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lullabyes22-blog · 3 days

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Snippet - Who's That? Who's That? - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

A few shopgirls spy a pair of distinguished shoppers.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Today, the Skylight Commercia is an upscale amphitheater, licensed by Zaun's Cabinet and protected by its own army of blackguards. It also boasts a full complement of unionized staff: porter boys, seamstress girls, spoonymen, bakers, bartenders, watchmen, even medicks who specialize in the tragic malady known as shopaholism.

Already, the atmosphere is a profusion of bedazzlement. Clutches of people dot the pathway: early risers and late-night revelers. A few stop and stare at the couple strolling past them. An entourage of Enforcers follow them at a distance, footsteps echoing across the cobblestones.

"Lookit," are the whispers. "Lookit."

They make an unusual pair. A man and a woman, shoulder-to-shoulder. He is a blade of a thing: sharp in every facet. Sharp-dressed, sharp-eyed, sharp-built. He gives the impression that if you come at him wrong, you are liable to get sliced in half.

Yet he has a smooth, silky manner about him. A Zaunite's strut.

His companion is a lithe, languid, lovely creature in a charmeuse gown the color of midnight. It is intricately pleated and geometrically cut: a Piltovan style. Indeed, the woman is all Piltover, from the top of her beautifully gold-coiffed head to the soles of her shapely gold-sandaled feet. Some greet the sight of her with scowls; others with stares.

The woman pays no mind to either. Her head is held high. She appears serenely at ease in her strange surroundings.

"Who're they?" the shoppers whisper among themselves.

Rumors swirl. The man is none other than the Eye of Zaun, master of it all. Hard to credit. Most only know him by his trademark voice in radio broadcasts. The rest are still convinced the Eye is a myth, or a monster risen from the depths of shadow. This man is too real to be either. The scars on his face are crosshatched as deeply as mining seams.

And the woman? A Councilor, it is whispered. Harder to credit. Why would a Councilor dirty the hem of her dress across the pathways at this hour? Indeed, why would she bother to get out of bed (a bed the shoppers can only imagine is as sumptuous as a chocolate gateau) before noon, when most Pilties ring for their maids to serve breakfast?

"Who d'you reckon they are?" one shopgirl whispers to another.

"They say it's a Topside toff," her companion whispers back, "with the Eye of Zaun."

"Pffft. The Eye already owns the whole city!"

"Well, maybe he's out bargain hunting?"

"That's bollocks! Bet it's a chem-baron, giving his mistress the tour."

"A Piltie mistress? You're dreaming!"

"Am I? These days, every Topsider and their dog wants a sniff below."

A third shopgirl stares awestruck at the woman's elegant silhouette. "She looks a right prize, I'll say that."

"We'd all look right prizes if we never worked a day in our lives!"

They laugh in ribald unison—laughter being the main thing that has survived in the Fissures despite decades of hardship.

And so, inevitably, has gossip. In a few minutes, off on their break, they are at their usual haunt near the Big Brass, chattering away. The city bubbles with scuttlebutt: fads, fights, fancies. What is passe and what is posh. Who has gone up in the world; who has tumbled down. Who’s up to no good, and who’s met a bad end.

News is impossible to separate from natter. It is the lifeblood that pulses through the city's arteries. It suffuses the air with its own magic. And no one knows that fact better than the Eye, who has spent much of his tenure collecting it, distilling it, manipulating it.

Knowledge is currency—and the currency is the only thing that can be relied upon in a world of shifting sands.

Today's fare is the juiciest of the week. The shopgirls, on their third round of cavernfruit juice, are already aflame. The upcoming Expo is off to a promising start: the streets are cramming with tourists, and the shopkeepers are rubbing their hands with glee. Hotels are seeing a surge in bookings. Clubs have mandated fire sprinklers and escape stairwells. The air has been pleasantly pure despite the periodic Gnashers. A new dance, the Targonian Twist, is sweeping the Lanes. In Oldtown, rehab centers are running out of beds. The treatment programs are making headway. The Shimmer addicts are being weaned off their fix. And the medicks say a cure for Grey Lung is on the horizon.

The prototypes are currently undergoing tests at private laboratories. By this time next year, there could be a vaccine available for sale. No word on the cost, yet. Or whether the Cabinet will approve its mass-production.

