tend to the row of your violets

by karacantwrite

Summary:

Vi’s hands were still there, her hands tightening against the narrow taper of her waist. Fingertips dug into the soft, supple skin there. Caitlyn held back her moan, biting down and burying it somewhere in the back of her throat.

“Violet,” she chided softly. “Darling, what are you—”

Vi promptly sneezed.

OR, caitlyn and vi celebrate their first anniversary.

Notes:

almost 15k words, sure why not 😭😭

The sun was barely up and Caitlyn stood on a now-familiar cobblestone street tucked in the back of a now-familiar alleyway, wrinkling her nose at the smell of fish and salt and grease. 

  Awkwardly, her legs bent and arms crossed over her chest as she leaned over the counter, she cleared her throat. Familiar yellow eyes, laced with dark, slitlike pupils in the middle, found her own, meeting her gaze as the cook turned his head. His amber eyes practically glowed in the flicker-flame of the sizzling grill. He looked over at her, blinked, and slightly tilted his head at her in a silent question.

  Jericho had never been a man of many words. He mostly responded in low grunts and growls and sometimes an occasional slightly menacing, sharp-toothed grin or a message hastily scratched on the back of a napkin when a case took her deep into the bowels of Zaun. 

  Though in all the times she had joined Vi in dining here, he had hardly said much directly to her. (Well, Vi dined and Caitlyn watched her eat, something dark and hot twisting in her lower belly as she watched Vi lick the grease and slime off her hands, lapping around her flexed fingers, sucking at the tips, tongue long and mouth open, curved as she threw her head back and—)  

  The grill popped and sizzled, breaking her out of her trance, and Caitlyn cleared her throat again, making herself heard over the din of the busy street behind them. The marketplace was opening up for the business day, and she could hear the sounds of people, of moving bodies and footsteps, the sound of loud haggling and vendors and artisans hawking about their latest wares to potential customers congregating in the square. 

  Caitlyn ignored it all and instead reached into her deep pocket. She placed a soft cloth bag down on the rickety countertop, enough cogs to pay for five full meals and then some. The cook looked down at the bag, and then back up at her, silently urging her to go on. Caitlyn steadied herself rather quickly. 

  “I’d like to place an order,” she murmured. “To go, please.” 

  His head only inclined further. 

  “Two of your specials,” Caitlyn declared, nodding in confirmation. She paused, cheeks still flushed from the mental image of it. 

  (Vi with pursed lips, her fingers shoved in her mouth, moans of delight muffled by the food she was chewing. She pictured her digits pushing against the soft seam of her plush mouth, her cheeks hollowing around them as she sucked. The dark of her rounded mouth. She licked her chops like a hungry hound, strands of saliva shimmering in the lowlight of the dingy grill’s fire, stretching between long, thick fingers. Tongue and teeth, her fingers—)

  And even under that amber, slit-pupiled gaze, Caitlyn flushed. 

  Vi’s messy eating habits most definitely extended to more than just her slurping of sloppy soup at food stalls. 

  “With extra sauce,” Caitlyn added quickly, almost meekly. The great Caitlyn Kiramman, blushing and cowering in a side street alley. “Thank you.”

  She was on her way back to Piltover five minutes later, a warm, greasy bag tucked under her arm, half-hidden under the dark fabric of her cloak. 

 

---

 

The florist looked up at Caitlyn with perhaps the most incredulous look she had ever received. “A hundred?”

  Caitlyn just gave a stiff nod of confirmation. 

  “As in,” the florist repeated slowly, very slowly. “One hundred.” 

  It was both a statement and a question. Caitlyn nodded again, silently staring down at the florist behind the front desk of a floral shop in downtown Piltover. She had walked by dozens of times as it was on her route to work, so, naturally, it was the first place she thought of when this plan had begun to unravel and unfurl in her brain. 

  The florist, a man who couldn’t be older than twenty-five, was dressed in a worn green apron with gloves tucked into the front pocket. Garden shears peeked out of the back pockets of his dark brown trousers, and he had a notepad and pen in his hand, poised over the paper. He stared back up at Caitlyn. 

 She stared back, waiting for a reply. Her one eye was surely narrowed, her dull, milky iris hidden by the dark eyepatch she wore while on duty. Even with one eye hidden, she was told her glare was just as sharp as it had been before, if not even more severe. That, coupled with the fact she was still in uniform and practically towered over the guy, probably made her seem more than menacing. 

  Caitlyn set her jaw, gritting her teeth.

  The florist gulped. 

  “Yes,” Caitlyn said out loud instead, hoping it would help him understand. She tried to make herself look softer, curving her spine and rolling her shoulders. 

  The florist blinked slowly. Very slowly. 

  A muscle in Caitlyn’s jaw ticked impatiently. She had to get back to the Precinct soon. She was using her lunch break to come over and confirm her order so that it would be ready for next week. Next week, which was her and Vi’s first anniversary. 

  She had wanted to do something special. Vi deserved something special. She deserved to feel special. She deserved that and so much more, but with a tight schedule juggling cases, reconstruction efforts, and the Council still trying to pick her apart like a couple of buzzards on a carcass, Caitlyn would have to settle for something small. Small, but still sweet. Still special. 

  If food from her favorite street vendor in Zaun and some flowers of her own namesake made Vi happy, well then it made Vi happy and Caitlyn would happily provide it herself. 

  Now, the florist blinked again. “One hundred bouquets of…?” He trailed off, a silent question in this tone. 

  “Violets,” Caitlyn supplied, starting to smile a small smile despite herself.

  The florist nodded along. He began to scribble notes on the paper. “Alright,” he murmured, getting over the initial shock of the Sheriff walking into a small flower shop and requesting dozens of violets. “And when will you need this by?” 

  “This time next week,” Caitlyn replied. She blinked, suddenly all too self-aware. “Is that… enough time?” 

  “It should be,” the florist replied, his gaze going back up to her. “And a name for the order?”

  “Kiramman.”

  He scrambled to write it down, still appearing a bit shaken, as if she would reprimand him for not writing down her name fast enough. 

  “Will that be all?” He squeaked out just as he finished the last curve of the letter n in her last name.

  “Yes,” Caitlyn replied curtly. “Thank you for your service.”

  With that, she dropped a small bag on the counter, the clinking and clatter of coins evident as it landed with a dull thud. It was enough to pay for the flowers and enough left to leave a rather generous tip. The florist looked down at it, looking like he wanted to say more, but Caitlyn was already turning on her heel. By the time he looked back up, she was already at the door, pushing it open with her shoulder. The sound of the tiny bell above it rang as she stepped out into the bustling city streets. 

  She had a case to solve after all, and more planning to do. 

 

---

 

Caitlyn managed to leave work early. It was a miracle, by all accounts. 

  Half past four o’clock, Caitlyn snapped shut the file she had open and tucked it inside her drawer. She tidied up her desk, discarding loose paper, pens with dried ink, and a cup from her morning tea, which Vi always mocked her for. 

  Caitlyn found it quite refreshing to start out her mornings with a strong brew of jasmine or oolong, the kind her father had imported from Ionia, occasionally bringing home new blends to try when he went off to visit family over there. It came in its original packaging, the ingredients and directions written in Ionian, which Vi squinted at and tried to read out loud on those easy early mornings, her mouth rounding and shaping new words, her tongue trying and tasting new sounds. 

  And Caitlyn loved it when Vi made new sounds. 

  Vi had picked up a few words and phrases over the past few months. Simple, easy ones, questions and pleasantries, and, naturally, a few curses, of course. But also a few terms of endearment, much to Caitlyn’s surprise, and satisfaction. Pride. 

  She would never forget how she felt when beautiful eyes, the color of the sky before a warm summer storm, turned on her, and lovely, scarred lips called her bǎobèi. 

  Her heart fluttered the exact same way every single time. 

  With that, she stood, languidly stretching out her spine and legs after a long day spent bent over a desk, furrowing her brows and narrowing her eye, muttering under her breath at letters the Council had sent her. Hours of reviewing case files, signing paperwork, and drafting reports and proposals. Hours of chewing on the end of her pen, ink staining the edge of her fingers. A migraine had slowly begun to form at the base of her skull, a buzz behind her eye sockets. 

  Progress, she found, was a slow process. Slow, the way one ripped off a bandage. For a city that prided itself on its ability to do so, to progress and innovate, it was almost laughable. 

  True progress might be slow, but she would see it through. 

  She stood up with a sigh and a tired pop of her vertebrae. She grabbed her coat off the hook by the door, flicked off the light, and locked the door to her office on her way out. She checked with her Deputy, Steb, before she left. She nodded to the others as she exited the Precinct, dipping her chin to seasoned captains and young officers and receptionists alike. Most nodded back, a few smiled or dipped their chins, and some of the newer junior officers flushed or startled at a direct acknowledgment from the Sheriff herself. 

  It was typically about a fifteen minute walk from the middle of Piltover, in which the Precinct resided, to Upper Piltover and the Manor. Fifteen minutes, but she was able to cut it down to twelve minutes instead, taking longer, faster strides. 

