On my knees, Ill Kneel for you

by momoafterdark

Summary:

Caitlyn Kiramman is the standard of innocence; she represents purity in the kingdom of Piltover. Violet Lanes is a ragtag knight determined to make a change. When the two are married as Vi's gift for her victory in the war against Noxus, the Idealist and the Rogue will clash, but the warrior won't win this battle. Not if Kiramman has a say in it.

Notes:

This is my first work on Ao3 after being an avid Tumblr user. Please don't curse me, I promise I've been good. I am NOT a poet. I'm just a woman. I don't know when I'll update this, and it will not be regular! (sorry, but not really) I will update tags and stuff as I go. I plan on making this a short one because my brain can't handle getting my shit together long enough to make this lengthy.
The first chapter is extra short. Just to be mean to you.

Good luck.

Chapter 1

Summary:

Okay, hello, this is like pretty much a prologue to the actual fic, mostly because we needed some context! It's short and somehow wordy at the same time, bear with me.

The ground under her feet was rocky and uneven, so much so that she had to watch it while she walked to make sure she didn't stumble. She couldn't stumble, not now. Not while she was walking toward the looming Kiramman castle. Not while she was walking to receive a high honor for her sacrifices in the war against Noxus. No. She couldn't trip.

The castle had always brought her a sense of unease; the building itself was beautiful, with colorful flowers adorning windowsills and perfectly manicured gardens surrounding the intricate architecture. Yet, it made her stomach turn. Perhaps the thought of the filthy rich family who lived inside of it made her queasy, or thinking about the children in the streets of Zaun who could only dream of ever seeing such luxury. Even still, she kept walking, letting the rhythmic clanking of ceremonial armor soothe her nerves. She had to survive two hours. In two hours and she'll be home.

Once she stepped inside, the air felt thinner, as if the marble floors sucked it all from the building, or more likely, the aquisitive nobles had guzzled it all down their greedy tracheas. She had to shake her head to dull the anger of that thought. Just keep walking. She repeated over and over. Two hours. Then home.

“Violet!” a commanding voice broke her mantra, looking up to see the Queen… Standing in front of her? She dropped to an instinctual bow, swooping lower than the knights at her sides.
“Your majesty.” She said, trying her hardest to sound articulate.
“Please, stand. You've earned the right, Dame.” The tall woman spoke, gesturing for her to straighten. Vi obliged, keeping her eyes respectfully trailed slightly away from direct contact. “I hope you are excited to receive your title.” The queen spoke now with a slightly scheming smile. “It's not every day a female knight is bestowed such an honor.” Vi swallowed hard. She did not need to be reminded how important this was. How dire it was for her to not mess up and say something stupid… As she often did.
“I'm aware, your majesty, and I am humbled to accept whatever gift you have in store for me.” She said softly, too softly. She barely recognized her own voice. The queen simply nodded again, grabbing her arm as she led the Knight into the throne room. Vi couldn't help but notice how entirely intimate it was… How improper..

The King Consort sat in the smaller throne, the larger one reserved for Queen Cassandra. Who was currently parading Dame Violet Lanes into the room like a prized poodle. The room was tense, but that was what bothered her. It was the princess. The Heir to the Piltovian throne, standing next to her father in all white. Vi glanced at the Queen, a silent question in her eyes. Though she was sure it would soon be answered.
“I told you it was a rare honor.” The woman said quietly now, and Vi’s heart seemed to have stopped beating.
“Your majesty, I'm confused as to what you me-” She started to say, only to be abruptly cut off.
“You came here for a prize. For your efforts in Noxus. I've given you a gift most men dream of. My daughter's hand.” She said with a slow, dominating tone, a tone that suggested Vi should consider her reaction before she let it show on her face.
“The princess?” Vi asked, glancing at the girl, they were the same age. She knew this, but the girl looked younger. Less rugged, like her hands had no calluses, and her bones didn't squeak sometimes when she moved.
“Caitlyn.” The princess interrupted from beside her father, “My name is Caitlyn.”

Vi had no idea how she ended up standing at an altar, in front of at least a thousand people, holding the very delicate hands of a disgustingly gorgeous princess, but she had? Her predicament was proving to be more confusing than any war plan. Moments before the Queen had named her a Knight Grand Cross.. She was wearing the neck collar over her armor.. As she marries the most desired woman in Piltover? She needed a drink.

Chapter 2: Honeymoon of hell

Summary:

The useless lesbians are married! Sent to the Kirammans' river estate for their honeymoon! But there's no honey, and Vi is definitely a bee.

Notes:

HELLO - I somehow sat down and wrote this... It's a little wonky, and I have no idea where things are going, but spoiler ITS NOWHERE!

I skipped over the wedding on purpose. I am sorry. I needed to get through that piece so that the REAL TORTURE can begin. I plan on coming back to it later. Perhaps if you ask nicely. (probably not)

I once again am not sorry. Goodluck.

Caitlyn had expected the Knight to be brute-ish, especially now as they stood awkwardly in the Kiramman river house. The pink-haired woman was a few inches shorter than her, though twice as built. Caitlyn tried to avoid staring at the muscles on her arms like an awestruck child. The Knight shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with her hands.

She watched her now, unsure how to start a conversation with someone she barely knew, someone who was now her wife. She knew this was likely more disorienting for the Knight; she hadn't been raised the way Caitlyn was, with constant assurances that she would make an excellent little wife. She studied her face a moment now, looking over the scar that rested on her top lip, matching the one on her eyebrow just above.

The Knight spoke first, “Are you going to keep staring at me or say something?” She grunted, giving her a disapproving look.

Maybe she was a brute.

Caitlyn swallowed hard, but before she could speak, the other woman just... Left. walking away and down the hall. What the hell.

She took a breath, turning on her heels and going the opposite direction, hands stiffly tucked at her sides. She did not appreciate being spoken down to, especially not from a woman who was quite literally shorter than her.

-

By the time a maid corralled her into her bedroom, Vi was too furious to argue. The bed was too soft, too large, too clean. It was mocking her, so comfortable while her sister likely curled up on the floor back home. While her comrades' corpses lay on top of one another in a mass grave. Her legs moved before she let herself fully picture the broken and bruised bodies of her friends. Of her father.

She could still hear the cry he let out when the Noxian pierced him through the ribs. It rang in her ears every time she closed her eyes. She hated that his face had started to blur from her memory, and all that was left was the sound of his last breaths, clouding the images of his smiling face.

She hadn't had a perfect childhood nor a very happy one, but she was loved. Oh, how she was loved by him. Her father had given her his heart in his hands, taught her to do the same for the people she cared for. He taught her to be strong through vulnerability. He would be disappointed to see her now.

The wind blowing in through the open window tore her from her thoughts, and she stood, walking to look outside into the pristine courtyard below. She had somehow fallen into a life she didn't recognise, a life she certainly didn't deserve. Her mind trailed to Powder, still at home in their dafty apartment in Zaun. She turned now, searching for something to write to her with. Only to find the room oddly bare. So she ventured out into the hall, knocking into the walls once or twice as she walked. Until she hit a wall that felt human-shaped.

“Fuck.” She heard the figure breathe. It was a man, a tall, broad man dressed in expensive clothing, “What are you doing out here?” He asked her, now cocking his head.

She paused, slightly unsure how to answer, “Who are you?” She grumbled in an accusatory voice.. A little rougher than she had intended.

“Jayce Talis, I'm the princess's Private Secretary. I presume you're the wife.” He said in a gruff but friendly tone, holding out a large hand. A hand Vi ignored.

“Vi..” She muttered, standing slightly defensively in front of him, “Do you have anything to write a letter in this place?” She asked now.

“Who are you writing this late at night?” He asked her, narrowing his eyes slightly, though his posture remained casual.

“None of your business, pretty boy.” She grumbled, turning on her heels, she would find paper in the morning. As she moved to leave, he grabbed her wrist, making her tense.

“There should be everything you need in the study, downstairs. Though I recommend getting sleep instead of writing home to complain about your new wife.” He said with a wink, before releasing her and continuing down the hallway.

-

In the morning, Caitlyn walked into the study, her eyes flickering to the stack of papers that were usually neatly piled, now lying in a slight mess. She quirked a brow as she restacked them, scanning over the desk for any more imperfections.

She wondered why someone would be in here during the night, and what they would be doing, specifically writing.

“Your wife is quite the character,” Jayce spoke from behind her, leaning in the doorway.

“I'm still not used to people saying that.” She breathed, turning to face him, leaning against the desk.

“Have you two even spoken?” He asked, slowly stepping in, “She didn't seem very comfortable here.”

“Momentarily..” She mumbled, recalling the brief sentence Vi had given her yesterday.
“That brings little hope.” He laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“We can agree on that.” She grumbled, pushing off the desk, “I suppose I still have to try.”

“That's the spirit, sprout.” He smiled, ruffling her hair. Jayce didn't care that he technically served Caitlyn; she'd always be his baby sister in his eyes.

Caitlyn squirmed from under his hand, smoothing her hair as she made her way to Vi’s room. Her steps were slightly unsure, knocking softly on the door. Met with silence, reaching to knock again when the oak swung open. Vi was beautiful, and Caitlyn slightly hated just how beautiful she was.

“Good morning.” She said a little more sterile than she’d meant. She swallowed hard as she searched the other woman's face for any emotion.

“Morning.” She received back in a slightly raspy, very obviously still tired voice.

Caitlyn watched her, noting the slight flush on her cheeks; she had just woken up. “I didn't mean to wake you. I can leave.” She said softly, moving back onto her left foot.

“It's fine. What do you want?” Vi asked in a tone that some royals would behead someone for speaking to them in. Caitlyn didn't care; she was simply relieved to be spoken to at all.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a promenade, just around the gardens.” Caitlyn offered gently, her tone warm. Inviting.

Vi stared at her before merely nodding, stepping out of the room to follow. “You aren't going to get ready?” Caitlyn asked her quirking a brow.

“No.” The woman shrugged, and Caitlyn couldn't help but smile at her unbothered attitude.

-

The gardens were beautiful. Vi couldn't deny that as they walked through the bushes of flowers. Resisting the urge to trail her fingers on the petals of the dark blue delphiniums.

“They're lovely, aren't they?” Caitlyn said softly, her eyes on Vi’s hand.

“I guess they’re fine,” Vi muttered, tucking her hand back to her side.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes now as she walked, straightening her posture. “Do you always have problems admitting to feeling joy?” She teased lightly.

“Only when it comes to something as annoyingly affluent as having miles of gardens outside your house,” Vi grumbled, looking directly at the ground as she walked, dragging her feet slightly on the gravel.

Caitlyn couldn't help the laugh that escaped her, covering her mouth with her hand, “You’re certainly opinionated.” She breathed, her voice laced with amusement.

Vi shot her a little glare; she hated the condescension in that statement. She hated everything about this place. The isolation of this so-called honeymoon. The constant choking weight of wealth, the smell of entitlement that laced the air.

But most of all, she hated how Caitlyn Kiramman seemed so calm, untouchable.

-

Caitlyn watched her again, the Knight seemed to kick the rocks as she walked her steps, becoming sluggish the moment she was frustrated. She smiled at the thought, getting under her skin enough to warrant such a deliciously interesting reaction.

She let them walk in an uncomfortable silence, her own steps even and slow beside Vi, contrasting the borderline dragging stomp from the Knight to her right.

“I hear you have a sister,” Caitlyn spoke now, noticing Vi visibly tense.

“Yeah.” She said tightly, one-word answers seemed to be her favorite. Other than when Caitlyn could push her far enough to receive a scolding. She found it intoxicating.

“Does she live in Piltover?” She asked now, a genuine question. Met with a scowl.

“No.” Vi grit out, her body looked taught enough to spring from the pathway, coiled like a deadly viper.

“Oh.. I see.” Caitlyn nodded, her eyes trailing back down the path in a defeated manner.

“She's in Zaun. Probably starving to death while I play house.” Vi snapped, playing her hand without realizing it. Guilt was a powerful thing. Caitlyn softened, stopping to turn to her.

“I'm sure she’s alright, and it's not as though you were given much choice on your current.. Location.” She said her eyes focused on the Knights.

“You wouldn’t know anything. You live in this fantasy world while people die. Hundreds of people die.” She spat now, her chest heaving slightly.

Caitlyn sighed, swallowing before she started to speak. “I assure you, a dozen diplomats are trying to fix this, I know you… Lost people in the war, but were working to guarantee it was not in vain.”

The shorter woman exploded. “Diplomats are just Aristocrats who want to play god! You think they have any interest in helping the starving children on the streets of Zaun? Or the families who lost everyone in the war?” She seethed, her chest rising and falling at a concerning speed now.

“I didn't mean to offend you, I-” Caitlyn started to speak, only to be cut off as Vi stepped into her face.

“Don’t play innocent. Your family's hands have just as much blood on them as any warrior, but instead of getting it on a battlefield. You killed them sitting in the comfort of a Vicuna throne.” She breathed before turning on her heels and storming away. Again

God damnit.