But the talk is rife with optimism—the offspring of early progress.

What truly interests the girls is gossip to do with the Council. They lean in closer, their voices dipping to a hush.

"You heard what happened to Heimy, then?" one girl says.

"You mean the old Yordle?"

"Who else, daftie?"

"What about him?"

"Well, seems he's gone missing while on sabbatical."

"On what, now?"

"Sabbatical! Y'know. It's what the eggheads call it when you take a holiday."

"And he just vanished?"

"His secretary got a letter saying he was heading up to Demacia. He hasn't been seen since."

"How'd you know?"

"My second-cousin's wife, she's a maid at his house. Said Enforcers dropped by. They told her to keep her lips zipped."

"Zipped why?"

"Said the Council are keeping it hush-hush. Heimerdinger’s their former head and all. Don't want folks worrying."

"He was on the Council, wasn't he?"

"Well, there's something else..."

"What's that?"

"My aunt, she works at the Boundary Markets. She says that before the Siege, she could've sworn she saw him wandering about."

"You mean... here? In Zaun?"

"Yeah! And not alone. She said he was with some bloke."

"Who?"

"Janna knows. He had a mask on. Personally, I think she's exaggerating. She's a bit of a lush. The drink must've gone to her head."

"But what if it's true?" one girl says. "Maybe the fuzzball's hiding out in Zaun? And who's the man with the mask, I wonder? Could it be the Eye?"

"Why'd the Eye help a Councilor? He calls 'em A lineage of leeches."

"Maybe he's trying to make nice after the Treaty?"

"Or he's holding the old Yordle for ransom?"

"As what? Jinx's new pet?"

They share peals of laughter. Absurdity is also a staple of the Zaunite diet, and the notion that the Eye would keep a Yordle captive in his penthouse is enough to make anyone's sides split. They can picture it, clear as day. The Eye in a dark silk robe, the Yordle in a pink bow, the two of them dancing their own strange waltz around the lavish rooms. Maybe Jinx would serenade them, as her devotees do her: Come on, dance faster, just a little bit of energy...

"I keep hearing," a girl says, "the Eye's a vampire, and his flat's a dungeon."

"That's just the chem-burn talking, love."

"Well, I'd wager there's a grain of truth. Vampires don't breathe, right? And they don't need sunshine. The Eye's no different. Where else would he live but underground?"

"He's commissioned a dozen cultivairs' hothouses full of sunshine. Why'd he do that if he's a vamp?"

"I'm not saying he's a full vamp, for Janna's sake. But everyone knows the Eye has his fingers in the blood trade."

"The Shimmer trade."

"Same thing. I hear Shimmer's made of poro blood. That's why it's so dangerous."

"It's a drug, love. Drugs're all dangerous."

"Not always. My boyfriend got a thimbleful last weekend from the back-alley chemist. Cleared up his cough, it did. And gave him a cockstand so big—"

"Oh, shut it, I don't wanna know!"

"What I'm saying is, there's more to Shimmer'n meets the eye."

"Got that right. My uncle OD'd on it, remember? Died screaming. So did his missus."

"Didn't their kid run away?"

"Yeah. Joined the Firelights. Who are a bunch of crazies, if you ask me."

"Oooh. I can't stand the lot of them! Making a ruckus wherever they go!"

"I heard they're dying off. No one's seen hide nor hair of them since the Siege."

"That's not what my brother-in-law said. He's a blackguard at southside. He heard scuttlebutt that the Firelights were holed up in a secret lair. Somewhere down in Oshra Va'Zaun’s tunnels. The Eye's trying to wall 'em in—or starve 'em out."

"How long've they been there?"

"Don't know. Maybe years."

"What a load of bollocks. Where are their goods coming from, then? You'd have thought the blackguards would've sniffed out the supply lines."

"My brother-in-law says they've a secret way into Zaun."

"What? Where?"

"Dunno. Supposedly only the Eye knows."

"He's a crafty sod. Bet he's already filled it up with Jinx's bombs."

"Why not ask him? He was browsing for jar cakes an hour ago."

"That's not the Eye, you dumb tart!"

And etcetera.

