era.

🗞️. no one noticed; caitlyn kiramman [angst]

🎱. t!ts; vi [smut]

🗞️. heavy; caitlyn kiramman [fluff]

ABQ; [c.k]

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the rustling of sheets. Outside, the city murmurs faintly through the open window — distant carriage wheels, laughter from some late-night revelers, a patrolman's whistle carried in by the cool night breeze.

Caitlyn's breath is warm against your skin, slow and steady. She’s lying on her stomach, sprawled between your legs, head resting on your belly like it's the only pillow that could ever bring her peace. Her arms are draped beneath your thighs, caging you in a way that feels more comforting than confining — like even in sleep, she doesn’t want to let go.

The soft violet nightdress she wears clings loosely to her figure, half-twisted from how she collapsed on the bed. The fabric brushes your skin where it rides up her hip, and one of her feet dangles off the edge of the mattress, sockless and chilled. She had come home late, hair mussed, uniform discarded in a trail from the front door to your shared room, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but soft when they landed on you.

Now, her cheek is pressed to your stomach, her lashes fanned out in contrast against the faint circles under her eyes. You run your fingers lightly through her hair, gently detangling the knots that the day left behind.

“You’re gonna fall asleep like this,” you murmur, not really trying to wake her.

“Mmhmm,” she hums without lifting her head, voice like silk slipping off a shelf. “Comfortable.”

“You’re crushing my bladder.”

“You’ll live.”

You snort, the sound breaking the hush of the night. Her arms tighten slightly under your legs, and she lets out a long breath, melting into you further. Her breath tickles your skin, and your fingers pause, brushing the back of her neck where her baby hairs are damp with sweat. Her skin is warm, a little too warm — the kind of heat that comes from overworking, from too many hours spent in Piltover’s sun chasing shadows and chasing justice.

“You didn’t eat,” you say softly. “There’s soup on the stove.”

“Too tired. You’re warm. You smell nice.” Her words slur into each other, more instinct than speech.

You stroke the shell of her ear and smile. “You smell like gunpowder and long hours.”

Caitlyn chuckles against your stomach. “Sexy.”

“Wildly.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The fan continues to spin overhead. You can hear her heartbeat, steady and slow, and you match your breathing to hers. Your fingers trail over her shoulder blades, where old scars still sit like ghosts — remnants of a life dedicated to chasing danger. She never talks about them, but she doesn’t flinch when you touch them either. She trusts you.

You press a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re allowed to rest, you know.”

“I am resting. You’re very restable.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now.”

You smile again, brushing your thumb along the ridge of her shoulder. “You don’t always have to be the protector. You don’t have to carry it all.”

“I know,” she says after a beat, quieter now. “But sometimes I don’t know how to set it down.”

You understand. You always have. Caitlyn Kiramman, the golden girl of Piltover, the Sheriff’s pride, the noble daughter — she walks with expectations stacked higher than her own name. But here, in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, tangled in your sheets with her head on your stomach and hair falling into her eyes, she’s just Caitlyn. Just tired, tender, and yours.

“You don’t have to know how,” you whisper. “Just let me hold it with you.”

One eye peeks open, glassy with fatigue but lit with something soft. She turns her face slightly, enough to press a kiss to the space just above your navel. It lingers, a silent thank you, a promise.

“Love you,” she murmurs, lips barely moving.

You smile, and this time it reaches your chest, blooming slow and steady like a secret. “I love you too.”

The city outside continues its lullaby, but inside your room, time has slowed. Caitlyn shifts slightly, curling further into you, and you rest both hands on her back, anchoring her there. She’s asleep before the next minute passes, her weight heavy but familiar.

rushed and lowkey shitty. I apologise (reqs are closed for now!)

Ellie Williams was a mess.

Not in the way most people were—she wasn’t disorganized or reckless (well, not always). But socially? Academically? Romantically? Yeah. She was an absolute loser.

And for some godforsaken reason, you liked her anyway.

It was late. The campus library had long since emptied, and the two of you sat on the grass just outside, your backs resting against a brick wall. Ellie had a cigarette between her fingers, but it had burned out ages ago. She was too distracted to notice.

You. You were the problem.

You had been teasing her all day, poking fun at her shitty notes, the way she mumbled under her breath when she concentrated, the way her ears burned whenever you leaned in too close.

And you were doing it again now, looking at her with that knowing smirk, eyes flickering down to her mouth like you were waiting for her to do something.

Ellie swallowed.

She was trying so hard to play it cool, but you had her fucked up.

“You gonna kiss me or just stare at me all night?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Ellie blinked. “I—what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie.”

She froze.

That tone—the way you said her name, like it was a command, like you knew she was about to listen to you no matter what you said—yeah. That did it.

Ellie dropped the dead cigarette, barely noticing as she leaned in, hesitating just a second before finally—

Kissing you.

It was messy.

Ellie kissed like she was afraid you’d change your mind, all heat and desperation, like she’d been waiting for this but had no idea what to do now that she finally had it.

You smiled against her lips, one hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, tugging her even closer.

Ellie groaned softly, already dizzy, already in way too deep.

She pulled you into her lap, hands clumsy on your waist, half-afraid to touch you too much but needing you closer all the same.

You pulled back just slightly, lips so close to hers, and smirked.

“You’re a terrible kisser.”

Ellie’s brain short-circuited. Literally.

“Excuse me?”

You laughed, pressing a quick peck to her jaw before whispering, “But I think it’s cute.”

