that sound like it was her new favorite thing in the world.

The sound of your squelching pussy that sucked her in and tightened when she moved even just a second too quickly.

Here’s the refined version with a smoother flow, keeping the intensity and raw emotion intact while making it even more immersive:

“You’re a mess, baby.”

Vi’s voice was thick with amusement, her palm coming down to deliver a second sharp smack against your reddened thigh. Before you could react, she spit. A slow gesture. Watching as it mixed with the release already dripping down your swollen, aching core.

Her right hand never stopped, fingers still working in and out of you, dragging along every sensitive spot. Rough, but slow. Just enough to make sure you felt everything—every curl, every drag, every time she pulled out just to push deeper. Your insides protested, torn between needing a break and wanting more.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Look at you.”

Then, she blew a soft stream of air over your glistening cunt, watching the way your body twitched in response.

Your head was somewhere else. Your hips moved on their own, helpless to the sensation coursing through you. Strings of moans and profanity fell from your lips, your body tightening around her fingers, pulsing—begging without words.

“Vi,” you whimpered. Your lashes damp with unshed tears.

She hummed in response, but didn’t let up, her fingers keeping that same relentless, torturous pace. A shaky moan ripped from your throat, your thighs trembling over her shoulders.

“I think—I think I’m going to come.”

Vi’s ashy eyes flicked up to you at your words, dark and heated, before her lips curled.

“Yeah?”

She then went faster.

Your gasp turned into a cry, body jolting at the sharp, intense pleasure flooding your sensitive nerves. There was no way no one had heard you two—not when you were here, back arched, lips parted, begging for her, falling apart because of her.

“No—! I—Vi! I can’t—!”

Your legs snapped shut around her head as your body tensed, spine bowing as the orgasm hit you. Ripping through your system, spilling over Vi’s fingers and dripping onto the marble beneath you. Down your used pussy.

Your breathing came in heavy. Overstimulation setting in as your body shuddered through the aftershocks.

Vi finally pulled her fingers from you, gaze flickering between your spent, trembling form and the slick coating her hand. Then, without hesitation, she brought her fingers to her lips and gave them a slow and greedy suck.

Your back falls flat on the cool marble.

Vi had won, again.

Naurrrrrr

I keep seeing Sevika with glasses

So here this

• Denial Is a River in Zaun, Sevika is 1000% convinced her eyes are fine. “I don’t need glasses, you’re just blurry,” she says while squinting directly at your forehead instead of your eyes.

• Hot Girl Nearsightedness, She tries to play it off like she’s intimidating when she’s really just trying to figure out if she’s glaring at Silco or a lamp. You once caught her threatening a coat rack.

• You teasingly call her “Granny Vika” every time she squints or holds something at arm’s length. She grumbles and grabs your ass in retaliation. “Still strong enough to put you over my knee, sweetheart.”

• She Hates the Exam, You finally drag her to an eye exam. She tries to flirt her way out of it. until you sit in her lap and whisper, “If you behave, I’ll let you keep them on while you wreck me later.”

• First Time With Glasses, She puts them on and blinks a few times. “Shit… is that what you look like?” now she won’t stop staring at you like you’re the Mona Lisa with thighs.

• She only wears them around the house, mostly shirtless, reading a book while lounging on the couch. “Ma’am… you can’t just look like someone’s sexy literature professor and expect me to focus.” You tell her. She adjusts glasses slowly “Then don’t.”

• You once walked in on her wearing her glasses, hair messy, tank top half-riding up, reading and you just melted.

• Glasses Stay On, First time you kissed her while she was wearing them, you fogged them up so bad she had to take them off. Now she keeps lens wipes by the bed. She calls it “battle prep.”

• Ultimate Weakness, You grab her glasses and wear nothing else. She stops whatever she’s doing—mid-sentence, mid-sip, mid-growl—and just stares. “…Goddamn. Come here. I can’t even be mad.”

pls pls pls i need long fanfictions (preferrably at least 30k words or more) centered on silco and vander im okay with all warnings as long as there's no noncon or minor