Caitlyn stood still for a moment, unsure if she should be upset for Vis's blatant insolence or pleased that she finally showed something other than apathy. Confused and a little embarrassed, she stayed in the garden. Lowering herself to a bench as she stared at the Delphinium Vi had seemed entranced in. Reaching forward to pick one from the root.

Notes:

You survived!

Please tattle on me if there are mistakes in here. I'm actually half dead and probably illiterate.

Chapter 3: Delphiniums and dopamine?

Summary:

Vi is a complete mess, and she is determined to live in her comfy self-depricating hole. Caitlyn is determined to prove her devotion.

Notes:

So this is GIBBERISH, but my only friend who I've allowed to read this told me it was okay, so blame Arlo if it sucks. There is a little bit of violence description, as well as family loss. If you're uncomfortable with that, I would tread lightly here (And maybe don't read.. as that's kind of my style.)

Anywho, Im not sorry.

Good luck

The nightmares always came in waves; sometimes they’d crash against her, sometimes they were almost gentle. Nevertheless, they were haunting.

Vi lay twisted in the expensive sheets; she could still taste soot in her throat as if she were still on the battlefield. She could still hear the wet sound of the blade sinking into her father's chest. Right between his second and third rib. The gurgle that followed. The cry when he’d seen Mylo and Claggor fall beside him. Arrows through their necks. She couldn’t picture her brothers’ faces, but she had memorized what their esophagi looked like after being torn through with stone.

She jolted awake, her pulse thundering under her skin. The curtains were drawn, the moon bleeding in through the deep green fabric. She sat up so fast she choked on air, her chest protested, her throat raw from noises she hadn't realized she’d been making.

She felt weak. She hated feeling weak.

She rubbed her face with still trembling hands, glaring at the room around her as if it were to blame for her terrors. The fine carpets, the delicate blown glass, they all seemed to mock her.

They were all reminders she'd been stolen from her comforting dirt, forced into silk. She was even more upset about the fact that she didn't appreciate the finery.

Her friends rotted in an acre-wide pit of dirt. Her father rotted in that pit, her brothers alongside him. She'd put them in herself if only to make sure they were all beside one another. She’d carefully laid each down, placing their hands on the one beside them.

Even worse, Powder was out there alive. Somewhere in Zaun, probably curled against a wall with nothing but scraps for dinner. If she was lucky.

The Kiramman River house was silent around her, so silent it hurt. No noise of wounded soldiers, no distant clashing of metal. Only her and her failures, sitting like a big cat weighing down her chest.

She curled forward, burying her face in her hands again; her skin was clammy, the longer pieces of her hair plastered to her neck from sweat. She hated this. Hated how her lungs felt too big for her chest, and also somehow her chest too big for her lungs to fill. She hated how she wished, hoped, prayed even for a hand to appear, to touch her back. Tell her she wasn't alone. Tell her she wasn't a monster.

But she was alone. Her father was dead. Her brothers, along with him. Powder was gone. She was trapped in a gold-plated gilded cage with someone she hardly knew, someone who would never know her. How could she? Caitlyn had grown up entirely differently from Vi.

She was expected to lie here, play house while ghosts tore her apart night after night, limb after limb. Her throat started to burn again, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek till she tasted iron. Letting the metallic taste anchor her, pain she could control, pain she could choose.

When the biting no longer worked, she tore from the sheets, pushing up onto shaky legs as she heaved. The room was suffocating; everything she hated in the world.

Her windpipe catches on sobs she refuses to let escape, so she turns them into growls. She didn't cry anymore, not like a child. Instead, she grabbed the edge of the full-body mirror across from the bed, gripping till her knuckles turned white.

Her tears never came, sitting behind her eyes like shards of glass that refused to chip away, shards of glass like the mirror now was as she threw it to the floor. Finding less satisfaction in its destruction than she had hoped.

She turned on her heels, desperate for something else to break, something to help her release this lightning bubbling under her skin. A thunderstorm just below the surface, begging to be let free. She looked around at the silks like a feral animal, her breath heavy as she stood.

Nothing here belongs to her, nothing here belongs to them.

She hates that this room has survived centuries. Centuries of laughter and lovers sneaking between the walls. Her family hadn't lasted twenty-five years. Flesh and blood torn from bones while the gilded house stayed untouched. Silk and stone stubbornly eternal.

The more things she broke, the worse she felt, still she continued, till she finally collapsed into the bed, exhausted and still longing for a comfort she would refuse to ask for. One she’d never admit to needing.

-

Down the hall, Caitlyn had heard the ruckus, her heart breaking at the sound of Vis's cries, before she stiffened at the crashing. She should have gone to her; that would have been the proper thing to do. The brave thing, but she wasn't brave.. Not anymore.

What could she say to a woman who has seen horrors shed only read about, what comfort could come from the lips of someone who had learn to speak four languages out of etiquette, not soothe grief.

She hated that she hesitated. Caitlyn Kiramman did not hesitate; she never had. Yet tonight, the doubt pressed down on her like an anchor. Perhaps she was right to assume her a coward. Perhaps she was.

-
Vis eyes opened when she could no longer ignore the morning light streaming into the bedroom. They were swollen and itchy from crying, and her body felt like she had run a thousand miles in her sleep.

As she tentatively sat up, her eyes peered around the room. It was.. Clean? Every piece of furniture that had broken, vases smashed, and curtains torn had been replaced. It looked untouched. The evidence of her outburst was erased.

The thought made her livid. The audacity to cover it up, as if her anger was an inconvenience, a spill on the carpet.

She immediately got out of bed, fuming as she turned. Her eyes caught the bedside table. A delicate emerald green vase sitting on the Oak. Filled with delphiniums. The same deep blue ones she had touched the day before.

The rage dissipated… Replaced with a feeling she didn't quite understand. One that scared her to even consider. She moved to gently caress the flowers, running her fingers over the soft clusters.

She knew who left them, of course, she did. Her feet started to move in their original direction, but for a different reason now. Until she caught herself in the hall. Looking between the direction of Caitlyns room and the stairs.

She could imagine how the woman would react; she wondered if she'd hold her, if she'd judge her for being so weak.

Her legs slightly burned as she ascended the steps, moving towards the gardens, moving towards air. Fresh air, she desperately needed.

Her path was stopped by Jayce Talis. Just her luck.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, quirking a brow at her.

“Outside. Am I not allowed?” She spoke, itching for a fight. Only to be gently shut down.

“You can go wherever you please, Violet. Want company?” He said in the same kind tone Vi was learning to expect from the large man.

“No.” She said sharply, brushing past him. Even though she desperately did want company, even if it was the most humiliating thing she could imagine.

-

She lay on her back in the grass between two rose bushes, watching the flowers gently sway in the wind, trying to calm herself. Trying to process everything that had happened to her. She lost her family, then she married a princess, a torturously gorgeous princess who was far too naive for her own good.
She felt like she was spinning as she recalled the past months, her hands moving to grip the blades of grass beside her. She yearned for her sword, for her and Ekko to be sparring in the training room again. For her to be back to those months before the war, when everything had felt blissful. When she herself was naive, determined to fight for honor.

How she had proven herself wrong.

She didn't fight for honor or justice; she fought for a prison of a marriage. Condemned to a life she despised.

It was more a punishment than a prize.

The grass was soft under her fingers, gently dragging her arms over it now as she closed her eyes, taking a slow breath.

“Should I be worried?” Caitlyn's voice came from above her, the blue-haired woman standing at Vi’s feet.

Vi stiffened, moving to stand up now, only for Caitlyn to silently lower herself, lying beside her. Even in this moment, she could help but notice how alluring her profile was, as she turned her head on the grass to look at her.

“Do you often lie on the ground?” She asked, now her voice gentle, non-judging. Her arms crossed over her chest as she sighed.

“Only when I need to think,” Vi muttered, looking up at the sky instead of into the intense blue eyes beside her. Though Caitlyn's eyes stayed focused on Vi’s face.

“And might I ask, what you need to think about?” Caitlyn dared. Vi had to admire the courage in even trying.

“No.” She said plainly, but she didn't move, didn't leave. Allowed the silence to become comfortable.

After a while of quiet, she whispered into the sky, “If I say it out loud, they'll be dead twice.” She breathed, almost inaudibly.

She didn't look over for a reaction, and Caitlyn didn't respond, only shifting barely closer. Her presence warm. Too warm. Vi didn't deserve warmth. Not while her family lies cold.

She stood up quickly, slightly embarrassed as the blue-haired woman sat up, watching her with far too much softness for Vi’s pride. She had to force herself to turn away, to storm off down the gravel and back toward the house.

Her chest ached for the warmth she didn't deserve, and every step felt like a betrayal to the ghosts still lying in the Earth behind her.

She wished she could somehow fix herself, make this all go away. Even though she knew she earned this torture. Every person she slew for a war waged by royals who had never seen the front lines. Every time she tried to fight for justice, and instead fought for someone else's hunger for power.

She wished she could lean into the trap that was Caitlyn Kiramman. Allow herself to be her wife, to accept the gift she had been bestowed.

No. As long as her brothers and father stayed dead and her sister lost, she could not. Would not give in to any promise of joy.

-

Caitlyn was left feeling defeated once again, sitting on the ground as Vi’s retreating form became further and further away. She didn't know why the woman wouldn't accept her comfort.

Mostly, she didn't know why she was so determined to finally make her give in.

Her mother had always told her about her and her father's great love story, an arranged marriage that bloomed into a devotion she always admired. A marriage she had hoped to have, even if she thought the Knight was a little rough around the edges. She could see the good in her; she desperately yearned to see the good in her.

She remembered her mother telling her the woman she would marry would be her mirror, and she never understood what she had meant. She still didn't.

Whatever it meant, Violet Lanes sure didn't seem like a mirror. Maybe the one she had thrown across the room the night before. But surely not one that worked.

Caitlyn Kiramman didn't fail, she didn't stumble, yet here she sat, uncertain in her own garden because of a Knight's internal conflict. It only fueled her need to break through her wife’s walls; she wanted to love her. She wanted to finally have her fairytale.

She didn't want to pressure the Knight either… She would eventually accept if the other woman refused to reciprocate, but gods, she hoped that's not how it would end. It wasn't that she didn't know how to comfort someone; this was far past any pain she had previously soothed. Violet's trauma wasn't a noble boy scraping his knee on the pavement; it was raw, jagged, and utterly foreign to her.

Finally, she pressed up onto her feet, following the now cold trail Vi had left into the house. Her gaze lingered on the stones knocked out of place from her stomping.

-

When she settled in her room, she could hear Vi down the hall, could hear the quiet sobs; it made her gut wrench, imagining the strong woman crumpled on the floor. Imagining her so broken… She hopelessly wanted to help her. To conciliate her, though she knew Violet was far too stubborn to ever allow it. She hardly knew her. Yet she felt like she knew so much.

She had heard from Jayce that Vi’s previous midnight letter was written to a Powder Lanes, who Caitlyn learned was her sister. She practically threatened the mail boy to ensure the letter got to its intended recipient. Grossly overpaying him if he rushed it along.

That was her way of helping, she supposed, a silent aide. She could settle for silence if it meant somehow lulling the pain her wife was so clearly in.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to ignore the worry that seemed to eat at her. She wanted to speak to Vi, to say something profound, something that would stop the cries she could faintly hear. But what could she say? Words felt like useless tools against the carnage of memory. They felt futile against the vividness of horror that was etched into Violet Lane's bones.

She closed her eyes now, imagining Vi again. She wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, she wanted to kiss her senseless. Oh. She immediately felt guilty for thinking of such things when Vi was obviously upset.

Maybe it wasn't about being steady or calm, maybe if she simply allowed Violet to lean on her, to see she wouldn't run from the storm. That, at least, she could do.

And so she waited, listening to the muffled sobs down the hall, wishing she could hold her, wishing she could make it all better. Promising herself she wouldn't leave, she wouldn't give up on the Knight. Not yet.

Notes:

I promise next time we will see more of Caitlyn as a character. Vi had big feelings and she needs big space.

As always tattle on me if I have made any mistakes.

Chapter 4: Mr. Painter man

Summary:

Yay forced proximity!

Notes:

This one's a wee bit short, but everyone survived.. Well, not Vi's family, but whatever!

Blame Grammarly if it reads like a biology textbook. I swear it was threatening me with yellow lines.

Good luck.

Vi woke to the faintest streaks of light bleeding through the curtains, the edges of the room hazy in the soft glow. She shifted under the weight of the sheets, muscles tight and joints sore. The memories pressed at the edges of her mind. Her father's final cry, her brothers’ bodies.

She had been fiercely protective of them till the end. Till the moment she laid them to rest. She wasn't biologically related to any of them; therefore, she couldn’t receive any of their things from the camps, which were burned alongside the other familyless knights' possessions.

The thought brought unwelcome tears to her eyes; even in the end, she wasn't honored as their sister or daughter. She was a ‘friend’. An outsider to her own family. Just because they weren't blood.

She didn't know if the pain of their deaths or the pain of being forgotten to them was worse. Part of her felt guilty for wanting any attention in relation to their lives. It seemed everything made her feel guilty recently.