Ellie groaned, tilting her head back against the brick wall. “You’re so fucking mean to me.”

You just grinned, kissing her again. “You like it.”

And yeah. Yeah, she really fucking did. So much so that she didn't hesitate to push you flat against the grass, ignoring your complaints about the 'dirt' or something. She didn't care, all she cared about was that you weren't pushing her away.

Part I: Childhood Ties

The first time Vi saw you, you were sitting on the cracked pavement of the Lanes, your arms wrapped in bandages. The kids whispered about you—about the burns you hid under the fabric, about how strange you were. But Vi never cared about any of that.

"Hey," she said, plopping down beside you, her red hair messy from another scuffle with the older kids. "You okay?"

You looked up, eyes wary. No one ever asked you that.

"I'm fine," you mumbled, pulling your sleeves down.

Vi huffed. "Yeah, well, I don’t believe that. But you don’t have to tell me, alright? Just… I’ll sit with you."

And she did. Day after day, she stayed by your side, never asking about the bandages, never treating you like you were fragile. Over time, you started to believe her—believe that she truly saw you. You weren’t just another kid surviving in the Lanes. You were someone to her.

And maybe, just maybe, she was everything to you.

But then, Vi disappeared.

She was gone. And the only thing left behind was chaos.

You watched as Silco’s men tore the Lanes apart, leaving nothing but ashes and blood in their wake. No one stopped them. No one fought back. Not after Vander was gone. And you—alone, abandoned—realized something that day.

You were done being helpless.

Part II: Seven

Seven years later. The Lanes were still the same. Or maybe they were worse.

You had changed, though.

Your once-short hair now cascaded in dark waves, a curtain hiding the person you once were. Your arms—scarred and calloused—were no longer bandaged in shame but covered in a worn-out jacket, one that shielded you from the cold but not the memories. And your weapon—a curved blade, rusted with time and bathed in red—was the only companion that never left your side.

For seven years, you had painted the streets with the blood of Silco’s men. They called you a monster, a devil, a shadow with a laugh that echoed in nightmares.

You didn’t care.

They deserved it.

Every. Single. One.

And then, one night, you heard a familiar name whispered among them.

Vi.

Alive.

Coming back.

They were hunting her.

Part III: Reunion in Blood

Vi gritted her teeth as she slammed her fists into the nearest goon, but she was outnumbered. For every one she took down, two more surrounded her. She had barely gotten out of Stillwater—barely breathed fresh air—and now she was about to be dragged back into the abyss.

Her vision blurred as a pipe struck the side of her head. She stumbled, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

And then she heard it.

A giggle.

A low, teasing giggle that spiraled into maniacal laughter.

The goons froze.

"Shit—" one of them stammered, looking around frantically.

Then came the slashes.

Screams.

The sound of flesh tearing, of bodies dropping, of fear consuming even the bravest of them.

Vi tried to focus, her head spinning, her fists clenched.

Then she heard it.

"Oh, you haven’t seen nothing yet," a dark voice whispered. "Not after what you did to the people I care about."

Her breath hitched.

She knew that voice.

And then the last man dropped, his lifeless body collapsing like a discarded puppet.

You stood there, blood dripping from your blade, your black hair falling over your face, your jacket splattered with red. But it was your eyes—those same, piercing eyes from long ago—that sent a shock through Vi’s chest.

"You," she breathed.

You tilted your head, your dark smile faltering as you stepped closer.

She looked different. Stronger. Worn.

But those same arms, those same eyes—they had never changed.

Her knees buckled, her body too weak to fight any longer. Before she could hit the ground, you caught her.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, lifting her with effort. "You’re still reckless, huh?"

Vi tried to stay awake, tried to say something, but the world faded to black.

Part IV: The Morning After

When Vi woke up, the first thing she noticed was warmth. A rough, familiar hand brushing against her face.

Her eyes fluttered open, and there you were.

So different.

Yet,

So the same.

Your fingers traced the bruise on her cheek gently, your expression unreadable.

"You’re real," Vi murmured, voice hoarse.

Your lips curled slightly, but the weight in your eyes never left.

"You left," you whispered, and Vi swore she heard a tremor in your voice. "You left me here to rot."

Vi swallowed hard. "I didn’t mea—"

You silenced her with a kiss.

Desperate.

Messy.

A collision of pain and longing, of unspoken words and lost time.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against hers.

"You don’t get to leave again," you whispered.

Vi exhaled shakily.

She wouldn’t. Not this time.

And as your fingers curled around hers—scarred and bruised, just like her own—Vi realized something.

Maybe the Lanes had tried to break you both.

But you had survived.

And now, together, she would make sure no one would ever take anything from you again.

Not Silco.

Not anyone.

Vi, Who Knows You Are Insecure About Your Thighs, But She Thinks They're Perfect. That you're perfect.

It starts like it always does—with you fidgeting. Hands gripping at the fabric of your shorts, tugging them lower like it'll change anything. Like it'll shrink the way your thighs press together when you sit, the way they spill over the edge of Vi’s bed just a little too much for your liking.

She sees it. She always sees it.

“Babe,” Vi murmurs from her spot beside you, where she’s been leaning back against the headboard, arms folded like she’s been waiting for this moment. And she has.

You refuse to look at her, but that doesn’t stop her from moving, doesn’t stop the way she shifts onto her knees, crowding into your space. Fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your face toward hers. "What did I tell you about that?"