  Upon entering the foyer and beginning to shed her coat, Caitlyn paused. She slid her coat halfway down her arms as Agathe, the head housemaid, approached. She had been working for House Kiramman since Caitlyn herself was a little girl. She was an older woman with dark, kind eyes, wrinkled in the corners now, and plump, rosy cheeks. Something was in her hand, a manila envelope closed with a plain white seal. She instantly offered it to Caitlyn, knowing the matter was pressing. 

  Caitlyn pulled her coat off and eyed it expectantly. 

  “Good evening,” Agathe greeted her in her warm, welcoming way. “From the florist, Miss Kiramman.”

  Caitlyn took the envelope from the older woman, raising her eyebrows. “The shipment was delivered?”

  Agathe dipped her chin. “Just this morning, yes,” she replied hurriedly. “They were placed in your bedchambers, just as you requested.”

  “Thank you, Agathe,” Caitlyn said, and the other woman simply nodded again. Caitlyn looked around, narrowing her eye as she thought. “Why don’t you and the rest of the staff take the night off?”

  Agathe paused, thinking, but quickly pursed her lips. She opened her mouth, most likely to object, but Caitlyn only shook her head. “Dinner is already covered,” she assured the maid. “And I’m sure everything is already well taken care of.” 

  “Your father—” Agathe began to insist, widening her brown eyes. 

  “Has a new book and a full pack of cigars,” Caitlyn finished, nearly rolling her eyes. The halls outside his study always reeked for hours after he smoked one, a habit he had had as far back as she could remember, when she was a little girl who would lie back on the floor of the parlor and watch the smoke drift up, up, and away. “I’m sure he’s already retired to his study for the night.” 

  He had taken an interest in Ionian poetry lately, and before that was gardening, which led to the back gardens being renovated. Tobias hadn’t had the heart to tend them after the first attack on the Council Chamber all those months ago. The flowers had grown weary and wilted, dying, and then, a few months ago, he had ordered the old, dying roots to be torn up and replaced, and, for the first time since her mother’s death, the garden bloomed with new, bright color again every spring. 

  Then his next interest had been found in winemaking, which caused a week of headaches as her father fantasized about buying a vineyard in the countryside outside of Piltover. He had mentioned it casually over afternoon tea. Vi had used her cup to cover her smirk, and Caitlyn sent her a warning look, hiding it under the edge of her own cup as she sipped her green tea, the liquid both warm and cool going down her throat. 

  Once it had even been Noxian steelwork and craftsmanship, which still left a bitter-and-bramble twisting in the pits of her belly, right next to the scar of where a Noxian blade had embedded itself. 

  Caitlyn didn’t care to know the logistics of Noxian weaponry these days. The only time she thought of it was when the letters with the familiar crimson seals arrived at least once a month, carried overseas by boat or airship now that the Hexgates were decommissioned and in the process of being deconstructed. 

  Caitlyn had just started to stop feeling a deep sense of dread whenever she saw the lines of the Medarda family crest upon the detailed letters that Mel still sent regularly. She used to stare down at it before she sliced open the envelope with her letter opener, tracing her fingers over the dents and lines forming the familiar shape of the seal. Sometimes, it nearly sent a shiver down the base of her spine. 

  It used to unsettle her to even gaze upon the crossed keys of her own crest. But, now, it no longer did. 

  Whatever it was, her father was ordering new books every month, both from Piltover’s bookshops and from foreign sellers alike. He always promised to share them later with Vi, who had rekindled her love for reading now that she had the time. It was a regular sight to see Vi curled up in the library, reading in the armchair she had quickly claimed as her own. She got engrossed in the text, eyes half-lidded and eyebrows furrowed, lips occasionally perking up in the corners. 

  Caitlyn thought she could watch her hours. Watch her read. Watch her blink and breathe and live. Watch her be. 

  It was a regular occurrence by now, but it still knocked the breath out of her lungs every time she came home to find Vi asleep by the fireplace, a book lying across her chest, arms limp at her sides, muscles loose and slack. Unguarded and vulnerable. Peaceful and safe. Soft.

  It truly was a good look on her. 

  The hearth was often hot, but it had nothing to do with the warmth Caitlyn felt in her chest. In her heart. 

  Now, Agathe chuckled. “Oh, if you’re sure.”

  “Oh, I insist,” Caitlyn replied. She folded her hands neatly at her sides. “Truly.”

  “It’s a special night, isn’t it?” Agathe asked slyly, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “For you and Miss Vi?” 

  Miss Vi. The house staff still insisted on calling Vi by a formal title. Upon learning that Vi had no actual House name, let alone an actual last name, they tried to call her Miss Violet. Vi had frowned and scowled, and Caitlyn had cast dissatisfied stares, until it shortened to just Miss Vi. Vi just rolled her eyes and scoffed at such formal manners and most Piltie social etiquette, but Caitlyn supposed it would have to do. 

  Well, it would have to do until they were married, of course. And then Vi could be Mrs. Kiramman, or perhaps—

  Caitlyn blinked, forcing herself to collect and clear her jumbled thoughts and look straight at Agathe. There was a knowing glint in her dark eyes, the same glint that she had when Caitlyn was sixteen and caught sneaking girls in through her bedroom window. Agathe had teased her since she was just a blushing girl in her Junior Academy uniform, a girl with awkwardly long legs and even more awkward crushes on girls in the school courtyard. 

  Suddenly, Caitlyn felt smaller, despite having a few inches on Agathe and having for years now, ever since she had hit puberty and shot up in height, the namesake for Jayce’s fond, childish nickname for her. Sprout. 

  She could practically hear his voice in the back of her head. It was funny now, almost. She used to hate that name, the sound of it against his mouth, in his deep voice and teasing, taunting tone. Now, she wished for nothing more than another sunny afternoon spent in a familiar little lab and the sound of her brother laughing. 

  Caitlyn cleared her throat now, hands going stiff as she still held the envelope. There was a flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there since she was a scrawny teenage girl being lectured in her mother’s office about being caught kissing the Ferros girl in the halls between lessons. There was something meek and timid in her chest. Giddiness, maybe. The mere thought of Vi, the mere suggestion, made her feel giddy. Made her feel like a child again, lonely and then suddenly lovesick, twirling her hair and kicking her feet while she wrote in her private journal. 

  She supposed only Vi had that power over her, to make her feel like she was falling and flying simultaneously. To make her like the past, present, and future all at the same time. 

  “Don’t you have grandchildren to tend to?” Caitlyn asked now, voice edging close to something. “I’m sure they would adore more time with their grandmother.”

  Agathe hummed thoughtfully, though there was still a flicker in her eyes, a dying little spark. “I suppose so,” she said slowly, then bowed her head. “Goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight,” Caitlyn said back.

  The maid turned on her heel, her pressed uniform a flash of black and white while in motion. She took a few steps, retreating back into the sitting room, then peered over her shoulder, still smiling that small, knowing smile. “Caitlyn,” she murmured, dropping formalities for a minute. For the moment, it was a woman speaking to a girl she had watched grow up. “If I may?”

  Caitlyn nodded, granting her permission to speak her open, honest truth. 

  “She suits you,” Agathe said simply, and Caitlyn paused again, wavering. “Miss Vi.” She paused herself, eyes faring back and forth as if reading the emotion in Caitlyn’s singular one. “She is good for you.” 

  Caitlyn didn’t know what to say. The tip of her tongue prickled strangely. 

  Agathe’s gaze went distant, gazing down the long hallway at a certain portrait, one Caitlyn knew all too well. One she had studied reverently as a child, head tilted and staring upwards. One she had avoided in the dark, dark months, the months after the sky turned red and the house felt too cold and quiet. One she had passed countless times, guilt swimming and squirming in her stomach, as tight as the collar of that damning cloak. One she was just learning to look at again, to meet the eyes that were the same bright blue as her own.

  “She would have loved to see it,” Agathe added quietly, as if afraid she was overstepping. She eyed Caitlyn carefully. Warily. “I’m sure of that.”

  She would have been proud, she meant. Of you. 

  “Thank you, Agathe,” Caitlyn managed. “I…”

  Caitlyn trailed off, not quite sure what to say. How did one reply to that? Agathe didn’t seem to mind at all anyway. She flashed Caitlyn a gentle, soothing smile, a dimple etched on one cheek. The same smile she used to give Caitlyn when she was a whole head shorter and the maid slipped her an extra cup of steaming hot chocolate on the long winter nights when the house was too big and too quiet, when her mother stayed late for Council hearings and her father was making his nightly rounds at the hospital. 

  It always made her feel just a little less alone.  

  She felt it now too. It sat in her chest like a soft ache. Nostalgia, the past chewing gently on the heart. A gnaw not to hurt, but to remind. The hunger for moments she couldn’t return to, but it was a slow gnaw she would learn to live with.

  With that, the woman rounded the corner and disappeared further down the hall. A lump formed in the back of Caitlyn’s throat, but she swallowed past it. She nodded at the old maid, dismissing her, and headed upstairs to ready both herself and the bedroom. 

 

---

 

Caitlyn took her time getting ready. 

  She took great care undoing each and every button and strap on her work uniform, carefully popping open the stiff collar and taking a deep breath for the first time in many hours. She unlooped the belt and stepped out of her dark trousers. Once she was done, she folded it all over the wicker basket in the corner of the bathroom to be laundered and starched, to be pressed and readied for next week when she returned to work. 