It was a pain that hurt worse than any wound she’d suffered in the war, a rotting that slowly tore her flesh from her bone, her soul from her body. Something no one would ever understand.

“Dame, you have your sitting for you and the princesses painting in five minutes,” A maid said softly behind her. She was short, with curly blonde hair.

“Right, thank you…” She slightly paused, cocking her head. She'd been so focused on her own inward spiral to learn the damn maid's name.

“Eden.” She said softly, handing her a neatly folded outfit before disappearing from the room.

Vi pulled the clothes close to her chest, as if the fabric could somehow absorb the ache in her body. Eden's footsteps faded, leaving her in silence. She stood still a moment longer, staring at the linen in her hands. Wondering how a life like Caitlyns could be stitched so perfectly together while hers had been torn apart.

She dressed quickly, avoiding eye contact with the mirror. The reflection would be a stranger with bruised shoulders and haunted eyes. She cinched the fabric around her waist, tugged the sleeves down over her wrists. Trying to stand tall despite the weight threatening to topple her over.

The study was quiet as she approached, now other than the faint scraping of chairs, a clanking of brushes on the artist's palette. She recognized Caitlyn's voice now, directing the artist; her tone was as controlled as always, steady and comforting.

Her first instinct was to retreat, curl back into herself, and avoid this confrontation. She had no interest in brewing, exposed to Caitlyn again, in letting her see even a sliver of the gaping hole growing inside her. But she forced herself forward. Why? She didn't know.

Caitlyn looked up as she entered her eyes soft but unreadable, “Violet.” She said simply, no expectation for a response, no judgment. Just her.

“Morning,” Vi said, trying not to seem as frazzled as she felt.

Caitlyn cracked a small smile. “Did you sleep well?” She asked, meaningless small talk, but she somehow made it seem genuine.

The question did feel a little absurd. How could she sleep well when her heart was a graveyard? Filled with the faces of everyone she watched die. She didn't answer, sitting in the chair beside Caitlyn.

The blue-haired woman seemed slightly disappointed but didn't push, sitting up a little straighter, “You know, we don't know much about each other, Violet.” She said her eyes were still on the artist, sitting perfectly still.

“No… I guess we don't.” Vi echoed, chewing her cheek.

“Tell me something. It doesn't have to be deep or personal. Anything about you?” Caitlyn said softly, momentarily glancing to her.

Vi paused, taking a moment to think. Something about her that wasn't related to death… Or wars… Or overall emotional despair… “My favorite color is Indigo.” She settled on, it was safe, didn't offer too much.

“Indigo.” She spoke back, her eyes going thoughtful. “I can see that, it's very… you.” She smiled now, and it made Vi’s cheeks flush.

“What's yours?” She dared to ask, if only because she wanted to hear her voice again. Ached for the soft English accent that oozed sweetness.

“Violet.” She said matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest answer in the world.

Vi stifled a snort, earning her a hushed scolding from the artist. “You're serious?” She asked now.

“As a heart attack,” she nodded, watching her out of the corner of her eye, “Any particular reason for indigo?” She inquired now.

“It was my father's favorite.” She spoke quietly, struggling not to fidget with her hands.

Caitlyn, luckily, somehow always knew what to say: “I see, you loved him dearly?” Her voice was gentle, low, and intimate.

Vi could only nod, swallowing down the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Caitlyn seemed to notice and continued to speak.

“I know my words will not extinguish the pain of your family's absence,” She said gently, eyes flickering over to Vi, “But I do know, death gives meaning to life. Without an end, there's no purpose to start. Heartbreak gives elucidation to love.” Caitlyn offered.

Her words struck deep in Vi. So much so, she choked on her own breath, turning her head against the painter's complaints to look at her fully. Mouth slightly gaping, eyes wide.

“I'm sorry, did I overste-” Caitlyn began, but Vi cut her off.

“Thank you.” She croaked, her throat feeling dry, the room feeling small. Caitlyn only nodded, and they both turned to face the artist again.

Just as she almost allowed herself to relax, the sound of her father's cry rang in her ears. The image of her brothers’ split-open necks.

How could she allow herself comfort when they would never know it again.

She stiffened, setting her jaw, ignoring the worried glance from Caitlyn beside her.

-

Caitlyn was confused; she had thought Vi was finally going to soften, thought she had peeled away one layer. Now the pink-haired woman sat like a statue, back in her fortress.

Damnit.

She tried not to look at her while the artist continued, tried not to drop to her knees and beg the Knight to let her in.

She so wanted to know her, to see past the haunted expression on such a beautiful face. She wanted to know where the scar on her lip came from, if it was at the same time as the one on her brow. She wanted to know the meaning behind every tattoo, how she got every muscle.

Mostly, she wanted to know if the Knight was as good a kisser as she had been imagining. Even if she felt bad for thinking of such things. She fought not to reach for her, even now, scared she would break her. Unsure if she should push or allow her to pull away.

Her attention was now so fully on Vi she had forgotten where they were, her posture momentarily slipping before she caught it. She reminded herself to breathe, attempting to ground the overwhelming empathy and desire coursing through her body.
It had been days, days of watching Vi retreat into herself, and she had just gotten her to open up. Only to lose her again. She would be steadfast still. A rock, unmoving and grounding.

Her mother's words played in her head again, a mirror of herself. She had always imagined her love to be serene, unshakeable, a dance of subtle perfection. Yet, she found it to be in the form of a rough, bruised, scarred, and slightly terrifying woman. Still, she wanted her, wanted every bit of chaos. She wanted to see it unravel and bend into trust. Wanted to hold her safely without putting out the fire.

She wanted to worship her, to cradle her like her most prized possession. Protect her from anything that dared to attempt to harm her.

Vi’s silence was deafening, though Caitlyn caught the faintest quiver in the other woman's hands, the smallest admission. She wondered how much she had suffered, how much had been stacked on those shoulders without a moment to rest.

Caitlyn's upbringing had taught her to see patterns, to find solutions. But she was at a loss with Vi, unsure how she could help her. Every word weighed heavily on her tongue, every moment could be wrong, risk misinterpretation. A misstep could cut the thread she hoped to weave between them.

She had never been so careful, never wanted someone so badly that the thought of a single mistake made her dizzy.

And yet, watching Vi, so still and rigid. She felt her resolve fracture, not from weakness but out of longing. She wanted the woman to laugh, to relax, to smile. Caitlyn wanted to be the reason.

Her thoughts moved back to the painting, the artist working quietly in front of them. Normally, this would have worked as a distraction, but today her mind lingered on her wife. She considered speaking again, but the fear of rejection, or worse, pushing Vi further away, froze her.

She considered every minute of her upbringing, the lessons in diplomacy, or as Vi would say, ‘playing god’. The hours she spent learning to be poised, realizing now how ill-prepared she was for this. No finishing school could teach her how to reach a woman who had seen horrors and carried them like chains around her soul.

But Caitlyn Kiramman was not a quitter; she didn't know how.

So now, as she continued to watch Vi in her peripheral she felt a strange mix of awe and admiration. She wasn't in love with her, at least not yet, not entirely. She wasn't even sure if Vi was capable of ever softening. But she wanted her. Not as a conquest or a jewel in her crown. Body and soul.

She allowed herself to imagine a future with Violet, a future where Vi permitted herself to feel pleasure. Perhaps they would have children; Vi would make an excellent mother.

A small smile curved her lips, not because she wanted reciprocation or immediate first sight love, but because she allowed herself to hope. To hope her wife would open her heart to her. No matter how long it took.

Notes:

Phew, the next one is a treat! But only for a moment before I torture you again.

Chapter 5: Couldn't or wouldn't

Summary:

They are leaving the river house, honeymoon hell is over, back to the pretty whimsical castle they go!

and guess what... THERES ONE BED!

Notes:

How I am writing these this quickly, I do not know, I started school this week and this is what Im doing instead of starting any of my work.

Yes, I have already written the next chapter, yes, its mean.

No, I'm not sorry.

Good luck!

(You're gonna like this one.)

Caitlyn was unsure how to feel about leaving the river house, thrust back into reality after the week of supposed bonding with her new wife. However, little to nothing came from the vacation.

She tried to remain positive. Vi would come around, she was sure of it.

She needed to be patient.

She wasn't the best at that.

Vi was walking beside her now, their things being carried into the carriage. “Are you excited to go back?” Caitlyn asked her, glancing at the slightly shorter woman.

“No,” Vi said plainly, and Caitlyn frowned.

God, damn it, this woman was stubborn.

But she was ten times more enticing.

“It can be… A lot, if you ever feel overwhelmed, I'm always here.” A soft offer, not too pushy.

“Thanks…” She grumbled. Caitlyn couldn’t help but slightly smile at her grumpiness.

Jayce was waiting in the carriage, his frame taking up half the seat as he read a book. Most likely, one Viktor had sent for him, Caitlyn's heart ached imagining her best friend and his husband. The eternal love they shared, Viktor often joked that he would haunt Jayce in every lifetime.

Caitlyn hoped Vi would haunt her, too. However painful it was.

“Morning sprout, Vi.” Jayce nodded momentarily, glancing up from the pages.

“Good morning, another one Vik sent?” She hummed, leaning to peek at the title.

“As always, he was adamant that I finish this one before we got home.” He smiled fondly, his eyes trailing to Vi. She shifted uncomfortably in her spot beside Caitlyn.

Caitlyn looked to her as well, noticing the tension in her posture.

-

The castle never felt less like home; the length of the great hall felt suffocating with Vi beside her. Framed by white marble and her family's crest on every banner.

Courtiers looked up from whispered circles, their eyes darting between the princess's immaculate composure and Vi’s armored shoulders. Caitlyn could feel the weight of their stares. Invisible fingers pressing down on her spine.

She’d been trained on how to survive this attention, preened for it. Chin high, steps measured, every breath was a display of refinement. Vi, in contrast, walked as if the floor were hers to grind into the heel of her boots. She carried herself like a weapon.

Unsoftened and unashamed. Caitlyn was terribly jealous.

Caitlyn caught herself watching her wife’s hands, which flexed and curled at her side. As if she were still holding weapons she no longer bore.

The knuckles were raw again, as if she’d split them open on something. Caitlyn wondered if the walls of the river house would answer her questions.

They were shown to their new chambers before nightfall.

Her mother's personal steward threw open the heavy doors with a stiff bow. Caitlyn's heart gave a muted thud when she realized.

Here they shared a room.

One large bed, hung with velvet. Only one.

Vi gave a low laugh that was… unamused. “Figures.” She grunted, stepping into the room, immediately to the window. Pressing her fingers against the glass as if she could shove the city below away.

Caitlyn remained at the doorway a moment longer than necessary, her back rigid as she thought. Her mother's intent was obvious: unity.

She knew she had meant no harm; her mother most likely assumed the two were already a friendly pair. That this would suit her daughter.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Though she didn't doubt appearance also held a weight, proof of devotion, consummation… Proof Caitlyn had brought her wife into the fold rather than dragging home a wild soldier with broken sleep and scars like tally marks.

Once Caitlyn mustered the courage to shut the doors behind her and step into the room, she took a breath. Though it snagged halfway down her throat when she turned and saw Vi again.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Her wife was staring at the streets below, lips moving soundlessly. For a moment, Caitlyn thought she might be muttering a curse. But then she spotted a flicker of fear in Vi’s eyes. A tremor in her hands.

“Violet?” She asked softly, stepping closer.

Vi blinked hard, as though the sound yanked her back from some far land. “I'm Fine.”

“I didn't ask, and no, you are not,” Caitlyn said a little sharper than intended.

Vi’s jaw twitched, and she gripped the window tighter. “Don’t start.” She grit out.

Caitlyn couldn't help herself. The days of silence, tension. Finally snapping through her body like a wire. “You think you can walk through Piltover with your fists bleeding and eyes hollow. You think no one will notice? They see you, every twitch, scar, and they will tear you apart.” She said her voice sounded like a sword now.

Vi turned from the window with unexpected speed, eyes hot and angry. Still beautiful. “Let them look, I don't owe them anything. I don't care what they think of me.” She growled.

“You owe me,” Caitlyn said before she could stop the words flooding from her mouth like a broken dam.

The silence that followed was brittle and dangerous. It scared Caitlyn immensely.

Vi’s gaze darkened, and Caitlyn regretted her words instantly. But she didn't take them back. She couldn't now. Because beneath the regret was the truth, she needed control. She desperately needed some kind of power.

She needed to control Vi just enough to control how they were seen, control the narrative before it was spun out of her hands, and wounded her already hurting wife.

Vi stalked toward the bed, shrugging off her pauldrons with sharp, graceless motions.

The armor landed on the floor with a clatter that echoes like a slap. Caitlyn flinched.

By the time Caitlyn undid her own cloak and gloves with barely steady fingers, Vi was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands.

“Don’t,” Vi said when Caitlyn took another tentative step forward.

“Don’t what?” She asked.
“Don’t come closer. Don’t look at me like that, like I'm broken glass you can sweep and hide away.” She breathed.