You open your mouth, but she beats you to it. "No hiding from me." Her voice gentle with a tinge of something you can't put a finger on. Assertiveness? Protectiveness? Or perhaps love.

It’s unfair, really, the way she says it like it’s a rule she expects you to follow, like the shape of you is something you should be flaunting rather than something to tuck away. But Vi doesn't just like your thighs—she worships them. She fixates.

And you know what’s coming next.

Her hands, rough and calloused, slide down your arms, then lower. She palms at the meat of your thigh, gripping, squeezing, before sinking her fingers in like she means to leave marks. Like she wants you to feel her there long after she’s gone.

A quiet sound escapes your lips, and she smirks. “See? Feels good, huh?”

You roll your eyes, shoving weakly at her shoulder, but she just laughs. It’s low, husky, the kind that sends heat curling up your spine. "Nah, you don't get it," Vi says, voice dipping as she leans in, forehead brushing yours. "These thighs, babe? They’re perfect. And not in some half-assed 'oh, you should love yourself' kinda way. I mean it. I need them."

She proves her point by ducking lower, pressing her face to them, mouth ghosting over your skin in something between reverence and hunger. And then she bites—just enough to make you twitch.

"Fuck, you drive me insane," she mutters, dragging her tongue over the spot she just claimed. "D'you know how much I think about these? How much I wanna be between them, under them, pinned 'til I can't fucking move?"

Your face burns. "Vi—"

"Mm-mm." She cuts you off, nosing at your inner thigh, voice thick with something raw. "You're gonna sit there and let me appreciate you. All of you. Especially this." Another squeeze, another kiss, her breath hot against your skin. "So, if you're still thinkin’ about hiding from me? You better unlearn that real quick."

And with the way she’s looking at you—like you’re something to be adored, to be devoured—you think maybe, just maybe, she’s right. (she is)

Caitlyn Kiramman, who is obsessed with your stomach, always touching and pinching, literally cannot get her hands off you.

It starts innocently enough—her palm resting against your stomach when you lie together, fingers tracing idle patterns over the fabric of your shirt. Then it becomes more. A habit, a fixation. She lifts your shirt just to press her cool fingers against your bare skin, watching with a smug little smile as you shiver.

"You're so soft here," she murmurs, voice full of something fond and teasing, pressing her thumb into the dip of your navel. If you're standing, she sidles up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, her hands slipping under your sweater, fingers flexing against your sides. If you're sitting, she rests her head against your lap, cheek pressing against your stomach like it's the most comfortable pillow in the world.

And then there's the pinching—gentle, playful, a slow drag of her fingers followed by the tiniest squeeze at your waist. Enough to make you flinch, to make you swat at her hand, but not enough to make you truly protest. She grins when you gasp, tilting her head to look up at you like she hasn’t done anything at all.

"Don't pout," she laughs, smoothing her hands over the spots she just pinched, massaging slow, deliberate circles into your skin. "You know I love every part of you." Her lips press softly against your stomach, lingering. "Can't get enough."

Even when you try to squirm away, she doesn’t let you go. Not really. Her hands always find their way back, warm and possessive, like she needs to remind herself you’re real. That you're hers.

Her fingers always grazing your skin whenever she can, a thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt. She claims she just likes how warm you are, how soft you feel under her touch, but the way her hands linger says otherwise.

Then it turns into something more. Something deeper.

Her hands splay against your stomach when you're alone together, fingertips ghosting over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. She hums in approval when you shiver, when your breath hitches just slightly. "Sensitive here, aren't you?" she murmurs, her lips following the path of her fingers, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your waist, up to your ribs, dragging her teeth ever so lightly just to hear your reaction.

She loves the way you react to her touch—the way your body betrays you, arching ever so slightly when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your pants, tracing the edge but never quite dipping lower. "You like this," she says, half a statement, half a tease, and she proves it by pressing her lips to your navel, letting her breath ghost over your skin.

And when you try to push her away, to swat at her hands when she gives you one of those playful pinches at your side, she only grins, fingers pressing down, firm and possessive. "Mine," she murmurs, hands traveling lower, "all mine."

Baby Came Home;

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Her warmth.

Ellie is practically glued to you, her arm slung over your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck. She sleeps like someone who never really learned how to—light and restless, always shifting, always searching for something just outside her reach. But now, in the quiet morning glow, she’s still. Peaceful.

You don’t move at first, just take her in. The freckles scattered across her skin, the way her hair sticks up in wild angles, the steady rise and fall of her breath against your collarbone. She smells like old leather and cedar, something unmistakably Ellie.

Then, with a soft grumble, she stirs.

“Mmhh… what time is it?” Her voice is hoarse with sleep, words slurred together as she nuzzles closer, like the morning itself is offensive.

You glance at your phone. “Too early.”

She huffs, tightening her arm around you. “Then go back to sleep.”

You smile, fingers absentmindedly tracing the ridges of her knuckles. “You go back to sleep.”

“I am,” she mumbles, though she’s definitely more awake now. One green eye cracks open, half-lidded and lazy as she peers up at you. “You staring at me or something?”

“Maybe.”

She smirks, but it’s soft, sleep-dazed. “Creep.”

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away when she shifts, pressing a slow, barely-there kiss against your shoulder. It lingers, lazy and warm, before she flops back down against the pillow with a sigh. “Five more minutes.”

You brush a few strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “Take your time.”

Ellie takes full advantage of those five minutes. Maybe more.