  She took off her eyepatch next, toying with the straps for a moment before gently tugging it off. It had been tight and itchy today, the skin a bit red and irritated underneath. She studied herself in the mirror, her fingers resting just under her unseeing eye. There was a pale, half-healed scar there, from the edge of her brow bone to the edge of her cheekbone. 

  Vi always liked to kiss her there, murmuring about how it made her look badass. Caitlyn always scoffed, but accepted the warm press of lips to the ridge of her brow. 

  Caitlyn stared a bit longer, blinking at her reflection. The eyelid was still a bit swollen, puffy and pink, and the eye itself was milky and dull, a paler blue than her other eye. 

  Sighing, she pulled away and pinned her hair up with one of the jade hairpins her father had gifted her long ago and stepped into the shower, the cool smoothness of it tickling the back of her head, hair curled at the nape of her neck. She fiddled with the golden handle for a moment until she got the water temperature right, warm, but not warm enough to make her body prickle red or tingle like nettles under her skin. 

  She knew Vi took hot showers, showers with warm, smoky steam and humid-heavy air, hot enough to leave her skin flushed, red and puckered, the redness of her body making her splatters of freckles pop out even more. She knew Vi liked them to soothe any soreness in yet listless left after a hard early morning workout or after a long day of work. 

  Vi always took to light and warmth like a moth to a flame. It was fitting by now. Familiar. She took her showers steaming and her coffee piping hot, swirls of smoky tendrils leaving her cup whenever they had tea in the sunroom with Tobias. She hoarded pillows and blankets, hugging them to her chest as she slept, using the other to cling to Caitlyn. She had bundled herself into knitted sweaters and long-sleeved shirts the second autumn arrived in the city. 

  Vi was naturally drawn to warmth. Or maybe warmth was drawn to her. 

  And Caitlyn remembered the first nights after the war, the slow, still yet steady blur of it all. The nights of deep, dark dreams and quiet mornings where they just simply held each other, speaking the language of no words at all. The language of physical touch. Of private intimacy.

  In those early days, they had nothing to do but lie there, to exist near one another and talk. Vi opened up about her time in Stillwater, what it was like in a dark, dank cell underground. The cold, hard ground and dull concrete walls and steel bars, everything always cool to the touch. The stale scent of salt from the bay and metal and something distantly tangy. Perhaps iron, or dried blood.

 There was always plenty of blood to go around. 

  In the winter, it stung. The air had teeth and bit down on bare skin. Vi, offered nothing but a standard thin prison-issued uniform and ratty blanket, was left to her own devices. She huddled on the thin slip of a mattress, muscles twitching voluntarily in spasming, shocking shivers. Her teeth chattered and clamped, her jaw sore. Her bones creaked and ached. 

  Vi had admitted there were nights—or days perhaps, it was hard to keep track of the passage of time down there—she closed her eyes and wished not to open them again, to never wake up. To slip away peacefully in her sleep, to go somewhere nice and warm again and only leaving behind a cold body, a carcass to be thrown away. 

  Caitlyn had listened with a frown and a furrowed eyebrow, gripping Vi’s hand so hard she feared it might hurt her and working at her bottom lip in that worried, wary way. 

  Prisoners had been permitted to shower only twice a week. There was no privacy, just wet concrete and a rusty facet spouting ice-cold water in uneven bursts, like it was coughing and choking and sputtering. They were given two minutes and nothing more than a flimsy towel and a bar of soap. 

  Vi said she mostly just stood right under the stream, arms crossed over her chest, letting the coldness sink into her skin and sinew and into her muscles and bones. She shivered and gritted her teeth until the guard on duty grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her out, her skin still slick and dark strands of her hair plastered to her brow. They shouted and cursed at her to dress quickly, and then she was back in her cell again before she could blink.  

  Then there was constant leaking of the pipes, and if it wasn’t leakage, the pipes would freeze or there would be frost and glassy, wide eyes, and blue-purple limbs. Prisoners easily lost fingers and toes in Stillwater, especially in the lowest of the low cells, these deep, dark places, devoid of warmth and sun and light or anything good. 

  Caitlyn still couldn’t picture a light in such a dark place, a world with no exits, no escape. No stars or sky. Light didn’t reach that far down. The depth of the dark had swallowed everything good. And yet, sometimes, somehow, in the cracks, it waited. 

  You didn’t look for light when buried that deep, Vi told her when they were lying in the dark, draped under soft, silky sheets, the complete opposite of whatever flimsy blanket Vi had used in her cold cell. It was dim in the bedroom, but the lamp was on on top of the bedside table, casting a golden glow over everything, 

  Vi looked softer in the light. Younger. Less hardened and jaded from life and loss and grief. Her red hair was brightened, falling in soft stands over her brow and cheekbones, her jaw not so sharpened. Her eyes were glassy and wide, wet, still slightly red at the rims. Her bruises were touched to a paler shade of purple and blue. 

  You don’t look for light when buried that deep.

  But sometimes it arrives anyway, Caitlyn had thought. Thought of a lifetime ago, of a rickety elevator and a clipboard tucked under her arm. Of a pressed uniform with a tight collar that strained when she swallowed as she caught a glimpse of fists and inked muscles, of sharp glinting eyes and a brash, quick mouth. A mouth she later found the privilege to press her own mouth against, some warmth found in the cold. Some lost light found again, a fire rekindled from ash. 

  She thought of the dim, black-blue light and the stone and steel and the cold air. The bars between them, the lock, and the red line painted carefully along the cellblock. All warnings and lines. Barriers. Barriers she broke, and was now glad she did. 

  Some places felt too dark for hope, but light was strange. It slipped in through impossible places. 

  There was a certain warmth, a light, burning low in her too as she slipped under the water. 

 

---

 

Even though it had been months by now, Caitlyn still preferred cooler, shorter showers herself, especially when she was alone. The days following her mother’s death, she showered with the door open, asking, begging, for Vi to stand guard right outside the doorway like some sort of stone statue. Vi had taken one look at her cracked lips, her wide and wet, pleading eyes and limply nodded, simply giving in. 

  In the shower, Caitlyn had turned the temperature so low that her teeth chattered and her body spasmed in wispy shivers, wet hair tangled and plastered to her temples and her lips, cracked and dried and bleeding, were tinged to blue. Her knees ached and her bones knocked together as she shook. Her skin was a ghastly shade of pale white, but she scraped and scrubbed at it until it was raw and red and angry. She had picked at her nails until they were short and prickly and bloody. 

  And, in the shower, Caitlyn had leaned against the cool tiled wall, a hand clasped tightly, painfully, to her mouth, covering choked sobs. If Vi had heard her cry, she never said anything. 

  Some things they just never talked about. 

  It was only when Vi was with her did she took long, hot showers, showers that soothed the ache in sore, shaky muscles. Showers that steamed and fogged the mirror. She still tried not to stare, sometimes afraid that she’d see a bright, violent shade of violet staring right back. 

  Not that she would ever admit that to Vi. 

  Today, she set it to a satisfactory, suitable temperature and stepped in. She took her time, letting the refreshing water hit her body, watching it slide down her body in rivulets and rush under feet, slowly swirling down the drain like a small whirlpool. 

  She stayed under the spray for a few moments before bending over to select a bar of soap. Wrinkling her nose slightly, she chose the light purple one. Lavender vanilla, a scent she knew Vi liked on her. She always curled into the crook of Caitlyn’s neck as she slept, nose buried against the cradle of her collarbones, inhaling slowly and deeply. 

  No matter how much Vi tried to make fun of fancy Piltie nonsense, she had taken a liking to the simple things, the small extravagances. The little luxuries. Lotions and colognes, smelling of sunlight and sandalwood. Chapstick that tasted fresh and fruity when Caitlyn kissed her lips. Now, they had a stack of soap in the shower, colorful blocks bought from the artisans of Zaun’s underground markets. 

  She used one now, guiding it over her body, in between the cracks and crevices. It lathered, covering her in a thin layer of foam and bubbles that she washed off a mere minute later. Once she was done, she turned the shower off and reached for a towel, one of the white ones, long and plush and warm, that Vi had always come around to love.

  (It drove Caitlyn a little crazy when Vi came out of the bathroom with one wrapped snuggly around her waist, freshly showered with strands of wet hair clumped to the nape of her neck, long lashes damp and clinging to her cheeks. When she noticed Caitlyn, sitting up in bed with a book atop her lap, she would smirk and flutter her eyelashes. 

  Caitlyn would smother her own smile and try to focus on her back, still acutely aware of her distractingly and devastatingly attractive, half-naked girlfriend in the corner of her vision. Still, she stole glances when Vi turned to dry her hair and dress. 

  Her biceps bulged, muscles rippling and arms stretched, bent over her head as she ruffled her hair with a second towel. Her tattoos practically shimmered, the ink dark and wet. The towel tugged low to reveal the small curve of her hips, that defined v-shape of her pelvis, droplets of water dripping between the divots in the slatted planes of her abdomen. The shadow of her breasts and gleam of the barbells going through pretty, pert pink nipples—)

  Caitlyn pulled out the hairpin, letting her hair fall and fan out naturally around her shoulders. It was dark and long now, longer than she ever had it. She looked into the mirror for a moment, running her fingers through the strands that were slightly damp from the shower’s mist, then turned, leaving it slightly mused and messy, the way she knew Vi preferred it. 