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. “I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.” Vi’s voice cracked with sudden heat. “You think if you keep me dressed right, standing straight, biting my tongue, then maybe I'll stop being who I am. Maybe the dirt and blood under my nails will vanish.”

Caitlyn swallowed hard. “I only want to protect you.” She whispered.

Vi lifted her head then, and Caitlyn wished she hadn't. Her wife’s eyes were red-rimmed, not from tears but from strain, nights without sleep. “You want to control me. Don’t dress it up like you’re some hero.”

The words hit too close; she did want to control her… But not for selfishness. She felt reflexive denial rise in her throat, but she clamped her teeth because she was not wrong.

The chamber filled with the silence of their uneven breathing. Caitlyn's heartbeat thudded heavily in her ears, and she forced her hands into stillness against her sides.

Order. She needed order, before Vi unraveled completely.

But Vi was already unraveling.

It began with the tremor in her fingers again, then the shallow pull of her breath. Caitlyn could recognize the signs now, the edge of a nightmare bleeding into walking life.

She had seen it once before, when she had peeked into Vi’s room at the river house.

Caitlyn crossed the space without thinking. She dropped to her knees in front of Vi, gripping her wrists. The skin was hot, already slick with sweat. Vi tried to pull back, but she held firm.

“Look at me.” She commanded.

Vi’s chest heaved. “Let go.” She choked.

“Not until you’re here with me.”

The words came out sharp, as if she were giving an order rather than pleading with her wife. Part of her knew it was cruel. Another part also knew cruelty was sometimes the only way Vi listened.

Vi’s breathing grew ragged. Her gaze snapped to Caitlyn's face, and for a second, Caitlyn thought she saw clarity there.

But then Vi’s expression twisted, something caught between anger and sadness.

“You don't get it,” She hissed. “You don't want to get it, you think you can drag me back every time the blood comes for me, but you can't. You can't control it, and you can't control me.”

Caitlyn's grip tightened. “Watch me.”

The challenge hung there, hot and trembling in the inch of space between them.

Vi’s pulse pounded against Caitlyns palms, and she realized she was shaking too. Still, she didn't let go.

They were balanced on the edge of a blade, teetering between collapse and wholehearted collision.

The silence stretched, growing heavier.

Caitlyn wondered now which would come first, the breaking or the fire.

-

Caitlyn's fingers dug into her wrists; they were pale, delicate things, but they held her with the strength of a vice. Vi could have broken free quite easily.

But she stayed.

Because some part of her desperately needed Caitlyn to hold on, to keep her tethered while he body threatened to fly away.

Someone to weigh her down when the ghosts came back.

And they always came back.

She could still see them, even here, even now.

Mylos' throat opened like a red smile, Claggors' eyes clouded over. Wide and empty. Boys who died becoming men.

Boys who died fighting a war they didn't wager.

Paid for crimes they didn't commit.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the blood clung to her vision. Painting itself across velvet, dripping down Caitlyns arms.

Her breath hitched, sharp and ugly, but Caitlyn cut through it, low and commanding.

Heavy and comforting.

“Look at me.”

Vi wanted to snap, wanted to spit on her and tell her this was all her fault, all her family's fault.

She wanted to tell her that if she looked at her, she would break completely.

She would never understand the demons Vi lived with, what it felt like walking with your insides hollowed out, spending your nights clawing at the walls of your own head. Begging to be released from your own torment, but condemning yourself anyway.

Because she deserved it.

For living, she deserved it.

Still, with any bravery or courage she had left, she opened her eyes.

Caitlyn's face was too close.

She broke.

Not with tears, this was worse. This was the kind of breaking she was sure Caitlyn could see seeping out of her chest, pooling on the floor after it had overflowed from her being.

Her body moved before her mind caught up. She surged forward, closing the inch between them.

Pressing her mouth to Caitlyn's in something far too brutal to be considered a kiss.

Caitlyn stiffened, but she didn't pull back; her grip on Vi’s wrists only tightened.

Vi kissed like she fought: all teeth and fury, searching for something she couldn't name.

A faint taste of iron clung to her tongue now, memory or imagination she couldn't tell. She swallowed it down. Swallowed down the taste of Caitlyn as she buried herself against her lips.

Caitlyn responded in kind, not softening but meeting Vi’s violence with controlled precision. She tilted her head, pressed harder, forcing Vi to feel every ounce of her presence.

Caitlyn kissed as she argued, like she was always right.

Vi gasped into her, not from pleasure but from need. The kind of need that hurts. The kind that made her whole body ache.

Her hands finally tore free from Caitlyn’s hold, but instead of pushing her away, Vi grabbed fistfuls of the fabric at her waist, dragging her closer. Pulling her up off the ground and into her lap.

She needed to feel her, needed comfort.

The fabric bunched beneath her hands; she didn't care. She wanted her against her, wanted to feel something that wasn't unwanted pain, that wasn't the image of corpses rotting behind her eyes.

Caitlyn let her; she even leaned into it. Pushing Vi to lie back on the bed as she lay her body weight on her.

Vi hated how she controlled her, hated how she let her.

How she needed her.

She pulled back, just enough to pant, “You don't get it. You don't want to get it.” She croaked, trying to return to her previous argument.

Caitlyn didn't let her. “Then show me.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

Vi kissed her again, this time less rough, but still clumsy, still messy and raw and humiliating, but too intoxicating to stop.

Teeth knocked, breath tangled, hands gripped far too tight, but that was the point.

Every second of it hurt.

In the pain, Vi felt alive. In the burn of Caitlyn’s nails on her skin, she remembered she still had a body to feel.

In the press of her mouth, she didn't feel completely alone.

No matter how deep the graves ran inside her.

For a moment, Vi almost pulled away. Almost stopped before it went too far. Because this wasn't love, not the love she knew Caitlyn wanted.

This was grief and rage stitched into an ugly quilt.

But Caitlyn whispered her name, just once, breathless and gentle. Vi couldn't stop.

Couldn't.

Wouldn’t.

She let the desperation take her, let the sadness settle in the space between her ribs and ignite a flame that warmed her soul.

It wasn't tender or kind. But it was real, and in this moment, real was all she needed.

-

Caitlyn let Vi flip them after a while, her weight pressing her into the mattress, heavy and unrelenting.

For a moment, Caitlyn couldn't breathe, but not from fear, or even Vi’s body. From the pure desperation.

She had imagined this closeness before, alone in her room. Though she had pictured it tender, warm, something shared between them when the world went quiet.

She had thought, foolishly, that their first night together would be gentle. A slow unspooling of the tension that had bound them for the past weeks.

This was… not that.

Vi wasn't kissing her like a lover; she was devouring her. Clinging to her as if she were the barrier between her and the darkness clawing at her mind.

Each bruise Vi left on her neck burned, but she didn't push her off.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Because under the aggression, she felt the tremor. The way her hands shook when she gripped too hard.

The way her breath hitched, closer to a sob than a moan, the way she whispered now, “Don’t leave.”

Gods, Caitlyn wanted to, not because she didn't want this.

Because gods, she wanted this.

But because it was wrong, Vi wasn't really there. She was trapped in memories Caitlyn couldn't touch.

So she stayed still, because maybe she could mend them this way.

She'd let Vi use her if it was what she needed.

She would surrender if it would ease the storm in her eyes.

She let her hands rise to hold Vi’s back, to steady her, gently soothe if she could.

Vi’s lips on her neck turned to teeth, biting hard enough to make Caitlyn flinch; the sound that escaped her was sharp, startled.

Vi softened, just barely, licking over the spot in a silent apology she’d never admit to.

Her hands changed a little now, moving down Caitlyns body more appreciatively, undressing her as her lips stayed sucked to her neck.

It was still slightly painful, the way she was being held, but Caitlyn would let her.

Let her because she’d rather be consumed than see Vi drown alone.

Let her because perhaps she loved her too much to deny her this release.

So, hours later, when Vi collapsed onto her. Panting and sweating and pressing softer, thankful kisses to her neck. She didn't regret it.

Not even in the slightest.

Notes:

zoo-wee-mama

It's kinda hot in here...

I promise it's a sort of kind of maybe slow burn, but the candle just got a little brighter.

Time to snuff it out.

Chapter 6: The cycle

Summary:

I haven't slept in days

Notes:

HOW AM I WRITING THIS MUCH WHO KNOWS'S GETTING SCARY

bark bark I say as I write a horribly unhealthy relationship dynamic without meaning to...

Blame this on the fact that I am in love with a girl who lives seventeen hours away.

GOOD LUCK!

Caitlyn rose before dawn. She had been lately, not because of duty, or even want. Because sleep had stopped offering her anything worth keeping.

She sat up in bed, watching Violet sleep. Her head had moved when Caitlyn shifted, now lying on her thighs, arms wrapped around her waist.

She looked so young when she slept, breakable…

Caitlyn hated her for it and loved her more than breath for it.

Her hands threaded into Vi’s hair, bordering on tugging and stroking.

Finally, she stood reluctantly, leaving her for her work.

The day stretched cold around her. Jayce had requested her presence for breakfast, which she refused.

-

She woke to absence, again.

The pillow was cold when she reached for it, the presence of Caitlyn gone around her.

The silence in the room was the kind that hurt, no humming kettle or soft footsteps. Just Vi’s own breathing and the echo of Caitlyn’s voice from last night: “You should sleep. Go back to your dreams.”

Dreams. As if Vi had any left worth chasing.

-

Caitlyn stood with the councilors in the great hall, posture rigid and sharp. Vi saw her immediately and could have broken apart right there.

She was brilliant, beautiful, untouchable. Her words were crisp and clean as she spoke to Viktor.

Vi couldn't help herself.

She leaned against a marble pillar, arms crossed, but eyes fixed on her wife like she was starved.

Every twitch of her mouth, flex of her hand, Vi devoured.

She thought maybe if she stared long enough, Caitlyn would feel it, turn her head, give her anything.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t falter.

She shoved off the pillar, striding forward. She didn't care who watched, who judged.

“Caity,” Vi said, her voice too raw. Too obvious. “Can we-”

Caitlyns eyes cut through her. Not here. Not now.

Vi swallowed, but she didnt back away, staying close enough to brush Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“Later,” Caitlyn murmured now, clipped.

Vi didn't move, not even when her wife turned away from her.

She stayed there, her shoulder brushing Caitlyn’s, the warmth of her body pressed against fabric that smelled faintly of lavender and starch. She could feel eyes crawling over her from every angle.

She couldn’t care less. Let them look. Let them see how little dignity she had left.

Because Caitlyn wouldn’t look at her.

That was the worst of it, her gaze sliding right past her like she wasn’t worth her eyes.

She shifted, leaning just enough for her chest to brush Caitlyn’s arm. Close enough that she had to notice. Caitlyn’s pen stilled in her hand, only for a moment before moving again.

“Caity,” Vi whispered this time, low enough to almost be drowned in the murmur of councilors. But her wife’s shoulders stiffened.

She wanted her to turn, she wanted her to yell at her, even. Anything but indifference.

Instead, she kept talking, not uttering a word to Vi, not even a glance.

Her throat closed, and she finally stepped back. She felt like she had been gutted.

Hours later, she found her again.

She was in the library, bent over papers with a glass of untouched tea.

Vi leaned in the doorway, throat dry, watching her until the ache became unbearable.

“You said later,” She rasped.

Caitlyn’s quill didn't still. “I am working.”

“That’s not-” VI cut herself off, pushing forward. “That’s not what I meant.”

Finally, Caitlyn looked up, slowly. A look that stripped her bare without ever touching her.

Vi hated how much she needed it.

“Then what did you mean?” Caitlyn asked, voice level, as though they weren’t standing in the aftermath of a night that had nearly broken them both.

Vi stepped closer, heart in her throat. “I meant us. You and me.”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. She set her quill down with an almost unnerving precision. For a moment, Vi hoped she might soften.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair, “And what is it,” She asked quietly, “You expect me to say?”

Vi opened her mouth, closed it again. She couldn't breathe past the words that she wanted to speak.

So she took a slow inhale and stepped closer. Parting Caitlyns legs with her hand before sinking to her knees.

“Just… look at me.” She whispered, hands tucked under herself now, as if she didn’t deserve to touch her more.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, so slight Vi thought she had imagined it.

“Stand up,” Caitlyn said, commanding.

Vi bit her cheek, shaking her head. “Not until you look at me.”

For a moment, they both refused to relent—a battle of wills. Caitlyn leaned down now, her hands finally finding Vi’s cheeks, holding them like they were precious even now.

“You hurt me.” She said slightly cold.

Vi whimpered, leaning into her hands. “I know, I’m so sorry, Caity. I'll do anything.” She whispered.

Caitlyn seemed to look into her soul, her hands moving to tug at Vi’s hair gently.

Caitlyn's fingers tightened in her hair, no longer tender, not cruel either. Just enough to remind her of their position.

“You don't get to decide when I look at you, or forgive you.” She said slowly, though her body angled towards Vi’s.

Vi wanted to plead. “Then when? Tell me when, tell me how, and I’ll do it, please, Caity, I swear-”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, only for her to clamp her mouth shut again. She leaned back and away from her, hand slipping from Vi’s hair.

