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#also you know what? i will be shameless and put my own damn art in my favourites tag if i want to because i’m so proud of myself

kaedeakeshisworld · 2 years

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Kojiro Nanjo/ Joe Nsfw headcanons

cw: mentions of sex, somnophilia( depicted as consensual in this work) as well as cervix- fucking, use of pronoun you, Joe is a Shameless lad, natural hair, natural hairstyling, written for black female reader because these queens live in my heart( u da baddest hun <3 >_<). Also a lil sprinkle of self indulgence= self care. Nuff said, enjoy yer meal boo!

word count: 792

• Sis, you may as well just ask pardon to your cervix RIGHT NOW!! This man is surely packing and no evidence needed to back this up. Look, did you peep this dude’s physique like ok sir we get it you are smoking hot, so stop demanding the attention your features deserve!? But, what can you do other than observe this work of art, right.( You were wondering about his size right? No worries, I got you sis no actually rectifying it to I warned you about it! Drum roll please, this man is packing a 10-inch junior so honey like they say in Italian Buona Fortuna = it means good luck or should I say pack them pain drugs nah I’m just playing but seriously it’s not a bad idea now that I gave it some thought)

• This man will cry, beg and sob whenever you decide to ride him which is fairly often, like no exaggeration every single time. Before you both decided to be sexually active, you had always thought because of his aura and demeanour he wouldn’t be one of those. Well, you are wrong so be glad he’s this way, you can enjoy it better before the beast is awakened I meant what I wrote! Also this man is yours right, when you can no longer do the work will fake some disappointment to check if he can really fuck your brains out. Imma say it now before it’s too late, may HE have mercy upon your chocolatey gorgeous curvy body 'cause once he is in control he goes absolutely feral. Cue is (clears throat), this no longer the man you were with a few minutes ago, new level unlocked. ( windex spray laugh insert here, I pray for your ability to walk the next day though)

• He is so thankful that he is in a relationship with you that you are his and that he is yours. Seriously, (gasping while writing this like how did I come up with this, I do not know) this dude is extremely whipped that sometimes he does ask himself how did he get somebody like you. He is definitely head over heels because every time after sexy time, he waits for you fall asleep and whispers “I am so lucky to have you by my side, I can’t imagine a future without you“.(I am ready to die honestly my heart and my head is the worst combo for sweet things like this, ugh nuff said) What he does not know it is that you are awake and listening to what he is saying (Oh my, such a precious treasure!) and you tease him whenever he is being a bit too cocky for your own damn taste.

• He is always cooking your favorite meals, making sure you savour the food as well as the wine and he makes sure to put you to sleep through his own ministrations (you know where I am headed to = somnophilia and of course it is consensual). He is constantly groping your boobs (the worst part about it is that it makes you extremely sensitive to his touch, you're craving it constantly) and telling you that you’re the sweetest babe he ever had in his whole life. He also does love to watch you braid your hair whatever style it is. He will usually sit by where you are and just admire how your work on your hair with that warm water spray, oil, comb and coil cream to make your hair look fantastic. He does not tell but these are one of his most favourite moments he gets to spend in your company.

• He loves your thick thighs ( he is always groping your body whether y’all outside or not and whispers "I can never get enough of you, you drive me crazy" so much so that) often when you both get back home the only thing he has in his mind is to pound that vagina of yours into oblivion. Yes, sis you told him not to do that on weekdays but he does not listen ( mainly because he acts like he does not- this cheeky bastard).

• Whenever your torrid sessions are over, he’s also a gentleman so he’ll carry you to the bathtub that is prepared with every single thing you need epsom salt, oils, body yogurt, body scrub and body butter. These moments where you both bathe together and do a lil’ self-care are definitely the best part of it all. You and Joe, the pair it is! (Please do be careful he might initiate another session in the bathtub claiming something like "you’re too irresistible, that’s the effect you have upon me my goddess" while presenting his boner. Honestly, good luck with that sis)

Comments and reblogs are largely appreciated!

Moot list: @luffysthickwaifu

2022 © All rights reserved to @kaedeakeshisworld. Translations, modifications, replicas or even property of my achievement are not allowed without my approval. Do not repost/ recommend/ share it elsewhere!

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imaginesntingz · 3 years

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Haikyuu Headcannons: When they’re obsessed with your 🍑 (Oikawa Tooru, Ukai Keishin, Kozume Kenma)

Warnings: Swearing, not super explicit/nsfw, but suggestive content so I’ll put it below the cut just in case

A/N: What’s good everyone? Here’s something that I’ve stayed up way too late working on. It’s 5 in the morning and I’ve forgotten my own name. Let me know if y’all want a continuation with other characters. They all ended up being setters in this one so I just went with it I guess. All characters are aged up and 18+. I hope you enjoy! Please don’t copy any of my writings. My content is originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into each piece. Ask me before reposting.

Oikawa Tooru:

Of course he’s respectful when you’re in public, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed the way that new skirt he bought you last week accentuates your ass in justtt the right way.

You’ve caught him staring a few times and he always plays innocent like the sly little shit that he is.

You called him out once, but you know your mans is dramatic

“You wound me, (y/n) chan! What kind of a man do you take me for? I’m a gentleman! Honestly it’s not all that impressive anyways”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting”

“(Y/N), YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!”

“You blatantly asked for the smoke, so I kindly obliged~”

“I was just kidding, baby! Why’d you have to come for me like that? 😭😭😭😭”

You had one brattykawa on your hands after that one. Dats tough

Anywhooo

Once you two are alone OOF. This. Bitch. Is. SHAMELESS.

He can’t keep his hands off of you. Doesn’t matter the size or shape

Your ass = Tooru magnet

He could pick you out in a crowd of people based on that booty alone

You’ll be cuddling on the couch, you're on top with your head on his chest just watching a movie and enjoying each other’s presence. Then BAM he’s got both cheeks in each hand, squeezing and kneading firmly

“Neee, (y/n) chan~ You’re so soft, baby girl~ How is that even allowed? Damn you’re so gorgeous, princess”

You: Head Empty

You're bent over the kitchen island scrolling through your phone? This mans is playing patty cake on your buns. Those setter hands are dangerously powerful. Of course he knows how to restrain himself as to not hurt you but whew some of those spanks leave you deliciously breathless and your little gasps are like music to his ears… which usually leads to other tingzzzzz and Tooru teasing you for walking funny the next day

Could his ego get any bigger? I don’t know if we’d survive it

Wearing his favorite pair of leggings or those cute pajama shorts? It’s on sight. You’re trapped beneath this painfully beautiful brat of a man and you wouldn’t have it any other way

And lawwdd if you know how to twerk. He might just faint on the spot

RIP Oikawa it was for a good cause

Ukai Keishin:

Oh boy

Keishin gives me serious ass man vibes. Idk what it is

He worships you in every way possible, but that ass holds a special place in this cranky man’s heart

After a long day of working with crops, managing the store and volleyball practice, this man is tired and grumpy. Hinata somehow managed to almost meet his eternal rest when he was nearly hit by a TRUCK and a CAR and a BIKE and a STATIONARY POLE trying to outdo Kageyama while racing in the neighborhood. He swears those kids have taken at least ten years off his life span.

This man is v stressed

So when he comes home to find you reading in bed on your stomach in nothing but his t-shirt and those sexy panties that show off that beautiful bum… Honestly he could’ve cried he was so geeked.

He teared up a bit ngl (He’d never admit it tho)

This guy swan dived into bed, wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your glorious cakes

“Bad day, hon?”

“Mmmphh”

He took a fat nap right then and there

He was so bitchy and whiny when you woke him up to change sleeping positions (as long as you let him slip a hand on a cheek when you got comfortable, he’s a happy camper)

He just loves feeling the warmth and weight of it in his hands, it’s comforting to him and feels super grounding idk

But boy oh boy does this man love to give it a good smack or two or ten

Watch out bb 😈

He’ll spank you anywhere anytime, but he’s real sneaky about it in public….until he’s not LOL. It just depends on the environment and who is around

Like Oikawa, the strength in those setter hands will have you shOOk to the core especially a seasoned one like Kei

One time you were doing your morning stretches, slipping into downward dog and HO. NEY. Keishin was already pulling you flush against his pelvis and smacking that 🍑 like a djembe drum until tears pricked your eyes. Your whole body was vibrating with desire it was WILD

“Ohhhh, sweetheart. You are a work of fucking art, you know that? You’re not going anywhere today. That’s a promise.”

And that’s how you ended up with twins. Not sorry.

10/10 would recommend

Kozume Kenma:

Listen Linda

It took a while for you to notice

But Kenma is truly OBSESSED with the booty

It took him a while to even admit it to himself tbh

He would look away immediately when he caught himself staring

And he may have appeared chill on the surface but blondie was internally screaming as you literally sat on top of him while he was gaming

He was so hesitant poor bb was overthinking it so hard. He just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or think he was weird etc etc

It was confirmed to you when you started waking up in the middle of the night to a fully unconscious Kenma giving your ass subtle squeezes in his sleep

You’ll literally have to sit this man down and be super direct about it

Once you give him the go ahead chillle it’s on and poppin

Only when y’all are alone of course cuz as we know, Kenma is v shy and a very private person

He’s not the pda type in general

Again, he loves it when you sit on top of him when he’s playing video games. Especially when you straddle him. His hand does this smooth slide down your back that sends shivers down your spine before settling over the swell of your butt. He’ll give the occasional rub and caresses your thigh softly. Another muse of his. Kenma LIVES for your thighs. Would happily be suffocated by them. Whoops. Squeeze them around his waist or grind into his lap and you’ll be on your back faster than you can say yes please

When you’re cuddling, he’ll just start jiggling that cake in his hands. He finds it fascinating, soothing and unbelievably hot all at once. The perfect combination in his opinion.

“ . . . Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“Watcha doin back there?”

*continues in concentrated silence*

“Babe??”

“. . . You’re like a sexy human stress ball . . So soft . . So cute . . So squishy . .”

“Ummmkay?”

My mans is hypnotized. He would do that shit for hours if you let him let’s be real. That thang is thangin

He would buy you ALL of the jeans, leggings, shorts, dresses, hoodies, crops, shirts, skirts. Everything and anything that fits your body type in all the right places, Kenma is on it and good lord is he invested. He absolutely spoils you. Blondie bae is surprisingly good at keeping your style in mind while also pushing you to try new things that end up making you look stunning. Big ups

The only time Kenma has spanked you was in retaliation. You wanted to see his reaction to being spanked. So once when he was distracted by his switch, you slowly walked up behind him and SMACK

Kenma nearly dropped the damn switch 😤 You’ve never seen this boi whip his whole body around and bend you over so fast

Two swift yet heavy blows to your backside had you rethinking your whole life. Everything about that moment lives in your head rent free

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

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❛ IT'S NOT JUST A TATTOO ❜

✨ REQUEST BY ANON: Hiiiiiiiii! Can I get a HC on Happy telling his girl he loves her, wants her to be his OL and get his crow? Pleeeease.

✨ REQUEST BY @ocetevasgirl: Hola cielo! Can I request "Don't look at me like that" with Happy please? 💕☺️

Words: about 1.2k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place or something that makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ GIF credits: to the author.

❚❙ HAPPY LOWMAN MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

There's something that has grown inside him, like a seed planted in the ground, the first time you kissed him. You were flirting with Happy since the very first moment you met him. And even if he thought it was just for fun, the alcohol helped to show him you were serious.

He doesn't hide his acts anymore.

It's been three months since you two started to play.

Sex is good. Sex is pretty good. Your bodies look like they were made for each other. You understand the other to perfection. Every move is made in sync. He really loves the bite you have with him for making him moan, due he's too low. But you always get it.

He wasn't used to touching you, holding hands, or kissing you in front of his brothers. It has happened in two or three situations, very rarely, very randomly. And you have noticed that for two weeks, more or less: he doesn't hide his acts anymore.

Happy likes to watch you fixing some bikes at Teller-Morrows. He likes the way your hand moves, bolting, painting a hood, checking the pressure (...). Your fingers dance all around with delicate and accurate touches. He could be by your side for hours enraptured on the tasks your hands attend to.

Whenever he loses control or his calm, he goes to find you wherever you are. As soon as you're close enough, Happy sinks his nose in one side of your neck. Takes a deep, deep, deep long breath and presses his lips over your throbbing carotid artery. Your heart beating and pumping brings back his cool. Your fingers gently and slowly caressing the back of his head helps too.

He has been needing to have his hands on you the whole time. At least, one. On your lower back, around your forearm, gripping your wrist, on your nape, on your thighs (...). Anywhere is valid to him. It's not a way to mark his territory, but to make you feel that he is there, that you don't need protection but he protects you, that he likes your tact.

And it's funny how he is like your personal bartender in SOA parties. You want a glass of whisky, rum, gin? He brings you a bottle of your favorite one. Your beer is almost empty? He finds the coolest in the fridge for you. Are you hungry? He prepares you a sandwich, in the clubhouse kitchen. Sometimes, the guys tease him about it, but he doesn't care anymore. Happy only wants to make you feel comfortable, attended, loved. Happy.

He has never danced in his life, but when Mayans come to Charming and play latin music, it's impossible for him to not try to dance with you; watching you provoking him with the moves of your hips swinging and that shameless smile on your lips that only he owns.

Marcus has taught him some basic moves? Marcus has taught him some basic moves.

He already loves you. He loves every single thing about you. The way you have to imitate his favorite cartoons' voices. The way you have to understand and read his body when there are no words from him. The way you take care of his wounds, without asking what happened, who he has killed. The way your lips feel around all his length, tightly and warmly closed, sucking out the air of his lungs.

He wants to tell you about his feelings. But he doesn't know how to do it. Happy feels insecure that you're not in his orbit, that you do it only because sex is from another dimension. He has asked Chibs because Tig would simply advise him about fucking the hell out of you against a wall and keep doing it until you get tired of his dick. Chibs has told him to be sincere, to use the confidence between the two of you, and ask you about what you want.

But when he comes to you, simply saying “what 'you want from me”, he scares the shit out of you. This time, you can't read in his eyes what is happening within his head. You can't decipher his intentions. Is he going to finish whatever you have? His rough, dry voice hasn't helped either.

“What 'you want from me?” Asking you again, as if you were stupid, only makes you feel worst. Your heart is racing, your throat is closed. You have been working hard to show him that you don't want him for a couple of night-stands; that you really understand him, that you love him, that you want to spend your whole life enjoying his silence. And after all, it seems like it's the end.

“I… want you”. Probably, your words aren't enough for him, watching how he tilts his head just like a confused puppy would do. Something clicks in his head, connecting the two neurons left that aren't damaged for his assassin personality.

“I want you to be my Old Lady”.

Then, your heart stops.

“I love you”.

Then, your heart jumps back to life.

Being an Old Lady doesn't mean only that you're the girl of. It means that you're part of SAMCRO, part of the family. That you have to defend the club with your life, after defending your man. It means being loyal as fuck.

But it also, and most importantly, it means to wake up with his arms around you and going to sleep together every night he's in Charming, drunk or sober. It means furtive kisses whenever and wherever. It means being loved by the loveliest and mortal man on earth. Because yes, he is both things. Happy can't help but spend his time covering you with all kinds of caresses. Happy can't help but spend his time whispering to you that he can't imagine a life without you, that he loves your laugh, that he loves the way your fingers trace every tattoo in his body.

Talking about tattoos… “I want you to get my crow”.

“Then, I want you to tattoo it. What? Don't look at me like that… I know you can do it”.

He can't wait to come back to his house.

He feels fucking powerful retiring the tracing paper from your forearm. The crow is big. The crow is visible. The crow is his.

Happy feels fucking powerful delineating every black line on your skin, before coloring it with the same ink. As your eyes are on his extra concentrated face, your free hand is rested over his right thigh.

It's a piece of art.

You love it.

You love him.

After covering it with cling film to not stain the sheets, when it starts to expulse the excess of ink, Happy kisses it. Happy kisses every single damn inch of it, feeling your other hand caressing the back of his head.

Putting away all the stuff, he urges you to sit on his lap. Facing him. Your legs spread at both sides of the chair. His lips roaming your neck with soft bites, with some grunts when your hips rock slowly over the bulge under his sweatpants. His lips find yours. His tongue finds yours. Your nails gently scratch his bare chest, redrawing invisibly the serpent in it.

For the first time, he doesn't fuck you. He makes you love. He's careful, he doesn't move fast. He covers all your body with magical and sweets caresses. He makes sure that you enjoy them. Happy makes sure that you feel the love he feels for you, in every touch, in every moan he utters, in every move he does.

#lemme know what you think in a comment! ✨#sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #happy lowman x reader #happy lowman imagine #happy lowman

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aeterna-auroral-avenger · 3 years

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Random ask: give your favorite HC about Scott

Oh heck yeah! Let’s go!

First of all, thanks for the ask, friend! It makes me so happy. Sorry I didn’t answer right away! Work kept interrupting me typing my answer, and I wanted to put thought into this lol.

Alright, hold on to your horses because once I get started, I don’t know if I can stop. You picked one of my favorite things to ask about 😁

I’m also going to say one of these because I’m going to give more than one I can’t give just one is not mine but actually came from @thwipandquip and I 100% accepted it right on the spot. The others I already had but developed further with @thwipandquip

Scott is a brilliant cook. He learned how to cook from his paternal grandmother, also brilliant in the kitchen, and he learned how to cook without needing to follow recipes all the time. He’s the type who likes to make stuff up as he goes, and he’s learned enough from his grandmother and from his own experiences to know what goes well together and what doesn’t. His dishes are nine times out of ten a big success, and even then that tenth time that’s not all that great is really, really rare. He’s good at it, and his dishes are proof. He can get cocky about it, but he’s earned the right. But! He can’t bake to save his life. He’s lucky if he doesn’t burn pre-made cookies that you can throw in the oven. Which was lucky for him that Baskin-Robbins didn’t require him to bake. He’s tried to bake. His grandmother tried to teach him, but for all the ingenious and knack he’s got for cooking, he had none left over for baking.

Scott played baseball in high school and college. He played other sports, but baseball was his first love. Scott tried to get #22 because his dad played baseball back in his day too, and that was his number, but Scott couldn’t get that one. So he wore #2 on his jerseys instead. Close enough to satisfy him. He played catcher and pitched some, but he loved playing catcher way more. So he’s used to wearing gear and a helmet and having to run and be active in it, which helped him feel more at ease in the Ant-Man suit and helmet. He played minor league some and could’ve probably gone pro if he wanted, but he decided on doing other things.

This is the one that’s not originally mine but I 100% accepted. Scott can paint, and he can do a pretty damn good job of it. He’s always had a knack for sketching and drawing stuff, and he started painting early on. It wasn’t until he got into high school art that his teacher was like “Holy shit this kid can actually paint!” So his teacher kinda spoiled him and gave him extra attention to help foster the talent and help him master it. Once Scott realized this was something he loved to do and could help entertain him and distract him when he was feeling low or his ADHD (another HC) was rampant, he pursued it and became amazing at it. He can pretty much paint whatever he wants. If he can imagine it, he can put it on canvas, and his forte is realism. He can make something look so real, it could be mistaken for a photo.

Halloween and Christmas are his favorite holidays. He can go all out for both especially with the decorations, and he’s as excited as any kid when they roll around. With Halloween, he loves the spooky stuff and getting scared, and he puts his electric engineering to good use and make moving Halloween decorations that are scary and cool all at once. He loves going to haunted houses with Cassie. Plus, Scott and Cassie like to go on trips to visit haunted places and do like their own ghost hunts. Scott dressed up as a Ghostbuster one year and loves that movie. He likes the second one okay, but the first is way better in his opinion. (shameless nod to Ghostbusters: Afterlife? Absolutely.) With Christmas, he loves giving people he loves gifts. He puts thought and energy into all of them, and he often goes overboard but he doesn’t care. Tis the season! And there’s nothing that makes him feel warmer and happier than letting people he loves know that he cares and they’re important to him. He and Cassie also have a competition every year on who can give each other the most wacky, ridiculous gift. So far, Cassie’s winning, but you best believe he’ll find a gift to help him win next year!

#my thoughts #scott lang #ant man #ant man and the wasp #amatw #headcanons #marvel headcanons #ant man headcanons #Scott Lang headcanons #i love him so much it's stupid #❤️🐜#thinks for thanking of me #marvel and dc geek

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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Heartbreak Hotel

Or the dating show Geraskier AU based on an idea by my wonderful friend @slythnerd (Also on my AO3)

Geralt took a deep breath and pulled at the tie around his wrist. The cameras weren’t rolling yet and he was seriously considering jumping out of the window. He was grateful that he wasn’t one of the original contestants. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to cope with all the build up and hype before entering the hotel. The set to the show was essentially the top two floors of a hotel, and one of the reasons he hadn’t made a break for the nearest window. He did enjoy being alive despite how much he liked to grumble about it. Geralt was going to be the first new contestant since the season had started just over a week ago. With any luck everyone would be happily paired up and he would be allowed to go home at the soonest available opportunity.

He’d only agreed to this shit show for Yen’s sake. He was pretty sure that her and Triss just wanted to laugh at his discomfort.

“Mr Rivia?” Some attractive young brunette with a clipboard asked.

He raised an eyebrow at them. “Yeah?”

“Are you ready?”

Geralt looked back down at the wristband. It was pink, purple and blue. He gave a small smile. When he’d been filling out the application form he had hovered over the box for bisexual for over an hour. He wasn’t out to his family yet. Yennefer knew, but that was it. Well at least coming out on one of the most popular dating shows in the world would mean he’d probably only have to do it once.

He grunted and nodded, dropping his wrist to his side. “Yeah.”

_________________________

Jaskier was seriously starting to doubt his life choices as he flopped dramatically across the laps of Virginia Stael and Valdo Marx who were curled up on the sofa together. Jaskier had tried to woo the ‘Countess’ as he affectionately called her due to her love of expensive jewellery and designer clothes, but she’d reached an ‘agreement’ with Valdo. They had a game plan. Everyone in the damn hotel knew it and he hoped the viewers at home could see it too. The pair of them barely tolerated each other. They would split up as soon as the show ended. They’d only chosen each other because they’d both deemed the other to be the most attractive out of the contestants. It was shameless and it was loveless. Well, not entirely loveless, despite their personality clashes and endless drama, they did end up shagging rather loudly every night, much to Jaskier’s displeasure as he had the misfortune of having the room next to Valdo.

Valdo wasn’t even that attractive.

“What are you doing, Jaskier?” Valdo snapped.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and extended one leg as he gestured to himself. “Lying down. Obviously.” He muttered.

“There’s a free chair.” Virginia pointed out in her snooty I-am-holier-than-thou voice which made Jaskier feel incredible glad that his attempts to seduce her had failed.

Unlike most of the contestants, Jaskier wasn’t playing for the money. He’d been naive to think he’d be able to actually find love on the show. What had he been thinking? Everyone else was catty and brutal and he just wanted to be loved god damn it.

Although, the sex so far had been spectacular so who was he to complain?

“Where’s… who are you paired with at the moment?” Valdo glowered at him, with unfairly pretty green eyes.

Ok so maybe he was that attractive, but fuck Valdo. Not literally.

Unless….

No.

Bad Jaskier.

The man was an arsehole. He did not deserve to get fucked!

Jaskier sighed again and patted Valdo’s cheek. “Priscilla but she broke up with me.”

“And why did she do that?” Virginia asked.

“I made out with Aiden.” Jaskier hid his face n his hands and moaned. “but in my defence the challenge was to kiss who I thought would be best in bed! Priscilla is lovely and I really like her, but Aiden just looked like he could fuck the living daylights out of me, which incidentally he can.”

Jaskier’s attention was drawn away by a woman behind a nearby camera who was obviously trying to hide her laughter and failing. Most of the time Jaskier was able to ignore the cameras but sometimes they just really got on his nerves.

“I was being honest!” He snapped and pouted. “I thought honesty was the key to all healthy relationships.”

No one had a chance to reply as the elevator doors opened and a god of a man walked out.

“Holy shit.” Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

This was it. He was in love. The man had silver hair that looked like it had been woven out of moon beams. It was pulled back into a messy bun revealing a truly sinful undercut on both sides of the man’s head. He was wearing a loose black shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He’d paired the shirt with some tight black jeans. Oh god his thighs could probably break Jaskier.

Jaskier let out a pathetic whimper.

The noise drew the hot guy’s attention and holy fucking cock balls… his eyes…

Jaskier was going to drown in those eyes. He licked his lips and he stared unabashedly at this fucking work of art, that is, until he was dumped on the floor by Valdo shoving him hard. “Oi! Fuck it, get off!” He yelped as he landed on his arse.