  When she wandered back into the bedroom, the scent of the flowers, the rich sweetness of the floral perfume, hit her full-force like a good blow to the back of her skull. She wrinkled her nose, brow crinkling. It wasn’t a bad smell, per se; it was just very, very fragrant. She blinked, looking around. The bouquets, bundles of pale violets delicately tied together with red-pink ribbon, the same shade as Vi’s hair, had been placed in vases and watered, arranged in clusters around the room, their green stems still dew-kissed. 

  They covered nearly almost every available space and surface—the windowsill, the dresser, the bookshelf and Caitlyn’s dusty display case, stuffed with trophies and awards from old riflery competitions. They even covered the boudoir bench at the foot of the large four-poster bed. Her gaze went further up. 

  Caitlyn tilted her head, gaze drifting and catching the color against the light, silky sheets, clusters of velvety purple petals sprinkled all over the bed, like a quiet breath of lavender light. 

  Caitlyn nodded to no one but herself, satisfied, and then turned and opened the top drawer to seek out some undergarments. She scanned the neat rows she kept her clothes in, preferring to be organized, whereas Vi’s drawers were a twisted and tangled mess. She quickly found the ones she wanted, a delicate, lacy little set that made the tips of Vi’s ears go red and her throat bob whenever Caitlyn leaned forward or bent over. 

  She smiled silently to herself as she tugged them on, sliding up between her legs and then turning awkwardly to clasp the bra shut. It was stiff and hard to do with half of the field of vision she was used to, but she was learning. It took a moment, and a few curses muttered under her breath, until it clicked and snapped shut. 

  With a huff, Caitlyn then reached for her robe, the dark, sleek one made up of fine silk that was draped on the corner of the dressing screen, and easily slipped into it. It was cool against her bare skin, which was still slightly flushed from the warm fog of the shower. She shouldered it on, cinching the scant little sash at the waist. Then she secured another eyepatch, looping it around her head. It was the same shade as her robe, a dark, roguish purple. 

  She turned back to the dresser with ease, already envisioning the outfit in her head. Something casual, flattering and fitted, yet subtle. It would be a little ridiculous to get all dressed up to eat Jericho’s of all things after all, and Caitlyn supposed the clothes would be discarded on the floor soon enough after all—

  Though the room was empty and quiet, Caitlyn cleared her throat, cheeks still pink-pinched, rosy as Agathe’s. 

  She rummaged through the top drawer to find the clothing right where she left it, procuring the satisfactory pieces. A pair of dark slacks, long and loose enough to be comfortable, but tightly fitted around the dip of her hips, revealing the curving straight of her legs, and a nice blouse, brass buttons neatly stitched up the seam. She would let the top one stay undone, revealing the tiny cradle at the crux of her collarbone, still shining with moisture. And she would leave the sleeves rolled up her forearms, tucked and ruffled just at the elbow, cuff links loose and open. 

  She was just starting to unravel the bundle of clothing when Vi walked into the room. One of the double doors pushed open without warning (Vi never knocked) and she strode in, whistling a now familiar tune, that dark leather jacket fitted snugly on her frame, the collar nearly popped to the tips of her ears. In her hands, she held a nondescript white box to her chest carefully, almost cradling it. 

  Caitlyn paused, freezing. Vi wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour. Enough time for her to finish getting ready, to set the table, warm up the food, arrange the candlesticks and light the wicks, and perhaps take the time to scatter extra petals on the sheets—

  Alright, perhaps she had gone a tad overboard. But it was their first anniversary! They had fought a war and survived, coming out on the other side. They were together. They were learning each other’s routines and rhythms and rhymes, some sense or semblance of happiness, a sentiment or sensation of peace. They were alive. 

  Upon seeing her standing there, Vi stopped short, her song cut off abruptly. She stared at Caitlyn, and Caitlyn stared back, blinking. 

  “Cait,” Vi said. Her voice had the hard edge of surprise to it. Her smile went sideways, a bit crooked. “You’re home early.” 

  “And are you,” She replied slowly, crossing her arms. “So it seems.” 

  Vi had been down in Zaun again, as she was most days. She had taken on many jobs following the war, both big and small, often working alongside Ekko and his Firelights. Today had been adding finishing touches to the new community center, Caitlyn remembered. It had been a few months now, and it was nearly ready to open its doors. It would be a place for recreation, classes for Zaun’s youth, and a kitchen to get a warm meal. Vi and Ekko were already talking of additions, adding a library or even a gym. She could imagine Vi there, in the library reading or helping a kid find a book, or even in the gym, cheeks flushed and every inch of skin all sweaty and slick—

  Caitlyn bit her lip. 

  “When did you get off?” Vi asked now, head slightly tilted one way. Her tone was casual. 

  Preferably I’ll get off sometime after dinner, she thought helplessly. But probably sometime in the next five minutes. 

  “Four,” Caitlyn promptly replied. 

  Vi nodded, stepping over to the sideboard on the far wall and setting down the box. Caitlyn’s eye trailed it, tracking the motion. “Since when did you get off early?”

  Caitlyn blinked yet again. “Since tonight.” She frowned, arms crossed under her chest, making sure the robe was securely tied shut. “Apparently.”

  Vi slid her jacket off her shoulder and down her arms slowly. She turned as she did so, swiping her wrist across her nose as if brushing something off. Caitlyn tracked her moments again as she shedded her most outer leather layer, appreciating the roll of her shoulders and the ripples of shifting skin as her back muscles worked, the shadows of shoulder blades stretching and—

  Caitlyn blinked. Again. 

  “Well,” Vi was saying now. Her back was to Caitlyn, but she could tell she was smiling. “Don’t tell me I missed an anniversary or something.” 

 Caitlyn placed one hand against her side, carefully cocking her hip. She felt Vi’s face linger there. Heard her swallow. “Hmm.” She lightly rolled her eye back and touched a finger against her chin, tapping it slowly. “Let me think.”

  “Take your time,” Vi replied as she folded the jacket under her arm. “We’ve got all night after all.”

  Her tone winded and curled at the end, almost sinfully suggesting something. Her voice was light and husky. Low and teasing. Taunting. 

  Oh. 

  Vi was still standing a few feet away, back to her. With a slight shake of her head, Caitlyn gave in and closed the distance between them. She wrapped herself around Vi’s torso, clasping her hands over their rightful place on the bulged point of her hips, arms looped loosely around her waist. She rested her head against Vi’s, the shaved side of her head tickling Caitlyn’s cheek. It was now long enough to curl in some little ringlets. 

  Caitlyn sighed and settled against her girlfriend, nuzzling closer until she found her favorite spot, the tip of her nose bumping into the dark, inky lines and circles of the gear tattoo there. Her skin was still snug and sun-warmed. She felt Vi let out a long breath, a low breath. This close, she felt everything—the tug of her lips, the taut pull of her jaw, the bobbing of her throat as she swallowed. 

  For the first time all day, she took in a slow, deep breath. She buried her nose in the crook of her neck, in the low L-shaped curve of her throat meeting her shoulder. She smelled of smoke and sawdust and sandalwood, like the worn leather of her jacket and the wood she worked with all day. Caitlyn pressed a small, soft kiss there, right over her pulse point. She felt her pulse flutter under her lips, dancing right under the faint brush of her mouth. She briefly tasted Vi’s skin, like salt and sweat and something a bit sweeter underneath. 

  Oh.

  After a moment, Vi let out a low hum. She placed her own hands over Caitlyn, pressing against her palms and threading their fingers together. She turned then, twisting around to press her own kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek, right below the crest of her eyepatch. Caitlyn couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled out of her chest. Her kiss was also salty and so, so sweet. 

  “Happy anniversary, Cait,” Vi whispered, the tip of her nose still hovering over the ridge of Caitlyn’s browbone. 

  Her breath was warm and tingly. She moved one hand to come up and cup the back of Caitlyn’s head, fussing with the little fine hairs there, clasping the nape of her neck in that familiar way she did whenever she hugged or held someone, like she was comforting them and protecting all at the same thing, all that was she was summed up in one single motion—a fighter, a protector, a lover. 

  Caitlyn let out a long breath herself, a slight of a sigh that was almost dreamy. She could see Vi’s face from here, tilted up to look up at her, the line of her jaw long and hard, those impossibly blue eyes all wide and soft. Her nose was wrinkled and her cheeks dimpled, her freckles more visible than ever. 

  Caitlyn smiled and pressed her lips to the space just behind her ear, relishing the shiver she felt go down Vi’s spine. “Happy anniversary, darling.” She loosened her grip around her partner, pulling away ever so slightly. She peered over Vi’s shoulder, blinking at the light box still sitting next to the bundle of Vi’s dark jacket. “What did you get?”

  Vi followed her gaze, both of them staring down at the same thing. “A gift.”