“Caity,” She whispered, leaning with her, chasing her touch.

But Caitlyn was already reaching for her quill again. “Stand up, Violet. This is humiliating.”

“For you?” Vi bit back, “Or for me?”

The quill scratched against parchment, “Both.”

Vi refused to move, her eyes burning into Caitlyn as she remained.

“Stand up, Violet.”

She shook her head again. “No.”

“This isn’t a game.”

Then stop playing with me,” Vi rasped.

Caitlyn inhaled sharply, but her face didn’t change. It was only her hands, where her fingers trembled against the desk, the part of her she was trying so hard to hide.

Vi wanted to tear it open, rip the walls down, even if she bled for it.

Because she probably deserved to bleed.

“You were so pure when we met,” Vi whispered into her thigh now, daring to press her nose to the spot.
Caitlyn seemed to tense.

“So trusting and determined to love me for some reason. I ruined that. I ruined you, and I should never be forgiven for that. But still… Please. Let me try to sway you.” She whispered, still keeping her hands under her legs, just her nose brushing Caitlyn’s leg.

-

Caitlyn could blame her lack of sleep on why she had drug her wife up by her collar, walked her all the way back to their room, and pushed her into the bed.

She could blame some phenomenon in the stars for making her climb over her, pressing half-angry, half-desperate kisses to Vi’s neck.

Instead, she blamed Violet's eyes.

Gods, she loved those eyes.

She hated being cold, but she loved to hear Vi beg.

It was a conflicting experience. And she played her hand every time, every time Vi snapped her and made her prove how much she cared.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn murmured against Vi’s neck now. Making the other woman tense.

She kissed down her chest, undoing her clothing, pressing little apologies into rough skin.

She could never be indifferent to her, not even if she tried her hardest. Which… she had.

“You inferiate me, and confuse me, and...” She stammered now, her hands holding Vi’s hip bones.

“And?” Violet dared to ask.

“And you’re my wife.” She said, hooking her legs over her shoulders, pressing kisses to her thighs.

Vi whimpered, the same way she had before in the library.

Caitlyn would never admit how much she liked that sound.

Caitlyn pressed her mouth lower, steadying herself between Vi’s thighs, but her heart wasn’t steady at all.

It never was with Violet. Every kiss, every touch, every confession was a gamble, and she knew it. Yet, she always played.

Vi’s fingers found Caitlyn’s hair, not to guide or force, but to anchor. As if she was terrified Caitlyn might vanish the second she closed her eyes.

And Caitlyn let her, telling herself it was easier this way, to give her wife what she wanted in the dark of the night, easier to press her apologies into skin instead of speaking them aloud.

Because speaking them meant accountability. Speaking them meant truth, and she was entirely not ready for truth.

“Caity,” Vi whined, voice hoarse with need and something deeper, something raw.

Caitlyn shut her eyes at the sound, the tremor running through her, the way it fractured her resolve. She loved that sound; she decided she didn’t even hate that she loved that sound.

And when Violet shuddered against her, she almost wept. Not for her wife’s pleasure, but for her own weakness.

-

The morning was cruel in its clarity, Caitlyn sitting at the small desk near their window, already dressed, writing to Mel.

The sun painted the sheets where Vi still lay tangled, her bare shoulder exposed, hair a wild pink mess across the pillow.

She refused to let herself be undone by a sleeping face, but she heard the sheets shift, a little groan.

“Caity,” Vi murmured, her voice still thick from sleep.

“Good morning,” She replied, biting her cheek.

The mattress creaked, followed by footsteps, until warm arms slid around her from behind, chin pressing into her shoulder.

She didn’t stop writing.

“You’re ignoring me again,” Vi murmured, slightly pleading.

“I am working.”

“That's not what I meant.”

She glanced at her now, her eyes softening against her will as she took in her naked form.

“Then what did you mean?” She asked quietly.

Vi leaned down, pressing soft kisses to each part of Caitlyn’s face. “I mean us, you and me.” She whispered.

This was becoming a pattern: Vi begging for Caitlyn’s attention, Caitlyn pushing her away, then rewarding her with softness. Never saying the words she wanted to.

That she loved her, that she knew Vi loved her too. But they wielded that love like a blade.

And both of them were bleeding for it.

“Vi.. I asked what you meant.” She whispered now.

Vi stilled, lips hovering just shy of her cheek. Her eyes flickered over the letter on the desk.

“I told you,” She said finally. “Us.”

Caitlyn sighed, setting the quill down gently and turning to face her fully. She looked wrecked and radiant at once, hair mussed, lips swollen, bruises blooming faintly across her collarbone from Caitlyn’s mouth.

“You speak in riddles, Violet,” Caitlyn said, a hint of affection in her voice. “What do you want from me this morning? Clarity? Comfort? Perhaps another round of last night's-” She cut herself off.

Vi smiled, “I don't want clarity, I want you to stop slipping away every time I close my eyes.”

Caitlyn’s throat bobbed, for a moment, she almost reached for her face, instead, she shoved her hand against her own thigh.

“You’re dramatic,” She said a little flatly.

“Maybe, but I say what I mean.” She spoke, stepping closer.

Caitlyn felt like she had been slapped, turning her head to look up at her wife.

Vi leaned down, pressing her mouth to Caitlyn’s in a slightly demanding manner.

Caitlyn let her, because of course she did. Deep down, she was still completely gooey on the inside for this woman. Vi was fire, and she was the moth, drawn to a flame she knew would be her doom.

When Vi pulled back, breath ragged, forehead pressed to Caitlyn’s, she whispered, “Don’t you dare tell me I'm dramatic when you hide behind ink and duty.”

Caitlyn shut her eyes, letting out a slow breath.

She was hiding because she was afraid.

Afraid of loving her too loudly, like she had in the beginning. Of being that hopelessly romantic girl she had started as.

So she didn’t respond, because she was a coward.

“You know,” Vi said now, looking away. “Sometimes I think you’d rather fuck me silent than talk to me.”

Caitlyns breath caught, the cruelty of it landed, mostly because it was true. “And sometimes I think you’d rather tear me open than understand me,” She shot back, her voice sharper than she had intended.

Vi stopped in her tracks, turning to look at her again. For a moment, she thought she would leave.

But instead, she crossed back to her, kneeling again at her side.

“You're making a habit of this.” Caitlyn breathed.

Vi let out a loose laugh, though it was half-hearted, “I will crawl on my hands and knees if I thought it would make you finally see that I want you. That I'm tired of being afraid, that I'm willing to be yours.”

The words gutted Caitlyn, stripped her down to nothing in a way nothing else could.

And she bent, hand moving to cup Vi’s face, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth in surrender.

Caitlyn pulled her up, into her lap, holding her on one thigh as she shoved her face into her neck.

Spinning the cycle again, both of them aching, both of them addicted, neither able to stop.

Notes:

gulp...

Chapter 7: Dreams

Summary:

meow meow

Notes:

Can you tell I'm slowly losing my sanity as this continues?

Anywho.. SEPTEMBER BABY

Only four more chapters left! I have no idea what I'm gonna do!

(I already have an idea for another fic...)

Good luck!

Five days. Five gods damned days of silence.

Caitlyn counted them not by the sun rising or setting, but by the weight pressing into her chest every time she thought of her wife.

Every time she imagined that sharp, pained look in her eyes. The red rims around pigheaded, breathtakingly beautiful irises.

She hadn’t gone back to their shared room since that night, not really. Not in any meaningful sense. Not after Vi had spoken the words that shattered her.

Caitlyn had gone cold, harder than she thought she could be. The warmth she once carried for Vi, the desperate need to fix and hold, had calcified into hard cartilage.

The kind of cold that kept a person standing straight, while her innards pooled in her toes.

Sometimes, she found herself in Viktor and Jayce’s room. Viktor didn’t mind, and Jayce never asked questions. She curled up in their bed, letting their quiet presence act as a buffer between her and the ache. But even then, she felt the phantom weight of Vi on her mattress.

Felt the absence of her warmth like the absence of her own shadow.

Caitlyn moved through the castle like a ghost of herself. Her mother noticed the change. She smiled less, spoke less, and carried her hands neatly folded in front of her instead of their usual loose position at her sides.

Her voice had hardened, crisp and controlled. No longer carrying its softness.

Her heart… In contrast, was softer than it had ever been. Torn to a thousand mushy pieces lying scattered through her body.

She had stopped looking for Vi in the morning, stopped lingering in the halls to catch her eye. The small hope she had once carried had snapped.

Now, she avoided her, sometimes going as far as walking to the opposite side of the castle. Just so she wouldn't have to see her face.

A face that haunted her dreams.

Because at night, when the torches flickered around her, she felt the emptiness with a cruel intimacy.

She could almost see Vi’s hands sometimes, almost hear the moans she had elicited from her the one night she let her in.

She pictures that night a lot, along with… Other explicit ideas.

Which she hated herself for imagining. Hated that she could want those things when she felt so wholly shattered.

She remembered every touch, every shiver, every desperate, raw moment from that night.

How Vi had surrendered to her so beautifully.

How pretty she looked when she begged Caitlyn to let her finish.

Her fingers would itch to reach out, her body aching to be close to her again, but they would only ever find empty air.

She could love her quietly, from afar, if it meant her own heart would survive.

So in those moments, she often found her hand reaching downward instead, only when she was alone and already filled with shame. Pulling moans from herself just as much as tears.

She became meticulous in everything else, spending most hours in her office. Ignoring the gnawing feeling in her gut, she ate less now, walked faster.

Coldness became an armor. She knew now why Vi had favored it.

At night, she lay awake in someone else's bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if Vi ever thought of her. If she even noticed her absence.

She missed Vi every day. Every minute. But the thought of seeking her out, of trying again, terrified her. Afraid that Vi would reject her once more. Afraid that trying would be as destructive as staying away.

So she stayed broken. Broken and tucked away, like Vi had once said.

Glass swept under the rug.

-

Vi hated herself.

She was at least familiar with that feeling.

Wanting to claw your own eyes out just for being yours.

Wishing she could fall asleep for years and wake up fresh and shiny and new.

She had driven her away, not because Caitlyn didn’t love her, because Vi knew she did. But because she couldn’t bear to let herself love her back.

 

Vi’s chest burned every time she saw Caitlyn in the halls, never looking back, never faltering.

She was a shell of herself.

She wanted to run to her, beg her, forgive her?

Maybe she wanted to just touch her one more time.

But fear and shame were too thick in her voice box for the words to squeeze through.

Instead, she buried herself in her family, thankful for their presence.

She adored Isha, but the child only reminded her of Caitlyn, if Caitlyn wanted kids.

If by being a terrible wife, Vi was condemning Caitlyn to a life without children, if that was a thing she wanted.

Nothing worked to clean the thought of her from her mind. Because she was gone, not dead, not missing, just gone.

She wanted to apologize, but the idea of seeing the hurt on Caitlyn’s face kept her.

She wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she would try, that she could try.

But instead, she slept in their bed alone, wondering where her wife was hiding from her today.

Five days.

And she had no idea how to make it right.

She lay in their shared bed now, though Caitlyn rarely joined her anymore. Her hand gently tracing over the left side of the mattress.

She had been a fool. She was given this great, amazing thing, and she ruined it.

She ruined everything.

It seemed that if it was semi-decent, Vi had to sabotage it.

Mid self-loathing dissociation, the door opened. It was far past midnight, and no servant would be coming in at this time.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of candle-lit, illuminated navy blue hair.

She immediately shut her eyes.

Sue her.

Caitlyn’s footsteps grew closer, the candle snuffed out, the bed dipping as she climbed in.

Vi swallowed.

She could smell lavender on her, mixed with pine.

She wondered why Caitlyn had been outside this late at night, but in her bones she knew.

Her wife didn’t want to see her.

She stayed deadly still for what felt like centuries. Her breath uneven, her skin too hot.

Until.

The knight mustered what little courage or pride she had left.

She reached her hand back to the left side of the bed.

Curling her fingers around a curved waist.

Pulling her arm back to her body, Caitlyn along with it.

Gently rubbing circles on her stomach under her shirt.

Apologetic circles. Perhaps pleading ones.

Circles that silently spoke over and over.

I want you, I'm sorry, I need you, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry.

Even if she wasn’t brave enough to utter the words out loud.

-

Caitlyn had almost gasped when Vi pulled her to her chest.

The pink-haired woman hadn’t uttered a word, just tugged her flush.

She hadn’t looked to see what Vi was wearing before getting into bed. But based on how much of her skin she could feel, it wasn't a lot.

Her first instinct was to melt, fold into a ball, and let Vi curl around her. Protect her from the world. But Vi had been the one to hurt her.

“Don’t… Don’t touch me as if you didn’t break me.” She whispered.

Vi didn’t move her arm. If anything, her grip tightened.

Caitlyn hated how much she wanted it.

The hate burned hot; it was enough to make her turn over. What made her climb over Vi with a cold determination. Vi’s eyes flickering open, bloodshot, wet around the edges.

A broken, desperate look.

Good.