His eyes snapped back up to the new guy and he blushed. The man was smirking at him, clearly laughing at his misery. Jaskier gave a little wave and the scrambled to his feet so he could introduce himself. “Hi! I’m Jaskier!”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier could have melted on the spot. How was his voice that good? Fuck it was better than sex.

“Jaskier.” He replied and then swore. “I mean. I already said that. Hello.”

“You said that too.” Geralt chuckled.

“Well what else am I supposed to say? I just met you! I can hardly start asking you to bend me over that table and…” He cut himself off and clapped his hands to his lips.

“Shall we start again?” Geralt asked, still smirking although there was now a faint red blush on his cheeks, probably embarrassed by Jaskier’s outburst. He extended his hand, which, Jaskier noted with absolute delight, had a bi wristband tied neatly on it. “I’m Geralt.” Jaskier grinned and shook Geralt’s hand, making sure his own matching wristband was on display. “Jaskier Pankratz. Nice to meet you.”

“Cut the cameras!” A voice called out through the speakers. “Everyone, we have a newbie Geralt Rivia. He’ll be joining and he will be leading our next challenge. We love the drama but try and give the man a warm welcome. Jaskier! Excellent. We’ll work with that. The viewers are going to love it! Ok. Rolling!”

Jaskier groaned and gave Geralt a sheepish smile. “Urgh. I’m sorry. Looks like they’ll be pairing us together for a few challenges.”

Geralt frowned. “Can you say that with the cameras running?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Not everything makes the cut. They get a lot of footage. There’s a whole bunch of people not even here that are being filmed right now. It’ll get cut and pasted until they get what they want.”

“So why did they cut the cameras?”

“Important announcement. Make sure people are actually listening. I doubt they actually stop rolling.”

“Hmm.”

“Sooooo….” Jaskier linked his arm with Geralt’s. “Did you want the tour?”

Geralt laughed. “Will there be any tables?”

Jaskier tripped up instantly and spluttered as Geralt caught him around the waist. “Geralt!” He choked.

“Relax, Jaskier. I was joking.”

“I should hope so!”

“Mostly.”

“Geralt!”

_____________________

Four days in and Geralt was more relaxed than he thought he would be. Most of the contestants gave Geralt a wide berth. He was more than a little out of place. He wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up being chosen. The rest of the contestants flirted easily and could all talk for hours about their ‘types’ and what they were looking for in a partner.

When asked Geralt had just shrugged, he’d glanced over at Jaskier who had been busy braiding Priscilla’s hair and not paying much attention. Jaskier was currently paired with Priscilla, they’d been arguing when Geralt had first joined the hotel but had since rekindled their love, if you could call it that. Geralt had ended up pairing with Kiera. She was pretty enough and had taken a shine to him during his first challenge. He wasn’t that interested in her but he’d promised Yen that he would give the show a fair shot. So he was trying.

“What about you, Buttercup?” Priscilla winked at Jaskier.

“Oh umm. Me? Fair hair, pretty eyes… a voice like a dream.” He sighed wistfully and Priscilla turned to kiss him.

Geralt averted his eyes. He didn’t enjoy it when they kissed. It made him… uncomfortable.

Yen would say jealous but Geralt scoffed at that. Jaskier was his friend. They often hung out around the hotel when they weren’t being filmed with their respective partners. Jaskier was the only one Geralt felt he could really talk to. He let Geralt talk for far too long about Roach and the other horses at the ranch. Kiera had just laughed and made a joking about riding Geralt then shut him up with a kiss.

It wasn’t a bad kiss. It was just not what he’d been expecting from a partner.

He was on the wrong show.

Geralt groaned. “I’m going to my room.” He muttered. “Headache.”

Jaskier jumped up. “Are you ok, Geralt?” The brunet put a hand on Geralt’s arm and looked at him with such open affection that it made Geralt ache.

Fuck.

He was falling in love with him.

Geralt pulled away sharply. “Fine.”

“Oh. Right then. I’ll just, I’ll be here if you need me then.” Jaskier mumbled and slunk back over to Priscilla, taking her hand and decidedly not looking at Geralt.

“Fine.” Geralt repeated and fled the room, glaring at the camera man on his way past. He just needed to get away and be alone for a bit.

________________________

“I just. I don’t know what to do!!” Jaskier whined as he shifted in the armchair for the third time that minute, moving so his feet were draped over the back of the chair and he was hanging upside down over the edge. “Priscilla is very pretty and we both like music. We’re thinking we could start a band after this is all over, compose music together. She’s incredibly talented, maybe even better than I am, and oh ho! Let me tell you that I don’t say that very often!”

“So what’s the problem?” The person behind the camera asked.

“I just don’t love her. I thought I did but then in walked Geralt and it was like the universe rearranged itself and Geralt was in the centre.”

“How poetic.”

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier waved his hand and then scrambled up so he could sit cross-legged on the chair. He was getting head rush from being upside down. “It all sounds like a bad rom com but I swear. God, and then he had the audacity to be kind!”

“Not many people see him that way.”

“Bollocks!” Jaskier glowered at the camera. “He’s just shy but once you get him talking I swear he’s worse than me. Oh and his sweet darling Roach, has he shown you a photograph? No? Well that is tragic. She’s gorgeous. Stupid name for a horse though. Oh and he has this collection of little horse figurines that he paints. It’s just the sweetest. I swear if he proposed tomorrow I would say yes.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah….” He sighed longingly. “I could be Mrs Geralt Rivia. Oh wait no. Fuck! He’s going to see this eventually. Shit. Can you edit that out? What do you mean no?! Fuck!”

____________

Geralt stared at the envelope in his hands. It was the challenge of the day. It was almost the end of Geralt’s second week in the hotel and soon people were going to get eliminated. He almost hoped it would be him, except that would mean leaving Jaskier behind. He wondered whether they could exchange contact details before he left. No, that would be weird. Jaskier was still paired with Priscilla.

Kiera had thankfully moved on.

“Umm.” Geralt blushed as he reread the words. He hadn’t participated in one of the infamous kissing challenges yet. His first challenge had been more of a get to know you type, after that the worst thing he’d had to do was a strip dance to ‘Toxic’, that was bad enough. “I have to kiss the person that I’m most likely to propose to after we leave here.”

“Sweet mother of…” Jaskier groaned and Geralt turned to look at him.

His friend was already blushing although Geralt supposed it was rather warm in the hotel. It was supposed to encourage the contestants to wear skimpy outfits to lure in more viewers. Jaskier as a result seemed to never be able to do his shirt up properly. The dark chest hair that trailed down into Jaskier’s tight fitting denim shorts drove Geralt mad. How anyone could resist the urge to pin Jaskier down and kiss every inch of his chest, was beyond Geralt.

Perhaps Yen had been right. Perhaps he really did need to get laid.

“Seems a bit forward.” Geralt muttered. “I’m not even paired with anyone.”

“Oh just snog someone already. Propose!?” Valdo scoffed. “This isn’t Married at First Sight.”

Valdo was right. This was too personal. He couldn’t.

“You don’t have to do it, Geralt.” Jaskier’s hand was on his cheek. “Let’s just say you have to kiss the person you think is cutest. We’ll all agree on that.”

“I won’t.” Kiera muttered.

“Shhh!” Jaskier hissed at her. “The challenge is a dig at me, something I said in the diary room. You shouldn’t have been dragged into it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt leant into Jaskier’s hand before he knew what he was doing. Jaskier had always been generous with the casual touches and Geralt lived for every single one. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been craving that physical touch before he’d met Jaskier. “Ok.” He nodded.

“Ok?” Jaskier asked, letting out a shaky breath and pulling back slightly but Geralt gripped onto his wrist to stop him.

“I can do it. The challenge.” He nodded.

It was now or never.

He loved Jaskier. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was fast but then the circumstances weren’t exactly normal. They’d been living in each other’s pockets for two weeks and Geralt loved him.

He lunged forward before he could lose his nerve and captured Jaskier’s lips in a bruising kiss, cupping Jaskier’s cheeks in his hands to hold him close. Jaskier melted against him and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, returning the kiss eagerly and moaning as their lips parted. Geralt had been dreaming of kissing Jaskier ever since the brunet had licked his lips when Geralt had first laid eyes on him. Every time Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip Geralt had imagined running his thumb along the soft pink skin and gently pulling it away from his teeth. Now all Geralt wanted to do was bite it for himself, so he did. Jaskier let out a sinful moan and pushed his body up against Geralt.

Geralt’s head began to spin. God the things he wanted to do to Jaskier. The noises he could pull from him. “Jaskier.” He breathed as he reluctantly let Jaskier go, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s and running his thumb along his cheek.

“Uh huh…” Jaskier mumbled and gripped onto the fabric of Geralt’s shirt. “Winter wedding then?”

Geralt laughed. “How about dinner first?”

Jaskier scoffed and buried his head against Geralt’s neck. “Fine, a spring wedding then.”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered and kissed Jaskier’s hair. “We’ll see.”

_____

More witcher fun

#the witcher #geraskier #wolfie's witcher writing #dating show au #modern au #love island #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #heartbreak hotel #I wrote this in about 3 hours #pls be kind #I need a nap now

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into-the-afterlife · 3 years

Text

Why I Ship Johnny/Female V: Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 2]

This is Part 2 of my essay series on why I ship Johnny and female V. Back in part 1, I covered why I ship female V specifically with Johnny and not male V, as well as some thoughts on Johnny’s sexuality. This time, I’m looking at Johnny himself. (Content warning: there is some discussion of rape and how rape is handled in fiction.)

Johnny, ambiguity and age-old romantic tropes

Look, I’m just going to come out and say this: part of my interest in this ship is thirsting over Johnny. And when I’m interested in something, whether it’s an intellectual, creative or sexual interest, I like to do what I always do – analyse it to death. So what is it about the actor, the performance and the character that makes Johnny as attractive as he is?

Keanu Reeves himself, obviously, can’t be ignored here. He has a gorgeous face and voice, but crucially, he’s distinctively beautiful. Obviously, everyone has the right to be into what they’re into, and I don’t want to shame anyone for their tastes. But I do not understand people who are into the blandly beautiful. Sure, there’s nothing wrong about, let’s say, Chris Evans. But what’s right about him? Where are the snags that catch your attention and hold it? Where’s the life?

Reeves, meanwhile, is attractive because he’s unusual. He has long, dark hair, but he’s regularly photographed at public events with it mussed-up. He has a chiselled face, but his cheekbones are high enough that he looks alien. He has all the charisma of any Hollywood actor, but, whether this is him as he is or an especially well-calculated image choice, it comes off as genuine. When watching interviews with him, you feel less in the presence of a star and more an especially fascinating stranger at a party, one who, despite bursting with witticisms and stories, somehow wants to talk to you most of all.

There’s also an element of age ambiguity here. Reeves is in his fifties, and while age suits his looks better than youth did, it shows. Meanwhile, Johnny the character is in his thirties when he dies, and to match this, the animators smooth out Reeves’ face and darken his beard. They also give Johnny the (unrealistic but glorious) organic arms of a dedicated bodybuilder. So what Johnny ends up with is the presence, confidence and charisma of an older guy, combined with the physicality of someone younger. It’s potent, to say the least. It also adds to Johnny’s uncanniness as a character. He’s caught between maturity and youth, life and death, humanity and machine; he’s hard to pinpoint no matter where you look. And whether you express this academia-style, as, ‘the gothic associates uncanniness with sexuality’, or internet-style, as, ‘I’m a monster/robotfucker’, this is, as the kids say, pretty damn hot.

This uncanniness, as well as Reeves’ looks and performance, also offset some of the more unlikeable aspects of Johnny’s personality. This is best illustrated by the concept art created for Johnny before Reeves was brought on board. (Found courtesy of the lovely folks at r/LowSodiumCyberpunk.)

As you can see, they had a lot of Johnny’s look already nailed down. But this makes the differences all the more startling. This Johnny looks like he’s been dragged through the wringer. His hair is messier, and he seems to be getting premature wrinkles and balding. He’s strung-out, with a genuinely hopeless cast to his face. His look is also a lot more dated. While our Johnny has elements of the old rocker, the jean jacket, bandana, V-necked black jumper and aviators clipped to the tank top root this Johnny inescapably in 1980s music and fashion.

Why is all this relevant to shipping Johnny with V? Partially because I’m shallow, I’m not going to lie. But it’s also because making Johnny look like this would have made him much more obviously an intrusion. A guy dressed like this next to 2077’s booty shorts and space buns is like a ghost in a ballgown next to a woman in jeans. He’s not just out of time; he’s been irrevocably left behind. Johnny’s face here also has much less in the way of possibility. Where our Johnny says, ‘maybe your life would be better if you listened to me’, this Johnny screams, ‘my way is hopeless, but you can’t ignore it’. It’s leaning much more into the tragic aspects of Johnny’s character and of the genre of cyberpunk. And don’t get me wrong – I love that artwork, and think that angle would be an interesting artistic choice.

But making Johnny a tragic intrusion like this removes the element of seduction, so to speak, from his character. What makes Johnny attractive, ideologically, sexually and romantically, is a balance of certainty and uncertainty. On the surface, he’s passionately, blazingly certain of his politics, his music and himself. If you’re taking a leap of faith, whether that’s fighting against the corpos that rule your life or hopping into bed with an engram, what draws you to it is the kind of confidence that makes you doubt your own certainties. Yet too much of that can be off-putting. Nobody wants a partner who’s so cocksure (pardon the pun) that they don’t listen to what you want, and nobody wants a political ally who’s gone so far into their own rhetoric that they can’t convince those outside it.

Therefore, the common factor across all the ways Reeves’ looks impact our perception of Johnny is the balancing of two seemingly opposing things. Keep that in mind, because it only gets more relevant the deeper into this ship, and Johnny’s attractiveness, we go.

Of course, Reeves’ looks are far from the only thing he brings to the table. His acting, across body language, facial expressions and voice acting, is incredible. I want to take a look at his voice acting, as well as his voice generally, first.

I’m not familiar enough with the subtleties of American accents to pinpoint why, but Reeves’ accent sounds slightly different to the more generic accents of other famous actors. Perhaps it’s because he’s Canadian. Either way, his consonants are less harsh on the ear than other A-list actors, his vowels less elongated. He speaks slowly, sounding as if he just woke up. His voice is mellow and soothing; it’s the sort of sound you could take a bath in.

(For reference purposes, I’m listening to this Cyberpunk trailer as I write this, as well as, um, this video that I’ve watched far too many times. XD)

Obviously, to play Johnny he has to modify that laid-back aspect of his voice. But it’s interesting how his natural voice and his ‘Johnny’ voice bounce off each other. Reeves is able to pull off a much more belligerent Johnny than many actors could, precisely because of that laid-back quality his natural voice has. Think of that ‘impressive cock’ line. It’s made as funny as it is because of the total lack of shame in how Reeves delivers it. But in the mouth of an actor like, let’s say, Robert Downey Jr, that level of shamelessness would just come off as annoying. Reeves uses his natural voice to amp up Johnny’s, for lack of a better word, Chad-ness, far beyond the place another actor could manage. Because he has that base of softness, he can go hard on Johnny’s arrogance.

Why is this relevant to Johnny’s attractiveness as a character, as well as why Johnny/F!V are a fascinating ship? To develop a character well, you have to have an extremely solid base to start on – and that base is where a lot of writing and acting falls down. The audience has to know intimately what a character is usually like, or who they seem to be, before burrowing into the character further is made effective. That equal hard/soft approach means that when Johnny does soften later in the game, it seems both unexpected and inevitable. Even as the harsh tone and words were conveying one thing, that softness underneath was always conveying another. But the fact that Reeves can go hard on the arrogance makes that change much more impactful than it would be in another character. Once again, we’re seeing an equal balance of two seemingly opposing qualities, not openly leaning towards one or the other.

There’s also some aspects of the body language Reeves and the animators give to Johnny I’d like to focus in on. While I’m not an actor, nor am I a psychologist, and therefore am likely to have missed things, there were a few things I noticed when going through footage of Johnny in pivotal scenes. (If you spot something I haven’t talked about, please reply or reblog! I’d love to get a back-and-forth discussion going.)

Over and over again, Johnny’s body language has two layers. There’s what I’m calling the ‘douchebag’ layer, which is where Johnny seems insultingly relaxed. The scene when V and Johnny first meet, as well as the scene at the diner, have two great examples of this. Johnny gets into V’s space, but it’s slow, catlike. There’s no urgency when he leans in, nor when he stands over V.

Similarly, at the diner, he tells V he doesn’t want to kill her anymore – something pivotally important for their relationship and the plot - while putting his arms behind his head and his feet up on the table. It communicates, at least on the surface, a real sense of disrespect. ‘I don’t give a shit’, says his posture, ‘whether you hate and fear me or not’. His threatening slowness when they first meet, meanwhile, communicates that he doesn’t think V is a competent opponent. Why should he hurry if he can get her any time?

At least, that’s what it looks like. Take a look from 9:40 onwards here. Sure, he swings his legs up on the table – but not before hurrying into the diner booth and tapping his fingers rapidly on the table. Even when he gets into that relaxed posture, he’s bouncing his leg the entire time. Those catlike movements I talked about when they first meet? If you look from 5:42 here, they’re there. But they’re also interspersed with banging his head incessantly against the wall, pacing back and forth and glitching unpredictably all around the room.

This is where the second layer of Johnny’s body language comes in. Underneath all that casual condescension, he communicates constant, frenetic energy, even anxiety. Even in his default, idle animations, it’s extremely rarely that Johnny communicates real coolness and calm. He covers constantly racing thoughts and feelings with a slick persona.

What this does is very like the hard/soft balance of the voice acting I talked about earlier. Because the ‘douchebag’ layer of body language is the most obvious one, you pick up on that first. But the other layer is there throughout Johnny’s entire arc, and it goes into your brain on a much more subconscious level. Then, when Johnny’s guard does come down, it seems like a natural development of his character while still being a surprise. Once again, there’s that knife-edge balance between two disparate qualities. And for me, attraction always lies in the space between.

There’s also something highly sexual about the way he gets into V’s space when they first meet, the way he stands over her. When first playing the scene where they first meet, it felt like watching the moments before an act of rape. You see him first as he leans over you while you’re still in bed. He beats you to the ground, smashes your head into the window, and towers over you while you’re collapsed on the floor. Given the context of him taking over your body, the overtones are unmistakeable.

But again, crucially, that frantic body language and his lines are the complete opposite of how someone behaves when making the kind of power play that rape is. The pacing, the panicked words and the fact that he’s caught off guard all communicate disempowerment. While it’s still a violent, frightening scene, it’s not a monstrous one.

Why is that relevant to discussing Johnny’s attractiveness, and Johnny/V? Because rape fantasies and male domination are some of the oldest tropes in the book for M/F romantic arcs. Done properly, they play on desires of sexual submission without explicitly acknowledging the kink, depict the eroticism of that liminal space between humanity and monstrosity I talked about earlier and allow you to fantasise about being deeply wanted. Of course, that last bit isn’t a factual depiction of rape in real life. But in the fantasy, the story, the idea of being ravished is partially about being special, being so uniquely attractive that the guy loses all control of himself. If you have a more conservative or repressed view of your sexuality, the ravishment/rape fantasy also allows you to fantasise about sex without seeing yourself as a slut. (This post is a great look at that last idea as applied to the movie Labyrinth, if you want to find out more.)

The idea of sexualised monstrosity is also everywhere in the tropes used to characterise Johnny. He’s a troubled rockstar, an angst-ridden artist who died tragically young, a violent political rebel, part human and part supernatural creature, a charismatic, cocky, seemingly heartless guy, who just might have a heart if you look deep enough. What all these tropes have in common is the promise of both reassuring humanity and fascinating, exciting monstrosity.

Reeves’ and Johnny’s looks combine strangeness and humanity. Reeves’ voice acting moves between soaring arrogance and languid softness. Johnny’s body language combines fear and overconfidence. And the use of age-old romantic tropes in an unexpected context, as well as the use of these specific romantic tropes, knit all the effects of the other things together to create that balance between the human and the strange. He’s unusual enough to be interesting, human enough to seem real and associated with all our cultural symbolism of an attractive man. With all that going on, how could you not find him hot as hell?

But the thing about these tropes is, they’re also so common they’re clichéd. Not just in fandom, but all across Western media and art. So what lifts Johnny and Johnny/V out of being something generic? What makes them so fascinating that I’ve written thousands of words about them? What, in short, makes them different?

That’s what I’ll go into next time.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

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mirrerover · 3 years

Text

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks.

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could.

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all.

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre.

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare.

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now.

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

----------------------

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

#jaydick #jaydick-flashfic #jaydick-flashfic: big plans #jason todd #dick grayson #mirre writes

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

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Headcanons for the Avengers’ days off

Avengers x reader

warnings: stabbing mention lmao, guns

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “can we have a y/n just chilling with all the avengers?”

over the years, it was hard to have a peaceful day off, but sometimes that was the priority

each avenger had a preference on what they liked to spend their free time on

but we all know that there’s never a true stress-free day when it comes to your team

most of you preferred sleeping in, but not cap or sam, it was 6:00am sharp for them

you had begged tony to soundproof this place, but noooo

“it’s just not practical, what if someone’s being stabbed? what if we cant hear them yelling for help?”

so you could hear the clattering of the kitchen and buried your face into your pillow

sooner or later you’d roll out of bed and find breakfast had been cooked for the whole team

“‘morning, y/n! we made eggs, toast, bacon, waffles, and cut up some fruit! here’s your plate and here’s some juice”

“oh, wow, smells great”

it could’ve been worse, at least there were no coffee grounds in the disposal so you didn’t have to hear tony complain

speaking of tony, he emerged from the hallway in his silk robe with bags under his eyes

“well, i dont know about you guys, but i slept great!”

“how many hours of sleep did you get, tony?”

“you know, like...two”

sooner or later, the rest of the avengers had been woken up and everyone gathered in the living room to watch the news and talk about their plans

“can we watch something other than the news? i’d honestly be down to watch spongebob, anyone else?” -rhodey

you were in charge of the remote

“hell yeah, i thought you’d never ask”

this full group of adults peacefully watching nickelodeon together until everyone was finished

now there was a pile of dishes in the sink and a very dirty kitchen but everyone just kind of forgot about it and went on to other things

so what relaxed the avengers?

well, most of them liked to train, but they had other hobbies too

like steve, he liked to draw (every once in a while he showed you his sketches and they’re honestly really good?? especially the redraw of a monkey in the ‘40s)

sometimes he even asked you to model poses for him

“just another minute, y/n, you’re doing great”

*you standing on one shaking leg in a kick position*

steve made u draw with him

“it’s therapeutic”

you left your art in his room and now it’s hung up on the fridge

and then there was tony, who was working on some new inventions that you were a bit worried about

you snuck past the lab, but FRIDAY told him that you were near

“y/n! come help me with this really quick!”

“damn, so close”

“can you try this on and shoot it at that target over there?”

“why cant you do this?”

“because your body is able to ‘take the heat’ or whatever that dumb catchphrase you have is”

luckily it worked, but “not good enough” and you ended up helping tony hold the thing in place while he worked

“so, how’s your day off going so far? do anything fun?”

“hung out with steve while he was working on some sketches”

“so i’m going to take that as a ‘no’”

tony relieving you of your duties so that you could roam the compound once more

hearing wanda play guitar!! you loved hearing her play!

“knock knock”

“come in”

you laid in her bed for a while and listened to her soothing voice, it made up for tony’s lab assistant thing

“do you know what’s for lunch?”

“i think today’s special is ‘serve yourself’”

you and wanda went off to the kitchen to make macaroni and cheese (because why not??? im about to make my own mac and cheese)

(also u made tony a pb&j bc u knew damn well he wasn’t coming out of that lab for a while) (u gave him lightly salted chips too bc he needs to cut down on his sodium)

“tony, eat lunch”

“aww, for me? you shouldn’t have”

yall think wanda watches shameless?? bc i kinda do and these are my headcanons so she watches shameless

“we’re more unstable than the gallaghers, they should make a show about us”

she almost choked on her mac and cheeseeee

“keeping up with the avengers”

“‘tony, what the fuck is up with your wifi, you have this big-ass compound and you can’t afford a wifi box out here?’”

“‘it’s not about affording, it’s about radiation’”

“‘you’re gonna die anyway! you understand that, right? die with a good snapchat going through!’”

nearly pissing yourself laughing

but vision asked wanda a favor and you wandered off to another part of the compound

ah, yes, the training room

clint, nat, sam, and rhodey were all in here; it was target practice day

“y/n, grab a gun and get over here!”