She melts into you, face pressed against your shoulder, one leg thrown over yours like she’s trying to keep you there. Not that you’re going anywhere.

The world outside is creeping awake—cars passing, birds chattering, the distant hum of life carrying on—but here, in this small, warm space, time doesn’t feel real.

You run your fingers through Ellie’s hair, letting them tangle and smooth through the strands. She hums, barely awake, and shifts slightly, her hand sliding over your ribs, tracing slow, absentminded patterns on your skin.

"You’re doing that thing again," she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

"What thing?"

"Being all soft and… touchy." She peeks up at you with a lazy smirk. "Didn’t know you were such a sap."

You scoff. "Says the one who literally won’t let go of me right now."

Ellie tightens her grip around your waist in response. "Shut up."

You laugh, quiet and warm, tilting your head to press a kiss to her forehead. She sighs, almost content, before shifting onto her back, one arm draped behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling.

The morning light catches on the faint scars on her arms, on the curve of her jaw, on the sleep-soft edges of her expression.

After a moment, she glances at you. "You hungry?"

You grin. "You offering to cook?"

She snorts. "Fuck no. But I do have a very advanced skill of dialing a number and saying ‘hello, yes, I’d like a large stack of pancakes, please.’"

You shake your head, laughing. "Fine. But I’m picking the place."

Ellie grins, kissing your shoulder again. "Mkay."

Before you can get up, she hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your face toward hers. The kiss is slow and unhurried, still warm with sleep, still drowsy with morning. She lingers, her lips brushing against yours like she’s memorizing the feel of it, like she’s trying to trap this moment between you.

When she finally pulls back, her thumb grazes your cheek. "Morning kisses are a thing now, by the way."

You hum, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Not complaining."

She huffs, eyes soft, before finally stretching with a groan. "Alright, pancakes."

You laugh, threading your fingers through hers as you sit up. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s go."

All the Things I Love about You

You don’t mean to say it out loud.

It’s just one of those days—one where your mind feels cluttered and restless, where the smallest things seem to go wrong, and suddenly, everything feels heavier than it should. You don’t know when it started, but now you’re moving around the room, absentmindedly mumbling under your breath, listing every little thing you don’t like about yourself.

“Too indecisive… get flustered too easily… always messing things up…”

Caitlyn looks up from her book across the room, her gaze sharp and steady as she watches you move. At first, she doesn’t say anything, just quietly observing. But when you sigh and mutter something about being “too much of a burden,” she closes her book with a quiet thud.

“Well, I suppose I should chime in,” she says matter-of-factly.

You blink, turning toward her. “What?”

She stands, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her blouse, and takes a step closer. “Since we’re listing things, I’d like to add a few of my own.”

Your stomach tightens. “Caitlyn, that’s not—”

She doesn’t let you finish. Instead, she reaches for your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. Her grip is firm but gentle, grounding. “I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about.”

You freeze. “Caitlyn—”

“I love how thoughtful you are, how you notice the smallest details about people and remember them,” she continues, as if you hadn’t spoken. “Like the way you always make my tea just how I like it. Or how you remember which side of the bed I prefer, even though I wouldn’t mind switching.”

Her voice is calm, unwavering, and she’s looking at you so intently that it’s impossible to brush off her words.

“I love how you get excited over the little things—how you squeeze my hand when you see a cat across the street, or how you gasp at the first snowfall of the year, like you’re seeing it for the first time.”

A lump forms in your throat, but she isn’t finished.

“I love how expressive you are. How I can read your thoughts just by watching your face.” She tilts her head slightly, studying you with fond amusement. “Like right now. You’re trying to figure out how to change the subject.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, dropping your gaze. “Maybe.”

She squeezes your hand before letting go, only to cup your face instead, tilting it back up so you have no choice but to meet her eyes. “I love how much you care, even when you try to downplay it. How you always notice when I’m tired and bring me tea before I even ask. How you listen—really listen—when I talk, even when I ramble.”

You swallow hard, struggling to hold her gaze. “Caitlyn, I…”

She leans in just slightly, pressing her forehead against yours. “I love your laugh,” she murmurs. “I love the way you hum when you’re focused, and how you tilt your head when you’re curious. I love how you always reach for my hand, even when you’re half-asleep. And I love how you try to hide your smile when I’m being too sappy.”

You let out another breathless laugh, one that turns into something closer to a soft sniffle as you blink rapidly. “This is unfair.”

She smiles, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s the truth.”

A few seconds of silence stretch between you, warm and quiet. Then, she whispers, “And I love you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling slowly before opening them again. “I don’t always feel like I’m worth all that.”

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. “You are.”

The certainty in her voice makes something ache deep in your chest.

She tilts your chin up slightly, eyes full of quiet affection. “I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe me. I’ll remind you every time.”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, and she takes it as permission to close the last bit of space between you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

She lingers there for a moment, her lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to press another to your cheek. Then another, slower, against the corner of your mouth, her breath fanning against your lips.

You exhale, tilting toward her instinctively. “You’re really unfair, you know that?”

Caitlyn hums, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Mm. But you’re smiling now.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest refuses to fade. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m trying.”

Caitlyn’s expression softens even further. “That’s enough.”

She pulls you into a gentle hug, and you let yourself sink into it, letting her warmth chase away the last lingering shadows of doubt.