  Caitlyn tilted her head to look down at her, letting the edge of her chin rest on the apex of Vi’s strong shoulder, strands of dark hair draping over. She smiled, the start of a smirk curling at one corner of her mouth. Her own breath was growing quicker and hotter against Vi’s nape. She knew Vi felt it from the tense of her arms and the square of her shoulders, the jolt of her whole body. Vi’s breath was slow and shallow, careful and cautious. Curious. 

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She felt Vi swallow thickly. Very thickly. Felt her nod. 

  “For us?”

  Another nod.

  “Tonight?”

  “Dessert,” Vi concluded. Her voice was slowly getting lower. Rougher. “For later.”

  Now, Caitlyn smirked. “Why not have dessert now?”

  Vi’s breath stalled for a singular second, slightly wrinkling the shivering silk of Caitlyn’s robe. “Before dinner?” She asked, raising an eyebrow sarcastically, though it was a bit shaky. “That seems improper.”

  Caitlyn paused, pursing her lips as if considering it. She felt Vi looking at her, studying her, pinpointing in on her with a predatory intent that made Caitlyn’s toes tingle and curl, feet cold and bare against the cool floor below. Planting her feet more firmly on the ground, she leaned in, letting her breath ghost up the column of Vi’s throat, up the notches of her straight-steel spine. She watched the rise and fall of Vi’s throat, the bobbing as she swallowed. The little hair rising on the back of her head. She let it linger. 

  Vi exhaled. Caitlyn waited. Vi inhaled. Then Caitlyn spoke. 

  “Dinner later,” she murmured, lips pressed to the delicate shell of Vi’s ear. Her voice was breathless, barely a needy whisper. “Dessert now.”

  Vi seemed to shiver. 

  Caitlyn didn’t know who moved first. Perhaps it was her. Perhaps it was Vi. Perhaps it was the both of them at the exact same time in perfect, matching synchronization. They came together at the same time anyway, crashing against one another like the tide against a rock, the waves lapping aggressively, wildly, over the slick stone. Covering it. Consuming it. 

  The kiss was warm and wet, gasping for hot air and strangled sighs. It was dark with the hint of teeth, of heat, of want. Vi’s hands were everywhere—caressing her cheeks, cupping her jaw, then lower, lower. Her shoulders, sliding down her arm, slotting against her hips and waist. Caitlyn planted her hands on either side of Vi’s head, tilting her back back and up, giving her easier access to her mouth. She dug her nails into her scalp, tugging lightly at the strands there, and felt Vi gasp against her lips, feeling her chest jump under her. 

  Their bodies pressed together, deep and desperate, like two puzzle pieces fitting together, like two hearts becoming a home. They gave into the pulse and pull of two bodies becoming one. They were close—chest squished together, legs and knees beginning to tangle, a mass of leaden limbs. She bumped her nose across Caitlyn’s as she changed the angle of the kiss, deeper and more desperate. She sucked Caitlyn’s lip between her own, dipping her tongue between the tiny gap between her teeth. 

  Then Vi’s lips were following her hands, dipping lower, trailing down her jaw. Rough and calloused palms pressed against her chin, forcing it upwards, and kissing a tilted little line right down her jaw. Then Vi’s mouth was working against the soft, fleshy part of her throat. Her lips were pink and puckered, sucking lightly, teeth scraping against soft skin, stuttering over her pulse point and over and back again. 

  It was Caitlyn’s turn to gasp, instinctively tilting her head backwards, letting Vi continue. Vi’s warm breath prickled now-sensitive skin, now slick with a thin sleek of shiny saliva, as Vi continued to lick and suck, to bite, at her neck, savoring the sting with her a quick swipe of her tongue and then a gentle, almost apologetic kiss to the red, hot bruise forming there, her breath now pepper-hot. 

  She continued pushing downward, pressing kisses to her clavicle, down her sternum. The tip of her nose tickled Caitlyn’s skin, the metal of the piercing on the side there cool against flushed heat. Vi nuzzled closer, nudging her, practically open nosing open the front of the thin robe. Caitlyn let out a low breath, settling her arms around Vi’s broad shoulders loosely and leaning back. Vi still had her hands planted firmly on her hips, holding her there, burying her face against the side of her neck. 

  Vi paused only to suck one last, long kiss right to the little dip of her collarbone, nibbling at the slip of skin there. Caitlyn shuddered, and Vi’s hands slid to her stomach, cupping her lower belly, fumbling with the neat little knot Caitlyn had tied there earlier. The light silk was smooth and sleek, slipping through Vi’s fingers like water. 

  She heard Vi mumble a curse under her breath and Caitlyn couldn’t help but laugh, a giggly, girlish little giggle rumbling out of her throat, bubbling up into her chest. Vi looked at her then, a glimpse of a grin flashing and widening across her face. Caitlyn met her gaze, her blue eyes wide and dazed, pupils dark and large. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy, her white teeth glinting against the red-pink of her kiss-swollen lips. 

  Caitlyn leaned forward and planted a kiss to the tip of her nose. At the same time, she let her hands slink downwards and between them, letting them slip over Vi’s larger, more clumsy ones. Vi’s grip loosened instantly, going slack. Caitlyn gave one sharp tug and helped undo the knot, the silky fabric of the robe wrinkled under Vi’s grasp. 

  Before she knew it, with one more tiny tug, it was slipping off her body, sliding down and pooling at her feet below. Vi continued to nip at her neck, eyes half-lidded, dark and downcast, drinking in the details as they racked down her now half-bare body. They snagged at the familiar fabric cupping her cleavage, the shadow of silk and lace. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and she was already leaning in, taking a fistful of the firm, soft flesh as if she was a baker kneading a ball of dough. She cupped a handful in her warm palm, thumbing at a hardening peak of a dusky nipple. 

  Caitlyn moaned, muffling it by burying herself in the crook of Vi’s neck, just barely biting down on the crest of her shoulder. She felt Vi tense, her own breath growing heavy and heady, shoulder jumping. The inked muscles of her back rippled as they worked, tightly gripping Caitlyn, pulling impossibly closer. Pulling. Pushing. Tugging. 

  Caitlyn swayed slightly, letting out another shaky exhale as Vi rested her chin against her shoulder. Her own hands settled, splaying against the small of Vi’s back, trying to steady herself. She felt Vi smile against her, then tug again. Then she was falling. 

  She gasped, reaching for Vi. She dug her fingertips into the skin of her back, dragging nails down the hard planes and valleys of her back, hearing her wince and whine. Whimper. Nail pressed firmly into hard flesh. Vi panted against her as they landed on the bed, the mattress softening their fall. They toppled, landing on their haunches, Vi still hovering a few inches over her. Ghosting. Lingering. 

  Caitlyn laid back, blinking. She licked her lips, feeling the throbbing swell of it from where Vi had dug her teeth into her bottom one. “Well,” she said simply. “What are you waiting for?”

  Vi snorted, then leaned back in. They sucked in a breath at the same time, Caitlyn watching Vi through fluttering eyelashes. Vi’s nostrils flared, her cheeks still red and rosy, and her eyes were glistening from the golden lowlight of the lamp in the corner. Keeping one hand on Caitlyn’s hip, she used the other to rub a hand down her flushed face, sweaty and sticky and shiny, plastering strands of her hair to the ridge of her nose and brows. Her expression was a bit… pinched. 

  Caitlyn huffed out a laugh, merely a puff of hot air. “What?”

  Vi blinked. “Nothing.” She inhaled once more, crackly and stuffy like a sniffle, like she was sick, catching a fever from the heat of the body under her. Her other hand came up, cupping Caitlyn’s jaw, cradling it with one open palm. “I just love you.”

  Caitlyn’s sharp expression instantly melted and softened. Her eye widened, the corner crinkling. Vi just smiled. She moved in to press a light kiss to the space behind Caitlyn’s ear, then gave her earlobe a nibble, a little tug-and-pull with her top teeth. It was an old, dirty trick, and Vi knew so. It always sent a bright, cracking zap throughout her body, a brilliant bolt of electricity shooting straight up her spine. 

  It was Caitlyn’s turn to shiver, skin beginning to prickle in her most private places. “Ah.”

  “Ah,” Vi practically purred, preening like a fancy songbird showing off its colorful feathers. “There she is.” 

  In response, Caitlyn rolled her hips, canting them towards Vi. She let out a low, soft sound, hands finding purchase against Vi and the curve of her spine, bracing herself against Vi’s back. Her nails kneaded the surface there, tracing trails down the mass of scars and skin and ink. She felt the skin shiver and muscles jump under her wake, burying her crescent moon of a half-smile against Vi’s neck, inhaling the musk of sweat and sex and arousal, as well as the floral perfume that still permeated the perimeter of the place. 

  She felt Vi smile against her too, the curve of her mouth still pressed so close to the side of Caitlyn’s neck. “Violets,” she murmured, breath dancing over kiss-warmed skin. She let out a low hum of amusement. Of appreciation. “Huh?”

  “Shut up,” Caitlyn groaned, hips rolling involuntarily. She worked her teeth into her bottom lip, the squirming tightness in her lower stomach, one that used to be just a dull ache, growing uncomfortable. “Vi—”

  Vi laughed against her, a release of hot, hot air. “Hold on,” she mumbled. “Hold on.”