“a gun? let’s teach y/n some archery”

“nobody wants to learn archery, clint”

“what? you said you wanted to”

“yeah, but you never taught me”

“well, i can teach you right now”

“fine, let’s go!”

red-wing flew very close to your head

“watch out, y/n!” -sam

“dude, you’re gonna kill them” -rhodey

“seems like now is a bad time?”

everyone was just kind of bickering as per usual, you were just a teeny bit bored

but sam agreed to a round of hand-to-hand combat that really relaxed you

no, really, the best stress reliever is a peaceful fight between your roommates

you were kinda glad it wasn’t nat you were fighting because she’d probably put you on the mat twice a minute

soon, each of you worked up a sweat and you went to your private bathroom to take a shower

there was always hot water at the avengers compound, so that was a comforting thought

after you were out, you got dressed into some cozy pajamas and walked out to the kitchen, where wanda and vision were making dinner

a few avengers were already out on the couches, just watching the tv

you joined them and suggested that they should all watch a movie tonight

“what kind of movie?”

“i dont know? hot tub time machine?”

everyone agreed

and side eyed steve when sebastian stan popped up on screen

“guys, i really dont see the resemblance! cant we just watch the movie?”

“are you blind??”

“his 90 year old eyes deceive him”

it was a good dinner

“sam, you stink”

“i havent taken a shower yet”

what a loving family

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nagisasstunningpersonality · 3 years

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TINSITOGS, a retrospective (happy birthday)

(yes I’m like two days too late I know I’m sorry)

Why hello followers and ass class fandom, nice to see you there. I’m sure MOST people know about this, but in case you don’t, hi. On AO3 I’m better known as livixbobbiex, writer of maybe one of the most infamous Assassination Classroom fics.

Which I mean like, if you haven’t read it yet you totally should it’s fanlore at this point I promise-

Shameless plug that I don’t need aside, I felt that, on its first birthday since actual completion, I just wanted to share some things about it. Some tit bits about writing it, fun facts, maybe even some author advice TM. I appreciate that it’ll be super annoying if I do that in the tags, though, so that’ll all be under the cut. If you don’t want to read the whole post, then no matter what, thanks for the support in general!

I also want to take the opportunity to announce that I’ve reopened my discord, so if you want to talk about my fics with me (and others), you’re more than welcome to join! (the link is here)

The origin story

I’ve stated this many times, I think, but TINSITOGS was never supposed to be a serious story. Taking you back, quite a long time, it actually started in a facebook DM with a friend. We used to come up with “head canons” with each other, which were basically just very condensed fanfiction plots over a multitude of text messages. I believe I was trying to cheer her up, and I tried to come up with some kind of plot line.

At the time, I was fairly fresh to the Ass Class fandom, and I was joking about how there were no teen pregnancy melodrama fanfictions. It wasn’t that I wanted one, I just thought it was strange for a school centric anime with a bunch of ships to NOT have one. And, back then, I only really cared about karmagisa. So I just decided ‘right it’s happening’. The reason I decided to make it ABO was due to ‘it making sense’. Fun fact: it was almost written as AFAB trans Nagisa, but I decided against it as I didn’t rate my ability to handle it well back then. Looking back on it, I’m glad I made that decision.

Over around two months, writing out the plot of this story took over my life a little bit. I had no idea where I was going with it, but I was having so much fun with the drama that I decided that Karma and Nagisa shouldn’t get together soon at all, and I had a lot of fun teasing my friend with the ‘will they won’t they’. It was only when I got bored that I invented this intense drama plotline to finish it all off.

That period of time was a lot of fun. And whilst that friendship didn’t end well, I still have a lot to thank her for. She chose Daichi’s name because I had no idea, and she wanted to annoy me because I didn’t like Haikyuu. When I couldn’t decide on his hair colour, the purple was her suggestion because ‘why logic?’ Daichi speaking Korean was because of how much she liked Kpop. She even helped me choose the title of the actual fic, so there’s a lot you can thank her for, honestly.

After I finished that story, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Whenever I daydreamed, I used to think about that damn Daichi Akabane, and how much I wanted to tell his story. I’d even come up with extra stuff to fill in a lot of the gaps, and developed his character in my mind. I decided that I was really desperate to write it down. Usually that worked when I had an idea I wanted to work through.

I wrote the first chapter in late 2017, and then the next two as well. I just, kept going, and realised that I could go further still. TINSITOGS was never something that was supposed to be shared, but I decided I may as well. After all, that fated ‘teen pregnancy drama’ fic still didn’t exist, and I thought it would be funny to make it happen.

Yes, as I’ve stated publicly a few times, TINSITOGS was a crack fic. If I wanted attention from it, it was infamy. We even joked about me cursing the fandom if it ever became the most popular fic (whoops?). What I wasn’t expecting was a bunch of people, in a fandom where at the time there were NO ongoing karmagisa fics and it was pretty dead, to really seem to enjoy it. It was enough to have me keep writing it, at least. I still don’t know at what point I actually started taking it seriously, but somehow I did, and the rest is history?

The reception

In my wildest dreams, I never thought that I would be the author of one of the most popular fics in the fandom. To this day, the amount of views TINSITOGS has is insanity to me. For the record, across all platforms it’s on today it has 238,000, which is literally a number I can’t even visualise anymore. Almost quarter of a MILLION. To this day on AO3, it’s the most viewed Ass Class fic that’s an ACTUAL ass class fic (the others are multi fandom compilations). So yeah, I achieved the original goal, I guess?

Now you might be wondering, “omg the karmagisa fandom is fujoshi trash”. And, considering the origins, it is kind of funny. The thing is, though, TINSITOGS was written at incredibly good time. It was written when there were, essentially, very few long form Karma/Nagisa stories. If any other fics did get posted on occasion, they were usually just oneshots. I was also, at that point, writing very fast. A symptom of ADHD is becoming obsessively productive over certain things. Since I was able to get a 3k chapter out every few days/once a week, TINSITOGS was consistently bumped to the top of AO3′s default view. And some of those first few chapters were altered canon, and transcribing the canon dialogue didn’t take very long. The more views it got, the more people would read it out of sheer curiosity.

I think it also helps that, at least after it started getting some positive feedback (which was honestly after the pre written chapters), I purposely tried to make it ‘not terrible’. I mean, I personally think the first chapter is pretty weak and if it wasn’t somewhat iconic to a lot of people I’d rewrite it. But in general, I purposely tried to make the world of ABO my own, to make it more accessible to those who don’t like that genre, and stay away from the inherently grosser stuff as much as possible. I genuinely do get comments about how I introduced people to the genre as a whole, still not sure if that’s a GOOD thing but hey, it happened.

TINSITOGS turned into a lot more than just a joke. It turned into my favourite hobby. It turned into a research project (honestly, you would not believe the amount of mummy vlogs and legit scientific articles about child development I consumed). It turned into something that, at least I believe, was widely loved.

Meaning

I think it might be wrong to say that I don’t have AN idea of when I started to take the fic super seriously. For me, it was around the time someone commented something along the lines of saying my writing meant a lot to them, that they’d spent all night reading it and had been unable to put it down.

Not to get too dark here, but I do have a past in writing a very long, somewhat popular fic (it’s still on my fanfic net profile if anyone’s interested, but I don’t recommend it). However, in the latter part of my teenage years, the depression struck. Writing was the love of my life, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. Maybe I’d be able to muster an idea or even a chapter at the best points of that, but I’d never completely finished any story. Starting to write again was a huge step in my recovery, and one of the reasons I convinced myself that life was worth it was being able to impact someone’s life somehow. Even to this day, I still remember the fics I read when I was, like, thirteen. How much I still remember them, and how much they meant to be at the time. I wanted to be that writer for someone else. To be honest, it was actually Yuri!!! On Ice that got me out of the super bad, but I still never wrote anything of real consequence. TINSITOGS was the first time in a long time I actually committed to something.

And, to be completely honest, there were a lot of times I was tired of it, and wanted to just quit. But, the thing was, I felt like people depended on me in a way. I got so many comments that were just FILLED with support, telling me how much they looked forward to every update. It wasn’t just empty words, either, a lot of the times these comments would be super engaged with the actual writing. I can’t even describe just how much they meant to me, how much I would look forward to reading everyone’s opinions. And then discord happened, which was a lot of fun.

TINSITOGS went a lot further than I ever thought it would. There were comments, discussions, fan art, fan FIC (which is honestly incredible to me). Someone even added it to TV Tropes, at one point. Not to mention the Cards Against Humanity deck and quiz It makes me so unbelievably happy that I could inspire that much creativity, but it’s a two way street. It was all of that which inspired me to write, too.

Writing

The only real goal I actually had was aiming for around 3000 words per chapter. I had a whole facebook log of plot points as planning, and I was mostly just trying to expand on them into prose. I honestly thought that, at its completion, the entire fic would be around 100k words, if that. Not, at one point, being literally the longest ass class fic on AO3.

There are a lot of aspects that were directly adapted from the original messages, and I tried to stay faithful to it more so at first, even if I later removed some of the pure crack. But the style was also vaguely similar, with the story being told mostly from Nagisa’s perspective with swaps to Karma when it made sense. All the main plot beats, too, are pretty much identical. The plus to this was I was able to add a lot of really fun foreshadowing, and I feel like it’s a fun reread because of it.

Honestly though, if there’s a demand to release those OG message logs, I will. Mostly because it’s kind of funny, and interesting to see. Isogai and Nagisa were engaged at one point, even.

Obviously, it changed somewhat. 3000 was the minimum length, and the time to completion was whenever it felt right. One of my big concerns was about pacing, so it took a lot more fleshing out and maybe ‘filler’ content for some of the main arcs to work.

There’s parts of TINSITOGS I don’t think aren’t written that well, and some that I’m still super proud of. I think you can definitely tell there’s a gradual shift in style, and I get a lot more comfortable with writing them as characters as it goes along. To be honest, my pride for the fic overall is what it represents.

It is funny to think about the places it got written in, though. I started it when I worked at McDonalds with no life direction, then it went through my first year of university with me. It’s been written in at least four countries. Aeroplanes, night clubs, long haul buses, a train through the Japanese southern coastline. Even the start of covid. TINSITOGS managed to see a lot. I even turned a scene in (the boat scene during the India chapter with altered names) to my university as a legitimate assignment.

There were also a few messages I wanted to achieve, once I realised I had the platform to put them across. One of them was, obviously, ‘use protection kids’. It was important to me that I didn’t glamorise it too much, and I think that came across. I also wanted to dispute some of the issues with ABO, and subvert the consent issues as much as I could. An arc I really ‘liked’ writing was how abuse doesn’t always look the same way, and that it can be a drawn out change in behaviour. How the most important part of ‘being a good parent’ isn’t perfection, but genuinely loving and doing the best you can for your kid. How love doesn’t solve everything, and effective communication can take a very long time to learn and build a functional relationship. I mean, there definitely was a lot I tried to put in, and you’re free to interpret it all how you want. But, I like to think some people learnt some of these things, at least.

Daichi

Honestly, Daichi developed almost of his own free will. I had a good idea of his appearance, and that he was smart. Writing him from birth until around nine years old (older if you read the sequel fic) pretty much allowed that fluidity. It was really fun to explore a nature vs nurture development, and let his own characteristics speak for themselves.

He’ll always have a special place in my heart.

This is the first image I ever made. When I was trying to figure out what Daichi looked like, I honestly just edited Karma’s hair (pretty well, actually? I’m impressed with my past skill). That’s where the ‘he looks just like Karma’ meme kind of came from.

This was the first image I actually created of Daichi. I THINK it was on rinmaru games mega anime creator or something, but it’s literally not available on the internet anymore as far as I can tell, so I can’t double check. This was in the pre-piccrew days. His eyes are closed because they didn’t have the right tone of goldish/silver.

His sister, Kaguya, didn’t even exist originally, even though I decided on that ending pretty early on. Actually, she was going to be called ‘Irina’ due to some hijinks. Initially, when Karma found out about Irina’s pregnancy, she was going to get super emotional and mad at him and basically force him to name his first born daughter after her. Karma agreed to shut her up, never intending to have another child, so when the surprise second child later came along they had to live with the pain. However, to be honest I just forgot to write in the actual scene that set it all up, and I decided against adding it anywhere else. The name Kaguya was a very last minute decision, and it was a chance for me to explore some ideas that didn’t fit with Daichi’s character.

Interestingly too, Daichi and Nao were never intended to be a thing. I only decided that towards the VERY end. Even though the reason I named Nao that was because of a ship I had in a J Drama (Good Morning Call). It just kind of ended up happening because I won myself over with imagining the cute.

The music

I used to write with a lot of background music, though not all the time. Particularly towards the start, there was a lot that didn’t really make sense thematically, yet I would write to a lot.

Here’s a link to the spotify playlist if you want it it’s basically all the ones I noted I’d listened to a lot. Not including the smut ones, though, I have a whole playlist for that.

Some of the notable ones:

Five String Serenade - the first scene I wrote of the entire fic, in Chapter 25 New Year Time where they fell asleep cuddling.

Cosmic Love - when I wrote Nagisa’s love confession scene in hospital (I also wrote this pretty early on)

Northern Downpour (though it was actually a cover by Emma Blackery) - The chapter after Daichi’s born (30)

When The Party’s Over - Confession Time Third Period, Chapter 69. I literally listened to this song on REPEAT when I planned and wrote the kind of ‘break up’ scene, and it’s one of the few parts that made me cry writing.

Turning Page - I know I said no smut, but this song actually gave me the idea to have the “I love you” in chapter 108 be less on a whim and actually more built up. In the original plan, Karma really did just say it without thinking. I’m glad I changed that.

Bury Me Low and Numb - pretty much all I listened to when writing the last few chapters, because Evil Nagisa core. So much so that Bury Me Low was in my top 2020 songs rewind.

As for the title, there’s actually quite a funny story. I had no idea what to call the fic, and when that happens I usually just try and find some song lyrics. I really wanted to use something from ‘October’ by the Broken Bells. Not only because it’s my favourite song (has been for years), but thematically it really worked. The issue was, it worked as the WHOLE song, there were no individual lyrics that captured everything. And, if they did, they didn’t flow very well. And naming the fic ‘October’ would have been weird for a lot of reasons. There Is No Sweeter Innocence That Our Gentle Sin really was just plucked randomly, in a desperate search to find any snappy lyrics from any song that had some kind of meaning. After a bit of discussion, we settled that it kind of worked... if Daichi is innocent and they committed a sin or something. It also wasn’t the most obvious lyric from the song (Take Me To Church if anyone doesn’t know) so I just went with it. It works out, I think, because TINSITOGS turned out to be a pretty good acronym and pronounceable word in its own right.

The merch redbubble drama

It’s a well known fact that I’m not very good at art. However, I decided to try pixel art because it seemed the easiest to not mess up. I made Karma and Nagisa, before deciding to also give Daichi a try.

This, to this day, is the only good quality art of Daichi that I actually own. The only one I’m actually happy sharing and thinking it doesn’t look terrible. As much as I love people sending me fanart, it’s not ‘my property’, right.

So, I was kind of joking about TINSITOGS having merchandise. At first I just made two funny quote things, and uploaded it to redbubble. I was never intending to actually make money from this, and I’d agreed to myself that if I did, I would just donate it to charity. I was joking with the quotes, but since I had this artwork I figured I may as well uploaded. Separately, there was also an image that had pixel Daichi next to pixel Nagisa and Karma (which I also created).

Aside from showing up in a few people’s adverts across the internet, there was no real harm with this. In fact, I didn’t make money anyway. It was just... more the joke of it existing. I did, however, buy myself a Daichi phone case, which is one of my favourite possessions.

The funny ‘drama’ comes in when they got taken down due to copywrite. Sure, the one with Nagisa and Karma, I understand. But the other three literally had no mention or anything to do with Assassination Classroom, aside from being from a fanfiction. So basically, someone who owns those rights claimed my OC as theirs. Which makes Daichi canon? Whatever the case, I found this hilarious don’t worry.

How has TINSITOGS changed my life?

This is quite a strange thing to think about. Because, in a lot of ways, it really hasn’t. As I’m sure a lot of people know, I don’t really consider myself to have any real ‘fame’, despite the impressive numbers. Whenever I tell people in my personal life, they seem to think I’m some sort of internet celebrity, but that’s never been the case for me. I mean, it’s hardly a cultural phenomenon.

In a lot of ways, I’d much rather befriend someone than have them admire me. Possibly because being someone’s inspiration is kind of weird... I’m just an awkward duck who likes to write after all. I don’t mind it, though. I genuinely find it an honour, even if I don’t necessarily agree. I also want to take this time to say that if anyone ever wants to talk or message me, you’re more than free to do so. I’m usually super casual with people who do that, I promise.

TINSITOGS was the first story I ever finished in the way I truly wanted to. Start to end, a full narrative. And it took a LOT. There were so many times I almost felt like quitting, or took super long breaks. For me, ADHD queen, actually finishing something was a huge deal. And I know I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t owe it to everyone who read it, and myself, to see it through. You know like, if I were to die tomorrow, at least I’ve left something behind.

In a lot of ways, it’s changed me for the better. It’s helped me develop my writing styles, and way of thinking. It encouraged me to become more active in the fandom, and develop some important friendships. I always feel like my Tumblr and Fanfiction ‘known’ factor is separate. I think most of my Tumblr following is more to do with my theories/Japanese context research if anything, for example, but I know I wouldn’t be so interested in that if TINSITOGS hadn’t lead me to deeply examine character and really look into analysing source material for clues. I also think there’s just... a lot of myself in it.

I was 17 years old, when I first came up with the idea. I finished the story when I was 20. Now, at the time of writing, I’m 21. That time has seen some pretty significant changes - just in general life facts and my own personal human development. For me at least, a lot of that was pretty turbulent, and TINSITOGS stands as a time capsule for that, in a way.

I know I gained a lot of confidence, and it affirmed to me that writing is what I love. Telling stories and sharing them is what I love.

Conclusion

Do I think TINSITOGS is an outstanding piece of writing, or the best fic ever? No. I really don’t. It’s strange to say because I definitely spent a lot of time on it, but it’s not like I put my full unbridled efforts into the story. I don’t fully plan, use a beta, or even read through on my own. And that’s okay - that’s not what I write fanfiction for. Fanfiction is my place to have fun with characters and stories I like, without the pressures of having to stand on my own complete originality. Yes, I’m fully confident that I can write at a “higher quality”, if I really wanted to. I’m also aware that some authors put their full effort into their fics, and that’s just as valid!

It feels odd to say this about my own writing, but I honestly think there’s just something in this story. It might not be written in the best prose ever, and the premise might be kind of dumb for a lot of people. But, I think, there’s some part of this fic that managed to grab people. Somehow, at some point, many readers get captured into the emotions and so drawn in that ‘they just have to finish it now!’ Again, I’m not sure myself how I actually achieved that. Of course, that won’t apply to everyone, but I do feel there’s some truth in it. And it makes me happy, to have caused that.

If TINSITOGS is your favourite fic, or if you genuinely think it’s the best story you’ve read, then thank you. I really appreciate your support, and I’m happy to have been a part of your life, I guess. I know how much fanfics can mean to a person, and that’s why I’m not going to take it down, or edit it at all. And it’s fine too, if you loved the fic for a while and moved on -i t happens. Whatever the case, I’m very honoured to have been able to occupy a moment of your life. Or if you find this fic in 10 years time, even, I still wholly appreciate you.

This story was incredibly important to me, and thank you for reading if it was ever important to you too.

You may ask, what now? Well, this is only intended to be a detailed look back for whoever’s interested, and it’s likely the only one I’ll actually do, a year after completion. Of course, if you ever want to ask me anything or just discuss the story, you’re honestly good to contact me in whatever way I have available.

I’m still writing my ongoing stories, of course, despite taking a small break due to the university work load. I fully intend to complete the stories I’ve already started to tell, at least. After that... I’m not sure if I’ll still write fanfiction. Don’t panic, this isn’t a ‘I’m quitting writing’ thing. I may, however, have bled the Karmagisa genre a bit too dry at that point. Who knows? I am pretty interested in writing something original for once, so maybe that’ll work out.

For now, at least, thank you to anyone who read this fic. To anyone who commented, liked, or interacted with me over it. To anyone who created or learnt from it. I’m really glad that I got to share this story with you all, and ultimately left some kind of mark, no matter how big or small.

Happy birthday, TINSITOGS. I had a lot of fun writing you.

#ass class #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #tinsitogs #karmagisa

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

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Okay, so. The point I wanted to make earlier was something like this:

TL;DR: Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. More kids need access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable.

(Did I just put a tldr at the START of my post? why yes I did. why? because i’m about to drop this entire damned ESSAY under a read more because it’s dash destroying (think of it as an abstract on a scientific paper) ... (no, it is nothing like an abstract on a scientific paper. wtf did I say that) ... (anyways))

(Can you tell its an ADHD night? are there enough parenthetical asides in this yet?)

...

(no)

ANYWAYS

When I was a teen, I read a book called In The Forests Of The Night. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention it before, but believe it or not, it was only TONIGHT that it occurred to me that this book and its fellows is my hyperfixation. Because, for the first TWO THIRDS OF MY LIFE, I didn’t know to think of myself as someone with hyperfixations. Hell, I didn’t even know what a hyperfixation was. I am one of the countless adults who has self diagnosed as ADHD or autistic or SOMETHING, and this is the story of how not having a diagnosis growing up hurt me.

So. I read this book. My now-wife-then-unbeknownst-crush gave it to me as part of our ignorant teen courtship. You’ll like this, she said, trying to share an interest with me in order to bond. Thank you, I said, not knowing I wanted to smooch her face. Unimportant, but I like reminding myself when I look at back my teen years how queer I already was without knowing. And this story is mostly for my benefit of getting it off my chest, so smoochy thoughts included.

So I read this book. It’s short, 200 pages or so, and if I’m honest with myself as an informed adult, nothing spectacular. It’s not bad, but its not ground breaking. None of the books are. But they broke new ground in Me, and what grew out of them has literally shaped the course of my entire personality.

Raev, I hear you say, it’s not great to base your entire personality on a bit of pop culture.

Shut up, I said, I’m telling this story and anyways insert-edgy-media-here dudebros have been doing it forever. Anyways.

So I read this book. I read it again, and again. I read all the books that went with it, but I stayed especially hung up on Forests. Why? Partially because it was the first one I read. Partially because the MC and I share a name, and therefore in my little teen head a connection. It was the first time “Rachel” felt like an identity, instead of just an identifier, and one that way too many of my classmates shared. Rachel was a badass, stifled by her Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. I was a badass, stifled by my Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. Rachel became a vampire, spiteful and spitfire the entire way. She did it on her own terms (so my teen reading of the text went), spurning every attempt of her kind to show her the ways of the vampire. She had a nemesis, a clear, concrete reason for her pain, and took charge of that pain and overcame it to be a complete and utter badass by the end of the book (again, so my teen reading went. Part of the problem here was my teenness. Part of it was my neurodivergence, which I will get to (you didn’t think this would be a SHORT story, did you? I warned you I have ADHD and that this was my hyperfixation; how did you think this was gonna go?))

So I identified heavily with the protag, and with its shocking author. This lifechanging book was written by a teen, like me! Holy cats, I said to myself, why, if she can do it, so can I! I had just started writing my own first novel (a shameless retelling of Star Wars, hyperfixation of my grade school years), and immediately trashed it to write my own vampire thing. Because vampires were clearly IT and I was gonna be a cool badass author hero, just like the MC of the second book.

Then the shapeshifter books came out, and so did I.

It’s really unrelated, but that was a fun transition, and as previously stated, author-type. Anyways.

So I came out to my girlcrush, angsted about that a lot, and continued to gobble up the books. Did you know there’s a website, she said. There’s like a whole fan community and everything.

Now, part of the problem here was being part of the first generation on the internet. It was relatively new, and so stranger danger and not being entirely comfortable on the internet and all that had its part to play. But this is also where the hyperfixation finally comes into play.

I liked Nyeusigrube A LOT. A lot a lot. So much so that I made my own conlang, my own mythos, my own entire story universe patterned after this one but not exactly this one. For whatever reason, it never occurred to me to self-insert, just to shamelessly copy. That one I can’t explain, but this one I can now understand through the lens of an adult.

Nyeusigrube was my especially special interest, and I had no idea that was a normal, healthy thing.

So tangled up in all this was my raised-too-conservative freak out about being Not Straight. I had finally figured out I liked girlfriend, if not that I was incredibly bisexual yet, and that was a Big Deal. Super cool author I hero-worshiped was one of those “Do I want to BE her or just want her?” kind of idolations, but again, didn’t know that at the time either. So these two very normal things that I knew NOTHING about were getting tangled together in a rat king of Issues with a generous slathering of Shame glue to hold them all together. Add to it the paranoia/RSD/general not-great-at-social sides of my neurodivergence, and basically I had decided I was Too Weird and liked this book Too Much and if I so much as LOOKED at the websites/forums/etc, everyone would know and that would be Bad.