Under the watery sunrays of the glass dome, pigeons flutter. The girls buy paper cones of birdseed, for the fun of watching the birds flock around them. They are still playing guessing games over who the enigmatic chem-baron and his companion are. But in fact, it matters little. The security detail has alerted them to the presence of bigwigs. They need to know nothing else.

Where the Gray sits, as the saying goes.

At the escalators, they spot the couple again. They have stopped with their entourage. A little girl lingers by the railing. Too scared to climb aboard the steps, she is blocking their path. The shopgirls tense as one of the lady's guards move to shove the girl aside.

That's Enforcers for you. Always throwing their weight around.

The sharp-dressed man stops the guard. There are quietly severe words exchanged. Then the man himself kneels. He is talking to the girl, a gentle hand on her shoulder. His manner is almost reassuring. Whatever he says is lost in the hubbub of the marketplace. But the little girl seems soothed by his words.

Politely, he proffers a hand. She accepts with caution, then smiles a little as they perform a box-step together, leaping onto the escalator. Playfully, the man lifts her off the last step at the top. The girl giggles and kicks her feet before he deposits her on the ground.

Below, the elegant lady claps. She has been watching with an intrigued eye. Her entourage, more grudgingly, follow suit. The little girl, titillated, performs a curtsey. She and the man exchange parting words. With a forefinger, the man taps the skin under his eye: the universal Zaunite gesture:

Fuck the police.

He gives the girl a finger wave. Beaming, she rushes off to her family, who've watched her progress with bated breath. A chem-baron and Enforcers cornering a lone child? In the Fissures, it's the beginning of a horror story.

With a dismally familiar ending.

"That was decent of him," says one shopgirl, licking her fingers.

"The best men are good with whelps," the second says. “It shows.”

"Pffft," scoffs the third. "One good turn and you're already fitting him for a ring, eh?"

"I'm only saying! He was patient. A lot of kids would've started blubbering."

"Maybe he's a chem-baron who moonlights as a nanny."

"Chem-barons have whelps, too!"

"And they pack 'em off to boarding school soon as the tit's empty."

"Maybe this one's special."

"You're daft," the first girl says, tossing a pigeon a last pinch of seed. "He's the Eye, for sure."

"What's got you so convinced?"

"Well, he's got a whelp too, doesn't he? Jinx?"

"Pssh. Jinx is his dollymop."

"Don't think so. I read somewhere he'd adopted her."

"I read he'd had a child by her."

"That's bollocks!"

"They say it's why she went into hiding after the war."

"Well, I heard she'd—"

"Ssh," the first shopgirl hisses. "They're coming this way."

Sure enough, the couple are crossing the plaza. Their entourages follow. Hurriedly, the shopgirls clean the clutter of cigarettes and paper-cones, straightening up. They give the couple wide berth, nodding respectfully as they sweep past. The aroma of hothouse hyacinths and bottled bergamot lingers in their wake.

The woman stares straight ahead, indifferent to the scenery. The man, on the other hand, appraises his surroundings with interest. They converse in soft voices: contralto and baritone. The latter has a graveled pitch that seems uncannily familiar.

A radio voice. The Eye's.

The shopgirls are too intimidated to eavesdrop. But suddenly, the rumor—that the Eye and a Councilor are on an extended excursion of the Skylight together—no longer seems so far-fetched.

A paper cone, caught in a shopgirl's fingers, slips free. It skitters toward the man's gleaming leather shoes. He stops mid-step, and the lady follows suit.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," the girl stammers.

The man stoops, picking up the cone. With an elegant precision, he hands it to her. For a moment, the three shopgirls are caught in his crosshairs. Up close, he's a fearsome-looking creature. The dapper clothes conceal a hard-edged physique like a miner's pickax. His right eye is the color of a lapis lazuli strung from the stalls. His left eye...

Roving across the girls, it gives off an acid-red glow.

The eye of a godling—or a devil.

The shopgirls’ skins break into gooseflesh. Their tongues go dry as Fissure-roots.

Idly, the man nods, and walks on.

"Shit," the first girl whispers, "what if that is the Eye?"