TERRAPIN;

The evening settles around you like a soft blanket, the kind Caitlyn always drapes over your shoulders when she thinks you’re too cold. The warm glow of the bedside lamp paints the room in amber hues, contrasting with the cooler, bluish light of your phone screen. Caitlyn’s beside you, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a book open while the other absentmindedly strokes your hair.

You’re curled up against her side, legs tangled with hers, head resting against her shoulder as you tap away at your game. The soft rustle of pages turning blends with the faint, rhythmic sounds of your gameplay. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind you’ve come to cherish with her.

"You're frowning," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice gentle, her lips barely brushing your forehead as she speaks.

You huff, still focused on the screen. "This boss is annoying."

She chuckles, low and affectionate. "Is it one of those fights where you’re being stubborn instead of playing smart?"

You lift your head to give her an exaggerated glare, and she meets it with an amused, knowing smile. "You don’t know that," you grumble.

"I do," she teases, shifting slightly so she can kiss the top of your head. "You get that look when you're too deep in your pride to back down."

You sigh dramatically but don’t argue. She’s right, after all. Instead, you let your phone drop onto your stomach and lean further into her warmth. "What’re you reading?"

Caitlyn tilts the book slightly so you can see. "It’s a reread," she says. "One of my comfort books."

You don’t recognize the title, but it doesn’t matter. You like the way she talks about books, the way she gets this quiet reverence when she loves a story. You press your cheek against her shoulder, letting your eyes drift over the words even if you aren’t really following.

"Read to me?" you ask softly.

She hesitates, just for a second. Then, with a slight smile, she shifts the book, her voice slipping into a low, soothing cadence as she begins. You close your eyes, letting her words wash over you, warm and familiar like waves against the shore.

Minutes pass, or maybe longer—you lose track of time in the steady rhythm of her voice and the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath you. When she pauses to turn the page, you take the opportunity to press a kiss against her collarbone.

She hums in approval, the sound vibrating against your lips. "Distracted already?"

"Mm, not my fault," you murmur, pressing another kiss, this time against her jaw. She tilts her head slightly, giving you more room, and you take full advantage, trailing kisses up to the corner of her mouth.

Caitlyn catches your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to look at her. Her expression is soft, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement and something deeper, something warm. "You're beautiful."

You grin. "So are you."

Caitlyn sighs, but it's a fond one, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she finally leans down to kiss you properly. Her lips are soft, slow, unhurried—like she has all the time in the world to savor this. And maybe she does. Maybe you both do.

When she pulls away, she lets her forehead rest against yours for a moment before nudging you lightly. "I thought you were fighting an annoying boss."

You groan, flopping back against her side dramatically. "Ugh, don’t remind me."

She laughs, and you feel it in the way her chest moves against you, the way her fingers tighten slightly in your hair. "Come on," she says, reaching for your phone and placing it back in your hands. "I’ll hold you while you finish. No rage-quitting, though."

You grumble but settle back in, her arms wrapping around you as you refocus on the game. The warmth of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the occasional soft kiss she presses against your temple—it all makes the fight a little easier, the loss a little less frustrating.

And when you finally win, she praises you like you’ve just conquered something monumental, her voice full of pride, her hands cupping your face as she kisses you again.

"See?" she murmurs against your lips. "Told you you’d get it."

You sigh contentedly, letting your phone slip from your fingers as you curl into her once more. "You’re so smug."

"I’m always right," Caitlyn corrects playfully, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

You roll your eyes but don't argue. Instead, you nestle closer, pressing your face against the crook of her neck. "Read to me again?"

Caitlyn smiles against your hair, her voice softer this time, carrying you both into the kind of quiet that lingers, warm and safe and full of love.

HEAVY;

You wake up to an empty bed. The sheets beside you are cool, the absence of warmth making the quiet night feel lonelier. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sit up and glance toward the door. A faint glow spills from beneath it, stretching across the darkened floor.

Caitlyn

Pushing off the blankets, you pad across the room, your socked feet making no sound. The hallway is still, the only sign of life the soft rustling coming from behind the office door. You hesitate for just a moment before twisting the knob and stepping inside.

She doesn’t notice you at first. She’s hunched over her desk, a hand bracing her forehead, the other flipping through a stack of paperwork. The dim desk lamp casts shadows across her face, highlighting the pinch of stress in her brow. There are letters and documents scattered across the floor, a mess that’s so unlike her usual meticulousness.

“Caitlyn,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

She startles slightly, but when she looks up and sees you, her expression softens. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says, voice calm but tired. “Go back to bed, love.”

Instead, you cross the room, stepping carefully over the papers until you’re right beside her chair. “You’re working too hard again.”

She sighs, letting her head drop back against the chair for a moment. “It needed to get done.”

You frown and, without hesitation, climb onto her lap, your arms wrapping around her shoulders. She lets out a quiet breath of amusement but doesn’t push you away. Instead, she encircles your waist, her grip firm but gentle.

You nuzzle into her neck, pressing the softest kiss just below her jaw. “You’re always taking care of everything,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you for once.”

Her fingers tighten slightly against your back. “You already do.”

You lean back just enough to cup her face, thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks. “I mean it,” you insist, looking into her tired but still warm eyes. “You’re incredible. You do so much, and you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Her gaze flickers with something unreadable, but she doesn’t look away. You kiss her again—her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose—until you finally feel her shoulders relax.

“You’re relentless,” she murmurs, but there’s a hint of a smile in her voice now.

You grin, fingers lacing through hers. “And you love me for it.”

She exhales, her forehead pressing against yours. “That, I do.”