Did I have a clear idea of how that would look? Not really? I didn’t need to. Just the thought of checking out the fansites was enough to send me into a panicking guilt/shame spiral about how much I enjoyed the books. Everyone will KNOW, I thought, and it will be BAD. The End. It was Not Normal how much I liked the books and I will freak everyone out.

So.

If I had just KNOWN that hyperfixations were a thing, I might have still felt weird, but I don’t think I would have AGONIZED (and I do mean fucking AGONIZED) over how shockingly Not Normal my level of interest went. I might have still felt bad, because I didn’t have a diagnosis, and therefore probably wouldn’t have given myself permission of admit I had a hyperfixation, but at least I wouldn’t have wallowed in ignorance. Now, if I’d had the knowledge and the diagnosis, I probably would have still been too shy to interact, but I wouldnt’ have wasted hours of my life in panicked/guilt/shame spirals. If I’d have a diagnosis and a support group? If I’d had a diagnosis and been raised with the normalization of being queer? If I’d had medication, role models, a safe place to open up and communicate, so on and so on? Like, you get the idea, right?

I consider myself immeasurably lucky that my love of writing and vampires and high school girlfriend survived all this. (My equally intense boy crush of the time did not (not because I don’t like boys but because I fell down another hyperfixation spiral and no PERSON should ever be subjected to that but I digress)). As I said, this is my especially special hyperfixation. I can’t imagine how many hours of enjoyment I might have gotten out of the forums, the fan arts, the roleplaying groups, the FRIENDSHIPS, my gods, can you imagine the friendships? Anyways, what I’m really saying is that it caused me real emotional Pain and Trauma, thinking something was Wrong with me for my level of interest. A lot of people have regrets about like not trying out for the team or not asking so and so out or whatever, but mine is a stupid fansite. I have deep and palpable regrets about letting my fear and shame keep me from something so harmless and silly, and as I said before I don’t think I have a concise or tidy ending, but this was what I wanted to say on the matter so there it is.

TL;DR: (hey, didn’t you already post this part? Yes, yes I did. I’m doing it again, but this time its the In Conclusion bit instead of the summary bit) ...(abstract. they’re called abstracts)...(this is still FAR from a scientific paper) (ANYWAYS) Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. I was stunted and harmed by this lack of education, and I guess my point is I hope no one else has to go through that. If my stupid little story can fix a thing, I want it to be that. More kids needs access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

#raev rambles

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

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Lady In Waiting

Author Note: Hiya everyone! This one, man, I’ve thought about this for a long time! I hope it entertains and delights you all! Summary: Loki calls you over for some fun with cuffs but an interruption leaves you a Lady In Waiting!

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: So, SMUT. Art House, Prose-y, SMUT... also restraints, in a committed relationship.

“Come over. I need you.”

That was all it took for you to get yourself across town as quickly as your worn out canvas sneakers could carry you. Knocking on his door, breathless and heart racing, you bite into your bottom lip. Already excited, you rocked on your heels, a bubble of giddiness rising inside you.

Hearing the locks turn, you’re expecting the door to open for you, Loki waiting on the other side but that doesn't happen. Tentatively, twisting the knob, you push into the dimly lit room where your lover hides. He is definitely here, you think in the clear moment before Loki’s hands find your shoulders, driving you into the solid wood of his front door.

Stopping his lips is not an option. Cupping your chin, he has tipped your mouth into the perfect position, allowing him unchecked access to your soft, sweet mouth. You’d moan, but Loki would just swallow it whole, so the sound you do make is a choked gasp of longing. His tongue is inside you, flicking over your teeth. His tongue rubs against your own, tasting what you taste of.

His tongue caresses your inner cheek, slick on slick, slipping further into the deep well of you.

His tongue traces the roof of your mouth, riding the ridges there, as if to conquer all of the flavors and words and songs that might be made in your carnal cave. Pulling away, dewy pink pout in place, “I came as soon as I could.” “It’s much appreciated.” Fingers grab his tight shoulders, enjoying the unbearable nearness of him, unwilling to break your embrace even if the kiss must end. Searching his eyes for answers, “What’s your rush?” It’s innocent enough a question. Loki’s call had sounded almost panicked. But you knew nothing truly scared your God of Mischief. No, there was something else at work here. “I told you. I need you.” Pressing his hardening length against your belly, you could feel the agitation in him, the straight up desire that drove him to dial you up. Still at the entryway, you flexed your hands, releasing your grip on him with great effort.

But Loki didn’t yield an inch to you. If anything he stepped closer, pinning you with his rigid body and his scorching gaze. With a heaving sigh, “Loki…” “Go to the bedroom. Take off these ridiculous pants… your silly sneakers… your stupid socks.”

On you again, mumbling into your neck, mouth intent on marking you, “Kneel on the bed. You know how I like to see you. Feet tucked under you, head bowed, back straight… but with your knees spread, dove. Wide open for only me to see. Will you do this for me?” What could you say? No? Hardly.

Loki pushed away from you then, leaving you behind as he moved further into his lair, his directions leaving your knees weak. Inhaling a steadying breath, you moved quickly, struggling for calm. Pulse racing, you throw your bag down with a thump once you're in Loki's room.

Wasting no time, you shuck your clothes, heart pounding with anticipation. You scramble onto the inky sheets, flushed with want, goosebumps breaking across your hypersensitive skin. It seems like hours, but truthfully, in seconds you were waiting as requested, panting with pent up passion.

You weren't left waiting long. Leaning into the door frame, Loki was without his shirt, a sight that made you writhe. Black jeans, faded at the knee from wear, were unsnapped but hanging onto his hips in a way that made you salivate. He was also barefoot, which probably shouldn’t be so sexy on a man like yours, but damn him… even his toes had the ability to excite.

And they did, actually, all of it did. You couldn't recall a time when you had been so, so ready. If Loki didn't touch you soon, you were certain your body would self ignite. “Put your hands behind your back, little one.” Doling out commands in his honey hot voice had you complying without complaint. Forcing your chest out, bountiful bust barely contained by your flannel shirt, you felt the buttons tug tightly in your new position. Lust lingered in Loki’s eyes at your shameless display. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, darling. So much fun.” Deep down, you knew that the cuffs were coming out. He wouldn’t have been so specific with his directions otherwise. Still, when the cool steel snapped closed, trapping your wrists behind you, you keened softly, “Is this really necessary?” “Definitely. Because, you see, you look so damn fetching with your body bent in the way I want.” Pulling down on the chain between your shackles, back bending to relieve the pressure, Loki asserted his dominion over you.

Long fingers plucked your straining buttons open. Greedy fingers circled your nipples, the coarse lace of your bra offering no protection from the fantastic friction Loki was creating. His palms squeezed, rough, fingers finding a hold on each of your glorious globes. Tugging the frilly cups down, your breasts now heavy and free, Loki lowers his full lips to your tender bud. At first it’s a lick, tentative, soft. Soon he is sucking, precious pain pulling you closer to his tightly sealed kiss, perfect teeth biting into the gentle flesh. “Oh fuck… oh fuck… Loki…” Whines tumble out of you, unbidden, unrehearsed.

“Hush, dearest. If you can’t quiet down, I’ll have to make you.” Folding your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding with understanding, you silently agree. Returning to his work, Loki focused on your opposite breast with the same erotic enthusiasm. Since you can’t speak, you hum. But then your humming grows in volume. Soon you’re moaning, unable to do more than bounce your bottom, needing the fullness that Loki offers to bring you some level of satisfaction. Feeling him over the flimsy fabric of your panties, head thrown back in delirious desire, you want Loki to push inside of you. You’re desperate to have him stretch you, open you up for his own amusement. That eagerness makes Loki chuckle darkly.

His hands find your hips, dipping under the elastic waist of your underwear. Expecting Loki's lingering touch, a whine slides out of you at the sound of shredding satin. “No, please, Loki! I’ll be quiet. I promise!” “Ah, it’s a bit late for that, unfortunately. Open up.” Loki expects your complete submission, never doubting that you’ll do what he’s asked. Reluctantly you part your lips. Loki takes his time, thumb caressing your mouth, before setting the ruined garment on your tongue. Kissing along your jaw, Loki husks, “Now you’re wet cunt is ready for me.” Your eyes roll at his lewd language, a wave of euphoria coasting through your throbbing cleft, your stuffed mouth unable to do more than mumble. His wicked words are still hanging there, floating in the air around you both, when there’s a knock at his door. Freezing in place, his hand on your spread thigh, Loki’s head cocks to one side as if unsure that he’s heard the beckoning.

"Loki? Are you there?” “Thor. Fuck. He's early.” Shocked, you watch Loki push himself off the bed, buttoning up his pants. Words form but are blocked by the fancy cloth stunting your speech. Grazing his lips over your forehead, “Don’t move, darling. I’ll be back.” Anger replaces arousal. Loki can tell by the look on your face that you’re more than pissed off at the interruption. “I know. Just be a good girl. Be quiet. Be still. And I won’t show my brother how incredibly sexy you look bound and gagged in my bed.” With one last look at your livid figure, Loki shut his bedroom door, leaving you as he described. Wet, willing and now, waiting. You can’t hear what they’re talking about, all you can make out is tones. It sounds rather serious, but without context, who’s to say what brings Thor here, unannounced. He must ask after you, because Loki’s voice rises just a bit in order to offer a vague, “She’s tied up at the moment.” And you really could scream with frustration and fury. Internally debating your options, you realized that they were few, and of poor quality. You could risk rising, near naked with your hands locked behind you, but how would you open the door? Grunting, you sit back on your heels, giving your sore knees a break. How long would Thor stay? Shortly you heard Loki’s footsteps coming closer. Suddenly alert, your reverie broke in a flash, focused solely on the door. Blushing hot, you watched the knob turn and Loki, finally, was there. He didn’t come closer, rather, Loki pulled a clean shirt from a drawer. Tipping into near panic, you started talking even though you knew it was pointless. Sensing your anxiety, Loki brought your face to his, kissing your cheek. “Thor is still here, not a sound, kitten.” His voice is rough. Coarse. But it also sends shivers shooting through your system.

The bed dips as he sits beside you. Loki parts your opened shirt, hands drawn to your satin skin, palms skating over your belly. Shivering, you can't help tilting towards him. If you weren't so tense with need maybe you could afford to be angry with Loki. As it is, just being near him is enough to reignite your ardor.

Whispering softly, calming you between chaste kisses to your chin, cheeks, the bridge of your nose, Loki calls you darling, sweetness, dear. His hands never stop exploring your tethered form, relishing your responsive whines, enjoying your trusting helplessness. Mirroring your posture, sitting up on his knees, Loki grabs one of the pillows from his headboard.

Still adrift in the attention he affords you, his changing tone of voice jars you, "I only have a minute, pet." His hands, aggressive now, slap your thigh. The intention is clear. Spread 'em.

"My sweet little kitten, so greedy, so ready for me… I am unable to attend to all your needs just now. Regrettably." His voice is a ragged husk.

Arousal evident as he scrunches the pillow, "Come on… up on your knees."

Unsure of Loki's objective, you're surprised when he tucks the cozy rectangle between you and the mattress. The foam, pressing against your swollen sex, provides friction but not the satisfying stretch your body craves. Using only your mumbled mewls as confirmation to continue, toying with you, Loki circles your hypersensitive clitoris. Your hips jerk, surprised spasms sending you into the softness Loki has stuffed underneath you.

"That's it… keep going. Gods, you are so beautiful." His praise speeds up in time with your climbing desire. Gasping behind your gag, once more on the edge of ecstasy, your thighs tremble around the cushion cradling your center. Between Loki's dancing digit and the unlikely excitement caused by riding the downy pillow, you're seconds away from succumbing to a glorious finale.

And as fast as he began, Loki withdraws, leaving you drenched in unquenchable need. Crying in frustration, muffled and desperate, your body is beyond the limits of begging. At the moment Loki could ask anything of you and he would have your complete cooperation, if it meant that you could clench around his hard length.

Standing, those long legs carry him to the bureau. Rustling around, Loki finds what he needs and faces you with a devious grin. Crossing the floor in two strides, looming over you now, your tear streaked face lifts toward the man you love. His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your back to bow, pushing your pelvis forward.

A familiar buzz fills the room. He gives you no further warning. One second you're open, ripe and ready. The next you are overfilled, grateful for the gag muffling your cry, squeezing the toy stuffing your center.

“Loki? Are you ready?” Thor’s voice boomed from the other room breaking through the cloud of your nearing climax. “Nearly there, brother! Give me just another minute!’ Turning his bright blue eyes to you, Loki flashed his finest smile, “He needs me to go with him. I won’t be long… so you must cum. Right now."

And it's the physically lethal combination of Loki's flashing glare, his wicked whispers, and false phallus that fight to free your feminine frenzy. Humping his toy into you, the pillow giving you resistance, you feel the speculative shuddering start in your center. Cresting in a wave of wonderment, your pleasure crashed over you, cries cut off by your full mouth.

Loki, holding onto you, cooing softly, caresses you through your release. The toy stills inside of you, still filling, but no longer shaking against your tender walls. Swiping the gag free, Loki forces a deep kiss on you, absorbing your aftershocks with his able mouth. "That, my sweet, was worth every second."

Stretching your jaw, sighing softly, "Loki… undo these cuffs?"

Thoughtful for a moment, Loki looked over your flustered form, "I don't think I will. I rather like having you here. Knowing that you’re naked and needy, waiting for me. Gods… I’ve been hard this entire time, dove.” Wasting no time, Loki picked up where he’d left you before, his hand finding your center as his tongue plundered you once more. Slow, painfully slow, Loki dragged his fingers through your soaked slit, pressing the vibrator firmly into your velvet tunnel. Soon, too soon, you were a mewling mess. Sobbing softly into Loki’s ear, “Please… more, please.”

Shaking against him, body taunt, so ready to let go again, Loki’s fingers left you. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”, his normally stoic voice streaked with desire. In a worried whisper, “What? You’re really leaving me?” “I am. But once I get back, I’m going to ravage you soundly, so I need you to be ready.”

“Loki! You can’t!” It’s the loudest you can be while still whispering. And it isn’t nearly forceful enough to change your troublemaking lover’s mind. “I can and I will.” Walking around you, facing you full on, Loki stroked over your tummy. Grabbing your bottom, fingers digging into your yielding flesh, you groaned. “Oh yes, you’re staying right here, my pretty pet.” “Loki? Are you ready yet?” Thor sounded impatient, and more alarmingly, right outside the bedroom. “Almost, dear brother. Meet me downstairs, ok?” “Fine… but hurry up! Jane’s expecting me!” “Oh, we don’t like to keep our ladies waiting, do we brother?” Thor moves on, you hear his boots on the stairs. Loki on the other hand, his look is sinful as he licks his lips, hungry for you. Leaning into your ear, “I can smell you, kitten. And I can hardly wait to have you.” You lean into his strength, silently begging him to stop this game, hot skin abraded by his clothing. “Please! Don’t leave me hanging, Loki!” Laughing coldly, “Hanging? Oh no. You have so much to do, darling. There are rules, you see…” Gritting your teeth, already on edge, you wanted to snap at your lover. “Rules? Loki, you’re really…” But the rest of your words were lost as he manipulated the massager using some form of magic. Arching away from him, your overstimulated body wanted to fly over the cliff into your next completion. “Are you listening, love? Because this is important. You are not allowed to cum without me.”

Rational thought was fleeting. With every second of sensual overload Loki forced on you, all you knew for certain was that you worshiped the God in front of you, and because of this, your agreement was undeniable. Nodding, voice useless, you let Loki kiss you again, his rhythm matching that of his tormenting toy.

"Do not cum, kitten. I will be back shortly." Slapping your ass, Loki laughed at your shriek, shutting the door on you. Could you hold out? God, the thrumming vibrations were radiating through you. Rocking your hips, fighting against the tide of your tension, your fragile nerves were rapidly fraying. He had told you, commanded you, ordered you not to climax. But how long would it take before your body broke Loki’s rule? And just what would The God of Mischief do if you failed him? Pulling against the steel bracelets holding your arms, snuggled into the cushion cradled against you, you laughed as a fresh release rolled over you.

You were going to be here awhile. Loki was going to need a new pillow. And paying him back was going to be so much fun.

Tagging Team: @just-random-obsessions @iamverity @brokenthelovely @nonsensicalobsessions @archy3001 @mizfit2 @vodka-and-some-sass @jamielea81 @jessiejunebug @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @procrastinatinglikeabitch

#hot loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki (marvel)#marvel smut #mcu smut

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its-chelisey-stuff · 3 years

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The function of efforts

That’s right I stole the title of the ep to name my post i’m shameless lol, because Joonsoo’s efforts, ultimately, led to nothing. Sad but true.

“How could he not say anything after hearing everything?” Because if he pretends it didn’t happen, then it didn’t. That simple.

This what I was saying about YoungHee being a good friend. And she’s been so consistent since last ep. I’m almost afraid of writing about it because I think I might jinx it and booom! she will be an annoying person again.

So Wooyeon asked CEO to meet her and he istg dude knows trouble is coming for him, and this is why this whole “date” cracks me up, because he knows Wooyeon knows and instead of trying to tell her the truth and explain, like he did so well many eps ago when he told her about the drunk calls, he just doesn’t say anything even if it’s over the phone, but still does pikachu face when Wooyeon ends things.

Super Mega Ouch!

And I loved so much their conversation leading up to the phrase that will end it all, so I just have to put it here:

CEO: “Is it that you can’t do it, or that you can’t do it for me? it hurts very much.”

Wooyeon: “I’m sorry. And it doesn’t hurt you if you keep it in? If I called you thinking it was another guy, you should’ve gotten mad. You should’ve resented me. You should’ve scolded me.”

CEO: “How can I say that when I feel like you’ll leave me? I knew you didn’t love me. I knew you weren’t over him, that’s why I tried. I thought if I was patient and kept it in, you’ll love me, so I waited. Couldn’t have you a little considerate of me?”

Ah *deep sigh* but JoonSoo, she was. She was considerate of you. You agreed to be her test man or whatever and you said you could handle your emotions on your own. A test to me sounds like it has a 50/50 chance of succeding at something or not. And this was the outcome. You didn’t pass. But she gave you a chance, and she did try to like you. It’s like Wooyeon’s mom said, some efforts have exceptions.

Ever since that day at the movies, I started to believe that CEO could even excuse a freaking kiss between Lee Soo and Wooyeon, saying “It’s okay, Wooyeon-ssi, I trust you. It wasn’t your fault.” Like ???? Can someone explain that brain of his to me? Damn, Joonsoo, love yourself...

Wooyeon: “Why upset yourself about the inveitable? No matter how hard you try, you’re always nervous. Eventually you lose yourself. That’s a bad relationship.”

Fucking finally. Although, you’re not really one to call out that kind of behavior on someone, just saying.

I freaking love the dialogue in this drama. It’s art. Also, she is so pretty even when she cries hahaha

Honestly, I LOVE THIS DRAMA. I’m obsessed with it. It might be the simplicity of it all, but the way it excels at it. It might be the directing, which takes special care to little details that hit you right in the FEELS. It might be the acting, that’s freaking delicious, especially SeongWu’s or it might be THE CHEMISTRY that has me wishing for a kiss scene SO HARD, because what we got on ep 2 was not enough and at the time I didn’t appreciate it, nor have been all the flirty scenes and the sexy looks. It might be everything I just mentioned, combined. But, had it not been for the fact that Wooyeon broke up with CEO, thus actually advancing the story and giving us some character development, I would've thought this ep was a filler. This is just my opinion, of course.

Also, there was so litte Lee Soo, it was almost criminal.

#more than friends #shin ye eun #kim dong jun #ong seong wu #kdrama #more than friends jtbc

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subzerobts · 4 years

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Thoughts on the Eighth Member of BTS

A/N: No pairings or warnings for this, except that it may throw you into a sudden 8th member fanfic spiral. When I tell you I was reading 8th member fanfic for the majority of my day, I mean like a good six hours. It wasn’t good.

Okay, so I feel like a lot of people have talked about an eighth member and it being a girl and stuff so I figure I should add some stuff to the ever growing cache of things about the eighth member.

This was like 2300 words and I have no regrets.

~So if there was I feel like she would be slightly younger than most of them and would have come in after their first few albums

~Maybe she was raised in New York with her immediate family being mostly Korean and hella feminist and she’d have older brothers and be super chill

~So like maybe the company would be worried about the lack of fast growing traction with the group and have a girl added in

~First things first: it would be awkward as heck for the guys to suddenly have a girl there and would make living situations even more difficult, with having to share rooms and such. So, they’d probs alternate who rooms with who and who gets the couch, especially for her rooming with a guy

~Not to mention if she catches them talking about some sort of issue with the sleeping situation and then being nervous about it

~Eventually, I feel like she’d kind of get tired of all of the tiptoeing around her and be like

~‘Guys! I don’t even care! Unless you guys have some sort of creepy thing you’re trying to avoid, just treat me like one of you guys’

~Things would chill out basically immediately. Like the next few days, the boys were super relaxed and that was a problem because they just started walking around in just underwear and she would be like:

👀😒 um ew?? Put a shirt on?

~They’d clean it up a lil bit and walk around in like boxers and t shirts, which was fine she had older brothers, she could deal with that

~She’d respectfully bow out of the choreographed hip thrusts and things of that nature at first, like maybe they’d thrust and she’d like make a gagging motion or something(only rarely because the company would be like no) at some point she’d get extremely comfortable with just doing the hip thrusts herself

~The company even found that during interactions with fans she got just as much, sometimes more, attention and screaming as the boys

~Eventually she’d get used to dressing androgynous, like the stylist unnies would put her in skirts and she’d get kinda pissed and the guys would all agree that she’d be better in just what they’re wearing(i.e. pants)

~(Also, just a quick side note, before they even realized what was happening, they’d be super protective. Like unwarranted protection.

~Especially during interviews and talk shows any heavily toxic feminine questions related to her would be met with complete headassery(is that a word?) Just any kind of bullshit the guys could come up with.

~Like it wouldn’t happen immediately, but like after a few interviews and them seeing how uncomfortable it made her to answer the weird questions(coming from female OR male interviewers) they’d kind of come up with an unspoken agreement to answer any and every sexist comment or question with an answer just as shitty)

~ Into specific dynamics now:

~I feel like she’d be evenly split to each other member’s interests because in the first few months, that’s how she bonded with them, busy finding somethings she had in common with each of them and building on it

[we’ll go youngest to oldest]

~She is close with all of the boys, but each get her undivided attention when the moment serves.

~ With Jungkook she’d notice his quiet side during the beginning and willingness to please. So she’d always assure him, in a not so obvious way, that he was accepted. Just quiet validation from her court to his.

~So she’d set up gaming nights with Jungkook when they didn’t have strict schedules or just sit around on their phones

~ The fandom would eventually come to know them as the meme lords of the group.

~Their inside jokes are way too many to count and don’t even come close to being forgotten.

~Can’t forget GCF cause she would be in every single one of them that she could. She’s endlessly supportive of the videos and wants to be in all of them, she even suggests music and things(sometimes before he’s even thinking of doing another one)

~She disapproves when he pushes himself too hard. When she knows it’s happening, she’ll involve on of the hyungs( probably Jin) or they’ll talk to a manager if things get super serious.

~That being said, if he doesn’t have the dance down, or they’re both struggling, she’s the first to volunteer to run the dance with him multiple times and is always the voice of reason.

~When he says ‘one more time’ she says ‘food first’ or like ‘how about a water chugging contest really quick?!’ (bc we all know his competitive nature) ‘Jin probably has some left overs in the fridge that we can reheat, late night snack time!’

~They definitely argue a bit about being the “Golden Maknae.” She’s a bit competitive in that aspect. Because they’re both so talented and she’s just a half of a year older than he is.

~For Taehyung, I feel like she’d grow to love art with him. His quiet adoration for things of beauty, conventional or not.

~(They have a joke,mostly his own that he refuses to let die, that she’s his favorite piece of artwork, eventually she retaliates with him being her favorite piece of artwork and it just sticks.)

~They’d be the classy duo, but with matching boxy smiles. Elegant and poised, their visuals are basically unmatched and during photo shoots, they’re always the ones finished way before the others.

~There are no bad sides for the classy duo. (I’m basically imagining model material for both of them, like just ethereal. Visual god and goddessssssss)

~Also his need to fall asleep holding something, I feel like she’d match that with just being okay with anything when she’s asleep or almost asleep(like she’d fall asleep in the car with the boys or something and be difficult to wake up, so they’d just carry her and she wouldn’t even stir)

~So Tae would lay beside her and they’d be chilling and eventually fall asleep and then later wake up holding onto each other.