  She shifted, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but sigh against her. And, this time, when Vi pulled away, Caitlyn let out an indignant huff. “Taking our time, are we?” 

  “Mmph,” Vi replied, grunting. “I really meant it.” She rubbed at her eyes rather harshly. “Just a second.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Caitlyn replied, a soft smile pulling at her lips, quirking up at the corners of her mouth. “Take your time, darling. I’m patient.”

  “You’re insatiable,” Vi muttered, tone tinged with both amusement and fondness. “That’s what you are.” 

  Caitlyn huffed again, but didn’t deny it. She recalled the months after the war, months of grief and hardship and finding a hand to hold in the dark. Recalled the tight coil in the pit of her belly, that quiet ache. That guilt in wanting. In yearning. 

  As soon as the doctors cleared them, as soon as they both felt ready, she and Vi had been able to reconcile and reconnect intimately again. And when they started, they didn’t seem to be able to stop. 

  She remembered all the precarious times and places. Being bent over her desk in the study. Hands gripping the white porcelain edge of the bathtub. Her own hands slinking between Vi’s thighs when they showered together. Pressed against a wall in an alley or crammed into a sticky stall in some nightclub when Vi showed her the sights of Zaun. Rolling around on a picnic blanket in the back gardens. And once, just once, the kitchen counter, the marble cold and hard underneath her quivering calf muscles. 

  So insatiable was certainly a word that could be used to describe her. Or determined. Stubborn. Greedy. She always took what was given. She just knew what she wanted. 

  And, right now, all she wanted was Vi. 

  She turned to tilt her head upwards, allowing herself to look at Vi, who was still hovering over her. Her lips were puckered, red and kiss-swollen. Her bottom lip was slick and glistening, wet from Caitlyn’s tongue and the moisture of her mouth. A strand of saliva still connected them as they fell away, gleaming, glowing, then breaking. 

  Another spike of heat, of pleasure, shot straight through Caitlyn. 

  She sighed softly and put her hand in her palms, blinking and staring up at her girlfriend, studying her. Vi looked thoroughly well-kissed, but her expression was still pinched. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her eyes were half-lidded. That blue-gray Caitlyn had come to love so much, caught in the lowlight of the bedroom. 

  Caitlyn squinted. Vi’s eyes were trained on her, but her gaze was a bit hazy. Distant. Her eyes were glossy, with tinged red on the edges. Wet. 

  “Is something bothering you?” Caitlyn asked now, slowly raising an eyebrow.

  “There’s just something in my eye,” Vi replied, still rubbing. 

  Caitlyn frowned, lips pursing. “Is it irritated by something?” 

  “Nah,” Vi huffed, brushing it off. Still, she poked at her eyeball. “Probably just your stupid fancy candles. Your smoked cashmere and your sun-warmed ambergris.” 

  Her voice turned high and tight, tone overly rounded by an extreme exaggeration of a fancy, lilted Piltovian accent, one Vi often mocked. She fluttered her eyelids dramatically, but even Caitlyn could tell the action obviously bothered her, furtherly annoying her eyes. 

  Caitlyn’s frown pulled tighter, straightening into a taut line. “You know my candles aren’t—”

  Vi suddenly reached over, grabbing her and pulling her in by the hips. Caitlyn was cut off as she dragged over an inch, practically falling into Vi’s lap, and then pushed. She was being adjusted, she realized. Twisted and turned over. She gasped as she fell forward, landing on the mattress with her chest pressed flat against the plush surface, breasts squished against it as she awkwardly bent over on her knees. A pillow cushioned her fall, shoved under her abdomen and leaving her hips propped up, and her arse bared up and towards Vi.

  Caitlyn gritted her teeth. Oh, you little—

  She felt the mattress dip as Vi shifted, moving and coming up behind her. Caitlyn moved her head, trying to see Vi with her limited field of vision. One year later, she was still getting used to it, adjusting to judging distance and depth perception, relearning how to aim and shoot.

  Vi had been with her through it all. Helping her bandage her toes when she misjudged and accidentally rammed her foot against a doorway. Helping her sweep up shards of glass when she misjudged again and accidentally tipped over the glass of water on the edge of her desk. Though, when they walked, Vi often drifted towards her blind side. It made Caitlyn feel safer, and she supposed it had always been Vi’s nature to protect.

  But, no matter what, Vi was by her side. 

  In bed, Vi tried to stay in her line of sight. Caitlyn appreciated that fact very much, seeing as Vi, cheek squished against the pillow and drool drying on her chin, was often the first thing she saw when she woke up and opened her eye. It was a sight that few, if none, got to see these days, and, for that, it was very dear to her heart. 

  How privileged she was to get to be loved by this woman. That she got to love this woman in return as well. For that, she was rich beyond her wildest dreams, beyond her idle imagination and childish wiles, her fits of fantasy and fancies. To love this woman, it was worth more than any material items or worldly goods, any money or jewels or treasures of the earth, any wealth or fancy title. Nothing could ever compare. 

  It was enough. To love and return that love to this woman. This strong, loving, caring handsome woman, who—

  Who was teetering on the edge of her, on the tip. Blue-gray eyes wide and hazy, dark pupils blown wide in pure indulgence. In pure ecstasy. Her lips pursed and puckered, as if trying to drink in the mere sight of her. 

    Now, Vi’s gaze was dark and hungry, holding as much greed as Caitlyn did. She moved slowly and surely, like a predator stalking its prey, taking its time approaching its meal, appraising it. Testing it. Tasting it. 

  Caitlyn bit her lip to keep from drawing such a sharp breath. Her skin was already breaking out in gooseflesh, buzzing with anticipation. Her cheeks were red, she was sure, one still propped against the pillow. The silk was cooling against the heat festering within her body, the low flames she had been slowly tending to all day long, the start of a fever only Vi could cure. 

  Her whole body was thrumming a slow hum, a low tune. Vi. Vi. Vi. 

  Caitlyn let her body relax, to go soft and still. To be moldable and pliant, like she was wet clay waiting to be sculpted by skilled, careful hands. Vi’s hands. To be made and remade again.

  Still, she nearly shivered when Vi finally slid her hands down her sides, following the curve of her body, the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. They situated themselves on either side of her pelvis, and Caitlyn let out a long breath, half-muffled by the pillow pressed against one side of her face. She shivered involuntarily, a jolt going straight up her spine. Her skin was already prickling and flushed with heat, with want, from all the places Vi was touching her. 

  Hands pressed against her hips, holding her in place. Pinning her in place. Two legs pressed against her legs, tangled together and braced on either side—thigh to thigh, tender skin brushing tender skin. Hot breath on the nape of her neck, tangling in the dark wisps of her hair. Whispers and nibbles to her earlobes. 

  Her thighs clenched together tighter. She practically could feel Vi smirk. 

  Vi suddenly paused, hands still bracketed on either side of Cait’s hips, with warm, calloused palms pressing into the taut, firm flesh there, slightly shaped and rounded from a new fine layer of fat from months of rest and recovery, of three good, warm meals a day, and a girlfriend who cooked her hearty Zaunite dishes and insisted she laid down in silken sheets and soak in the morning sunlight from the window. To breathe. To just be.

  Vi’s hands were there now, teasing her. Taunting her. Fingertips danced over the spot, a ghost of heat and flame, large palms and wide fingers. They settled there, gripping and groping roughly, working against her. Now, they splayed against her hipbone, holding her there like she meant to be held. Made to be.   

  Caitlyn nearly let out a groan, teeth working into her bottom lip, biting down nearly hard enough to draw blood. A prick of annoyance suddenly brushed her, swirling around with the heat of arousal building in the pits of her belly. She snapped her eye shut, lashes long and fluttering against her cheek. She drew in a sharp breath when Vi pressed against her again, fingers poking and prodding. Her digits were flexing, lengthening and shortening. As if testing the waters. As if testing her. 

  Vi, she thought both lovingly and damningly. Always such a bloody tease—

  A sniffle.

  Caitlyn opened her eye, confused, and blinked. Vi’s hands were still there, her hands tightening against the narrow taper of her waist. Nails dug into the soft, supple skin there. Caitlyn held back her moan, biting down and burying it somewhere in the back of her throat. 

  Still, she waited. Still, Vi wavered. 

 She lifted her chin and looked over her shoulder, dark, loose hair cascading over her bare shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed, both confused and a tad bit concerned by now. “Violet,” she chided softly. “Darling, just what are you—”

  Vi promptly sneezed. 

  Caitlyn blinked again. What?

  “Uh, shit,” Vi muttered, pulling herself away and off of Caitlyn, who sat up, arms wrapped around herself. It felt suddenly so cold in the room without the warmth of Vi pressed right up against her. “Shit.” 

  Her voice was shaky. Stuffy. 

  “Vi?” 

  Vi, who clamored away, practically collapsed and curled in on herself on the edge of the bed. 

  She was using one hand to rub furiously at still red and watering eyes, a few stray droplets of moisture leaking from her tear duct and sliding down the slope of her cheek. She used her other hand to wipe at her upper lip, her nose spewing snotty mucus, all clogged and congested. Periodically, she paused this all for her face to wrinkle and contort, letting out a pinched sneeze or ribs-rattling cough. 