"If it is," the second whispers back, "then pray to Janna nobody gets their throat slit."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane mel #mel medarda #silco x mel #melco #snippet

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purplegrapevines · 7 months

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Good Girl

Pairing: dom!Vi x fem!cellmate!sub!reader

Content: edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, praise, degradation, size kink, manhandling, spanking, hair pulling, thigh riding, grinding, fingering, face grabbing, humiliation, oral, overstimulation

Word count: 3.5k

You don’t know how you ended up here. One minute, you’re dealing some shimmer like you always do, and the next, you’re here in these cold, metal handcuffs.

The guard grabs your shoulder to keep you walking, and you push back against his hand, only wanting to defy his authority. But in your situation and position, you really had no choice but to obey.

The prison stunk and the gawking eyes of the other prisoners made you uncomfortable as you shuffled past them.

“There’s no empty cells left,” one guard tells the other behind you.

“Just throw her in with the pink bitch,” the other responds, and your head turns in confusion. You’re going to have a cellmate? A “pink bitch?”

“Who?” you ask them, but they ignore you as they drag you across a few more cells. You’re finally stopped in front of one, and you tilt your head to sneak a glance at the inmate inside of it. Will she be your cellmate?

You’re startled by a thump followed by a crack sound, which you notice is your soon-to-be cellmate’s fist pounding into the stone wall.

You could see the bulging muscles of her broad shoulders, the sweat dripping down between the creases. Tattoos adorned her upper back and followed all the way down to her forearms. Who is she?

You’re so mesmerized by watching her that you almost forget that you’re here to be jailed. With… her.

As the gate to the cell opens up, the shadows of the bars cross her back until you can see her better light.

Suddenly, your handcuffs are tugged off by the guards, and you’re shoved in the cell harshly. You struggle to keep your balance as you hear the cell gate slam shut behind you.

You start to soak in that you’re now stuck in jail until your cellmate turns around and looks at you. Beads of sweat slid down her face, and she catches her breath.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks, scrunching her scarred eyebrow. Her short, pink hair covers her eye. That explains the “pink bitch.”

“I’m… your cellmate,” you respond, intimidated by her presence.

“Yeah, I got that. I meant your name,” she corrects.

“O-oh…” you blush and look embarrassed as you tell her your name, and you then ask for hers.

“Vi,” she responds.

“Like your cheek,” you blurt, and your blush deepens when Vi looks you in the eyes for a couple seconds.

“Yeah. Like my cheek,” Vi says. Silence fills the air for a couple seconds, and you both stand in awkwardness. Thankfully, Vi breaks it.

“So, tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing down here?” Your eyes widen at her unexpected statement, and your face becomes hot again.

“W-what?”

“What? Look at you, you’re so small and sweet-lookin’. Are you sure they got the right person?” Vi jokes. You pout, which makes Vi smile.

“Yeah they got the right person,” you confirm, looking away from her and leaning against the wall. Vi sits on the floor near the other side of the cell.

“What did you do then?” Vi asks as she tilts her head, looking genuinely curious.

“Just some minor shit…” you respond. It was totally a lie; dealing shimmer is the worst business you could put yourself in, especially because of shimmer’s dangerous properties and high demand. But the money was too good for you to resist.

“So, ‘minor shit’ is how a cute girl like you ended up in a cell with me, huh?” Vi says.

“Stop it. I’m not cute,” you say with a frown.

Your eyebrows raise as Vi stands up, walking over to you with her hands in her pockets. She stands in front of you, face to face. She’s tall, at least three inches taller than you.

“You are,” she says, “look at you. You don’t look like you belong in a prison like this. You look like a pretty, little Piltie, looking so fragile…” Vi says, looking down slightly, “so delicate.”

You know you don’t look like the average Zaunite. You’re too feminine and sweet-looking compared to the rest of them. Usually, you hate being called small and delicate, but with Vi, you don’t seem to mind. In fact, it’s making your face hot and your palms sweaty, and you can’t understand why.

“Vi…” you start, not knowing how to finish.

“Hm?” Vi asks as she starts to back away, leaving your heart racing with your back against the wall.

“Nothing…” you say. You brush the dust off your pants and sit on the tiny bed awkwardly. Vi sits back down on the floor as she drags her foot across the ground. You take a small glance at her, and you notice the small smirk on her face. What a tease.

“I’m bored,” Vi says, tossing a small pebble out the bars of the cell. You nod, not knowing how to respond.

“How long have you been here?” you ask her.