“You think you get to hold me?” Caitlyn asked, her tone sharp. “You don’t. You don’t get to love me, Violet. Not after what you said.”

Vi’s throat bobbed, but she didn’t answer. She only looked at her, wide-eyed, submissive, and guilty.

And Caitlyn used that.

Her hands pressed Vi down, nails catching skin, leaving angry red marks. It wasn’t tender, but claiming. When Vi flinched, she pressed harder.

She kissed her, not with sweetness, but with teeth, rough, punishing.

Vi gasped beneath her, but didn’t resist.

Her silence infuriated her even more.

“Say something,” Caitlyn hissed against her lips. “Beg, apologize… Anything.”

But Vi only whispered, “I’m sorry.” Over and over, like a prayer.

So Caitlyn took what she wanted. She dragged that apology out of Vi’s throat with each rough kiss, each demanding touch. Pushing until Vi trembled under her.

Until surrender was the only language left between them.

It wasn’t gentle, it was angry, devastating. Caitlyn made sure of it.

And Vi let her. She opened her hands, her body, her heart, as though giving everything to her was the only way to repent.

Caitlyn tore the clothes from her body. She heard some of them audibly rip.

Her hands immediately replaced the cloth, palming Vi’s chest as she left bruises down her collarbone.

Vi groaned, arching up into her.

Caitlyn wished she could take a picture with her eyes.

Her hands moved from her chest to the muscles of her arms, her mouth moving to cover where fingers had just been.

She wanted to ruin her.

She wanted her to feel just as broken open as she did.

“Please… Please… Caity…” Vi breathed from under her, her hands tugging up at her hair.

Caitlyn hated how much she loved when she begged.

Her hands became erratic, moving over skin like it was hers to dirty.

Each plea and moan she pulled from her wife only pushed her further.

Her fingers moved inside her now, grinding her palm against the sensitive flesh outside.

She wanted her to suffer.

She wanted her to feel the way she did.

So when Vi cried out into her neck, panting and thanking her.

She didn't stop.

Didn’t stop even when she had reduced the knight to tears.

Begging her to relent.

But Caitlyn didn't.

Not until she couldn’t hold her own need in. Moving to pull off her pajamas, to use one of Vi’s thighs to rock her hips against.

And Vi let her, watched her, whispered little praises from below her.

When it was over, Caitlyn stayed straddled above her, chest heaving, her palms still braced on Vi’s skin.

The silence between them was deafening, broken only by Vi’s shuddering breath.

Caitlyn could see the bruises blooming on her wife’s body; she wanted to hate herself for putting them there.

But a dark part of her reveled in it.

“You don’t get to sleep peacefully, not after this. Not ever again.” She murmured, her voice shaking.

Vi only closed her eyes, whispering the same two words. “I’m sorry.” As though they were the only ones left in her.

Caitlyn finally rolled off her, lying beside her, back turned, eyes burning.

Because she knew what Vi hadn’t said, what she couldn’t say.

That even if Caitlyn had punished her all night, she would still wake up tomorrow empty.

-

Vi lay on her back, every nerve still alight. Skin still burning. She could feel the marks forming.

She didn’t mind.

In fact, if it weren’t under these circumstances, she would find it incredibly hot.

She still did. Just a little.

Because every bruise meant Caitlyn still touched her, still cared enough to be angry instead of indifferent.

Her chest rose unevenly now; she hadn't dared to close her eyes while Caitlyn was on top of her. She had wanted to memorize every flash of rage and grief in those bright blue eyes.

She wanted to see her wife furious, because fury meant there was still something left.

Now that Caitlyn’s back was turned to her, stiff. Every inch of her body screams distance.

Vi wanted to reach out again, wanted to kiss her shoulders and tell her something that would make it right.

But her hand hovered uselessly before falling back into the sheets.

Silence was worse than bruises.

She stared up at the ceiling, feeling like the walls were closing in. This wasn’t how she had pictured loving Caitlyn. She always thought, deep down, if she ever managed to get there, Caitlyn would be as soft as she initially thought.

But even the softest people can be sharpened into merciless swords.

She was the reason for this.

So she took what Caitlyn gave her, rough hands, punishing kisses. Sharp reminders of her failure that she held like salvation.

Her chest hurt in ways she couldn't describe. She wanted to cry, to sob loud enough that maybe Caitlyn would turn, would stroke her hair, would forgive her. Even if she didn't deserve it.

The memory of her father's cry ripped through her. The thought of her brothers’ bodies slumping to the ground.

The sob broke out anyway now.

-

Caitlyn lay rigid, her back still turned, though every muscle in her ached with the tension of keeping it that way.

She told herself not to look, not to care.

Then she heard her breath hitch, a half cry.

Her eyes burned. Damn her. Damn, Vi, for making her weak all over again.

Caitlyn rolled before she could stop herself. Vi was on her back, eyes open and glassy, tears streaking her temples into the pillow.

Her naked body was a map of marks Caitlyn had put there with her own hands.

Gods. She had done this.

“Violet…” Her voice cracked. She hated that. She reached out anyway, brushing the dampness from her wife’s cheek with her thumb.

The moment her finger touched her cheek, she flinched.

Caitlyn couldn’t stop now, tugging gently till Vi’s head rested against her chest.

Her fingers tangling in pink hair, soft where they had been cruel.

“I.. Shouldn’t have-” She choked, the words catching in her throat. “I was too rough, I lost myself. I’m sorry.”

The apology felt jagged in her mouth. She wanted to shove it back down. But Vi shuddered against her, clutching her waist.

She had meant to punish her. To leave her hollow, aching, ruined. Not to cradle her like this. Not to offer the very thing Vi wanted most.

But her body betrayed her. Her hand gently rubbed Vi’s back.

This wasn't forgiveness or mercy.

It was weakness.

And both of them knew it.

“Caity… It’s not because you were rough.” Vi whispered, Caitlyn hated how much she loved the nickname.

Though she stilled, her fingers still tangled in her hair.

“It’s not that. You could… You could hurt me worse, and I’d still let you. Gladly. That’s not-” She paused, voice trailing off. “It’s me. It’s what I carry.”

Caitlyn stayed quiet, listening.

“I hear him. My dad… What it sounded like when he died. See my brothers’ faces when they fell beside him.” She whispered, “I see it every time I close my eyes.”

Caitlyn’s hand faltered against her back. She wanted to say something to her, but the words shriveled and died on her tongue.

“I push you away… because I can’t stand the thought of you becoming one of the ghosts that haunts me.” Her grip loosened slightly, like she was afraid of holding her too tight. “Loving you feels like handing fate a loaded gun pointed at my head.”

Caitlyn had to bite her cheek now, loving her. Loving her.

“I said those things to hurt you on purpose, so you would hate me. So you would push me away, too.”

Caitlyn shivered, her own grasp tightening on Vi, pulling her closer.

Then, her hand resumed its motions over Vi’s back, even if it was shaking.

“You stupid woman,” she murmured, pressing her lips to Vi’s head. “You think breaking me will protect me?”

Vi gave a little grumble now, tilting her head to look up at her, “I don’t know how else to keep you safe.”

Caitlyn’s body ached, forcing her eyes shut, knowing the truth didn’t make the embrace any less damning.

If anything, it made it worse.

“You think you can shield me from grief by handing me heartbreak instead?” She mumbled into her skin, lips brushing over her forehead.

Vi shifted, her eyes like a puppy's as she started to speak, “I… I don’t know Caity, I-”

Caitlyn cut her off, “I hate that you make me want to comfort you when I should leave you to your nightmares.” She breathed.

Before Vi could answer her Caitlyn spoke again, “You should sleep, go back to your dreams.”

The pink-haired woman nuzzled into her, holding tightly again as she whispered. “I don’t want to dream. What if you’re not in them?”

Notes:

Is it uh... hot in here?

Chapter 8: Left and right

Summary:

So... I ruined it

Notes:

I momentarily got stuck on this, but don't fret, I have the next three ready...

I'm a little sorry about this one.

good luck

Eight days ago, when Vi woke up naked and flush against warm porcelain skin, she was convinced she had died. That she somehow rigged the system and made it to heaven.

She had reluctantly pulled away from her then, forcing herself to rebuild the walls between them.

The walls she was still repairing a little over a week later.

She had been refusing to speak to her.

She was scared the first words from her mouth would be “Do it again.”

Now, Vi was sitting in one of the living rooms of the castle, Jayce across from her.

They had formed a somewhat bond; he reminded her of her brothers, and he never asked her what was wrong.

They usually sat in mutual silence.

Not today, “You know, Caitlyn really cares for you.” Jayce said bluntly. His expression was plain.

Vi could have thrown a temper tantrum on the floor. “She hardly knows me.”

“Because you won’t let her.”

She was going to hit him. But she also felt the need to hug him, hold him so tightly, and never let him go.

It was confusing how he reminded her of her family. Rugged and brutally honest.

She loved and hated it about him.

“Tha- That's not whats happening.” She stammered as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

He laughed, leaning back in his own chair. “Sure, you just act like a petulant child for fun.” He smiled.

Oh gods, now she was really going to hit him.

“I do not.” She growled, leaning forward, only to realize she was proving him right. Taking a breath and sitting back. “Maybe…”

His smile softened, “Do you have a reason for being prickly, or is it truly just a game?” He asked with a thoughtful expression.

She swallowed. In truth, she didn't know. She didn’t know why she couldn’t just let go and allow herself to see the truly perfect woman she had somehow been married to.

Grief was powerful like that.

“She won’t ever understand,” Vi said plainly, picking at her cuticles.

The man in front of her stood now, “I assure you, Dame. Caitlyn is more worldly than you think.” He offered before leaving.

Worldly…

It was surely worldly when Caitlyn had held her in the hours after, when she whispered in her ear, “You’re safe” and “I’ve got you.”

It was even worse that Vi believed her, and that was the reason she couldn’t stay.

-

Eight days of torture. Eight days of sleeping with her right arm slightly lifted, just in case Vi decided to crawl back to her place there.

She wanted to know why Vi had let her so close to then push her so far away.

It was a special kind of torture.

To know what Vi felt like beneath her fingers, know what she tasted like on her tongue.

To know the little sound she made when she came.

Oh gods.

She couldn’t allow this to pull her from her patience, though she felt the need to do something.

So she acted. Quietly.

Not for herself, for Vi. Because she knew she would never ask.

 

It had taken planning. Careful words whispered to discreet friends, favors called in that she could never admit to. A carriage arranged before dawn, escorted by guards who thought they were ferrying grain to the outskirts.

I was not grain. It was hope.

Caitlyn had gone herself, cloaked, silent. She had followed the trail of rumors, threads of stories of two figures who haunted the lower lanes.

It was slightly terrifying when she walked the streets of Zaun, and she failed miserably to blend in. She'd been mugged twice.

The second time, she simply offered the man her jewelry, and she had thanked him for being polite…

She was not meant for this.

When she found the old dingy apartment, she found the two she had been searching for.

A girl with bright eyes dulled by responsibility, and a boy who had grown into a leader too fast.

Powder and Ekko.

Ekko had been the first to step out; his eyes were sharp, skeptical, as though he'd never stopped bracing for betrayal.

Powder followed, smaller in frame but carrying a different kind of weight; her gaze was nervous, but she seemed gentler than he did.

But it wasn’t just them.

There was a girl.

Wide-eyed, curious, with messy brown hair that had been poorly dyed blue. Her small fingers clung to Ekko’s sleeve until she caught sight of Caitlyn. Then she half-hid behind Powder, who instinctively shifted protectively in front of her.

Her name, she learned, was Isha.

Not by blood, no, she was theirs by choice. Adopted, claimed, shielded.

A child rescued from streets that devoured children in a single night.

She wondered if her and Vi would ever get to love a child that way.

She didn’t ask for details. She didn’t pry. This wasn’t about her curiosity. This was about Violet.

So she convinced them after explaining. To come with her, to live in the castle, to be with Vi.

She had promised safety, food, and privacy.

And she had promised nothing to herself, because Vi… Didn’t need to know.

-

By the time they arrived, Caitlyn had arranged for rooms far away from any prying eyes. She got them new clothes, made sure they were fed, and made sure little Isha had plenty of toys.

She spoiled the girl slightly, growing fond of her in the two days it had taken to get them there.

The ten days of Violet refusing to speak to her.

Not that Isha did either… But her silence was less painful.

She spent hours getting them settled, comfortable in their new apartments in the East wing.

Then she stepped back.

She did not stand waiting for gratitude, nor her anger.

She did not knock on the chamber door to announce her victory.

Instead, she sat in her own chamber, a book open on her desk, eyes unfocused on the same page she had read ten times.

Vi paced behind her, restless, muttering curses under her breath as she did every night.

Caitlyn kept her face calm, kept her hands steady. Kept her silence.

Until the knock came.

-

Vi went to the door with a growl, muttering about interruptions, and yanked it open.

The silence that followed was a silence she hadn’t been prepared for.

She forced herself not to turn. Not to look.

But she heard it.

“Powder?” Vi’s voice cracked, a sound Caitlyn had never heard from her.