  And she was breathing hard, her throat tight and chest constricting. Wheezing, Caitlyn realized. 

  Caitlyn immediately stood on still shaky legs and grabbed her robe off the floor in a hurried kind of haste. 

 

---

 

“Allergies,” Tobias amended a few moments later upon entering their bedchambers. He was sitting on the boudoir bench at the foot of the big bed, side by side with Vi. “A reaction, most likely.” 

  Vi had sat awkwardly at the edge of the bed when Caitlyn had gone to fetch her father, practically jogging down the halls and calling for him, the silk hem of her robe sloshing. Eventually, her footsteps had faded away. A few moments later, she heard the murmur of voices, two voices this time, one deeper and more raspy, and an additional set of footsteps. Vi jerked her chin up as the doors pushed open and Caitlyn stumbled back in first, practically dragging her poor father by the forearm. She caught the tail end of their hurried conversation. 

  “Father, please—she—”

  Tobias had clearly been pulled from whatever he was doing in his own wing of the Manor. He was dressed in his own robe, made up in a thick, soft and padded dark blue, and wearing light brown slippers that softened the sounds of his footsteps. His hair, patches of Caitlyn’s dark blue and a shimmery silver-gray, was ruffled, side tufts mussed. His reading glasses (or spectacles, more like) were askew on the tip of his nose, slightly crooked. With the way Caitlyn was forcefully pulling him along, Vi was surprised they hadn’t fallen off completely. 

  Vi knew the man liked to retire to the parlor or the sitting room in the late evenings after dinner. He sometimes invited Vi to pass the time with him, offering a game of pool or an impromptu language lesson. Sometimes, a cigar (which Vi had accepted once, and never again at the wrinkle in Caitlyn’s brows when she crawled into bed later that night; those things were pungent), and sometimes he offered her a drink from his own collection, which Vi accepted on good nights. She had taken to drinking casually, and responsibly, again, but all in moderation. She supposed there was nothing wrong with having a good drink with a friendly face every once in a while. 

  Vi was hoping she hadn’t interrupted when Tobias strode in after Caitlyn. With all the fuss from earlier, Vi was surprised he hadn’t brought his dark leather medical bag with him. 

  Caitlyn took to surveying the scene the way she supervised a crime scene or Council meeting, standing behind them with her arms crossed over her chest and one hip flared slightly higher than the other, ankle tucked neatly against the other. It was the same stance she took when she studied the map of the city or her evidence board, all stares and squints and scoffs, hard lines on a usually soft body. 

  As if feeling his daughter’s unease, impatience, Tobias quickly lowered himself down next to Vi with a low, soft sigh. Vi bit her lip, holding back her complaints. She didn’t like being fussed over. 

  Tobias had come in with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes, as if expecting something worse, and upon seeing Vi, blinked and slowly sat down next to her. He had looked over her, taking in her obvious signs of discomfort—her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, a red-tipped nose that sniffled each time she tried to breathe through it, damp cheeks from runny tear ducts, snot still drying under one flared nostril. 

  Tobias immediately shook his head and softly murmured something in Ionian under his breath, but, with another fierce glance from Caitlyn, moved closer and humored her. He shuffled closer to Vi and deftly pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His hand was cold, and Vi nearly winced. He hummed, then used the same hand to slightly tilt her head, gently guiding it, peering into her eyes and nose, then pinching her chin between two fingers. 

  Vi let him work without any protest, just the slight downturn of her mouth. The motion made her throat itch even more, but she kept her jaw clamped and mouth shut. She did not want to sneeze on anyone else tonight. 

  He quickly took it to the redness and puffiness of the irritation with squinted eyes. His hands were now just cool against her skin, somehow both soft and hard. He had the barest hint of callouses, light ones like Caitlyn’s. Skilled hands, sure and steady, the hands of a surgeon. 

  With a light frown tugging at his lips, his hands shifted and dipped, using the pads of his fingers to press softly against her neck in small circular motions, starting in front of her ears, then down along her jawline and the sides of her neck, finishing just right under her jaw. Caitlyn was watching the whole exchange reverently, almost religiously. Vi swore she could feel her warm, prickly breath on the back of her neck, and usually that was a good thing. It sure didn’t feel any good now. 

  Caitlyn had moved from her guard post by the door and came to sit on the edge of the bed on Vi’s other side, long legs stretched out on the floor in front of her. Vi caught glimpses of them whenever she turned her head. She was just staring now, almost unblinking, her expression pinched and muscles drawn tight and taut like a trip wire, or a coil ready to spring. 

  “No fever,” Tobias announced. He gave Vi’s cheek one last awkward pat, then dropped his hands, settling one on her shoulder instead. “But her lymph nodes are slightly swollen.”

  Caitlyn’s single eye widened, round enough to drink from. 

  “Allergies,” he repeated. “The same symptoms of a mere cold.” 

 “Are you sure?” Caitlyn pressed, eyes still wide, alarmed. Her voice had that tight, airy tone to it, that one Vi had come to recognize. That hitch, that lump in the back of her throat. The pitch of panic. “What if she’s—”

  “Allergies, Caitlyn, dear,” Tobias repeated slowly. His half-lidded eyes glanced up, flitting around the room and lingering on the excessive amount of flowers taking up every extra inch of space. He wrinkled his nose as he inhaled, taking in the scent too, momentarily overwhelmed by the floral fragrance. “Probably a reaction to all the pollen, I’m sure.” 

  Vi sniffed again herself, using her hand to wipe away another smeared strand of sticky snot. “I’ve never had a reaction like this before,” she muttered almost thoughtfully. “I’ve been in the gardens before, and I’m fine at the Sanctuary.” 

  “Well,” Tobias murmured. “I take it you’ve never been around such an abundance of fresh blooms, and not in an enclosed space.” His gaze lifted again, looking towards the large window that took up most of the far wall of the bedroom. He tilted his head, silently signaling Caitlyn. “Open the window. Let some fresh air in.” 

  Caitlyn quickly did that, standing up from her spot at the edge of the bed. The silk of her robe whispered as she moved, sweeping and swinging with the sway of her hips and the bend of her back. Vi watched it, watched her, as she made her way over to the window, running her fingertips over the gilded edges of the windowpane, fumbling with the lockbox momentarily. She reached over, the hem of the robe tugging higher, up and up, revealing smooth, smooth skin, shadowed under dark and sleek silk, and Vi forced herself to look away. 

  Soon enough, it gave a satisfactory click, and Caitlyn gave a final shove. She pushed and it swung open and outwards, letting in a light breeze and the songs of the night birds just beginning to sing from the edges of the garden. Caitlyn let herself look outside for a moment, composing herself by taking in a gulping mouthful of much cooler air, and then sighed and pulled herself back in. 

  Instinctively, Vi turned, angling herself more towards the window. The breeze felt good against her face and, immediately, the room felt less stuffy, the air changing and shifting. Her nose still felt clogged, but she inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet tang of the violets, but also getting hints of the city beyond—late afternoon rain, cobblestone warmed by the sun, the salt of the seawater from the harbor docks. 

  “That should do it,” Tobias was saying as he stood. He wore loose, comfortable loungewear underneath his robe. 

  Vi tried to smile a small smile, but her throat tightened, making her wince. A weird half snort, half cough left her mouth, smothered and sputtered. 

  Caitlyn’s frown tightened. “Is there anything else you can do? Something else to ease the symptoms?”

  Tobias shook his head. “Nothing to worry about,” he reassured his daughter. He then looked down at Vi, a hand still on her shoulder. “It should clear up on its own, hopefully within a few days. Until then, I can make you a cup of nettle tea. It contains natural antihistaminic properties.”

  Vi simply nodded in return. There was an overflow of teabags in the giant cupboards of the shiny kitchen, and even more so in the pantry. They were commonly given as gifts, sent over from family overseas, or as a congratulatory gesture when Caitlyn was promoted. Some of them were even leftovers from after the war, sent from other High House scions as a half-ass tribute to say sorry about your eye or a please return to the Kiramman Council seat, much of which Caitlyn rolled her eye at and never cared to respond to. 

  “And if that’s not enough,” Tobias went on, but Vi was still thinking about tea leaves. “I can get some butterbur from the apothecary in the morning. It does wonders for nasal congestion.” 

  Vi blinked at the words nasal congestion, but nodded. “Alright,” she said, voice still nasally, high and hoarse, still strained from her stuffed nose. “Thank you.”

  She took another swipe at her now-red nostrils, another drop of snot dripping into the tint indent between her upper lip and the bottom of her nose. Vi shuffled and sniffled, scrunching her nose, and Caitlyn shifted, producing a handkerchief from the drawer of the bedside table. It was white and satin, the Kiramman crest carefully stitched onto one of the corners. 

  Vi nearly rolled her eyes, but it would only cause them to water even more. They had the family crest embroidered on everything. Books and papers, paintings and portraits, napkins and tablecloths, sheets and linens, pillows and pillow cases. Vi was afraid she would wake up one day and it would be stamped across her forehead. 

  Still, she took it, accepting from Caitlyn’s open hand and using it to dab at her nose and waterline. Tobias looked at her, a frown pulling across his tired face. “I’ll start the tea,” he announced, starting to turn on his heel, his slippers softening the sound. 