“A couple years, I think. At some point, I stopped keeping track,” Vi answers.

“Oh… so you must get bored a lot, then. Have you just been by yourself the entire time?”

“Yeah… been just me,” Vi says, looking at the ground. You assume that she’s extremely touch-starved after spending years in solitary.

“So, then, what do you do when you’re bored?

Vi shrugs, “Usually, I just work out. Or punch the walls, you know?” Vi laughs, pointing at the multiple cracks along the stone. You laugh, too.

“So… how did you get those tattoos?” you ask.

“Oh, I there’s a guy that can do ‘em for you. Why? You interested?” Vi asks, looking up at you.

You shake your head, “No, I was just wondering.”

“Oh? You wanna see?” Vi asks.

“I can see them.”

“No. I mean all of them.”

Blush starts to return to your features, “I-it’s alright if you don’t want to-“

“It’s okay,” Vi interrupts, “come closer.” Slightly hesitantly, you step towards her. She stands and begins to reach for the hem of her shirt. You watch patiently.

Slowly, she pulls it off to reveal her hard, toned abs. You have to stop yourself from gawking.

“Like what you see?” Vi asks. Not knowing how to respond, you simply shrug. But your red cheeks answer her question. Vi smiles smugly as she turns around to show off her muscular back.

Gears and wheels follow the back of her arms to her shoulders, and then extend to the rest of her upper back. Whiffs of smoke intertwine with the gears and everything just comes together perfectly.

“Vi… it’s really nice,” you compliment.

“Yeah?” Vi says. Without thinking, you reach out to touch it. Vi jerks flinches lightly with the unexpected contact, but she doesn’t interrupt your exploration.

After a couple seconds or your hand running over the might of her back, you realize what you’re doing. You quickly pull your hand away.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I-”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Vi assures as she turns around to face you. You stop your eyes from looking down at her muscular stomach and instead force yourself to look into her gray eyes.

“You’re so cute,” Vi starts, “especially when you’re nervous and blushing like that.”

“I’m not…” you argue, but Vi shushes you and drags her thumb along your bottom lip. Your breath hitches.

“You are. You’re so cute, I just wanna ruin you until tears are streaming down that pretty face of yours,” Vi says as she inches her face closer to yours. Your eyes widen at the bluntness of her statement.

“Vi… you can’t just say stuff like that. What if the guards catch us?”

“They won’t. The guards are sleeping right now. We’ll be fine,” Vi assures as you feel her breath on your lips. You decide to trust her as you let your lips brush her gently.

Vi grabs your chin and pulls your face towards hers, kissing you passionately. You give up your control and let her tongue explore your mouth. Vi pushes you against the wall and continues to make out with you.

She grab the bottom of your shirt and pulls it over your head, leaving you in your bra. You blush and make an attempt to cover yourself, but Vi holds both your wrists with one hand.

“No. I wanna see it,” she says. She lowers her head to your neck and starts to bite marks into it. She lets go of your wrists, and uses one hand to hold your chin to the side and the other to drag along your chest.

You can’t help but moan when she pulls your bra down to your waist and kisses your breasts. Her mouth wraps around your nipple as you grab her pink hair. Vi doesn’t seem to mind it.

Vi places her knee between your legs and you absentmindedly begin to grind against it. Vi brings it upward and you groan. The guards may not be able to hear you right now, but the other prisoners sure can.

“Shh…” Vi says, “You don’t want everyone to hear you, right? To hear how much of a slut you are just from grinding against my thigh?” Her words surprisingly make you moan. You shake your head, but you wouldn’t really mind it if they did.

She removes her leg from in between yours and you whine in frustration. Before you could protest, Vi grabs your body and throws you over her shoulder like you’re as light as a feather. It turns you on.

She walks over to the small bed without any struggle, and she tosses you onto it. You look up at her with those adorable, innocent eyes, and it drives her feral. She gets on top of you and makes out with you again, but this time it was much less gentle. Your hands tangle through her hair again, and you grab it as if she’s your only lifeline.

Vi’s lips travel down your neck, down your chest, and she starts kissing down your stomach. She finally unclips your bra, and then she surprises you when she licks a stripe all the way from your nipple to your neck.