~Both of them are shameless damn flirts. They’re attractive and they know it and they will absolutely use it to (not literally) kill ARMY

~Jimin is a bit harder to think about(idek why) but I feel like she’d be his buddy in quiet studying. Like he’d come find her if he wanted to do some reading, but not be alone and she’d be totally down( same with Joon but hold on)

~and either she’d read her own book or she’d do some sketching(mostly because she’d want to have her own unique thing that the others weren’t too interested in)

~Jimin would be her ideal model in these moments. She never gets tired of sketching any of the boys, but in those moments, Jimin is the least likely to change face or position and thus be the perfect study.

~she’d also ask him for homework help in the earlier days with like mathematics and he’d always be more than happy to help

~Jimin is a brat and I feel like when the two of them spend a bit too much time together, the rest of the group can only expect the worst.

~(Low key the Lil-Shit Duo™️)

~Joon is next and here’s where her position in the group comes in. Since she was raised in New York, she’d be fluent in both Korean and English and, as such, would help with the interviews and translating.

~It’s a huge load for Namjoon to carry and with her, being by his side and helping with rephrasing things to the boys during interviews really eases him.

~Along with that, he always makes sure that she knows how much he appreciates her after difficult interviews or just every good while he’s just endlessly doting and complimenting her and things. She always tells him that it’s unnecessary, but he never stops thanking her.

~So they’re like the Leader Duo™️ and are consistently doing damage control between the boys(almost like group therapy) or rephrasing the boys’ answers(in those moments where the boys give weird answers to questions in interviews)

~When not in the public eye, they are coming up with ways to better interact with ARMY or they’re expanding their horizons by reading and stuff.

~Her favorite thing with Joon is working on learning a new language or just English with Joon and making up little tongue twisters and sayings and debating proper ways to phrase things. Which brings us to:

~Being a part of the rapline. So Joon, Hobi, and Yoongi are her peeps. When she’s not entertaining the maknae line, she’s with the Hyung line.

~Hobi and her have a cute dynamic. He babies her a little bit and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love it at least a little.

~they like coming up with dances together, even when they are supposed to be taking the day off, just goofing around and coming up with dances for little snippets of songs is fun

~they’re like the sunshines of the group. So he’s J-hope and she’s his ‘little hope’. How cute.

~She’s constantly encouraging his little quirks and things that he does(the sound effects and just being him) and being right there with him in being the lights of the group.

~I feel like her and Jungkook get the same bit of his attention. Like the cuddly bits of it

(and my heart skips for cuddly JungHope so like imagining the three of them being cozy and mellow together and just watching the rest of the group do whatever. Agh my heart)

~My boy Yoongles is next and let me tell you I’ve been excited as hell for this one.(trying real hard not to let bias love seep through)

~When moving to a more spacious apartment, they decided to give her her own room. (She’s grateful.)

~And so when she wants to tamp down the wildness in the apartment, get a moment's peace, she retreats to her room.

~While she’s endlessly supportive of all six of the others, encouraging their wild quirks, her room is the quietest. Her room has a ‘no noise’ rule.

~Yoongi shares a room with Jin still at this point and not that Jin is a bad roommate, or particularly noisy, it’s just that the maknae line patronizes him a lot. And Yoongi has very little patience for that.

~So her room is where they’ll often find him. She has a comfy couch that she took Yoongi with to pick it out(because it was basically for him.)

~Point is, she’s mellow when she wants and needs to be and Yoongi is drawn to that chill side of her.

~When the rest are wild and he wants mellowness, he seeks her out and when she wants to be a bit rowdy, she leaves and closes the door.

~He has a gigantic soft spot for her. Not even kidding.

~The boys will always pull her into the situation if they think Yoongi might get too angry or a prank goes south and does more harm than fun amusement.

~They mention that she was involved and she goes with it because she doesn’t want the boys in too much trouble and Yoongi won’t hurt her like he would the boys(not actually hurt but you know like “beat them up”) or scold her too harshly.

~As soon as he finds out she’s involved the anger either dissipates or he removes himself from the situation so as not to hurt anything(but you bet your ass she scolds the maknaes from time to time on Yoongi’s behalf)

~And he definitely helps with her mixtape which the fandom is waiting for. Basically, chomping at the bit. She gives Yoongi and Joon so much credit tbh

~They definitely nap together. Mostly because they’re up at ungodly hours during the night, either working on songs or just talking because that’s definitely a thing that happens.

~They have similar views of the world(I’m mostly thinking of Interlude: Shadow here) but being lonely while being famous is definitely a view they share and are drawn together from that. Despite all of their wants to be on the top of the world, they want to not be lonely.

~Along with her keeping up well with the rowdy bits of the group, she’s definitely introverted like Yoongi. She does what she has to to further the group, but she does get drained and just kind of shuts everyone out some times.

~This is where Jin comes in. (Not to be that cliché bitch who’s always like Jin’s the mom of the group omg) but in this case, he makes sure she’s eating and taking care of herself when she does this.

~They all have locks on their doors and she keeps hers locked a majority of the time, but Jin and Yoongi are the only people she absolutely trusts with coming in unannounced.

~Despite always laughing at his dad jokes and being totally supportive of that, he knows when to turn on being serious and not taking her bullshit about “being fine” if she’s not.

~He forces(more like needles annoyingly) her to eat even when she says she’s not hungry during those times

~Makes sure she’s taking care of herself like showering and brushing her teeth and things.

~During the earlier years when she mostly stayed with the boys, very little contact to her mother in New York, Jin absolutely made sure he had cramp medication on hand and feminine products stashed in spots around the house. Well hidden obvi so the boys wouldn’t just stumble across them, but still there. (She does these things on her own now, but she’ll never forget the thought he put into making sure she was cared for)

~She’s definitely requested a majority of the time on EatJin. ARMY just likes to make sure that she’s eating(just like all of them) and they want to see the two of them talk.

~All in all, the boys are her family and she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

#i didnt want something so informal to be my first fic related post #but i got inspired so....#bts #8th member au #8th member of bts #bangtan #bts mots 7 #bts fanfic #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #seokjin

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knifeonmars · 4 years

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Capsule Reviews - May 2020 - The Cape Stuff

I read a lot of comics in May. Here’s what I thought of some of the superhero and superhero-adjacent comics I read.

Arms of the Octopus

A nostalgia pick, the collection of several annual issues containing a crossover between Superior Spider-Man, The Invincible Hulk, and the All-New X-Men. It is an artifact of a very specific and bizarre time in Marvel Comics, when Doc Ock was Spider-Man, the Hulk worked for SHIELD, and the original five teen X-Men were stranded in their own future. For a pure, relatively straightforward crossover romp, it's quite enjoyable. Spider-Man is a jerk, the Hulk fights a robot, the X-Men are befuddled by the present, all of the major beats for that particular moment in the Marvel Universe are there, and it's got some really great art. Jake Wyatt, during his regrettably short-lived stint with Marvel and the great Kris Anka unfortunately overshadow the other contributors, but it's all very good, if not the most accessible comic.

Maxwell's Demons

I came to Maxwell's Demons having heard a lot of critical buzz and with my expectations set rather high. I did not care for this book at all. Ambitious is the best word for this series, and that's not a bad thing. It's got ideas, about the craft, about the genre, about philosophy in general. It never quite manages to carry things off though; it's not as smart as it wants to be, and the high-minded ideas are never incorporated in particularly elegant ways. Three of the story's five chapters are essentially extended monologues in which the main character rambles on about some glorified shower thought for 20-plus pages. The first and second chapters are the exceptions to this pattern, and are quite solid as far as pointedly derivative superhero riffs go, even if the second chapter's riff on "What if Miracleman #17 was significantly less intelligent" is more than a little shameless in its lack of originality. The fourth chapter, by contrast, is the nadir of the series, easily the most embarrassing Manic Pixie Dream Girl tripe I've seen played straight in literal years. I'm reminded a lot of Translucid, another superhero pastiche, which essentially sought to do for Batman what Maxwell's Demons seeks to do for Lex Luthor. I warmed to Translucid significantly on my second read and I wonder if the same will end up being true for Maxwell's Demons, but I find that Translucid simply did a better job of incorporating original ideas and stating its themes in ways less stupefyingly clunky than Maxwell's Demon's ever manages. I hate to call a book pretentious, especially an ambitious one, but at present that's how I feel about this book.

Twilight

Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Howard Chaykin's Watchmen-for-mid-century-space-heroes epic. It's good. Fabulous art, some really interesting ideas and a great premise. It's also more than a little Chaykin-y, with most of the male characters having fraught but amiable relationships with their much-too-good-for-them-and-they-both-know-it ex-wives. It has this particular brand of low grade misogyny that idealizes women but in doing so denies them interiority and, ultimately, humanity. Leaving that aside, though it is a major point to leave aside, it’s story of humanity rotting over eons of immortality, mad space gods, and humanity’s proclivity towards colonialism and genocide, it's great. It’s not an altogether pleasant book, it can be nasty and strange, in ways both intentional and unintentional, but it’s original and engaging and decidedly well made. Something of an overlooked classic of that era’s DC output.

Green Lantern: Earth One

Literally the only one of DC's Earth One graphic novels that's worth a damn. Where most of the other Earth One books choose to start things off in a world resembling our own, Green Lantern starts off in a scifi future resembling something along the lines of Ad Astra or The Expanse, with Earth controlled by an only alluded to totalitarian government, humanity colonizing and mining the solar system, and Hal Jordan as a spacefaring roughneck who dreads the prospect of returning to Earth. Earth One is the rare Green Lantern story that manages to make Earth as interesting as the rest of the universe. The bulk of the action leaves this behind to focus on unearth the lost legacy of the Green Lanterns and refits their mythology in a clean way which will be unsurprising for anyone with a passing familiarity with the original comics but is still satisfying ad fresh. Fabulous art, fun take on the mythology, I'm left both wanting more and being satisfied with what we got.

Spider-Man: Life Story

In a just world, Chip Zdarksy, one of Marvel’s best writers these days, would be writing both Spider-Man and Fantastic Four, instead of having been relegated to shortlived spinoffs. Because life just isn’t fair sometimes, instead he was given this admittedly ambitious project, his all-encompassing take on the Spider-Man story as played out in real time. In the end it’s bold and engaging, but more than a little clipped in execution. Each issue is a snippet of Peter Parker's life as we catch up to him in a new decade so readers only get a quick glimpse of the action and are left to fill in the substantial gaps by drawing on our knowledge of continuity. The obvious comparison is John Byrne's Superman/Batman: Generations, but where that story really only took the broad strokes of those characters' continuity into account in writing its decades spanning story, Spider-Man: Life Story is dedicated to the remixing of Spider-Man's publishing canon. So it can’t just take an archetypal view of Spider-Man and play that out to its logical conclusion, instead it’s stuck trying to incorporate version of prominent Spider-Man stories like Kraven's Last Hunt, Venom, and Civil War. The result means that there’s a ton of exposition in each issue, and frequent use of shorthand to gloss over things which have happened since the previous issue, and it never manages to explore the series’ original ideas in detail. Also, I'll die mad that Michel Fiffe, the genius behind COPRA and one of my favorite cartoonists, public pitched basically this exact story a year or so before this project was announced, and even if Marvel didn't actually steal the idea, I'll forever pine for Fiffe's take on this premise.

Star Wars: The Crimson Empire Saga

Long before the Disney's take on Star Wars, with their codified takes on the mythology and careful curation of the franchise, there was the old Star Wars Expanded Universe, where seemingly anyone could tell any story they wanted using the mythology of Star Wars. While it resulted in some good stuff, like Timothy Zahn's fondly remembered Thrawn books, the vast majority of it was workmanlike or even bad. Crimson Empire falls firmly into the category of bad, a dumber than dirt story about an extremely cool space guy and his code of honor. It's the kind of story where multiple characters say "He's just one man!" right before or right after seeing their legion of anonymous flunkies getting demolished by the hero. It's got an inexplicable and bad love story. In the three miniseries collected here it spends about two pages total dealing with the idea that maybe, just maybe, the fact that it's main character is dedicated to the lost honor of Emperor Palpatine, a space fascist, maybe his code of honor is completely fucked. Of those three miniseries, only the first story is anywhere near something that could be called good. I wouldn’t called Crimson Empire utterly abysmal, but it’s not unironically good. If the name Kyle Katarn means anything to you, you might get something out of this as a nostalgia trip, but otherwise it has no redeeming qualities.

Deathstroke: Legacy

The first of the New 52 Deathstroke stories, which was never well regarded until Christopher Priest took it over with Deathstroke: Rebirth, I was driven to read this by a conceptual fondness for this era's Deathstroke basically looking and acting like an action figure. Through that lens, it's quite enjoyable. It's not as obviously in on the joke in the way that the classic Taskmaster: Unthinkable is, but it's over the top, has fun designs and baddies, and Joe Bennett (years before his career best heights in Immortal Hulk) provides consistently good art. As a pure action comic, it's good.

Wolverine MAX: Permanent Rage

Here's the thing about Wolverine: There are very few good Wolverine solo stories. Wolverine is a genuinely good character, but most of his solo stories are dumb action affairs, and there's literally never been a Wolverine comic that's even halfway as good as the Logan movie. Permanent Rage, the first storyline from the Wolverine MAX series though, is actually pretty decent. It plays out a lot like you might imagine a Wolverine movie made around 2004, with no superheroes, a Japanese setting that allows for some distracting orientalism, unrelenting violence, and a noir-inspired storyline. The present day storyline is all well and good, not great, but solid and relatively low-key, but what makes the book is the presence of Sabretooth as the main villain. His relationship with Wolverine, fleshed out through flashbacks drawn by some really talented artists, is probably one of the best takes on that relationship that Marvel has ever put out. The casting of Wolverine and Sabretooth as two lonely immortals, bound together by hate and the knowledge that they are each other's only true companions, absolutely makes this book. Is it great? No, but it's got enough interesting things going on that fans of dark superheroes stories would probably find something to enjoy. Subsequent volumes of Wolverine MAX moved even further from the character’s superhero trappings and supporting characters, which is a pity, but this one remains readable and enjoyable on its own.

Marshal Law Omnibus

A collection all of the non-licensed and non-text-only Marshal Law stories. It's weird, it's punk, it's violent, it's sick of superheroes but self-aware about it own silliness in a way that Garth Ennis' work like The Boys has never been (Incidentally, the fifth story contained here, Super Babylon, is just every self-righteous complaint Ennis made about superheroes in The Boys but presented with a modicum of good humor). It's quite fun as a mean-spirited anti-superhero romp, but anyone who is particularly invested in the moral rectitude of, like, the Flash, might find it an unpleasant read so I would advise avoiding it if that's you. It's also not perfect, even for what it is: it's approach to sex work and kink is very dated, it relies on sexual violence a little too much, and by the time you get to the final story, Secret Tribunal, it's come to revel in its previously ironic fascist and misogynist imagery and characters just a little too much. The third installment, Kingdom of the Blind, is for my money, the strongest of the lot, featuring both the most straightforward premise and the most incisive satire the collection has to offer.

#capsule reviews #words

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erikismybitch · 5 years

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Waiting In Vain : Chapter 10

Safe Again

Marley could breathe again. This new apartment smelled like fresh paint and the Endless Weekend candle she lit on her shiny new kitchen counter. Next to her new Kitchenaid stand mixer that Becky gifted her . She had come over to lend a helping hand . Help her organize things and catch up. The two of them laid down in her living room on her new area rug . It’s where her couch would go as soon as she bought one. The door was wide open and allowed the breeze to come through. The two movers Marley picked up at a local hardware store were moving heavy things in and out of the rented Uhaul. She didn’t have many things to fill the apartment yet, but it was hers . She couldn’t afford to furnish the entire place right away. That would take some time and a few extra shifts at the bar. Marley was in no rush, she would lay in her empty living room for a year . As long as it was her living room .

“Aren’t you glad to be out of that damn hotel?” Becky roller over on her belly to face Marley who did the same.

“It wasn’t that bad , it was kind of nice to have a maid clean up for me” Marley went back down and spread her arms and legs like she was making a snow angel. Becky laughed at her silliness . “But, I’d rather clean up my own shit any day”

“I still can’t believe you got your dream apartment”

Marley got up completely and looked around the room. Their voices were so hollow. “I have no idea how I got in here. When I applied they said they had a long waiting list” she shrugged .

“The other people must have not fallen through” Becky got up too.

“I know , they just called me a few days ago and told me I got the place”

Marley felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest . All the bad that had been happening to her, something had to give . After college she moved into a small studio, shortly after that Trey moved in with her . The studio had gotten too small for the both of them so they found a bigger place. Then they broke up and Marley moved in with Tiana. So this was Marley’s first place on her own. It was perfect , hardwood floors and light grey paint . The landlord gave her full permission to puncture the walls so the opportunity for framed art would be endless . The living room had huge windows that looked out onto the street. She couldn’t wait to put ceiling to floor curtains in them. Crown molding was in each room . Her bathroom was a vintage dream . Black and white oyster tile and a freestanding tub. Marley’s room was what she loved best . It was the last door down the hall . She had bay windows and a nook that she would fill with pillows and books . All that occupied the room now was an air mattress, she had to purchase a bedroom set .

Before the two girls got too restless , they decided to go out and buy groceries for the apartment. Marley wasn’t big on eating out , she enjoyed cooking and it always saved her money. After the two movers finished, Marley paid them and left . At the grocery store Becky pushed the cart as Marley loaded it almost to capacity. Becky was chatting to her about how Pedro wanted her to cook dinner every night since they’ve been married . Not only that but he had turned into a major slob, expecting her to do everything for him. Cleaning up his mess, washing his clothes and even picking up his dry cleaning .

That’s one thing Marley was afraid of when getting married. Giving her all to someone , for them to turn out to be someone else . Just like Becky did , Marley had dreams of living the perfect life with a husband and kids . Though, she would never say those words out of her mouth to anyone. Never seeing a model of a perfect marriage all her life, she thought it didn’t exist . But a girl could dream, right ?

“Have you tried to talk to him about it?” Marley asked , the duo began loading the conveyor belt with the groceries.

“Not really , I’m hoping he will see how unhappy it makes me” she told her .

“You have to tell him, you can’t just expect him to know Becky “ Marley put the last few items on the belt and went to the register to pay . She greeted the employee and brought her attention back to Becky .

“I don’t know how to” she admitted .

“Whenever it comes up for you , just tell him how you feel”

Becky got quiet , maybe she was thinking of a good time to express her feelings to Pedro . Marley paid for all of the groceries and they loaded them back in the cart . They did the same with the trunk of Marley’s car and got inside . “I don’t know when I should tell him” Becky started going on again about her issue . Marley looked out of the drivers window and rolled her eyes . She felt is was a simple fix , it was nothing to keep going on about. She was greatful for Becky being her friend , but she was starting to get on her nerves about this . Becky kept saying the same things about Pedro over and over , it had gotten to a point where Marley felt as if she was talking to herself about it . She just gave Becky a few “yeah’s” and “that’s crazy” when Becky would get to a point . Not really listening anymore.

Marley’s window was facing the Grocery store , so she could see everyone who walked in and walked out . Even Trey , who walked into the store with a blonde woman holding a baby. Marley shifted up into her seat , she squinted her eyes to be sure . It was the back of them, but she knew for a fact that it was Trey.

“What the hell?” She mouthed quietly, Becky didn’t even hear her . It wasn’t some coincidence that they had walked in at the same time , but he pushed onto the small of her back to move her away from a bystander. Marley reached to unbuckle her seat belt , she didn’t know what for . Her first instinct was to coincidentally run into them . But like a saving grace... her cell phone rang . A number she remembered from a week ago, one that she had been too chicken to call on her own . It was connected to the car already when she answered.

“Hi Erik” Marley smiled, as if the person on the other end could see her . Becky was surprised at her friends sudden change in mood , and also surprised at who she was talking to.

“What you up to?” His deep voice came through the car speakers , Becky nudged her friend for not filling her in on the situation .

“I moved into my new apartment today, so I’m out getting a few things”

“You got a place?” He sounded genuinely happy for her.

“Yeah, and it’s the place I was telling you about when we talked last” Marley’s shameless smile never faded.

“Call me later, when you get settled”

“Okay” Marley’s pitch was a little too high , it tickled Becky and she started to laugh at her . As soon as she hung up the phone she let everything out .

“Was that thee Erik!”

“Yes” Marley hid her face behind her hands. Her friend pulled them away

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“About what?” Markey cut on the engine and played coy , Becky gave her a serious look .

“I didn’t want you to know , in case things didn’t work out”

“ There is no denying the chemistry between the both of you . We all seen it at the club that night . Hell, it’s obvious that he likes you” If Becky hadn’t been there to correct them ,Jazzy and Asia would’ve assumed that Marley and Erik were an item. That small moment outside was that intense.

“I mean... have you seen how fine he is, a guy like th-”

“Marley have you seen yourself!” Becky yelled with passion, so much so that it surprised Marley “Do you know how many guys come up to me at the bar asking about you ?”

“Shut up Becky”

“I swear”

Marley pulled off and out of the parking lot , thinking about what Becky said . Maybe she was being too hard on herself . If Erik kept persuing her, obviously it was something he liked. Deep down she couldnt help but feel like second best when it came to him. Erik did not chose her first and that always sat in the back of Marley’s brain.

“So these guys at the bar” Marley began to speak again . “Were they cute?”

The both of them chuckled. “Some were cute, some were hideous, but none of them looked like Erik” Becky answered.

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I’m all for anybody that makes you smile the way you just did”

Marley scoffed in embarrassment. He have her those school girl feels, this is what frightened her most . Erik was bittersweet right now. All these feelings and all he did was call ...twice . There was no substance for their relationship... or friendship as Marley thought , because intentions weren’t clear . Of course she knew that they were sexually attracted to eachother , but with these feelings , she hoped for it to be more than that .

And those feelings almost made her forget about seeing Trey at the grocery store . She shook the negative thoughts of him off , Erik somehow had the ability to make her forget logic. There was no more Trey in her life since she left his house . Unless he had a clone walking around , that woman and baby couldn’t possibly be his . Where were they ? Especially during those weeks she lived with him ? Marley chuckled for even thinking something that far out .

#erikismyfic

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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This Time Around (Scyvie) - Miss Bianca & rbcch

rbcch’s a/n: “i would fuck yvie, she would get me stoned afterwards.” - scarlet for entertainment tonight. sometimes dreams do come true and you get yourself a new ship and the collab partner of your dreams, usually you just have to pout long enough. we’ve had so much fun writing this, i hope you have as much fun reading this, and come and tell us what you think. we would love to chat about this au with you guys, and our ask boxes are open. say hi to me on @lesbianpearliaison, or find me on ao3 where i’m rbcch and always thirsty for feedback !

Miss Bianca’s a/n: so…it’s finally done! those of you who follow us have been hearing about this particular collab constantly for over a month, and we are so incredibly proud of how it turned out. working on this project has taught me what true, 50/50 collaboration looks like, and has also proven to me yet again how utterly obsessed i am with rbcch and her writing, and i cannot wait to work more with her in the future - both to create more within this AU, and to work on other projects outside of it. please let her, and/or myself, know what you think of this! you can find me @scarletoddly on tumblr, and as MissBianca on ao3.

Summary: Yvie processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.

Or, Scarlet takes Yvie’s cigarette, and Yvie takes her home.

Word Count: 27.2k

Yvie barely dodges another body, groaning under her breath in frustration and squeezing between two strangers as she keeps her gaze fixed on Adore’s back so to not lose her as they make their way through a busy Brooklyn bar. The heat in the smoky interior is sudden, a contrast from the cool air outside, and Yvie considers taking off her leather jacket briefly, before wrapping it tighter around herself for security instead.

As always, Adore seems far less bothered to be in a crowded space like this, much more at home. She practically bounces off the bar once she reaches it, her body landing heavily against the wood, both forearms resting on top. Sighing, Yvie grits her teeth and shoulders yet another person to the side, positioning herself next to Adore stiffly.

“Damn, you’re really losing your touch,” she deadpans. “Couldn’t you have found us somewhere with a nice crowd?”

Adore quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at Yvie, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth, then lets her eyes dart to the opposite side of the counter. “Y’know, seems nice enough to me.”

Yvie follows her gaze to a bartender with her back turned, then down to said bartender’s ass, and rolls her eyes.

“So I’m just here to be your wingwoman, right?” she sighs. “That’s why you dragged me out on this Thursday night?”

They always do this whenever Adore manages to force Yvie out of the apartment or her art studio; Yvie grumbles about it like a little bitch and Adore acts generally unaffected by her complaining. In reality, Yvie’s roommate is one of the few reasons she even goes out, and they both know it, regardless of how much Yvie bitches about it.

“Oh, right,“ Adore snorts, grabbing her black hat by the brim and adjusting it on her washed-out brown hair. “As if you don’t get pussy without even trying every time I drag you off your ass and make you be around people.”