  But then Caitlyn was jumping up from the bed, a movement that made the end of her robe sway rather precariously. Vi had to use the handkerchief to cover the expression on her face. 

  “I can do it,” Caitlyn cut in, already halfway to the door. 

  Tobias raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t protest. “Are you sure, dear?”

  “Father,” Caitlyn said in almost a scolding tone. “I think I can handle heating up water.”

  Tobias blinked. “Very well.” 

  Caitlyn murmured sharply under her breath and turned away from Vi and the bed. Tobias only shrugged. Both he and Vi watched as Caitlyn left the room, giving them one last look over her shoulder, and then disappeared down the long, dark hallway of the Manor, leaving only the slightest whisper of silk. As soon as she slipped away from sight, Vi slumped forward, hands resting against her knees, one hand keeping the balled-up handkerchief pressed against her gushing nose. She couldn’t help but to sigh into it. 

  Tobias gave her a knowing look, almost appearing sympathetic to her plight. “Kiramman women are determined.”

  “Stubborn,” Vi mumbled, muffled by the satin cloth. 

  Taking his defeated half-daughter and the rows of violets again, he lightly smacked his lips, as if holding back his words. Amusement clouded Tobias’ dark eyes. “You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.”

  Vi let out a low grunt in response. The movement tugged at her already tight throat and she scowled, unsquaring her shoulders and rolling them to try to get comfortable. 

  Tobias watched on, still amused. “Stubborn,” he murmured, echoing Vi almost thoughtfully. “I suppose I would know.” He sent her a look, that glint in his eye, the same glint Caitlyn had when she realized something no one else had. “I married one.”

  Heat came rushing back to Vi’s face, and it suddenly had nothing with her symptoms. She exhaled rather louder into the slip of fabric, gratefully it cover her lower face, hiding the ruby red hue of her cheeks, probably as red as her hair at this point, and the twisted, tangled line her mouth had become as she pressed her lips together, teeth gritting soundlessly. 

  Tobias simply gave her a tired smile and a nod. He withdrew, returning back to his quarters to smoke another cigar and dream of his daughter’s (not so) distant wedding. 

 

---

 

Caitlyn returned five minutes later with a soft smile and a cup of hot, steaming tea, the steam rising up and curling like ringlets of smoke, giving Caitlyn an endearing rosy look, framing the little wisps of dark hair that curled at her temples and stuck out from behind her ears. Vi watched as she came in, shutting the heavy door behind her, using her hip. And Vi remembered, recalling the roll and recoil of those hips underneath her, the wrinkled sheets and the writhing of the soft, warm body under her own—

  Vi was jolted out of it as the mattress dipped and Caitlyn scooted towards her. Her smile shook as she gently pressed the cup to Vi’s hands, who cupped it to her chest, instantly warming her palms. They both settled against the headboard with a sigh. 

  Vi held the cup to her lips, inhaling deeply. The tea was a warm color of brown, almost like honey and amber, and it smelled damp and earthy, like the forest after a rainstorm. Vi narrowed her eyes and took a tentative sip, slurping on the edge of the porcelain teacup. It was grassy, with a slight natural sweetness. Vi caught the hints of honey and citrus Caitlyn must have added, and even a bit of mint. 

  Caitlyn watched her as she drank it, her brow quivering, curling and uncurling, and her mouth tightening. “Vi,” she began. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”

  Vi stopped sipping, swallowing and then speaking. She merely shrugged. She quirked an eyebrow. “Shit,” she admitted. “I didn’t know either.” 

  “Still,” Caitlyn said, biting her lip. “I—”

  “Cait.”

  “Violet.”

  “Cait.” 

  Caitlyn’s mouth tightened into a taut, flat line. “I’m sorry.” 

  “Cait,” Vi said again. “Shut up.”

  Caitlyn’s jaw dropped. “Pardon?”

  Vi let out a sound that was half a scoff and half a sigh and somehow still something else entirely. She turned and placed the half-drained teacup on its saucer, clinking it softly. She then turned back to fully face Caitlyn, who was still staring at her with her one eye narrowed and both eyebrows raised in expectation. 

  Stubborn, Vi thought, hearing Tobias’ voice in her head. She managed to hold back her snort. 

  “Caitlyn,” she began, and swore Caitlyn nearly stiffened at the use of her full name. Vi was serious, even if her voice was still a little shaky. “I don’t care.”

  Caitlyn’s brows bunched, drawing tight together in the middle. “But I—”

  “When’s the last time I got to celebrate something? Something happy?” Vi asked, and Caitlyn instantly went still and silent, watching and listening to Vi in only the way Caitlyn could. “Do you think I got to celebrate anything in Stillwater? Hell, I could hardly keep track of the days.” She shook her head. “Do you think we could celebrate when there was a war at our doorstep? When we had so many things to fix and rebuild and when we lost so much? I—” She cut herself, shaking her head again. “I…” 

  Vi paused, and Caitlyn listened on. “If I had been anywhere else, this would be just another day to get through. But you… you take time off and buy a bunch of fucking violets and plan dinner…” She trailed off, trying to swallow back the sudden swell of emotion. She looked around at the petals of the flowers still surrounding them, wrinkling her nose. “This is the first time anyone’s ever…” 

  Caitlyn’s expression softened, reminiscent of some distant memory, of a darker blue and bars between them, bars they broke down together, a prison cell they left together. “Oh, Vi…”

  “Oh, yeah, I don’t care if I sneeze, Cait,” Vi finished, now beginning to smile. “Though it was pretty amusing to watch you scurry out of the room like that.”

  Caitlyn’s soft expression sharpened, shifting so suddenly that Vi actually did snort this time. “Scurry?” She repeated, almost sounding offended. “Like a mouse?”

  “Mmm,” Vi hummed almost thoughtfully, a low rumble that tickled the back of her still sore throat. “More like a mongoose.”

  Caitlyn scowled. Vi laughed. 

  Caitlyn, exasperated, blew a piece of hair out of her hair, cheeks going a pretty shade of pink. “I was startled!” She exclaimed. “You were choking.” 

 Vi quirked her other eyebrow.  “I was coughing.”

  Caitlyn’s frown pulled even further. “Same difference.”

  Vi tilted her head, considering it. “Your father, the doctor, would probably disagree.”

  “Save your voice,” Caitlyn commanded with the cross of her arms over her chest. “Drink your tea.”

  Vi grinned, cradling the sauce against her own chest. She lifted her cup, pinky finger extended with a great exaggeration and slurped quite loudly. She snuck side glances at Caitlyn, who was fighting her own smile, a fist pressed to her mouth. 

  “Violets,” Vi murmured under her breath in between soothing sips of the tea. “Fucking violets.”

  Caitlyn sent her a silent, sideways glare, but there was something still impossibly soft about it. 

  “You’re cheesy,” Vi went on. She paused, almost giggling at the thought that popped into her mind. “Maybe you really are a mouse.”

  Caitlyn scoffed so hard that another strand of her hair went flying. 

  Vi smirked, satisfied at the sound, and downed the rest of the tea in one swig, closing her eyes as the warm liquid soothed her sore throat. She was aware of Caitlyn looking at her, her expression clearing into one of open curiosity, brows knotting back together again. She looked at Vi, then tilted her head to look across the room. 

  “Vi?” She asked after a moment. 

  Vi opened one eye to peer at her girlfriend. “Hm?” 

  “What’s in the box?”

  Vi opened both eyes now, swallowing the rest of the tea in one big, painful gulp. She didn’t meet Caitlyn’s questioning gaze. Instead, she turned to place the cup on the bedside table, fiddling with it until it sat perfectly in its saucer. 

  “Vi.”

  Vi stared down at the crumpled handkerchief, lying discarded on the top of the bedside table, and swallowed again. “A cupcake,” she finally croaked out. Her lips tilted, her smile crooked. “It’s blue.”

  Caitlyn’s small smile began to sprout like Vi had planted the seed by just saying those words. Her head was still tilted, that glint in her eye. “And I’m the cheesy one?”

  “Maybe,” Vi replied. 

  Caitlyn hummed, all soft and sultry. “Maybe not.”

  Vi grinned, still crookedly. “A match well made?” 

  “I’d say so,” Caitlyn whispered, and leaned back over the curve of Vi’s knees. She pressed a kiss to the tip of Vi’s nose, then her cheek, her chin, her jaw, her—

  “Happy anniversary, darling.” 

  The way she said darling did something to Vi’s stomach. 

  Vi raised an eyebrow. “Cait.”

  “Allergies,” Caitlyn soothed. “Father said so.”

  Vi raised the other. “Oh, now it’s just allergies. Earlier you called for your father like I was having a heart attack.” 

  Caitlyn smiled against the curve of her neck. “Well, I can’t quite give you a heart attack,” she murmured quietly. Softly. “But I know a way to get your heart rate up, if that’s what you want?” 

  Then she promptly sucked another open-mouthed kiss against her jaw. 

  “God,” Vi groaned, feeling Caitlyn’s smile shift into a satisfied smirk. “Happy anniversary.” 

  Caitlyn kissed her again and again.

 

Notes:

inspired by this tweet 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 6 of that i’d be anywhere that you are