After a moment, you slip off her lap and onto the floor, gathering a stack of envelopes in your hands. “Come on. Let me help.”

She watches you for a second before shaking her head fondly. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

You give her a stubborn pout. “Not without you.”

A chuckle rumbles in her chest as she leans down and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Alright, love. Just for a little while.”

You scoot over and Caitlyn exhales, shaking her head as you lean closer against her leg. Her hand drifts to the small of your neck, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles that make you feel warm and weightless.

“You’re making this very difficult,” she murmurs.

You peek up at her, feigning innocence. “Making what difficult?”

She gives you a pointed look, but there’s no real sternness behind it. “Working.”

You grin, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. “Good. You shouldn’t be working this late anyway.”

Caitlyn hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but she doesn’t make a move to return to the paperwork just yet. You take that as a win.

After a moment, Caitlyn shifts onto the floor, picking up a stack of letters.

“Alright. What’s urgent?” You ask as you eye to huge piles in the ground.

Caitlyn watches you for a beat before sighing and reaching for a few envelopes. “Bills first. Then I need to go through these reports and—”

You wrinkle your nose. “Boring.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, but you catch the ghost of a smile. “Yes, well, that’s adulthood for you.”

You sort through a few letters, then pause when one catches your eye. “Oh! This one smells like perfume.” You bring it to your nose, dramatically sniffing. “Scandalous.”

Caitlyn leans over, plucking it from your hands. “It’s from an old colleague. She insists on sealing everything with scented wax.”

You drum your fingers on the floor, watching her work. The tired pinch in her brow has softened, her shoulders looser than before. It’s subtle, but you can tell she’s relaxing.

“Do you ever take a break?” you ask after a while.

She doesn’t look up. “Of course I do.”

You frown. “Like an actual break. Not just sitting for five minutes and then finding something else to stress over.”

That makes her pause. Her fingers hesitate on a document, but then she sets it aside, finally meeting your gaze. “I suppose I could be better about that.”

You smile, pleased. “Yes, you could.”

You shrug, stacking another pile neatly. “I just think you deserve to rest.”

She exhales softly, but there’s something tender in her expression. “You’re too good to me.”

You blink, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity of it. Your chest feels light, like a warm breeze has passed through.

“You make it easy,” you say simply.

Caitlyn says nothing, just reaches over and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear before brushing her knuckles along your cheek. The touch lingers, gentle and grounding.

For a while, you continue sorting together, the night stretching on in peaceful silence. Eventually, as the last letter is placed in its proper pile, Caitlyn leans back with a sigh.

“I think that’s enough for now,” she murmurs.

You glance at the clock. “It was enough an hour ago.”

Caitlyn chuckles, shaking her head, but she stands anyway, offering you her hand. “Bed?”

You take her hand, letting her pull you up. “Bed.”

As soon as the word leaves your lips, Caitlyn tugs you in gently, her hand still wrapped around yours. You barely have time to react before her other hand cradles your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Then she kisses you.

It’s slow—unhurried, warm, and lingering. She tilts her head just enough to deepen it, her lips moving with quiet intent, as if savoring the moment. The exhaustion in her shoulders melts away under your touch as you lean into her, fingers curling against the front of her shirt.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours, exhaling softly. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

You smile, a little dazed, your heart fluttering in your chest. “You can thank me by actually sleeping.”

Caitlyn chuckles, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your mouth before gently pulling you toward the door. “Come on, then.”

And this time, she follows you to bed without hesitation.

T!TS

“Violet!” you call, your voice dripping with a mix of impatience and entitlement. The silk sheets pool at your waist as you sit up, hair mussed from sleep. You’re used to getting what you want when you want it—and Vi? She knows it.

But she doesn’t answer.

You pout, your perfectly manicured nails drumming against the nightstand as you huff. Throwing on one of Vi's oversized shirts (the irony isn’t lost on you), you stomp toward the kitchen.

There she is, in all her composed glory. Her hands wrapped in bandages, her sharp jawline illuminated by the morning sunlight, and she’s wearing that smug smirk that always makes your stomach tighten. Vi doesn’t even look up as she leans against the counter, sipping coffee like she owns the world—and you.

“Did you not hear me call you?” you demand, folding your arms.

“I heard you,” she says casually, setting her cup down. Her eyes finally meet yours, dark and unwavering, and you suddenly feel smaller.

You narrow your eyes, determined to maintain the upper hand. “Then why didn’t you come?”

“Because,” she starts, pushing off the counter and sauntering toward you, “I’m not at your beck and call, princess.”

Your breath catches as she closes the distance. You can’t help but take a step back, but the cool granite countertop digs into your spine, trapping you. Vi leans in, her hands bracketing your hips, and the scent of her cologne makes your knees weak.

“I think someone needs a reminder of how things work around here,” she murmurs, her voice low and commanding.

Your bravado falters. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy now.” Her hand trails up your thigh, her touch firm enough to leave no room for argument. “You’ve been a brat all day, and I’m done indulging it.”

Her lips brush against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You want to act spoiled? Fine. But you don’t call the shots, sweetheart. I do.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Vi, I—”

“Shh,” she cuts you off, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. Her gaze is predatory, and it makes you feel completely exposed. “Be a good girl for me, and maybe I’ll forgive your little tantrum.”

You nod, your defiance melting into submission under her piercing stare. Vi smirks, satisfied, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“See?” she whispers, her lips ghosting over yours. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before her mouth captures yours in a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and tender.