Vi’s hand starts to reach for the hem of your pants. She sits on her knees between your legs to unbutton them. She takes your ankles and brings them up, allowing her to yank your shoes and pants off. You blush at being exposed like that, and your position with your legs in the air. You try to bend your knees to cover yourself, but Vi holds you still. Even though you’re still wearing your underwear, this feels very embarrassing.

“Vi…” you whine, but Vi pays no attention to it. Instead, she pushes your knees back so that they almost reach your head. You turn away in an attempt to hide your face from her. She doesn’t need to see your red face; this is humiliating enough as it already is.

“Aw, baby, are you shy?” Vi coos, “Hold your knees for me, just like that.” Despite the embarrassment, you obey. And you can’t say you don’t like it.

“Can I take this off?” Vi asks, gesturing to your underwear. You nod.

Vi pulls off your underwear, and she brings it to your knees. You squirm with the thought of how you must look right now. Legs up, knees apart, so fucking exposed, and it’s all for her.

“Aw, look how wet you are. You’re fucking soaked,” Vi teases. You whimper.

Without any warning, Vi pushes her middle finger all the way in and without any struggle. You moan.

Vi begins to slide another one in. This time, you can feel the slight sting from the stretch, but you like it. You subconsciously grind against her hand to push Vi’s fingers in deeper, and Vi chuckles.

“Fuck, you’re so needy, aren’t you? Good girl.” You shamelessly grind against her fingers as your eyes shut and you grip the sheets.

Vi flips then you two around, so she’s lying on the bed and you’re on top of her, your knees on either side of her waist. Her fingers are still in you.

“C’mon. Ride me,” Vi whispers as she pushes your head down to rest on her shoulder.

You moan at her words and start moving your hips again. You adjust yourself to get her fingers to just touch that one spot… but you can’t. You look down at her and see her smug smile. You know she’s avoiding that spot on purpose.

“Vi, fuck, c’mon,” you whine, still trying stimulate your sweet spot.

“What’s the magic word?” she teases, like you’re a child.

“Oh, fuck, please? Please, Vi, please please please…” you moan into her neck.

Vi suddenly curls her fingers in you. She hits the spot perfectly. She continuously rubbed it, giving you no break or chance to breathe.

“Oh my god… Vi… it feels so fucking good, please don’t stop!” You try to match her rhythm, but it was too fast for you. You do the best you can. When her other hand reaches down to rub your clit, you can’t hold your sounds back anymore. Fuck it if the other prisoners hear you. They can hear how good Vi is making you feel…

“Vi- I’m cumming,” you tell her, mouth agape and expression blissed out.

Suddenly, Vi pulls her fingers out of you takes her other hand away from your clit.

“No, no no no no…” you cry, as you attempt to grind against her, not wanting to lose your high. A tear of frustration falls down your cheek and Vi loves it.

“Aw, did my girl wanna cum?” You sniffle and nod.

“Please, please let me. I can’t take it,” you beg.

“But you look so adorable like this, crying into my neck,” Vi says, tilting your head up so she can wipe your tears away.

“Please…” you beg with desperation. Vi moves your body so that your knees are on either side of her right thigh.

“C’mon. Ride me properly, then,” she says. You whimper and begin moving your hips. The rough fabric of her pants against your swollen clit feels so good, and you try to match the pace Vi was going at earlier, but you can’t do it.

You cry out in annoyance, and you look up at Vi with those wet eyelashes and swollen lips.

“Vi, please, help me?” you ask. Vi shakes her head.

“You can do it. C’mon. Ride my thigh like the slut you are,” Vi says, grabbing your hair and pulling it back. You place your hands on her biceps and use it as leverage.

With each motion of your hips, Vi brings her leg up slightly to help you. Her hand is still in your hair, yanking and tugging on it whenever she feels like it. It hurts your scalp, but it feels so good.

“H-help…” you moan out. And, this time, Vi complies. She reaches down and rubs your clit while you ride her.

“Don’t cum without my permission,” Vi warns, and you nod in response.

In just a minute or two, you could feel your orgasm creep into your body again.

“Vi, gotta cum, please?” you ask her nicely.

“No,” Vi says. Plain and simple. You cry out in need as you continue riding her and Vi keeps rubbing your clit.

“Why?” you whine. Tears fall down your face as you struggle to hold it, and Vi smiles at the sight.