And then, softer, so small she could have convinced herself it wasn't said: “Vi?”

There was a scuffle, footsteps, and a muffled sob that turned into laughter.

Caitlyn closed her eyes.

She was so relieved, so relieved at the sound.

She heard Vi’s armor scrape the floor as she dropped to her knees. Heard Powder’s wet hiccups as she fell against her sister. Heard Ekko’s murmur of reassurance, his steady tone.

Caitlyn's hands tightened on her book as she heard the third set of footsteps.

Her throat closed up. She swallowed, forced her eyes back onto the meaningless page before her, and pretended she wasn’t there. Pretended she hadn't orchestrated this moment, or that she was aching to look.

Aching to see her wife’s face.

But she stayed still. This wasn’t her moment; it was Vi’s.

-

Later, when she finally slipped from the room to give them privacy, the corridor was dimly lit by lanterns.

And Jayce was waiting.

Of course he was. Leaning against the wall with arms folded, wearing a smug grin.

“You did this,” he said, not a question.

Caitlyn stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jayce’s grin softened into something gentler. “You don’t have to admit it. She’ll figure it out one day.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “She doesn’t need to know.”

His expression turned sad, but he didn’t push further. He only reached out, clapping her shoulder with the weight of a brother.

“You’re a good one, Cait.”

She let out a breath, turning her gaze back to the doors. From within came muffled sounds, laughter, tears, voices overlapping, and the light patter of a child’s feet.

Her chest ached, but she stood still. She would always stand still if it meant Vi was smiling again.

-

Inside their room, Vi was still on the floor, arms wrapped tight around Powder as though letting go would mean losing her sister all over again.

She was so overwhelmingly happy, for the first time since she put this armor on a year ago.

She was at home, even if that home was a castle.

“How did you get here?” Vi asked Powder, though she already knew. Deep down she knew.

Powder glances to Ekko, “Your wife.” She said quietly.

The little girl, Isha, clung to her aunt now, nuzzling her face into her side.

Vi held her tightly now, too.

Caitlyn Kiramman brought her home.

She had brought her everything.

And still… Vi could not let herself love her.

She held her sister and niece for a long time, Powder telling her every minor detail that occurred while she was away.

Until, “Did they… Do you have anything of Mylo or Clag’s?” She asked Vi tentatively.

Her heart sank as she shook her head. Not family. Not by blood.

She had to watch their possessions burn.

Powder only nodded, looking back down, settling back into silence.

-

Across the castle, Jayce had dragged Viktor from his workshop; the two now sat by the fire in their room. Viktor hunched with exhaustion but smiling while his husband fussed over him.

“You’ll work yourself into an early grave,” Jayce muttered, pressing a cup of tea into Viktor's hands.

“And you’ll worry yourself into the same.” He said dryly, though he pressed a soft kiss to Jayce’s cheek.

Jayce signed. He was right as always. “Caitlyn is going to secure the same fate.” He muttered, glancing at Vik.

He only tilted his head, “She’d do anything to make that woman like her, but she must learn you can’t solve everything in silence.”

 

“You try telling her that.” Jayce huffed.

Viktors small smile widened, “Perhaps one day, Violet will.”

-

When Caitlyn had returned to her bedroom, Vi was lying in bed, seemingly asleep.

She climbed in beside her, smiling at the peace in her form. Nothing like her usual haunted posture.

This was enough to make Vi so content.

To see her so happy.

She blew out the candle and turned over, leaving her side open for her as she always did.

-

Vi was not asleep.

She hadn’t been.

She had wanted to talk to Caitlyn the moment she returned, but once she heard the door handle turn, she panicked and lay down.

She was a coward.

A coward who was watching a beautiful, kind woman sleep. Her wife.

Her wife, she could not love.

Not properly.

Still hers, and still beautiful and kind.

Her wife, who had given her such joy, joy she thought she wasn’t capable of feeling anymore.

She knew Caitlyn left her arm up so Vi could crawl in, even if she never took the silent offer.

Even if she so desperately wanted to.

While most days she felt only guilt and anger, today her chest felt lighter, as if a weight had finally been lifted from her body.

Like she could finally get enough air into her lungs.

Thanks to Caitlyn. She knew.

She watched her wife sleep for a long time, her fingers twitching to stroke her hair, aching to touch her.

Once she was sure Caitlyn was no longer conscious, she leaned over. Gently whispering, “Thank you.”

Chapter 9: Quitter

Summary:

I made it worse.

Notes:

So.... I feel bad posting this right after the other... OH WELL!

This was written in the middle of the night in a state of despair.

Good luck!

She woke to the sound of Caitlyn breathing.

The world was still dark, curtains drawn, only a line of pale dawn leaking through the gap where the fabric didn’t quite meet stone. Vi kept her eyes open anyway, staring into that thin edge of light.

Caitlyns warmth pressed along her side, steady, real, alive, and yet she still felt like she was lying beside a ghost.

Her fists curled against the sheets.

She should have reached for her, slipped into the gap Caitlyn kept for her. Slung an arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Let herself sink into the safety of her side.

But her chest was full of broken glass, every breath slicing deeper into the already wounded flesh. She couldn't move without cutting herself open.

Because Caitlyn was here, she had done everything for her. Gone down into the filth of the lanes and dragged her back what little of her family was left.

And where had Vi been?

Here. Locked in the palace, pampered and protected and fed. Swinging her fists at shadows and nightmares, while Caitlyn had walked into hell.

Vi turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her wife’s profile. Loose blue hair falling across the pillow, contrasting milky white skin.

She told herself she’d be patient; Caitlyn deserved patience. She deserved more than Vi.

But patience and softness were never something Vi had been good at.

She closed her eyes again, and like a knife through her skull, the memory came.

Her father's cry.

The sound of her brothers choking, their necks opened for the world to see. For her to see.

Mylo’s blood bubbled, gargling in his throat as he clawed uselessly at the wound.

Claggors' face was half buried in rubble, his eyes open but unseeing. The stone that had wedged its way under his eyelid.

She could still smell the stink of charred hair, Vander’s body slamming against the ground as the foreign purple ooze from the Noxian sword coated his wound.

Vi’s stomach twisted, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold the sound in.

Beside her, Caitlyn shifted, murmured something in her sleep, and settled again.

Vi bit down on her knuckles until she tasted iron.

-

The palace corridors smelled wrong. Too clean, marble polished till she could see her reflection.

She hated her reflection.

She heard whispers before she saw faces. Guards posted at the archway, their voices pitched low, but not low enough.

“...Lane trash. Should’ve left them rotting where they belong.”

She didn’t need to hear more to know who they were talking about.

Her fists tightened until the knuckles cracked.

She stepped into view. Both guards froze, eyes widening just slightly despite their previous confidence.

But the stink of their fear didn’t cover the reek of their words.

Vi wanted to break their jaws; she wanted to smash their teeth against the marble until they spat red. She took one step forward, shoulders rolling, fists twitching for the fight.

Then Caitlyn’s hand touched her wrist.

Just that. Light, firm, a tether.

Vi looked at her. Caitlyn’s eyes were steady, calm, but the message was sharp as a blade: Not here. Not like this.

The rage in Vi’s chest didn't fade; it curdled. Turned inward. Her jaw locked until her teeth ached. She let Caitlyn guide her past without a word.

Leaving the guards behind as the guilt grew heavier.

Because Caitlyn could do that. Could take her fury and leash it with a look. Could walk through poison whispers like it was air. Caitlyn planned, she saved, she bled. Even if it wasn’t on the battlefield.

And Vi?

She was just fists, fists, and ghosts and fury and ugliness.

-

Caitlyn’s fingers were still curled around Vi’s wrist when the hallway swallowed them in silence. The shouts of people fading behind, muffled by stone, but Caitlyn could still feel them.

Feel their sneers, their venom, feel the way their words coiled through Vi like barbed wire.

She could feel it in the tension thrumming under her grip, the way Vi’s pulse pounded against her hand, desperate, furious, ready to spill blood if only to quiet the shame.

Caitlyn didn't let her go, not until she was certain Vi wouldn't storm back into the hall and do something that would make all of this unravel.

When she finally did release her, her hand ached, an echo of the effort it took to hold her there, keep her from fracturing further.

“Vi,” She started, but the name caught in her throat.

Vi had already turned away, braces against the stone wall, both hands planted flat as if she needed it to hold her up.

Shoulders shaking but no sound, just silence.

The kind of silence that comes when someone is holding the scream in so tightly it begins to eat them alive.

Caitlyn wanted to touch her, to press her hand between those shoulders and take the weight even for a second.

But she didn't. Because she knew what would happen. Vi would flinch, and she wasn't sure if she could survive that tonight.

So instead, her voice, careful, thin, cutting through the stillness: “They don’t matter. You hear me? Those men… They don’t matter.”

Vi gave a short, bitter laugh. Not cruel. Just broken.

“Don't matter? Cait… they’re right. Every word of it. I drag you through the mud, tie you to my mess, and all you get is spit and whispers. I don't know what your mother was thinking when she arranged this. She breathed.

Caitlyn's chest tightened. “What I get is you. That's all I ever wanted.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, before she could build the walls she usually wrapped around confessions like that.

For a second, she wished she could claw them back, but the look on Vi’s face when she turned… It rooted Caitlyn to the floor.

Vi’s eyes were raw, rimmed in red. “Don’t,” She rasped.

It was a warning, one she probably should have listened to. But Caitlyn had already opened the wound, and stopping now would mean bleeding to death without ever having tried.

She stepped closer, careful. “You think I stand by you out of duty? Out of some sense of noble obligation? Violet, I chose this. I wanted this. I chose you. Every single time it had come down to it, I have chosen you. I'll keep choosing you, no matter what they say, no matter how much it costs me.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. Her fists curled against the stone, as if she could squeeze the words into dust. “You don't get it.”

Gods, she was stubborn.

“Then help me,” Caitlyn urged, voice trembling a bit now. “Help me understand why you keep shutting me out. Why you look at me like I’m-” She stopped, swallowed hard. “Like I’m the one thing you hate too much to even touch.”

Vi’s head snapped toward her then, and Caitlyn thought, only for a heartbeat, she saw something there, something soft.

Hope lit in her chest like a fragile strike of a match.

But the thing about matches is, they are easily crushed under a boot.

And Violet Lanes had a heavy foot.

Her words hit Caitlyn harder than any physical blow. “Because you’re not mine to touch.”

The floor tilted under Caitlyn. She blinked, trying to steady the world, “...What?”

“You don’t deserve this,” Vi bit out, eyes blazing, though the fire was only there to hide the tears glistening at the edges. “You don’t deserve me dragging you into this rot, you deserve someone whole, someone who doesn’t choke on names, someone whose vision isn’t clouded with blood.”

Her voice cracked now as she continued. “And I can't give you that. So stop trying to make me.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, words stammering at the edge, but nothing came. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung, but she wouldn’t let herself sob. Not here.

Instead, she whispered, almost pleading. “Don’t you think that should be my choice?”

Vi’s silence was the cruelest answer of all.

Caitlyn took a step back, then another, because she could feel the tears pushing harder, threatening to break her. If she stayed, she would surely crumble.

And she couldn’t do that, not when Vi was already drowning.

Her hand brushed the cold stone of the corridor wall, guiding her retreat. She wanted to scream, to shake Vi until she understood, until she saw how much Caitlyn had bled to stand there beside her.

All that came out was a strangled breath.

“Don’t let me take you under with me,” Vi whispered from behind her now.

That was it. That was the knife.

Caitlyn walked before the cries could escape, before Vi could see the way her chest caved in at her words.

When she rounded the corner, she let the sob out, raw and helpless as she pressed her fist to her mouth, trying to choke it down. It was no use; she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold stone floor, knees drawn up, shuddering, broken open.

Vi hadn’t struck her, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t raged. She had done something ten times worse.

She had rejected the one truth Caitlyn had held like a lifeline: That if she loved hard enough, waited long enough, gave enough, Vi would let her in.

And now she sat alone on the floor, hollowed out, clutching the silence she had been left in.

-

The echo of Caitlyn’s sob clung to Vi long after the corridor swallowed her.

She didn't have to turn to know; she had heard it. Faint and strangled, the kind of sound you don't make unless something inside you has just broken in two.

She hated that she was the one to gut her.

She pressed her forehead to the cold wall, jaw locked so tight her teeth ached. She told herself she did the right thing, pushing her away before the mold in her bones spread any further.

Before it covered Caitlyn the way it covered her.

But the truth tasted like ash.

She had hurt her. Not because she didn’t love her. Because gods, she might. But because loving her felt like lighting a candle in a burning house, solidifying inevitable ruin.

Vi couldn’t let Caitlyn burn with her.

So she walked away, like she always did.

Her hands shook, so she shoved them in her pockets, tried to still them. The shaking only spread to her arms instead.

She walked anywhere, anywhere away from the image of Caitlyn’s face so filled with hope, before she tore it away from her.

She found Powder’s door quicker than she could process.

It was such a blur moving into the apartment, a blur of panicked questions from her sister as she lowered herself to the couch.