Yvie opens her mouth to protest, and then, drawing blank, closes it, leaning her chin on her fist and huffing out a heavy breath. No matter how many times the conversation turns to her seemingly wild and adventurous sex life, there’s really no way for her to dispute misconceptions without spilling her guts. So instead, she just rolls with it, plays her well-practiced part of the laid-back, detached womanizer.

“Besides, I don’t need a wingwoman,” Adore adds, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. “The ones I pick land in the palm of my hand. Literally.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yvie can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes her, so she counteracts it with a roll of her eyes. “Seriously, shut up.”

The music gets louder, then, pressing in around them, and Yvie stiffens her spine, straightens her shoulders so as not to collapse inwards. Picking up a flimsy paper napkin from the bar, she starts pulling at it with her blunt fingernails, tearing off tiny pieces and rolling them between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey,” Adore says, her hand resting on Yvie’s forearm and her tone surprisingly soft. “If I let you breathe in oil paints and cigarettes any longer, you would’ve died, bitch. You gotta get out more. Y'know, social life, and shit.” She waves her free arm around. “Fresh air. Y’know, stuff.”

“I love how this is your definition of fresh air.”

Adore brushes her off and turns back to the bar, just in time to come face to face with the very bartender whose ass she was so unabashedly eyeing earlier. Adore looks at her like she wants to swallow her whole without chewing, and knowing her, that’s probably exactly what’s going to happen later tonight. Unsurprisingly, the bartender stares back, lips slightly parted, like her breath just escaped her, and there’s no missing the satisfied look in Adore’s eye. Yvie looks at them in mild disbelief mixed with a dash of annoyance, and, when it becomes clear that neither of them is going to move, clears her throat pointedly.

“Can I get a Guinness, please?” she says loudly, probably too loud to use talking over the music as an excuse. “In a bottle, please.”

The bartender’s mouth opens farther, and Yvie glances at Adore to find her roommate grinning darkly and repeatedly clicking the ball of her tongue piercing against her teeth.

“And one tequila,” Yvie adds curtly, ripping a larger piece off the paper napkin. “You know, as soon as you’re free.”

“Huh?” the girl hums absentmindedly, finally tearing her gaze off Adore. “A shot?”

“No, a bottle.”

The girl shoots Yvie an annoyed leer, seemingly snapping out of it the rest of the way and snatching a bottle of tequila from the one of the refrigerator sinks on her work unit and pouring a shot. She puts it on the counter in front of Yvie, topping it off with a slice of lime and a little pack of salt, then opts for one of the real, floor-length fridges behind her. Adore resumes staring at her ass but doesn’t forget to call a low Actually, make that two, babe after her.

“You done?” Yvie mutters while the bartender is looking away, shooting Adore a look and tossing a rolled up bit of napkin at her. “You’re fucking shameless.”

“Mmm,” Adore hums, clearly not at all perturbed by Yvie’s attitude. “Remember that time you forgot your keys and fingered that girl in the hallway outside our apartment? What was her name? Anna? Akasha?”

Yvie narrows her eyes. “A'keria, I think. Your point?”

“Fuckin’ shameless.” Adore winks at her.

With a shrug, Yvie thinks back to her encounter with A’keria. Her lips had been sticky with her lipgloss and tasted of cherry, and Yvie had swallowed her broken gasps off her mouth as she had pressed her against the wall next to their front door and worked her fingers into her panties and then inside her. Like most of Yvie’s hookups, she hadn’t stayed the night. In fact, she hadn’t even made it into the apartment before ordering herself an Uber, rhinestoned acrylics clicking against the screen of her phone, cooing lazily about how men will never know how to touch women like another woman does, and isn’t that a damn shame, as she’d given Yvie’s arm a squeeze. She had been long gone when Adore got there with the keys, and Yvie had tasted the stupid, sickly-sweet lipgloss on her tongue for hours afterwards.

Good thing she had never particularly liked cherry flavors anyway.

Yvie grimaces and turns to busy herself with the shot to avoid continuing with the topic. Swiping the slice of lime over the back of her palm quickly, she then pours the salt over the sticky trail and grabs the glass, unceremoniously lapping up the salt and washing it down with the alcohol. Once she’s sucking on the lime, she decides to turn back to Adore.

Her roommate is now chatting up a dark haired girl perched on a stool beside her, repeating her seductive routine as if out of habit, hardly bothering to pause when the bartender sets the beers down in front of them.

“Thanks, babe,” Adore says carelessly, picking up her bottle and flashing the bartender a smile before looking back at her new conquest.

Yvie tries to drill into the back of Adore’s head with her gaze, but conveniently, this seems like the only time Adore’s focus is unwavering. The girl may not be able to hold a coherent conversation for longer than a few minutes at a time, but she’s always been able to hold a woman’s attention for as long as is necessary to get something that she wants — that something, more often than not, being to get into their panties.

“Watch my beer, Delano,” Yvie scoffs and pushes her own bottle in front of Adore. It’s hard to tell if Adore hears her. Yvie finds she doesn’t particularly care.

Pushing through the crowd is even harder than it was when they entered, and Yvie isn’t sure if it’s because of the fact the place is even more packed now or because of the way she feels almost claustrophobic without Adore as her lifeline. It’s a grimy bar, the kind where the floor is sticky with more than just wax to prevent it being slippery and the surfaces are in the constant state of something questionable chipping and peeling off of them. The air feels as dim and smoky as the lighting, hard to breathe in somehow, and Yvie knows her skin and clothes will stink of cheap beer and marijuana by the time they finally head home.

There’s a pool table on the right behind the bar counter, occupied by a guy and a girl who arches her back and pushes her ass up when she bends over the table in a way Yvie isn’t completely convinced is necessary. There’s a row of soft seating against the left wall, the velvet covering the cushions probably rich red where the fabric dye hasn’t worn off from the bodies rubbing on it. The round tables are situated every couple feet or so, almost all of them already taken and slowly filling with empty pints and glasses and bottles.

Yvie counts the scents of dozens of different perfumes as she shoves and ducks her way through the thickest part of the crowd, all of them oppressively heavy, a few of them familiar. She wonders if she’s taken any of these women to bed, wonders which one she’ll end up taking to bed tonight, wonders how many of them are just waiting to fall into the arms of someone who can take care of them proper, soft and needy and looking for one night where they can be the one who uses and then leaves rather than the one who’s left.

She reaches the back exit, shoulders drawn in towards her body, and glances behind at the clusters of bodies in the darkened room briefly. She places her forearm firmly against the door and chews the inside of her cheek, wonders if being the one who always stays behind will ever get easier.

The fenced smoking area is pleasantly empty, the night too young for people to be chain-smoking through packs upon packs just yet. The air outside is even cooler now that she’s coming from inside the bar, and she shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket, her fist instinctively closing around the old refillable lighter in one of them. Pushing the jacket closed in the front, she strides over to lean against the brick wall. There’s a weird realization that the door takes longer to close behind her than a door that light logically should poking somewhere at the edge of Yvie’s consciousness, but she pays it no mind, instead shaking one of her hands out of the pocket and retrieving the pack of cigarettes stored there. She thumbs it open and is abruptly distracted by the sound of footsteps, the sudden warmth of another body next to her.

A slender hand enters her line of vision, snagging a cigarette from the pack before withdrawing again, and Yvie looks up and directly into the heavy lidded eyes of her unexpected company.

She processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.

“Got a light, daddy?”

The woman’s drawl is smooth and sweet, and Yvie’s visceral reaction is anything but. She’s got the cigarette dangling between her fingers, hovering near that goddamned mouth, and the way she tilts her head just a little makes it clear she’s fully aware of the disarming, arousing effect she’s having. Yvie can’t bear to look at her knowing eyes or the tilt of her lips as she purses them more, so she drops her gaze lower and regrets it immediately as she’s met with the soft curve of her cleavage instead. It couldn’t be clearer that the woman is braless, hardly supported by the flimsy material of the red dress she’s wearing, nipples poking through the fabric, begging for attention, and Yvie feels as if she’s being suffocated, snaps her gaze away, fights the desire to curse aloud.

She twists her arm and pulls the lighter out, quickly pushing herself off the wall with her abs and stepping closer. The woman leans in, cigarette securely between her lips and palm flying up to shield the light, and Yvie flicks the lighter and stays breathing in her rosy fragrance exactly as long as it takes for the cherry to turn bright orange and not a second longer.

Slumping back against the cold brick, Yvie lights her own smoke and eyes the woman out of the corner of her eye. She wears what appears to be a grey men’s blazer, draped over her shoulders with her arms outside the sleeves, and Yvie toys with the possibility that it’s probably her boyfriend’s, or some guy’s she was flirting with before coming out and deciding Yvie was her daddy instead. The garment falls lower than her dress, which isn’t really much of an accomplishment, seeing as her dress doesn’t fall low at all, instead creeping up every time the woman tugs on the fabric to cover more of her chest and revealing the milky, flawless skin of her thighs. The hand not occupied with the cigarette is grasping a glass, fingers around the rim, long french tip nails blatantly evident against the golden liquid inside. Yvie’s eyes wander up her chest to her brown hair, coarse and loose, the kind of messy that’s a casualty rather than a deliberate choice, falling to just below her shoulders but so voluminous that Yvie thinks her hands could get lost in it.

Yvie likes the hair. It’s one of the few things about her that doesn’t scream straight girl looking for an easy fuck. Unfortunately, she really, really likes everything else, too, despite or maybe even due to it, in fact, screaming exactly that. It’s just her luck, that she always feels this pull towards girls who only want her for the night, just to try it out, get whatever she can give them before they go back to men. Yvie steels herself, hoping she’ll be able to resist falling into that trap once again.

The woman is regarding Yvie back, far less subtly than Yvie hopes she is. Yvie watches as she takes a drag, her pillowy lips puckering, and then blows out a cloud of smoke, her gaze lowering to survey Yvie’s abs, revealed by her crop top. She brings her glass up, that pretty mouth of hers staying open as her tongue pokes out, curls, attempts to catch the straw and misses miserably. The woman pouts audibly, and the situation is so absurd that Yvie chuckles and shakes her head, her resolve to keep her distance already starting to crumble.

The woman clearly goes to say something to that, but before she can, the back door creaks open again and a bouncer sticks his head out, startling them both.

“No drinks allowed outside,” he informs them, pointing at the sign above Yvie’s head that states exactly that. “Take it inside.”

The woman looks frustrated, ready to protest, but the bouncer raises an eyebrow and she deflates quickly, letting out a noise somewhere between a huff and a whine. Yvie stares, almost disbelieving, as the woman just lets her freshly lit cigarette fall unceremoniously from her fingers onto the concrete. Brushing off her fingertips on the lapel of the blazer, as if getting rid of invisible ash, she looks Yvie up and down one last time, seeming almost wistful, before turning to wobble back towards the door.

Practically gaping, Yvie glances rapidly between the still lit, wasted cigarette on the pavement and the graceful curve of the woman’s calves in her heels as she yanks the door farther open and begins to step inside. The bouncer disappears, but the woman stays put for a moment, propping the door open with her ass, her fingers curling around the doorframe as she stares at Yvie determinedly. Closing her mouth, Yvie stares right back, taking a drag of her own cigarette in attempt to hide how completely thrown off her guard she is. The woman sighs, licking her upper lip and pausing as if deciding how to properly articulate her thoughts.

“’M gonna find you later,” she says finally, nodding and pointing at Yvie. "Later.”

She vanishes, and the door slams shut, leaving Yvie alone with her burning cigarette and racing thoughts.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she curses and angrily stomps on the smoke the woman left behind her, crushing it under her boot and then grinding it into the pavement with a couple vigorous movements for good measure.

She finishes her own cigarette in record time, smoking like she has a point to prove or a lot of pent up tension and fury to release. Yvie finds herself angry often, probably too often, but rarely quite so heated as she is now, swept up into such a confusing rush of feelings that she can’t identify whether the source of the heat is her head or her gut or somewhere lower, between her hips, or her thighs, or if it’s just the cherry of her cigarette burning too close to her fingers now and setting her skin on fire.

She doesn’t stop until she can taste the filter, and it annoys her even more, because she’s left with the harsh taste of cardboard on her tongue in lieu of much smoother, softer tobacco. Shuffling her fingers so that she’s pinching the butt between her thumb and index, Yvie snappily stubs it out on the seam between two bricks on the wall like it personally offended her. Tossing it to the ground, she stares down at what remains of the other woman’s discarded cigarette, and shakes her head, jaw clenching. She should be relieved, she thinks, that the woman had departed before she was able to tempt Yvie even more, but the only clear feeling in her mind is frustration.

Collapsing back against the wall, Yvie lets out a deep breath, pushing one hand through the short curls on the top of her head and shoving the other into her pocket, probably a bit more aggressively than necessary. Finding her pack of smokes there, she rubs her thumb against it, contemplates lighting up another to occupy herself for awhile longer.

As if she’s hit a light switch, Yvie’s mind is suddenly filled with the image of the woman’s face as Yvie had lit her cigarette earlier, her eyes downcast, her palm visibly soft in the glow of the single flame. The sweet, heady scent of her perfume seems to fill Yvie’s senses once more, mixed now with remainders of the acrid smoke, and Yvie isn’t sure whether it’s really lingered so long in the air around her, or whether all of it is in her head. She wonders whether the fragrance was only rubbed onto her neck and her wrists, or whether she could find it tucked into the woman’s cleavage as well, nose into the valley between her breasts and breathe the mixture of sweat and sweetness and skin until her head is spinning and the saliva pools under her tongue.

Yvie shuffles her feet on the ground like she wants to kick something and scoffs at herself loudly. She decides to forego another cigarette and head back inside instead to escape her own mind and the woman occupying it.

The bar feels a little bit louder, a little bit busier, a little bit smaller than it was upon her exit, but at least the smell of hard liquor snaps Yvie abruptly back to reality and drowns out anything else she might imagine she’s still sensing. Defensively crossing her arms on her chest, Yvie tries to push through stacks of people with as little physical contact as possible while she scans the room carefully. She doesn’t pay attention to light brown manes of the girls surrounding her, doesn’t turn her chin ever so slightly towards any floral perfume she notices, most certainly doesn’t feel her stomach clench every time she catches a flash of red in her peripheral vision. She’s looking for Adore, she tells herself firmly, and only Adore.

Adore finds her instead, her lazy drawl barely reaching Yvie over all the other noise as she passes the table her roommate seems to have relocated to. Yvie stops in her tracks and wheels around, taking in the image before her. The first thing she registers is a dark-haired girl, perched in a lap. The second thing she registers is that the lap is Adore’s. Yvie can’t tell if the girl is the same one Adore was chatting up at the counter or not, and she wouldn’t be surprised either way. One of Adore’s arms is around her waist, and the other one is extended toward the table where she’s toying with a beer bottle, another, empty one right beside it. The girl is raising a glass above her head and swaying her hips to the music, only her position makes it look like she’s grinding on Adore’s thigh rather than dancing, and she looks so obviously gay that Yvie feels like punching something.

Yvie leans solidly against the table, stares at Adore with an eyebrow raised. Before she can speak up to get Adore’s attention, the dark-haired girl reaches over to snatch Adore’s hat off of her head, giggling and pulling it on so it rests lopsidedly over her own curls. Adore laughs in return, far more roughly, tugs the girl closer by her waist and sticks her tongue out with her mouth still open as if she’s about to lean in and lick the girl’s chest.

“Is that my beer, Delano?” Yvie asks indignantly, cutting in before Adore can do anything inappropriate in front of her, or God forbid, remind her of what she wants to do to a certain wild-haired woman who she’s trying very hard to keep out of her thoughts.

“Dunno,” Adore shrugs, batting her eyelashes with a smile that’s somewhere between charming and predatory. “But I drank some, so… if you took a sip you might as well just be giving me a big, wet kiss.”

“Bitch, I paid for that!” Yvie exclaims. “You can’t just drink my beer.”

“Chill,” Adore says, forcing the hand that’s not currently pushing up the dark-haired girl’s shirt into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out a crumpled up twenty that looks like it’s been to hell and back again. She chucks it onto the table, and puts both hands on the girl’s waist. “There, ‘kay? Go to the bar and get yourself somethin’ nice, give me and Violet here a minute alone, huh?”

“Wow, you learned her name,” Yvie observes, a heavy note of sarcasm in her tone as she nods and grabs the bill from the table. “Damn, guess someone found her prize early tonight.”

“Go get your beer before you scare her off, Yves,” Adore snarks.

“Fuck you,” says the prize in question playfully, cupping Adore’s neck to pull her closer.

“Later, babe,” Adore says with a grin, leaning in. “Can do whatever you want to me later.”

“And that would be my cue, then,” Yvie states loudly and turns on her heels, starting to walk back to the bar.

Adore is like this, with women. She falls in love for a night, and then falls out of it with equal effortlessness before the new dawn has even begun to break. She picks girls up one by one, like little gadgets or toys, and tries them out, fiddles with them, charms them with her carelessness and her disinterest and her wolfish grin until they’re practically eating from the palm of her hand. And then, she drops each one just the same, forgets names, deletes numbers from her phone as easily as she gets them. With Adore, there’s never a second date, never a text back, only a new girl with a new flavor on a new night. It leaves a bad taste in Yvie’s mouth, always has. She can’t understand how anyone can live like that, without any sort of emotional connection or intimacy, and remain intact and happy and carefree like Adore does.

Yvie herself certainly hasn’t been able to.

Of course, she’s served by the same bartender as the first time around. The woman looks somewhere past Yvie, and Yvie knows she’s hoping to see Adore trailing behind. When she realizes it’s not in the cards, she fixes Yvie a blank look.

“Can I get two shots?” Yvie asks her.

“Tequila?” the bartender asks back.

Yvie knits her brow together and licks her lower lip before replying. “Actually, make it vodka.”

The bartender nods and slams two shot glasses on the counter in front of Yvie, then grabs a bottle and fills them up. Yvie hands her the note and swiftly takes the shots back to back while the woman disappears to ring her total in and get her change.

She’s just putting the second glass down when she hears it, and she instinctively snaps her head around before she can think better of it. It’s a rich, throaty sound, not quite a girly giggle but undeniably a cute laugh nonetheless, and Yvie frantically looks for the source.

She’s standing a little distance away, closer to the pool table, and she’s still wearing the godawful blazer that is just the first on the list of things Yvie wants to rip off of her. It’s too dark and too far away to actually tell, but Yvie is pretty sure she’s pinching the straw of the drink she’s holding between her ridiculous nails and taking tiny sips, her sinful mouth puckering. There’s someone with her, a tall, slender blonde with a head of hair even longer and messier. Yvie doesn’t bother giving her more than a glance, her eyes moving back to the woman she can’t seem to get out of her mind. She bites her lip, watches the woman’s head tilt back gorgeously as she laughs again, and wishes she was biting there instead, under her strong jaw, ruining the fair skin until the mark she’s left is as angry as she feels.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, Yvie tears her gaze away, turns once more to face the bar and lean against it, finding her change along with a receipt on the counter and the bartender still nearby. “Can I get a Guinness, too, please?”

The bartender nods wearily, heading back to fetch it from the fridge, and Yvie taps her fingertips against the wood of the counter, chewing on her lower lip now, wishing something would distract her from the places her imagination is going and the way the seam of her jeans presses between her legs when she keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot. The white paper of the receipt catches her eye, and she flips it over, pursing her lips. To her surprise, there’s a phone number written at the bottom, scrawled in black ink. Furrowing her brow, she stares at it for a second, still too distracted by the undercurrent of dirty thoughts filling her mind to figure out why it would be there. She’s startled out of her thoughts by the bartender setting the beer bottle down in front of her, and pointing at the writing she’s been staring at.

“That,” the bartender says loudly, “Is for your friend.”

“Right,” Yvie nods, suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and folds the receipt carelessly. “'Course it is.”

She’s not gonna call you, Yvie thinks to herself, wishing she had the nerve or the right amount of alcohol in her system to say it out loud. Instead, she gives the bartender one last nod, grabs her beer and the receipt, and heads back towards the table.

That’s the thing with Adore. She always gets numbers, always has ink scratched on her hands, always has a woman trying to get a text back, for a coffee date or a second hook-up or a concert nearby. Yvie gives her a hard time for never replying, prods her teasingly, wonders aloud when anyone will ever be good enough for Adore Delano. Come on, we’re the same, you never do second dates either, Adore always replies, giving her a punch on the arm, and Yvie laughs humorlessly. They’re not the same, but Yvie won’t ever tell her that, won’t ever confess that she rarely gets numbers and never even gets first dates, only ever drunk girls with long nails and one-sided sex.

It’s funny, how carelessly Adore keeps throwing out something Yvie would kill to have.

Spotting a trash can, Yvie briefly contemplates sparing Adore the trouble this time around and throwing out the number herself. She decides against it after a moment, curling the receipt inside her fist and shoving it into her jacket pocket, electing to give Adore a chance to not be an ass about it, just this once.

Violet has moved to straddle Adore’s lap by the time Yvie gets back to the table, her elbows placed on Adore’s shoulders and her ass propped up just enough for Adore to have room to grab handfuls. Adore’s other hand is lost in Violets curls, probably planted on the nape of her neck to pull her closer as they make out with little to no regard to their surroundings. Tiredly, Yvie rubs her temple with the heel of her palm, the short hair of her undercut tickling the skin, and announces herself by resting the bottle on the table.

“God, can you two just get a room already?” she huffs, her whole body tense from frustration, practically itching to get her hands on a woman like Adore’s doing right now, despite her disapproval - preferably a certain woman in particular.

Adore tugs on Violet’s hair to force her to break the kiss and move to the side so that she can face Yvie. “Uh, I dunno, can we?”

Violet fidgets a little, her hands starting to wander on Adore’s body like she’s not about to let anyone interrupt them.

“C’mon, babe, gimme a minute here,” Adore chuckles and grips Violet’s waist, lifting her and depositing her on the couch next to her like she’s just a doll and not a full-sized human being. Violet just readjusts Adore’s hat on her head and reaches for her still unfinished drink on the table, instantly initiating a round of flirty glancing with someone nearby. Almost impressed, Yvie takes a sip of beer, figures that maybe Adore has finally met someone whose disinterested attitude matches hers.

“What do you mean, can you?” she asks, picking up where the conversation had left off.

“Can I like, use the apartment? Or is your headboard gonna be banging against the wall like usual?”

Yvie glares at her, feigning affront and trying to avoid the train of thought that the mention of her banging headboard leads her towards. Adore just stares back amusedly, licking her thumb to swipe at a smear of lipstick on the corner of her own mouth.

“She could join us,” Violet suggests coyly, still making eyes at someone a table over as if she doesn’t really care one way or another. Yvie isn’t sure whether she’s serious, can’t tell if she ought to respond with a resounding no, or just laugh it off. Luckily, Adore cuts in before she’s forced to make a decision.

“Nah, babe, Yves already found herself a girl for the night,” she says easily, as if she’s not at all taken aback by the situation. She directs her next words to Yvie. “So who’s the lucky lady? Can tell she’s got you all worked up already.”

“Does it fucking look like I have a lady with me?” Yvie demands, the pent up frustration combined with Adore’s teasing finally causing her to snap.

“Looks like there’s one you want so bad you’re about to fuckin’ explode, or something,” Adore replies, shrugging, unbothered by Yvie’s outburst.

Yvie takes a breath, sets her jaw and forces herself to calm down. “There’s no lady,” she says firmly, taking a sip as if to punctuate her words.

However, when she lowers the bottle from her lips, she can’t help instinctively turning her head in the direction of the pool table where she last spotted the woman. She’s still there, so much faster to locate now that Yvie knows what to look for, and Yvie hates the ease with which her attention gravitates to where she’d rather it didn’t. The woman is farther away now, and it’s harder to make out details, but Yvie’s imagination and vivid memories of their short interaction fill in the blanks rapidly, reminding her of pale, creamy skin, of pink lips wrapped around Yvie’s cigarette, of how very touchable she’d looked.

“Right,” Adore says, drawing out the word and snorting with laughter. “Sure there isn’t.“

Flipping Adore off, Yvie takes another sip of her beer, not bothering to take her eyes off the woman on the other side of the bar just yet, taking her in for a few moments longer.

“Your minute’s up, I want attention again,” Violet informs Adore.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Adore says, beaming like Violet’s the most charming thing she’s ever seen. “C’mere.”

Yvie watches as Violet climbs back into Adore’s lap, gripping her bottle far too tightly as Adore’s hands quickly wander to inappropriate places. She averts her gaze once more, unsure if she’s doing so out of politeness or out of envy, and allows her focus to narrow once again to the brunette by the pool table. She and her blonde friend are making their way towards the bar, now, and Yvie resumes drinking, keeps an eye on the two women as she leans back against the table.