“Because I said so. Be a good girl for me,” Vi says. You want to, you really do. But you just can’t hold it anymore.

Just as you’re about to cum, Vi pulls her hand away and places her hands on your hips to halt their movement. You try to fight against her, but she’s too strong. No no no no…

You start to actually cry this time, not just the soft mewling like before. Vi yanks your hair, making you look upwards.

“Were you just about to cum? Without my permission? You weren’t planning on disobeying me, were you?” Vi says, looking at you angrily.

“‘M sorry, so sorry,” you whimper.

“Bad girl. Told you to hold it, and you didn’t even listen,” Vi hisses. You start to cry more.

“I really tried! I’m really sorry, I did listen!” you try to convince.

“Oh, really? So if I didn’t pull my hand away, you wouldn’t have cum?” Vi asks. You sniffle and stay silent which answered her question. Vi sighs.

“I’m so sorry, Vi, please,” you say in desperation. Vi grabs your face harshly and squishes your cheeks together. You try to apologize again, but it comes out in gibberish.

“Fucking slut can’t listen to fucking instructions,” Vi says. Her other hand reaches down to slap your ass. You moan in both pain and pleasure.

“M-more…” you moan, not even realizing what you said until Vi lets go of your face raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? You want more?” she says with a smirk. She brings her hand down on your ass over and over again, causing you grab onto her shoulders. You moan her name as more tears drip down your face.

“Such a dumb slut. Crying from a few spanks. But, fuck, you look so fucking pretty like this,” Vi whispers into your ear. She continues with her hard hits, making you squirm on top of her. She holds you down easily with one arm.

She doesn’t stop until red hot handprints litter your ass.

“You look so beautiful right now…” Vi tell you.

You sniffle, “Please, wanna cum now, I can’t take this anymore!”

“Aw, poor baby,” Vi says, stroking your hair, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts, Vi. Please? Please help me?” you ask her nicely.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Vi says as she pushes you onto the bed and gets on top of you.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” she says. You obey. Vi kisses down your body until she reaches your dripping pussy. She gently places a peck on your clit, causing you to back your hips up against her face. Vi laughs at your desperation.

Finally, she licks a stripe up your slit and circles her tongue around your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Vi, it’s so good,” you moan.

Vi eats you out like there’s no tomorrow. Her tongue fucks deep into you and her nose nudges against your swollen clit.

“You taste so fucking sweet. I love it,” she whispers into your pussy. The slight vibration from her talking makes you go feral.

From all the edging you experienced prior, it doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge. Her lips sucking your clit and her strong hands holding your thighs was too much for you to handle.

“Vi, I need to cum, please, can I cum?” you whimper. For a second, you’re worried she’ll deny you again. But instead, she hums and nods between your legs.

You let go with a scream. This is the most intense orgasm you've ever had. You see stars and your legs shake around Vi’s head.

Vi doesn’t stop. She continues lapping up your juices as they drip down her chin. You make an attempt to push her head away, the sensitivity being too much, but she stays put until she gets every last drop.

You finally get a chance to breathe when she pulls away, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, and smirking at the sight of you.

Vi brushes your sweaty hair our of your face and coos at you.

“So good for me. Good girl,” she says. You nuzzle into her neck as you start to drift off. Vi gently puts your underwear back on for you and drapes the blanket over the two of you.

“Thank you…” you whisper. She slowly drags her fingers down your arm.

“Hey?” she asks. You hum in response.

“How’d you get in here?” Vi asks, “You never told me.”

“I… dealt some drugs,” you respond.

“Oh? So it really is just minor shit. I thought you were hiding something,” Vi laughs. You laugh too.

“Yeah, just some shimmer,” you admit. Vi stops laughing for a second and her eyes widen.

“You’re kidding,” she says, stunned.

“I’m not,” you chuckle.

“You dealt fucking shimmer? That’s fucking crazy. I didn’t know you were capable of that shit,” Vi replies, sounding impressed.

“Yeah, well, I got caught, so…”

“Well, you know, if you didn’t you wouldn’t have had the best orgasm of your life,” Vi smirks. You nod in agreement.

You yawn and your eyes began to close. You rest your face comfortably in her neck, and she looks down at you in adoration.