“What happened? Vi?” Powder asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

“I… Messed up,” Vi managed to choke out.

Powder tilted her head, waiting for her to continue.

“I said something,” Vi rasped, throat raw. “To Cait.”

“What kind of something?”

“The kind you don’t take back.”

The silence stretched. Powder crossed the room, perched on the edge of Ekko’s work table, legs swinging gently. She didn't speak, just let Vi unspool at her own pace.

“You've done this since we were kids, you know? Thinking pushing people away protects them, but all it does is leave you both bleeding on the opposite sides of the same wall.” Powder sighed, rubbing her temple.

The words hit a little harder than she would have liked.

Her whole life, she had felt inadequate, even after she received the highest honor a knight could, a female knight, a Zaunite knight.

After all the accomplishments, she felt empty, like they didn't mean anything if she didn't gain another.

It was impossible to win if your mind was always changing the goal post.

“I hurt her,” Vi croaked. “She’ll never look at me the same.”

Powder slid off the table, crossing to her. She didn’t hesitate, just hugged her sister, pressing her cheek to her chest. “Then fix it, don't run, just show up.” She said softly.

And Vi knew, no matter how much she told herself she was protecting Caitlyn, she’d never forgive herself for the way she made her cry.

Notes:

I am sorry, please don't sue me.

Chapter 10: I'm not leaving

Summary:

So every little piece of this is supposed to be one day, assume

-

means one day skip

Notes:

Unfortunately, I haven't started the last two chapters of this, and this might be where I slow down on updating due to school. I AM SO SORRY, GANG

Anyway, I was nice...(ish)

Good luck!

The first thing Vi felt was warmth.

Not the blanket, or the sun coating her skin. Her. Caitlyn, rigid even in sleep, but soft where her arm rested across Vi’s ribs.

Vi breathed her in, eyes still shut, pretending for a moment that this was easy.

Like she’d wake up and Caitlyn would look at her like she used to, that the last weeks hadn’t been hell.

The illusion shattered when Caitlyn stirred. She shifted with that careful kind of movement Vi had come to hate. The movement that meant she was leaving the bed without waking her.

Vi opened one eye, and sure enough, Caitlyn was sliding free, reaching for her robe.

Vi grunted, rolling onto her side. “Caity.”

She froze mid-step, like she’d been caught stealing. “Good morning,” she said, slightly clipped.

Vi pushed herself up, hair falling in her face, sheets slipping down her chest.

A knock.

They both stilled.

“Princess Caitlyn?” Jayce’s voice bled through the wood. “We’re needed in council.”

Vi grinned before Caitlyn could stop her, kissing her jaw, loud enough that he could hear.

“Not now,” Caitlyn hissed, shoving her away, but Vi caught the flush in her cheeks.

She loved it.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” Jayce called, then silence.

Vi stretched out now, satisfied.

Caitlyn spun on her, “Do you enjoy humiliating me?”

Vi reached up, pulling her back down into bed, wrapping around her. “No, just reminding everyone you do indeed have a wife.” She spoke into her neck.

“This isn’t a game, Violet.”

She hated how Caitlyn used her full name. Hated how it sounded like a lecture, a scolding. But mostly she hated how beautiful it sounded on her lips. Coming from he perfect mouth with the perfect little gap between her teeth.

She wanted to scream: You kiss me like you mean it, but treat me like I’m poison in daylight. Do you want me or not?

Caitlyn’s hands gripped her arms now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Vi asked, softer than she meant to. For a moment, she was fifteen again, asking Vander if he’d had enough of her screwups.

The silence stretched, and she laughed. “That’s what I thought. You don’t want me here, but you can’t stand me gone either.”

She released her, slowly standing up now, and still, Caitlyn said nothing.

“Violet-”

Her whole body froze. That voice.

She turned, finding her wife sitting up in bed now, her hands moving to cup Vi’s face. Gentle, careful.

Vi leaned in before she could think better of it, desperately. “Say it, Caitly, please… Say it.”

Her wife’s lips parted, and for a second, she swore she could hear the words.

Caitlyn kissed her instead.

Vi broke.

Her arms clamped tight around Caitlyn’s waist, hauling her against her like she’d die if she let go.

“You’re mine,” She rasped against her mouth. It came out as a growl, possession soaked in fear. “Even when you hate me, you’re mine.”

 

Caitlyn shuddered against her, nails digging in, “And you’re impossible.”

 

Vi kissed her harder.

Clothes vanished between frantic touches, hands slipping, tugging, grasping. Every inch of Caitlyn’s body ached against hers, screamed stay, stay, stay.

She marked her throat, her chest, left proof with teeth and tongue.

If Caitlyn wouldn’t claim her in daylight, Vi would claim her in bruises.

Her wife gasped her name; it almost sounded like forgiveness.

Vi whispered into her chest, her head resting between her breasts as she kissed down the line. “I’ll be better. I swear. Just don't push me away.”

For once, Caitlyn didn’t push. She pulled.

She pulled Vi in and let her worship her this time.

And Vi let go of fear, of shame, of everything but the heat between them, until they were tangled in the sheets again. Jayce forgotten downstairs.

After, Vi lay with her face buried in Caitlyn’s shoulder. The steady beat of her pulse under her skin like safety, her eyes drifting shut.

“See?” She whispered, kissing the skin just once. “We’re fine.”

Caitlyn didn't answer.

-

Vi found her in the library the next day, sitting in the farthest corner, scratching furiously across parchment.

Vi leaned over the table, watching her.

“You’d think being married to you would mean I’d get more of your attention than the paper,” Vi said teasingly.

Caitlyn paused, but didn't lift her head. “You have my attention every night.”

It hit like a punch, though Caitlyn said it as a joke. Vi knew she had said it as a joke.. Hoped.

Vi leaned down to tilt her head up, “Feels like I have to steal it.”

Caitlyn softened slightly, just barely leaning into her hand.

“Then you’re a thief,” Caitlyn whispered, kissing her palm.

The brush of her mouth seared her more than any burn.

She would gladly be a thief if she could steal Caitlyn's forgiveness, rob her blind of her kindness and adoration.

“You make it sound so easy,” Vi murmured, brushing her thumb over Caitlyn’s jaw. “Like I can just take what I want, and you'll let me.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered, and she drew back slightly, enough that Vi felt the loss. “You always take what you want.”

“Maybe because I don’t know how to ask,” Vi admitted, her voice a little rough.

Caitlyn looked down at the parchment again, though she didn’t write.

“And maybe I don’t know how to give.”

Vi froze, staring at her.

The honesty of it sliced deeper than any rejection. She wanted to grab Caitlyn, shake her, and demand why. Instead, she laughed. “Hell of a pair we make, huh? Me, too stubborn to ask. You, too scared to give. Real romantic.”

Caityn seemed to flinch at the edge in her voice, then sighed, shoulders slumping. Finally giving Vi her full attention.

“You think this is easy for me?” She asked quietly.

Vi swallowed. In truth, she didn’t know. She had no idea what lived inside Caitlyn’s silences, only the scraps she was thrown at night.

“Then tell me,” she said, leaning closer. “Show me it’s not.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened again, unbearably so, and Vi hated how much hope it sparked. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Vi’s face. “If I tell you everything, Violet, you'll only find more ways to break me.”

 

It wasn’t anger that hollowed Vi out then, it was fear. Fear that Caitlyn truly believed that.

She caught her wrist, holding it against her cheek. “Then I’ll break with you,” she whispered. “Don’t shut me out and pretend we are fine in the dark. I can’t only be half of your life.”

 

Caitlyn closed her eyes, composure cracking for half a breath, and Vi was a fool for thinking she had won.

Instead of professing her love, she leaned back, reclaiming her hand as she spoke. “You should let me finish my work.”

The rejection wasn’t cruel, and that made it worse.

Vi sighed, forcing a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. I’ll steal what’s mine later.”

As she walked out, the phantom of Caitlyn’s lips on her palm burned like a promise, yet also a wound.

-

The night was restless, Caitlyn looking over to see Vi tossing, turning.

She, without thinking, reached for her, pulling the woman against her chest.

“Shh, it’s alright.” She whispered into Vi’s ear, softness she wasn’t brave enough to give her awake yet.

Pressing gentle kisses along the back of her ear and down to her shoulder, her hands rubbing slightly sweaty skin.

She stayed that way for hours, until she was sure her wife had settled.

But she did not sleep.

Her eyes remained open, tracing the rise and fall of Vi’s back, memorizing the rhythm of her breathing. It soothed and tormented her in equal measure.

This was the only time she allowed herself this tenderness. When Vi couldn't see or was too blinded by desire to remember.

Her lips lingered at Vi’s temple, as though pressing yet another apology she would never speak.

And then Vi stirred again. Half-awake, mumbling against her arm. “Caity?”

Caitlyn froze, her hands pausing against her wife’s waist.

Vi blinked sluggishly, eyes glassy with sleep. “Though you were mad at me…” She slurred, voice thick, vulnerable in ways daylight would never let her be.

Caitlyn sucked in a breath. She wanted to tell her she wasn’t. That she was tired, not angry. She was hurt… Not cruel.

That she didn't know how to untangle the knot they wound around themselves, keeping them restricted at just arm's length.

“Sleep,” She whispered instead. “I’m here.”

Viu huymmed, a fragile little sound, and nestled closer, her hand blindly searching till it rested on Caitlyn’s heart.

-

Vi kissed her in the hallway.

No reason, just because Caitlyn had walked past her without a glance, her eyes on some document, and Vi couldn't stand it anymore.

She caught her wrist, pulled her in, and pressed her mouth to hers.

Caitlyn gasped, not out of surprise, but because she relented, kissing her back hard. Before she remembered herself and shoved Vi away.

“Violet.” She hissed.

Vi smiled, like she had won a prize, “Don't act as though you didn’t like it.”

Caitlyn’s lips were red, her breath uneven. “You can’t… not here.”

Vi tilted her head, studying her. “So it’s fine behind locked doors, but gods forbid anyone thinks you actually want me.”

Caitlyn flinched, just slightly, and it was enough.

Vi let her go, but the taste of her lingered, bittersweet.

They stared at each other in a silent battle of wills for a while, until. As always. Caitlyn relented, hooking her hand with Vi’s and allowing her to walk beside her.

They walked like that in silence, the world oblivious to the storm brewing between them. Every step was its own tension. Caitlyn’s eyes locked forward, Vi’s glued on her, drinking in every line of her face.

When they turned the corner and were finally alone in the stairwell, Vi tugged her closer, lowering her voice. “You know, you don’t have to pretend this is some dirty secret.”

Caitlyn shot her a glare. “And you don’t have to keep testing me like a child.”

“Maybe I’m testing myself. Seeing how much you’ll let me have before you decide I’m too much.”

That seemed to land, Caitlyn's mouth parting, but no words coming from it. Her grip tightened on Vi’s hand instead.

Vi leaned in, her breath brushing Caitlyn’s ear. “You never push me away for long.”

Caitlyn blushed, truly, her cheeks turning a dark shade of pink.

“You mistake weakness for affection,” she finally said, steady but quiet.

“Then I’ll take your weakness every time,” Vi whispered, knowing she’d won, just this once.

-

Caitlyn sat at her vanity, unpinning her hair in silence.

Vi couldn't take it, coming up behind her to undo the silken strands herself.

Caitlyn froze at the first gentle tug, then exhaled.

“You don’t have to,” She started.

“Shut up,” Vi murmured against her ear, pressing a kiss there. “Just… let me.”

And Caitlyn did, sitting still while she undid every pin.

When she turned her face was unreadable. But her lips parted when Vi kissed her, and she let herself be carried to bed without another word.

The kiss was hungry but fragile, every touch speaking more words than they dared.

Neither of them spoke again, not as the night stretched.

They didn't need to.

Because words would ruin it.

Because words might make it real.

-

The bruises bloomed along Caitlyn’s collarbone, her throat. Vi left them there deliberately.

Proof.

Caitlyn traced one in the mirror the next morning, her fingers brushing over it.

Vi stood behind her, arms crossed, waiting.

“You’ll have to cover them,” Caitlyn said quietly.

Vi shrugged. “Good, that way you’ll remember.”

Their eyes met in the glass. Something flickered in Caitlyns, something Vi couldn't place.

Vi reached out, resting her hand over Caitlyn’s on her collarbone. “You’re mine,” She said, softer this time. Not a demand or a plea, just a truth.

Caitlyn finally, to her credit. Answered her.

“I know.” She said softly, turning to face her fully. “I’m tired of being upset with you.” She whispered.

“I know.” Vi echoed, her hands threading back into her hair.

“Don’t make me be cruel tonight.” Caitlyn pleaded now as she leaned forward into her wife, closing her eyes.

The words seemed to hurt Vi worse than any of her sharpness, the reminder that she had been the one to break the gentleness that was Caitlyn Kiramman.

“Then don’t leave me the chance.” Vi finally whispered, and Caitlyn, to Vi’s horror, trembled at that. Because she didn’t know if it was devotion or a threat.

Only that she couldn’t pull away.

Notes:

meow meow