"Turn around, baby." she gives your bottom lip a bite before using your hips to turn you around. Vi kisses the back of your neck in delicacy, and she grabs your jaw to make you look up at the mirror infront of you.

"See that chair?" Vi whispers into your ear and all you've got in you is to nod, she pulls back and gently pushes you forward. She's got ideas and you know it.

"Bend over it for me, hm?" she pretends to ask but her tone is more demanding than interrogative. If you get everything the way you want it, Vi gets whatever she wants from you.

She walks over as you do as she says. Her hand coming up to tap your behind, your ears, cheeks and back turning red from embarrassment.

"Can I?" She asks and she pulls the waistband of your underwear, making it snap against your skin when she lets go. Vi doesn't wait for an answer before she's pulling your panties aside.

"Hah! Look at that" her fingers trails between your folds, leaving a slick sound that causes her to smile.

You gasp when she pushes your head further down into the cushions, she kisses the back of your neck, then pulls the neckline of your (her's) t-shirt and bites your shoulder.

"I think I know just what to do with you," she puts a hand to your hips, sending waves down your spine. Vi is quick to throw you over her shoulders and carry you to your bedroom. She'd fuck you in the kitchen but that's something for sometime later.

Your hair sprawls on the pillow as you get thrown down with a faint thud, Vi moves over to you and eyes you up and down before shifting between your legs, placing soft kisses on your abdomen.

"Vi, I—" you start but get cut off by a slap on the plane of your stomach, she grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up so that youre sat on her lap

"Ah ah, did I tell you to speak, dollface?" she's getting closer as she says this, until she wraps her strong arms around your waist, holding you securely on her lap as you sit facing her. With no time wasted, she leans down and takes one of your sensitive nipples into her warm, soft mouth.

A whimper leaves your lips, your hands coming to hold onto her shoulders only for her to take them and hold onto them behind your back, earning another whine from you.

"Mhm I know, baby" Vi murmurs, her voice muffled against your breast. "If you behaved earlier, I would've let you touch me."

She suckles diligently, her tongue laving over your tender nipple as she holds your arms back with one hand. Vi's free hand travels to your your other breast, cupping and squeezing the soft mound. She starts to knead and massage the supple flesh tenderly, her thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your other nipple between them.

"Mhng! Please— d-don't bite." You plead but she just bites harder in response, creating an aching friction to the peaks of your tits. Vi switches to your other nipple, suckling it roughly, as she continues to fondle and caress your breast.

"Don't tell me what to do." Vi murmurs, pressing kisses to the valley between your boobs, she lets go of your hands and trails her fingers towards your inner thighs, making sure her nails are dragging and digging into your skin.

"mnmh vi–"

Vi smirks against your skin, the vibrations of her amusement rumbling through you. "Yeah?" she replies, nipping at the swell of your breast. Her hand slides higher, fingertips brushing maddeningly close to your aching core.

"Such a brat." Vi's voice is a low, husky rasp, sending shivers down your spine. "You think you deserve to be touched just because you want to?"

Her nails dig into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving red crescents in their wake. Vi's other hand continues its relentless assault on your sensitive nipples, pinching and rolling the stiff peaks until they throb with need.

Vi's fingers dance along the edge of your panties, not quite touching where you need her most. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and intense, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Beg for it," she commands, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Beg for me to touch your pretty little pussy."

When she hears nothing more than a whimper from you, her thumb presses down on your clit, circling the sensitive nub with maddening pressure. Gosh she drove you insane. Vi leans in, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

"Go on, baby. Why're you hesitating, hm?"

With a gulp, you close your eyes, swallowing your pride and ego. You needed this afterall, didn't you? "P-Please?"

Vi chuckles darkly, amused by your feeble attempt at pleading. "That's it? How disappointing." she taunts, her fingers still teasing maddeningly along the damp fabric covering your core.

She leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers, you could tell she was enjoying this moment of having the upperhand. "Try again, maybe I'll listen"

Vi punctuates her demand by slipping a finger beneath the hem of your panties, the tip of her fingers just barely grazing your slick folds. She doesn't push inside, instead tracing your slit with a feather-light touch that has you squirming with need.

"Come on, dollface. I don't have all day." Vi coaxes, her voice an impatient mumble.

Her other hand continues its relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh, pinching and rolling your nipples until they ache deliciously.

Another breath, another try, another plead, "I—" the words reman stuck in your throat.

Vi hums in acknowledgement and nips at your earlobe, tugging on it with her teeth before soothing the sting with her tongue. She tightens her grip on your wrists, pinning them above your head as she looms over you. Her other hand slips fully inside your panties, a single finger teasing through your slick folds.

"Don't waste my time, baby." Vi scolds, her voice low and disapproving. She circles your entrance, not yet delving inside, as if daring you to try harder. You know it's a lie because she'd fuck you all day yet you believe her just in that moment.

At your continued silence, Vi crushes her lips against yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue. She swallows your whimpers and moans, refusing to let you make a sound until she allows it.

Breaking the kiss, Vi's eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, leaning in at the sound of your mumble, "Hm?"

"Ple— nothing"

She rolls her eyes and presses a single finger tip against your entrance, the slightest bit of pressure that has you clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. You still had a massive ego so you still protested against her requests.

Now she was pissed, she started this for shits and giggles but your stubborn and bratty behaviour was getting on her nerve. She loved you. Yes. But as someone who had to work for everything in her life, this attitude was got gonna be tolerated.