The blondie says something, gesturing languidly as she speaks, and Yvie’s woman shrieks in response, slapping her bicep and shaking her head, her hair bobbing with the movement. The friend just throws her hands up and shrugs animatedly like she’s daring the woman to take it or leave it. The two of them reach the bar, and it hits Yvie a moment late that she’d thought of the woman as hers. She closes her eyes and curses internally, abruptly needing to be far more inebriated than she currently is.

If asked about it, she’d never admit it, aloud or even to herself, really, but maybe Adore had a point when she claimed Yvie’s already set her mind on someone for the night. It’s not like Yvie is planning on taking the woman home, but she’s also well aware the chances of her convincing herself she wants anyone else are as slim as they’ll get, and she’s lived this exact scenario enough times to know how it’ll play out in the end.

Yvie pulls herself out of that negative train of thought swiftly, watching as casually as she can as the two women take shots and pointedly ignoring the way her body tenses when the brunette licks salt off the back of her hand. She doesn’t think of that tongue lapping over her lips and pushing into her mouth after, doesn’t think of it circling one of her nipples before teasingly dropping lower and tracing down her abs, definitely doesn’t think of the place she wants it so bad it physically aches, simply because she doesn’t allow herself go there as a rule of thumb. Wishing for it has never accomplished much anyway, and somewhere along the road Yvie has learned it’s better to keep one’s expectations realistic.

“So are you gonna go get her, Yves?” Adore says loudly. “Or d'you wanna take Vi up on that offer to join us after all?”

Yvie glances over to find Adore peering at her from over Violet’s shoulder, both hands pushed in Violet’s back pockets now, and fixes her with a look that she hopes properly communicates how utterly unamused she is.

"You got that strap-on, don’t ya?” Adore prods, grinning mischievously. “We could use that for sure.”

“Didn’t realize you need outside help to keep your girls satisfied, Delano,” Yvie retorts. “Losing your game, huh? Problems with stamina?”

“Maybe some of us can just… take more, if you know what I mean,” Violet purrs, a seductive little sparkle in her eyes as she turns to look at Yvie.

“Okay, now, let’s not get carried away there,” Adore says roughly, clearing her throat, pulling Violet’s hips against hers in a smooth motion. One hand slides out of Violet’s back pocket, moves up to catch Violet’s chin, drawing her easily back in with what sounds like a low growl. Her touch is visibly firm, and she seems a mixture of amused and annoyed, like someone handling a kitten who’s started to crawl off in the wrong direction. She pulls Violet in to kiss her again, and that’s when Yvie stops watching.

She glances back at the bar, expecting to see her woman leant against it still with another drink, but she and her friend are gone. Cursing under her breath, Yvie takes one last sip of her beer before discarding it on the table and pushing her hands into her jacket pockets in frustration, one fist closing around her lighter reflexively. Among the familiar things she normally keeps there, she finds a folded piece of paper and remembers the receipt with the bartender’s number. She spares a glance at Adore, finding her with her hands sliding up inside Violet’s shirt, and once again contemplates whether or not to give her the number at all.

Before she can rule against it, Adore’s hands slide higher, and Yvie realizes she’s fiddling with the hooks of Violet’s bra, apparently determined to undo them. The way Violet curves her back looks awfully helpful, like she’s not even attempting to stop Adore. Yvie thins her lips and decides she’s feeling spiteful enough to interrupt them and not be sorry about it. Retrieving the receipt, she slams it on the table, making sure her palm comes in contact with the surface hard enough to produce a sound.

“Wha?” Adore peers over Violet’s shoulder, mouth open.

“Bartender gave you her number,” Yvie says coolly. “You know, the one with the ass you liked so much?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adore says after a pause that’s slightly too long, her hands now resting on Violet’s lower back. Violet grabs one of her wrists, and slides her hand back down, her fingers clasped over Adore’s to press them against her skin, sliding their two hands into her shorts as if to prove that her own ass is just as likable, and probably more so.

With a gravity-defying eye roll, Yvie turns back to face the room, an annoying but very persistent part of her hoping she’ll see the woman, but she has no such luck. Almost obsessively flipping the lighter in her fist she gives Adore and Violet one last glance. They’re completely engrossed in each other, Adore’s mouth on Violet’s ear now, and by the way Violet keeps squirming against her, Yvie could bet anything the stuff she’s whispering is extremely filthy. Tightening her jaw, Yvie decides it’s definitely time for another smoke.

What was the eerily quiet smoking area has now turned into something even louder than the bar itself. Yvie has to force the door open, and when she finally slips outside, the two girls smoking right in front of it barely disrupt their lively chatter to move aside and let her through. Drawing her shoulders up and trying to make herself as lean and small as possible, she shoves her hands into her jean pockets and sidesteps around the circle of people, set on making her way to the wall so she’s not out in the open like this.

There’s a consistent stream of people against her, opting to get back inside, and it takes her a while to push through the crowd and spot a suitable space, near the edge of the area. As she reaches it, her shoulder knocks into someone’s back, and she mumbles an apology as she settles against the wall. The person beside her moves away from the wall, assumedly to allow her more space, and Yvie glances over and feels her stomach drop.

She’s staring right back at Yvie, and even when her eyes are widened in surprise and her mouth forms a tiny ‘o’, she somehow manages to look sultry. She’s not wearing the blazer anymore, which makes the dress appear even thinner and flimsier, and she’s holding a cigarette halfway to her mouth and apparently forgotten. Yvie leers at it, registers the white filter instead of the orange of her own smokes, catches herself thinking she doesn’t want the woman smoking anything but her L&Ms, preferably lit by none other than herself, and hates the intensity and possessiveness of the thought enough to try and physically shake it off.

“Hey!” the woman blinks and points at Yvie with her cigarette. “You’re the mean daddy with the light.”

Yvie stares, her brain slowing down as all the blood rushes between her legs, her hands going slack in her pockets. The woman’s heated gaze is wandering slowly over Yvie’s face and her upper body, and when she brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag, Yvie swears she feels it. She’s not holding a drink this time, no chance of her being forced back inside, and her slender shoulder is leaned against the wall, and it would be so easy to advance on her, so easy to say just the right thing to make her sink into the brick and beg to be touched, and Yvie wrestles with the raw desire that’s been biting at her heels all night, resisting the urge to fall all the way into the trap.

“I’m not your daddy,” she husks lowly, pretty sure she’s not convincing anyone at this point, not even herself.

The woman takes a step closer, her shoulder still connected with the brick and dragging on it, and before Yvie can will her own feet to work in order to back down, she outstretches her arm and hooks two of her fingers through Yvie’s belt loop. “You wanna be?”

It’s primal, really, the way Yvie grabs her upper arms and pushes her against the wall, her own frame shielding the woman from the rest of the smoking area as she presses one forearm next to her head and places her other hand on the woman’s hip, her body acting long before her brain catches up. The woman’s eyes widen again, the impact punching the air out of her, and for a split second Yvie feels bad about her roughness, but that thought evaporates as soon as the woman’s tongue slips out and wets her lower lip, the corner of her mouth twisting up mischievously.

“Thought so,” she rasps out, still breathless.

Yvie doesn’t let her gasp for air, surges forward and locks their lips, kisses her to shut her up, to wipe that expression off her face, to leave her lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. She’s soft against the wall, barely any resistance to the hard press of Yvie’s body, her mouth opening easily with a faint whimper like she’s begging to be taken, and Yvie hates her for every bit of it. She hates herself, too, for how she gives into it, how she lets herself go and digs her fingers into the woman’s hip like she’s trying to leave bruises, how she deepens the kiss, how her skin heats up and her head goes dizzy with wanting and wanting and needing.

She pins the woman down with her hips, the insistent pulsing somewhere in her core causing her to search for any friction she can get. The woman responds by lightly nudging into the contact and clasping Yvie’s biceps, the leather squeaking under her long nails. It angers Yvie, reminds her of how she’s doing the exact opposite of what she planned to, should sober her up, but then the woman moans and brings one of her hands to the nape of Yvie’s neck to pull her closer, and Yvie is gone again.

Her hand is slipping up the woman’s waist before she knows it, practically of its own accord, thumb pressing deep into the underside of her breast and palm holding her ribs securely against the wall. The woman’s chest is expanding and contracting rapidly, pressing into the touch, and Yvie allows her to break the kiss but doesn’t move her hand away. Catching her own breath, she watches that pretty mouth gape open, lips darker than before and slick with spit, pupils so wide Yvie could fall into them, her head dropping back against the brick and exposing the shallow curve of her neck.

The air is thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and desire, and Yvie tastes vanilla as she runs her tongue over her own lips, her lungs still almost achingly desperate for oxygen. The woman looks gorgeous, so ardent, so pliant, so very willing, and for a moment, as Yvie watches the frantic heaving of her chest, feels it under her palm, she forgets what’s pissing her off so much to begin with. The woman meets Yvie’s eyes, and tilts her chin up a few inches, turning her head just a little and baring her throat, and it’s somehow teasing and an invitation all at once and Yvie throws caution to the wind, rubs the pad of her thumb over the woman’s hardened nipple and leans in to take what’s being offered.

Yvie’s tongue touches skin first, searching for the woman’s pulse, and her eyes flutter shut as she finds it, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the spot, far more gently than she intends to. There’s a shudder that runs through the soft body against hers, and nails digging so hard into her biceps, and a needy whine as the woman squirms. “Daddy…” she gasps, and Yvie hisses, drags her teeth against the skin. “More.”

Her voice is a shade darker now, prominently turned on, and Yvie wonders whether the rest of her body is, too, wonders if she’d feel it were she to reach under the dress and cup the woman’s cunt, if she’d be able to smell her arousal on her fingers, maybe even taste it after, wonders if the panties the woman’s wearing are soaking as fast as Yvie’s own are upon being called daddy and having an eager body under her own. She has to stop herself from letting her hand explore, instead forcing her leg between the woman’s and pushing her thigh up, higher until she’s pressing it against her heat.

The woman moans again, clawing at Yvie’s jacket, her hips rocking into the contact, and Yvie is sure that her tiny dress is rolled up too far by now, sure that people are watching, and she catches herself wanting to be seen, wanting everyone to know what’s hers, even if superficially. Yvie sinks her teeth into the woman’s neck and feels her melt, whining gorgeously as Yvie closes her lips around the skin and sucks.

The thing is, Yvie has no claim to lay, but some untamed part of her needs to mark the woman up so that whatever man comes after her knows she’s already been taken and used, ruined for him, ridden like a racehorse and put away wet. The remaining anger surging in her chest at the impulse, Yvie shoves her thigh tighter between the woman’s, stopping her from rocking forwards and trapping her firmly against the wall, mouth still working at her neck. It’s so very easy, to sink her teeth into the soft flesh over and over until the sighs the woman’s letting out are intertwined with tiny sobs.

Before long, Yvie stops biting, her lips still latched on the skin, and lets her tongue gently circle the spot. The woman shivers with a mumbled noise and goes even more slack than she’s been, staying upright only because Yvie’s body is right there to steady her.

Yvie pulls back a little, her gaze scanning the sight in front of her, the woman’s tight grip on her shoulders keeping her pressed close, holding the two of them still. The woman’s breathing is rough, her pout prettier than ever, her eyes unfocused and glossy as if they were watering while Yvie stayed on her neck, the mark blooming perfectly below her jaw. Her hair is even messier now, and one of the straps of her dress is threatening to slide off her shoulder. On some weird reflex, Yvie detaches her arm from the wall and moves to readjust it, and the woman’s hand snaps to grab Yvie’s wrist.

“So,” she drawls, her voice low like she needs to clear her throat. “You gonna feel me up outside a cheap bar all night, or are you gonna take me home, daddy?”

Yvie narrows her eyes, disbelieving that despite their position, the woman is still keeping up the façade of power play and making demands like she isn’t literally depending on Yvie to stay standing. With a scoff, she shakes her head and begins to lean farther away, and the woman raises an eyebrow at her.

“…Or do I need to find someone else to give me some dick and get me stoned afterwards?”

Yvie stares at her, open-mouthed at her nerve, the last of her resistance destroyed by the image of her spread out and taking Yvie’s strap how Yvie wants her to. After a moment, the woman cranes her neck a little, her gaze starting to wander over the other people in the smoking area as if she’s searching for that someone else. There’s no rational way she would be able to collect herself and advance on anybody in the state Yvie’s reduced her to, but Yvie has given up all logical thinking a good while ago, so she acts instinctively, her hand flying up from the woman’s breast to wrap around her throat, thumb under her jaw forcing her eyes back to Yvie’s face.

“I’m going to fuck that attitude right out of you,” she growls, articulating each word carefully.

The woman’s reaction is instantaneous, a rapid intake of breath and her thighs clenching together on either side of Yvie’s, a faint whimper escaping her. Yvie has to suppress a victorious smirk, knows she’s probably leaking, wonders if there’ll be a damp spot on her jeans where the dark fabric is pressed against the woman’s panties.

“We’ll see about that, daddy,” the woman says breathlessly, clearly struggling to get the words out, a stinging contrast to the smugness of what she’s said.

Yvie lets go of her and straightens her posture, stepping back and rolling her shoulders. “Oh, we will.”

Spinning around, she starts toward the door, expecting the woman to follow suit without being told. As she makes her way through the crowd, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and opens the Uber app, swiftly ordering them one. The faster she gets them out of there, the less time she’ll have to reconsider her shitty life decisions and regret everything. She’ll have the entirety of tomorrow morning to do just that, anyway.

She doesn’t glance back until she’s at the door, and just like she assumed, the woman is trailing right behind her, slightly unsteady in her heels. Yvie isn’t sure if she’s wobbly because of the alcohol or because she’s so worked up she can’t recompose herself proper. Either way, there’s something so very precious about her in that moment, and Yvie despises how small and cute she looks as she’s hugging herself and how Yvie’s insides twitch with the need to keep her safe.

“Aren’t you cold?” she barks out, furious with herself for even thinking that.

“Nah-uh,” the woman shakes her head animatedly, her arms still wrapped around her middle. “‘M pleasantly warm.”

“That’s alcohol talking,” Yvie snaps, and then, before she can scold herself, adds, “Here, take my jacket.”

She shrugs it off, steps closer to the woman, intending to merely drape it over her shoulders like the blazer had been earlier, but the woman stretches out her arm, clearly expecting Yvie to put it on her. Too surprised to protest, Yvie helps her into the jacket, cursing at herself internally for doing something so caring when she knows she ought to be getting as far away from the woman next to her as possible. Yvie moves backwards again, watches her pull the jacket around her body, almost like she’s snuggling into it, the worn black leather swallowing her up and making her look petite and somehow even more feminine than before. Her eyes narrow prettily, her hair fluffy around her shoulders, and Yvie’s chest is suddenly tight at the sight of her. Clearing her throat, Yvie folds her arms beneath her breasts and turns to head inside, needing to get away, not liking the way her breath catches and her stomach twists as she stares at the woman in her clothing.

“Meet me at the exit in ten, our ride is on its way,” she throws over her shoulder before entering.

Adore and Violet are intertwined pretty much the same as they were when Yvie left, Violet still on top of Adore and their lips connected. Adore’s hand is quick to withdraw from where it’s been fitted between their bodies when Yvie kicks her shin to get her attention, and Yvie tries not to think of the place she suspects it was.

“I’m getting outta here,” Yvie announces curtly, raising her voice over the music. “Give me an hour’s head start?”

“Sure, I could do this for ages,” Adore says agreeably, drying her fingers on Violet’s shirt and then wiping her mouth with the heel of her palm, only accomplishing smearing the two colors of lipstick even more. Violet’s hands are still wandering over Adore’s upper body, and Adore makes no move to stop her. “Where’s the chick?”

“Not here.”

“Neither is your jacket,” Adore comments, and it should be nothing more than a casual observation, but the suggestive tone of her voice rubs Yvie the wrong way.

“I was hot,” she bites out, lying through her teeth and too sexually frustrated and pissed at the situation to give a damn. “And it’s none of your business.”

“Guess the smoke break didn’t calm you down, huh Yves,” Adore says with a snort.

“I wasn’t smoking.”

“Yeah? What were you doing, then?” Adore smirks wickedly. “Or should I say ‘who’?”

“Are you going to leave or not?” Violet cuts in rather sharply before Yvie can clap back, looking over her shoulder. “We were kinda busy here.”

Adore turns to Violet with a shitty laugh escaping her. Yvie opens her mouth to reply, but whatever snarky one-liner she was thinking of gets stuck in her throat when she senses a leather-clad arm snake around her own bare one, and then, just a beat later, a warm, delicate hand clutching hers tightly. Yvie’s whole body locks up and her heart sinks before starting to hammer in her chest, every fibre of her being resisting the intimacy of the contact until she feels a little sick. The woman’s body presses closer still, perfume making Yvie’s head spin, and when her chin comes to rest on Yvie’s shoulder, Yvie can’t help the way her breath catches, can’t help gripping the woman’s hand instinctively.

“Ready, daddy?”

Her voice is loud enough for Adore to flip around in their direction. There’s a playful crinkle in the corners of her eyes, her full lips stretched in a grin as she turns her gaze to Yvie, and Yvie watches, almost like in slow-motion, how her expression darkens. It’s like witnessing the amusement gradually drain, the way Adore’s brow furrows and her mouth adopts a displeased tilt, her hand sternly grabbing both Violet’s wrists to stop her from groping her waist.

“No,” Adore says.

“Yes,” Yvie replies pointedly, shaking her head so slightly it’s hardly even noticeable, like she’s prohibiting Adore from saying it aloud.

“Are you, like, serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Delano?” Yvie feels tenser than ever, and realizes that she’s holding onto the woman’s hand even more tightly now, but can’t bring herself to relax. The woman’s chin tucks into her shoulder, her hair brushing Yvie’s jaw and her other arm winding around Yvie’s so she’s practically clinging to her with her whole body. Yvie’s not sure whether the gesture is meant to be soothing or possessive, but there’s disarming surge of emotion in her chest nonetheless, and she grits her teeth in an attempt to suppress it.

“C’mon, not again.” There’s no amusement in Adore’s gaze now, and Yvie has to wrestle with herself so as not to raise her voice.

“Drop it,” she hisses.

“You made me promise not to let you,” Adore presses.

“I said, drop it.”

“I swear to fucking God, Bridges.”

Yvie quirks an eyebrow, fixing Adore a challenging look. “What are you going to do about it?”

There’s a pause, the two of them staring each other down as Violet shifts in Adore’s lap with a sigh and the woman pressed against Yvie wriggles slightly, her thumb rubbing against Yvie’s forearm as if attempting to dispel the tension.

“Sooooo, It’s super nice to meet you both,” the woman speaks up finally, drawing out her words, a barely perceptible note of sarcasm in her tone that Yvie thinks someone less observant might miss. Her head lifts from Yvie’s shoulder abruptly, as if she’s just recalled something, and Yvie glances over at her, furrowing at the woman’s cocked eyebrows.

“Oh, I never said,” she says, blinking. Yvie tilts her head, confused. “My name,” she continues with a nod, almost as if she’s proud at herself for having the information, and Adore snorts loudly. “It’s Scarlet.”

“Good for you, babe,” Yvie says snappily, decisively ignoring the unvoiced question and leaving the woman with nothing but daddy to call her. “Our Uber is here, let’s go.”

She starts to pull the woman — Scarlet, she mouths soundlessly, as if she’s trying to see where the name fits on her tongue, how it tastes — away, stiffening slightly as Scarlet’s free hand wraps around her bicep, and then stops in her tracks, looking back over at Adore. “An hour, remember.”

Adore scoffs, her attention focused on Violet once more, and shakes her head. “Like you’re gonna need that long with that one.”

Clenching her jaw, Yvie turns on her heel, yanking Scarlet after her, intent on getting away from her roommate as fast as possible. Scarlet squeaks, giggling a little, seemingly completely oblivious to the implication of Adore’s words, and allows Yvie to drag her through the bar. There’s a fresh flame of the same outraged fire that’s been burning inside Yvie all night kindling anew, licking at Yvie’s skin. She doesn’t know what she’s so furious at, if it’s Adore or the fact Yvie slipped up and allowed her to see her girl of choice, or that Scarlet isn’t an exception as much as she is the rule, not an ounce straighter than Yvie’s previous hookup had been.

The thing is, there’s no malice in Adore’s actions, no ill intention, only the traces of worry left over from before Yvie had developed a thicker skin and learned to hide how much it hurt every time, when Adore had been left to pick up the pieces and drag her out of the dark places she fell into. She had made Adore promise to stop her should she attempt to relapse, that much was true, but like any addict, she had found ways to get her fix without anyone knowing about it, lacking the self control and self esteem to stay away from women like Scarlet. That’s why Adore never saw her girls, just heard the creaks of the bed and the moans and the wild, exaggerated stories afterwards.

Yvie slows her pace once they’re out of Adore’s line of vision, keeping a tight grip on Scarlet and shooting an icy glare at anyone who gives them a second glance. With the way people start to move out of their path, it doesn’t take too long to reach the exit, and Yvie keeps her focus straight ahead until they’re outside, pausing briefly on the pavement under the arched awning.

“Is it here?” Scarlet asks, and Yvie looks over at her.

It’s brighter out front of the bar, the lights under the awning illuminating her features in a new way, and Yvie’s throat feels uncomfortably full. Her eyes are a cool blue, almost gray, and they’re wide and soft and inexplicably trusting, the smudges of eyeliner even more worn now, and Yvie itches to get her hands on her again, to keep her this close, permanently within arm’s reach so no one else can touch her.

Instead she grabs her phone from the pocket of her jeans and, like the fool she is, checks the model of the car picking them up despite the information being of no use to her whatsoever, as if she has any knowledge of car models and will be able to identify this one and guide Scarlet there with the same confident composure she’s been maintaining all night.

“It’s here, it’s a Hyundai Sonata, apparently,” she mumbles, lifting her gaze and scanning the cars parked against the curb of the sidewalk as if one of them is going to tell her it’s the one.

“Huh,” Scarlet muses and glances up, too. “It’s right there.”

She’s pointing to a dark blue car pulled up to the corner nearby, her other hand still clutching Yvie’s tightly, and Yvie squints at the car, then looks over at her, more than a little dumbfounded that the tipsy straight girl who’s been clinging to her arm and playing ditzy all night can pick out a car model in a matter of moments. Scarlet blinks back at her, as if there’s nothing at all strange about the situation, and all Yvie can think is that either one of her previous boyfriends must’ve taught her, or that she’s a bit drunker than Yvie had thought and entirely untrustworthy.

“You sure?” Yvie says, just to be an asshole about it.

“Positive,” Scarlet confirms, a drop of venomous sweetness in her tone. Her free hand wraps around Yvie’s bicep again, and she bats her eyelashes a few times, nails digging into Yvie’s skin so there’s no mistaking the catty, teasing edge to her voice. “What, Daddy, shouldn’t a lady like you know all ‘bout cars?”

Yvie’s stomach drops, and she grimaces, hating how Scarlet’s words go straight between her legs, hating that her attitude is somehow a turn on. “I have a bike,” she bites out, picturing and then immediately dismissing the idea of Scarlet straddling the back of her Yamaha, dress rolling up and her thighs against the leather of the seat. “I don’t need to know.”

“Ooh,” Scarlet coos, leaning in closer and shaking her shoulders a little, and Yvie can’t decide if she’s mocking or not. “So the biker jacket isn’t just for the look?”

“No, it isn’t,” Yvie says simply, refusing to indulge Scarlet’s playful provoking and starting to drag her toward the vehicle she pointed out.

It isn’t until Scarlet is shooting her an extremely satisfied look and climbing in the backseat that Yvie realizes she automatically held the door open for her. Scolding herself mentally, Yvie slams the door shut with the amount of force that will most likely drop her rating by at least two stars and circles the car to get in behind the driver.

The interior is nice, with R&B music playing softly and dark leather seats. Scarlet is settling herself onto her side of the backseat, making little humming noises as she wriggles in place and pushes her hair back, her tongue poking out slightly and her expression serious, as if her temporary comfort in the back of someone else’s car is absolutely essential. She takes her purse off her shoulder, setting it between her and the door, and then readjusts Yvie’s jacket on her shoulders and, after a moment of hesitation, slips her hands into the pockets. There’s something so endearing about how she does it, her movements unsure for the first time all night, and there’s a part of Yvie that wants to reassure her that it’s okay, but then she remembers it’s her jacket, and it’s all her stuff in the pockets, and she imagines Scarlet fisting her lighter, rubbing her thumb over the words carved into the metal, and the thought makes her uncomfortable, almost anxious. She wrestles with the desire to take her things back, tries to swallow past the unjustified panic in her throat, and presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth instead, turning to look out of the tinted window.

“So,” Scarlet starts and Yvie barely constricts a groan. “Was that your friend back at the bar? She seemed… very nice.”

“Roommate,” Yvie says.