"Need'a lesson? Sure, I'll fucking give it to you." Her jaw clenched before roughly shoving two fingers knuckle-deep inside your dripping cunt. They pump in and out at a punishing pace, curling against that special spot inside you that makes your toes curl, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive bud.

It is when she kisses down your neck when you break, you needed that closeness, and she gave it to you unknowingly, you didn't want her to be genuinely mad at you but she is and yet she still cares to not hurt you.

"More, please?" It's quiet but you said it. And it counted for Vi, she would've done worse but seeing the look in your eyes stopped her. Despite her tough act, she was a pushover when it came to you.

Vi smiles at your attempted plea, her fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on your dripping cunt. "Finally," she sighs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Took long enough."

She scissors her fingers inside you, stretching your walls as her thumb rubs tight circles around your throbbing clit. Vi leans down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you yelp before soothing the sting with her tongue. (oral fixation evidence)

"I think there's more for you to say though," she murmurs against your tits, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Whimpers turn to moans, and the air is starting to get hot.

Vi's other hand releases your wrists, only to grab your hip in a bruising grip, holding you in place as she grinds her palm against your aching core. She pistons her fingers in and out of your clenching heat, curling against that special spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Please, Vi!" you cry out, too far gone to care about the desperation in your voice. "Please fuck me. Please? I'll be good? P-Promise!"

Your hips buck against her hand, chasing the pleasure only she can give you. Vi chuckles, the sound vibrating through you as she redoubles her efforts, fucking you harder and faster with her fingers.

"That's it, baby. Take it," she murmurs, her eyes glaring into yours, almost in validation for how she's doing a good job at making you feel good. Because deep down Vi needs that and if she has to fuck you till the sun rotates twice. She will.

strap!vi part two.

No One Noticed.

You woke up as Y/N today. Or maybe you’ve always been Y/N, but it didn’t feel like it lately. The clock on your phone read 3:42 AM, the glowing digits mocking you in the darkness of your room. Your blanket was wrapped around you like a cocoon, but it did nothing to stop the chill that settled deep in your chest.

Your laptop sat open on the desk across the room, the same empty chat box staring back at you from last night.

Maybe you lost your mind.

The thought wasn’t new. It came around often, like an old friend who overstayed their welcome. Days blurred into each other now, but tonight—tonight felt heavier. Or maybe it always felt this way at this hour.

You sat up, your fingers hesitating before you reached for your phone. You didn’t have to scroll far before you saw her name. Caitlyn. You stared at the letters longer than you’d like to admit, debating whether to text her.

It had been weeks since she called first. Months since you saw her in person. Yet here you were, unable to stop yourself from wanting her. Or at least wanting the version of her that used to answer quickly, who laughed easily, who didn’t feel so far away even when you were in the same room.

Maybe she was still that person. Maybe you were the one who’d changed.

The message you typed was simple. “Are you awake?”

Three dots appeared. Your heart jumped. Then they disappeared.

You tried not to care.

But then her reply came through: “Yeah."

You hesitated before typing: “Can I call?”

Another pause. You hated that your chest felt tight, like this mattered more than it should. Then: “Sure.”

You didn’t let yourself think. You hit the video call button, and when her face filled the screen, something in you eased.

“Caitlyn.” Her name came out like a sigh.

She was sitting in the dark, her face lit only by the glow of her screen. Her hair was tied up messily, and she was wearing that oversized hoodie you’d seen her in a hundred times. The one you’d always thought looked better on her than it would on anyone else.

“Y/N,” she said, and her voice was low, familiar, but there was something distant in it.

“You look tired,” you said, a poor attempt at conversation.

“I am.”

“Then why are you awake?”

She shrugged. “Why are you?”

You wanted to tell her the truth. That you couldn’t stop thinking about how she didn’t call anymore, how she felt like a ghost haunting the edges of your life. But instead, you said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did.

The silence between you stretched, the hum of your laptop the only sound in the room. You thought about ending the call, about sparing yourself the ache of wanting more from her than she seemed willing to give. But then she spoke.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You laughed softly, bitterly. “You’d know all about that.”

Her expression flickered, something like guilt crossing her features, but it was gone too quickly for you to hold onto.

“I’m here now,” she said, her voice softer.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just looked at her, memorizing the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers rested against her lips.

“Y/N?” she said after a while, and the way she said your name made your chest ache.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Your breath caught. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

She looked down, her hair falling into her face. “It’s not you.”

“It feels like me.”

“It’s not.” She looked up then, her eyes meeting yours through the screen. “I don’t know how to… stay, I guess.”

“Try.” The word came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. “Just try.”

She didn’t answer, and the silence felt heavier this time.

“I’m tired, Y/N,” she said finally.

“Of me?”

“No.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Of everything.”

You didn’t know how to fix that. You didn’t know how to fix her. But God, you wanted to.

“Caitlyn.” Her name felt like a prayer on your lips. “I’m tired too.”

For a moment, you thought she might cry. But she didn’t. She just looked at you, her expression unreadable.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said, echoing words she’d once told you.

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t either.”

You wanted to believe her. But when the call ended and her face disappeared from your screen, the ache in your chest didn’t go away.

You stared at the blank chat box, the cursor blinking like it was waiting for you to say something. But there was nothing left to say.

Maybe you’d lost your mind.

No one noticed.

No one but her.

And that made it all the worse.