She doesn’t bother to look at Scarlet, even though she wants to, and resists the urge to express any amusement at the other woman’s tone. Scarlet, it seems, speaks the same language as her, sarcasm, and is just as fluent as Yvie herself. It shouldn’t mean anything, that connection, it doesn’t mean anything, really, but it makes Yvie like Scarlet, consider that they’d maybe get along, could perhaps, in a different world, be something more than two incompatible women using each other for sex and weed and one night of feeling anything at all.

“Oh, I was there with my roommate Pearl too,” Scarlet chirps, seemingly not perplexed by Yvie’s curtness. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” Yvie says in a tone that hopefully conveys she does not, in fact, find it at all hilarious.

There’s another soft hum from Scarlet, and then a pause, the rustling of the leather audible over the music that’s playing. Scarlet gives a little sigh, one that sounds rather dramatic, and Yvie pictures her pouting from not being paid enough attention. After a moment, Yvie notices motion in her peripheral vision, and glances over to find Scarlet leaning forwards, her arms wrapped around the passenger seat in front of her.

“Nice car,” Scarlet says to the driver, a man whose name Yvie read just a few minutes ago but can’t be bothered to remember. “Leather seats were extra, right?”

Yvie zones out once the man starts to reply, stops paying attention the moment she realizes he’s not even given a yes or no answer, and instead begun a long narrative about cars and prices and luxury models that Yvie can already tell is going to be exhausting. She doesn’t understand much of it, and finds herself staring at Scarlet while the woman is focused on something else, watching her lips slowly curl up into a little smile as the man rambles away. Yvie feels the frustration building all over again, unable to explain Scarlet’s behavior as anything other than flirting with this random Uber driver simply because he’s male.

“Darling,” Scarlet cuts in, her low, amused voice interrupting him mid-sentence and making Yvie shiver, convinced by the feeling in her abdomen that she might turn into a puddle right there against the seat. “I know how car prices work. The question was rhetorical.”

There’s no missing a condescending tint in Scarlet’s words, and the driver shuts up abruptly. Yvie senses a chuckle rise deep in her chest, and she tries to suppress it, failing and coughing it out in the end. Scarlet, looking entirely too pleased with herself, pats the driver’s shoulder and then lets go of the seat in front of her and falls back into her previous position. Yvie can’t decide whether she’s more amused by the situation or aroused by Scarlet’s handling of it, and she finds herself crossing her ankles to press her thighs together, her gut twisting as she feels how damp her panties are. She watches Scarlet fuss with her purse out of the corner of her eye, and clears her throat, aware now that Scarlet hadn’t been flirting at all and feeling a bit bad for the assumptions she had made.

Clearly noticing that she’s got Yvie’s attention again, Scarlet shifts in her seat, rotating her upper body a little. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asks casually. like she didn’t just scalp their driver and they’re just in the middle of the game of 20 questions.

“I wait tables,” Yvie grunts.

“Where?” Scarlet continues.

“In a restaurant.”

Yvie doesn’t give the conversation room to expand, not about to share her life’s ambitions with a woman she’ll never see again after tonight. She doesn’t mention that she wants to paint for a living, that she rents a small studio space crowded with giant canvases and turns them into messes in her free time. She doesn’t mention that her work is usually too conceptual or odd to interest buyers, or that the lack of inspiration in her recent pieces has slowed her down and made her work even less lucrative, either. After all, Scarlet had asked about her job, not about her dreams or the local art community she’s trying to work her way into, alone, by sheer force of will.

“Well, that’s nice,” Scarlet says, after a moment of pointed silence that Yvie ignores. “I work at an upscale vintage shop.”

Taken aback by how unlikely the occupation is, Yvie glances over, and is met with Scarlet’s smirk as the woman pushes her hair back and shrugs.

“Unusual, right?” Scarlet agrees. “I always say that I sell shit no one needs to people who don’t need anything at all.”

“You undeniably have a knack for that,” Yvie says with a snort.

“I once sold a cheap candelabra to a rich tourist for ten times its worth by claiming it had been owned by Elizabeth Taylor and used in one of her more obscure films,” Scarlet announces. Her casual tone implies it’s nothing all that impressive, but the way she tilts her head from one side to the other and glances upwards impatiently makes it very clear that she’s boasting and expects praise in response.

“Impressive,” Yvie says dryly, not intending to indulge her.

Scarlet huffs and starts toying with the hem of her dress, drawing Yvie’s gaze like a magnet to her pale thighs. She stares for a moment, her stomach dropping as she teeters on the edge of spiraling into filthy fantasies once more, and then forces herself to look away. They’re stopped at a red light, and Yvie notices the driver leering at something in the rearview mirror, taking only a second to follow his line of vision straight to Scarlet’s cleavage. Yvie tenses up, furious at his nerve and her own possessive instinct, only narrowly resisting the urge to snap at him to keep his eyes off of what doesn’t belong to him. She settles for knocking her boot against the back of his seat and staring him down in the rearview, hoping the look on her face conveys her desire to kick all the way through the upholstery and shove her foot up his ass.

Before she can act on her fantasies, they round the familiar corner and Yvie’s apartment building comes into view. “Here’s fine,” she tells him in an unimpressed voice without waiting for them to drive closer to the entrance, itching to leave the vehicle already and get Scarlet as far away from this creep as possible while she’s at it.

The guy parks next to the sidewalk and Yvie cracks the door open before they’ve even stopped moving, hopping out of the car and glancing back to make sure Scarlet is following. Instead of using her own door, Scarlet slides across the leather of the backseat and exits through Yvie’s side. Yvie impulsively grabs her elbow, as if ready to tug her closer to herself if need be, and pulls her out of the way to throw the door closed without another word.

Letting go of Scarlet’s elbow, Yvie slips her hand under the jacket to rest it on the small of her back instead, feeling Scarlet lean in closer at her touch with a pleased hum. Yvie glances over her shoulder to see the driver watching the two of them from the car, and narrows her eyes, wishing she could burn a hole in his window, until he starts to pull away from the curb. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she opens the app to rate the ride, and Scarlet shakes her head.

“Give him a bad rating,” she says, her lips close to Yvie’s ear, and Yvie can practically hear the sneer in her voice, feels it go straight between her own thighs. “You saw the bastard staring.”

“Two steps ahead of you,” she assures, her thumb sliding on the screen quickly. Come on.”

Locking her phone and pushing it into her back pocket, she starts guiding Scarlet to the entrance. Scarlet stumbles just a little before finding her step, but it’s enough to justify Yvie keeping her hand on her back. The night isn’t at all warm, and the chilly air against Yvie’s bare skin gives her goosebumps. She imagines Scarlet’s thighs must be the same way, imagines they’ll still feel cold under her touch when she’ll spread them, imagines stroking the skin with her palm to get the blood flowing right before she pinches, imagines Scarlet whining and opening her legs more at that, and suddenly she feels hot all over, a little unsteady herself.

The elevator of the building is probably straight from the 80’s and sounds like each trip up is its last one, so Yvie takes the stairs whenever she doesn’t have a tipsy girl with her. She presses the button, Scarlet leaning against her, and recalls the only hook-up who she hadn’t done this exact thing with — a girl named Kahanna, who’d taken one look at the elevator and teased that she’d race Yvie up the stairs instead. Although they hadn’t quite raced, Yvie had realized quickly that Kahanna hadn’t been joking about her premium gym membership or her daily runs when the woman had pushed Yvie down onto the bed and ridden her like a stallion, moaning and cursing, leaving Yvie to do nothing but grab her muscular thighs and watch her tits bounce in her bra.

Kahanna hadn’t ceased surprising her after that, either, had crawled down her body and sucked herself off of Yvie’s strap like a pro. Yvie had grabbed a fistful of her curls to guide her head, closed her eyes, and imagined that she was guiding Kahanna’s head between her legs, instead, grinding her pussy against the woman’s tongue like she so desperately wanted to, fantasizing that maybe she wasn’t straight after all. Kahanna had left shortly after, chirping her goodbyes from the doorway, and Yvie’s fingers were on her clit and her mind still on that same image before Kahanna was even out of the building.

After she’d come, she had gone to the balcony to lose the last of her feelings in the cold night air along with her cigarette smoke, reminding herself almost bitterly with every drag that no one would ever bother to waste their time trying to take care of her in return, and that maybe it was better they didn’t, that she was too much of everything, too difficult and too picky and not worth wanting that way.

The space in the elevator is big enough for them to stand apart without touching, but for some reason Scarlet stays attached to Yvie’s side during their ride up, her hips nudging against Yvie’s thigh so subtly it would be barely noticeable were Yvie’s senses not sharp and overly heightened. There’s a pause between the elevator coming to a stop and the door clicking in a signal of being ready to be opened, as always long enough for Yvie’s heart to jump to her throat in fear and remember why she hates the damn metal box so much. She rushes to push out, her fingers wrapping around Scarlet’s waist now to keep her steady as she pulls her along. Once they’re on solid ground again, it’s only a few steps to the apartment door, but getting there takes longer than it ought to with the weight of Scarlet’s body against Yvie’s slowing them down and proving to be exceptionally distracting.

“My keys,” Yvie mutters, fumbling with the leather of her jacket, and Scarlet perks up a little, sliding her hand into the pocket before Yvie can find it.

With a triumphant little noise, Scarlet pulls out the keys, waggling them between her index finger and thumb, unreasonably proud of herself. Yvie shakes her head, moving out of the way and directly behind Scarlet instead to give her room. After a moment, she rests her hands on the woman’s slender waist and slides them down to grip her hips, thoroughly enjoying how Scarlet shifts and pushes her ass back against Yvie at the touch. There’s a number of keys on the ring, and Yvie wonders how long it’ll take her to find the right one, an entertained smile on her face as she presses closer to Scarlet’s back, turning her face into her brown hair to breathe in the scent of roses and cigarette smoke and faint coconut from her shampoo, noses the locks and lightly blows at the back of her neck to tickle the skin. Scarlet huffs, and Yvie leans in to see, brushing her lips over the corner of Scarlet’s jaw teasingly and watching the woman’s hands grow even shakier in response as she finally tries the right key.

The lock turns with a characteristic rusty noise, and Yvie moves farther into Scarlet’s space, palming the fronts of her hips, one foot lifted off the ground as if she’s mid-step, ready for the door they’re currently nearly crushed against to swing inwards as soon as Scarlet manages to press on the handle. Her body is so set on the movement she’s prepared to make that it shocks her when instead of wobbling forth, Scarlet swiftly twists around in her grasp and slumps against the wooden surface, fisting the front of Yvie’s crop top and pulling her with her so their bodies collide heavily and slamming their lips together urgently, as if she’s been craving the taste and the contact ever since they left the smoking area earlier and has had enough of waiting.

The kiss is different from those they shared back outside the bar, less teeth and more lips, almost gentler, but just as passionate and fiery. Yvie moans into the impact, caught off guard by Scarlet initiating like this, her control wavering for the first time tonight, but then Scarlet suddenly opens her mouth to invite Yvie’s tongue to explore, the willingness of the action shifting the power balance once more in Yvie’s favor. Scarlet’s whole body is so receptive to every single movement that Yvie’s knees buckle a little, the effect of having someone at her mercy like this dizzying and electrifying. She digs her fingertips into Scarlet’s waist harder, tries to convince herself it’s to ground the other, but then she bites down on Scarlet’s lower lip, and Scarlet whimpers so gorgeously that suddenly the point of contact is to anchor Yvie instead.

“Daddy,” Scarlet whines quietly, like she’s pleading, trying to load the word with everything she wants Yvie to do to her, and Yvie feels herself throb in response, just a single twitch of her core that makes her want to double over.

With determination, she reaches past Scarlet and grabs her hand that is still securely planted on the door handle, and presses down ardently. The door gives way, falling open behind Scarlet’s back, and the two of them stumble into the apartment, their lips still connected, barely staying on their feet. A part of Yvie just wants to take Scarlet right here, right now, shove her against the wall next to the entrance without bothering to slam the door shut and pull her panties down, have her hook her leg around her waist and feel her heat and wetness on her fingers, hear how broken her moans get as she pushes in with two, three, maybe even four of them and opens her up proper. However, there’s another part of her, the one that wants to dick Scarlet down, ruin her cunt for every other person who has her after, see her stretching around her strap and begging for more like a little cockslut, and this part is far louder, turning everything else into static white noise in the background.

“My bedroom. Now. Right now,” Yvie grunts between kisses that have become just ruthless colliding of their mouths, no finesse to it.

Scarlet lets out an agreeable noise, high-pitched and desperate, and Yvie pushes the jacket off her shoulders, ignores the heavy thump as it falls to the ground, not even making an attempt to collect it like she normally would, unable to think of anything except Scarlet squirming on her cock, dripping and whining and grabbing for her. She presses them back towards her room blindly, attacking Scarlet’s lips like she wants to devour her, needing to leave them bruised like her throat, dark red, claimed and sore long after Yvie finishes with her. Scarlet winds her arms around Yvie’s neck, practically clinging to her as she struggles to match her pace, and Yvie bites down on her lower lip and grabs a handful of her ass, squeezing roughly and eliciting a pained gasp. The bedroom door is right there, and Yvie slams her free forearm against to force it open, quickly catching it with her foot as soon as they’re inside and kicking it closed with a resounding thud.

It only takes Yvie a couple short seconds to shut the door, but it’s enough time for Scarlet to lift her knee and pull one of her heels off, her other hand still on Yvie’s neck. She hastily drops the shoe on the floor as Yvie starts moving toward the bed, still backing her up, and Yvie momentarily remembers that an intoxicated woman in one heel is a health hazard and she should probably slow down, but then Scarlet clings to her even tighter, like she’s surrendering, giving it all up for Yvie to have, and Yvie promptly stops thinking, lets her feral side take over again.

Scarlet doesn’t waste a moment longer either, manages to step out of her other shoe, and suddenly the angle changes, Scarlet now so much shorter than her, small and delicate and breakable in her palms, and Yvie wants to curse, wants to ravage and wreck her, wants to draw her impossibly close and snarl at anyone who comes near her. She recoils at the thought immediately, worked up and furious with herself and ready to break something, her hands flexing on Scarlet’s body as she throws the other woman onto the bed with a growl.

Scarlet stays where she’s been discarded, sprawled out on the comforter without readjusting her position, like a little sex toy eager to be used. She looks up at Yvie through half-lidded eyes and draws her knees closer to her body as her chest keeps expanding visibly, allowing Yvie a brief glimpse of her red panties before she closes her legs, just long enough for her to notice how very wet the material is, nearly soaked through. Yvie sucks on her own lower lip, gnawing the skin, and raises her hand as if she wants to caress Scarlet’s shin, almost contemplates leaning over her and kissing her dirtily, almost dreams about scratching the strap and covering Scarlet’s frame with her own instead, pressing her into the mattress and making her come on her fingers over and over again until Scarlet is simultaneously begging her to stop and pleading for one more. But that isn’t what Scarlet asked for, that’s never the thing girls like Scarlet ask for or want, and Yvie has trained herself to stop feeling conflicted between lusting to get her hands on a woman proper and needing to prove her point, has chosen to go for as little skin on skin contact as each situation possibly allows.

As Scarlet arches her back a little and pushes her hips forward, her muscles noticeably tensed, Yvie swears she can smell her cunt, practically tastes it, and the saliva pooling under her tongue in response makes her curse under her breath as she turns away abruptly and makes her way over to her closet. She digs her fingers into the knotted laces of her boots, untying and then yanking them off with unnecessary fervor, as if they’ve done something to upset her. The jeans go next, shoved down along with her underwear and left in a heap on the floor after she reaches her closet and opens the door, temporarily obstructing her view of the bed.

The toy is where Yvie always stores it, thoroughly cleaned after the latest use and put on one of the middle shelves for easy grabs. Yvie snatches it and puts the black harness on without delay, doing up the waistband and securing the straps around her thighs, pulling on them just a tad too hard so that the material is digging into her skin painfully whenever she moves. Shortly considering taking her top off and deciding against it, not wanting to show her bare chest, she loosely wraps one of her hands around her cock and grips the side of the closet door with the other, halfway closing it and glancing back over at Scarlet.

The sight she’s met with leaves her feeling like she’s short of oxygen, blood rushing in her ears and pulsing between her legs. She unconsciously squeezes the toy in her fist, her knuckles undoubtedly turning white, as if that will provide her with the sensation she’s aching, throbbing for. Scarlet is propping herself up on her elbows, pinching her lip and staring at Yvie coquettishly, but the glimmer in her eyes isn’t what mesmerizes Yvie to the point of freezing up. Her legs are now spread in the most obvious invitation to fuck her, and she’s removed her panties, her pussy out on display.

As if in a trance, Yvie lets go of the door, moves closer to the bed, her gaze glued to the gorgeous bare cunt being presented to her so shamelessly. It’s the hair that catches Yvie off guard, makes her giddy and unsteady, visibly soft and brown like the locks on her head, framing her perfect, silky pink lips. She’s glistening with wetness, so abundant that it smears over the insides of her thighs, and Yvie can see it dripping slowly towards the comforter, can already imagine the wet spot that will be left after she comes, can picture her pussy convulsing and clenching and leaking around her cock.

Scarlet’s eyeing Yvie just as hungrily, her pretty mouth opening slightly as she sees the toy and then closing immediately while she licks her lips and tries and fails to suppress a pleased smirk. Yvie reaches her and circles her fingers around one of Scarlet’s ankles, harshly twisting her wrist to screw Scarlet’s thighs farther apart, and Scarlet lets out a sharp hiss and attempts to lift her hips off the bed, like she’s offering herself to Yvie and fully expects to be taken, too. Scarlet’s scent is heavy in the air now, unmistakable, intoxicating, and Yvie swallows thickly, realizes that she’s started jerking her own cock, slowly and languidly as if out of instinct. Unable to bring herself to decline Scarlet’s silent proposal, Yvie releases her ankle, trusting Scarlet to stay spread for her, stretches out the hand that’s not busy with her strap to rake her fingers through the curly hair. It’s just as soft under Yvie’s touch as it looks, long enough for Yvie to be able to tug on it should she choose to, and it makes Yvie feel some type of way. She stops at the top of Scarlet’s pussy, rests her palm there and lets her thumb stroke the hair, her own stomach churning in a way she’s not completely accustomed to.

“Daddy…” The word comes out as something between a breath and a whine, Scarlet’s voice weak and wanting as she presses up into Yvie’s touch.

Yvie bites the inside of her cheek, hard, feeling her own thighs tense in response to the name, the burning in her gut stoked into rush of heat. Letting go of her cock, she rubs her thumb over the shiny inside of Scarlet’s thigh before dragging her fingers through her folds slowly and teasingly, collecting wetness on her fingers, her lips parting at the sensation. The corner of her mouth lifts at Scarlet’s jagged breathing, control firmly back in within her grasp now.

“Daddy’s gonna get her dick real wet, huh?” Yvie husks, her voice low and gruff, withdrawing her fingers to inspect them almost absentmindedly. Scarlet whimpers, squirming, her reaction to Yvie using the title herself immediate, and Yvie dangles her fingertips over her strap, watching the liquid drip onto the silicone for a moment before wrapping her fist around the head, rubbing Scarlet’s wetness onto the toy like lube. “You gonna take all of me in that pretty pussy, babe?”

“Please, daddy,” Scarlet breathes out, twisting in place desperately, her gaze focused intently on Yvie’s hand on her cock, as if she might force her hips forward and try to take it before Yvie has decided to give it to her. “Want it now.”

Her tone is a mixture of whiny and demanding, as if she’s calling the shots, and Yvie loathes the way her brattiness is just as arousing as it is infuriating. Needing the power back in her hands, Yvie leans in, hooking her fingers into the front of Scarlet’s dress as if to pull her closer, getting right up in her face and watching her expression go slack, her body weakening noticeably in response to Yvie’s sudden, intimidating closeness. Her gaze still fixed on Scarlet’s wide eyes, Yvie tugs downwards, feeling the material stretch and then relax as Scarlet’s tits pop out of the garment, the woman beneath her letting out a choked gasp.

Pulling away slightly, Yvie lets go of the thin fabric and cups one of Scarlet’s breasts instead. It’s soft, fits perfectly in Yvie’s hand, the flesh almost shapeable, giving under Yvie’s fingers with close to no resistance, and Yvie slides her thumb over the nipple, feels it stiffen instantly, and crooks the digit to press on it with the blunt edge of her nail. Scarlet hisses, pushes her chest out, her back curving off the bed gracefully, and Yvie chuckles, mostly to conceal her surprise at how easily Scarlet yields. She squeezes the breast once more, then winds her wrist back, giving it a sharp slap with her palm and eliciting a gorgeous, strangled cry from Scarlet, barely suppressing her own groan at how perfectly it bounces against Scarlet’s chest.

“Asked you a question, babe,” she prompts thickly.

Scarlet blinks up at her, eyes glossed over and pupils wide, looking like thinking isn’t something she cares to engage in right now. “Want your cock, daddy, please,” she forces out finally.

It’s not a proper answer, Yvie suspects she doesn’t even recall the initial question, probably doesn’t remember anything past her needy pussy and overbearing lust, but it’s enough to drive Yvie crazy nonetheless and make her stop prolonging this. She plants her fingers on Scarlet’s chest, right below her collarbones, and pushes down. Scarlet instantly flops on the bed, her body reactive like she trusts Yvie, and Yvie feels a familiar surge of protectiveness emerging somewhere between her gut and heart.

She ignores it, grabs Scarlet’s spread thighs instead and tugs her closer to the edge of the bed. Scarlet manages to somehow open her legs even wider, her hand crawling up her own body until she reaches her tits and starts playing with them, and Yvie feels lightheaded. She takes her cock, guides it between Scarlet’s lips, and slowly teases it down her slit before stopping at her entrance. Moving her hips forward just a little, Yvie presses the tip into the pool of wetness with her fist, slowly starting to push into Scarlet, needing her to feel every centimeter, needing to hear her pants and whimpers as every inch stretches her just a little more. The tightness of her makes Yvie curse and groan quietly, and Scarlet makes a desperate noise in reply, forces her hips upwards into the contact, her cunt swallowing most of the toy all at once as she lets out a long, throaty moan.

There’s a part of Yvie that’s impressed and riled up, a part that makes her own core clench in response to seeing Scarlet take the thickness of the toy so quickly, but it’s drowned out by the wave of freshly renewed annoyance that rushes through her and makes her vision hazy. Growling and pinning Scarlet’s hips to the bed with a hand splayed on her abdomen, Yvie watches her slide off of the toy, leaving it slick and shiny as it bounces free. She pinches the inside of Scarlet’s thigh harshly in retaliation, darkly pleased at her pained whimper, and then guides her cock back to Scarlet’s entrance. After a moment of allowing the woman beneath her to squirm, Yvie pushes back in, far quicker this time, snapping her hips and eliciting a sob from Scarlet as she’s forced to take all of it.

Yvie freezes once she’s bottomed out and watches how the crease of Scarlet’s brow smoothens out as her expression grows spaced out in bliss. They both stay unmoving for a moment, their labored breathing the only audible sound in the stillness of the room, and then Yvie slips her palm down Scarlet’s abdomen and leaves it resting on her pelvis.

“Fuck, babe,” she drawls huskily, and Scarlet immediately whines in response. “You feel so fucking tight.”

There’s a sharp inhale, eyes squeezing shut, and a lip being crushed between teeth. The reaction is immediate, too uncontrolled to be played up, and it confirms what Yvie was already suspecting. She gets off on this, Scarlet, she gets off on them suspending disbelief, on Yvie acting like she can feel her around the toy, talking to her like her men probably do, and Yvie is willing to give it to her, and not because it’s a turn on for her too, which, it is, but because Scarlet’s responses are too delicious to pass on.

“Your tight little cunt feels so good on my cock,” Yvie continues, purely to entertain herself.

Scarlet lolls her head to the side, breaking the eye contact, as if she suddenly feels too shy and wants to hide her face in the comforter. It’s so overwhelmingly cute, so simple and raw and honest somehow, and it makes Yvie’s skin itch, makes her insides ache a little, and she hates it. She doesn’t quite know how to deal with it, so she does the only thing she can think of — thrusts her hips to fuck into Scarlet.

Scarlet sobs, a shattering little noise, and Yvie is sure she’s going to bury her face in the thick material she’s lying on and not even look at Yvie while Yvie brings her to her orgasm. Instead, Scarlet turns her head in Yvie’s direction, her expression unreadable.

“How’s this, daddy?” she lilts and lets her gaze dart down.

Yvie follows her line of sight, glances down where the base of her cock gets lost in Scarlet’s hair, her pussy stretching around it so prettily. She’s confused for just a split second, unaware of what she’s searching for, but then she suddenly feels the muscles of Scarlet’s lower stomach tense under her palm, sees the toy twitch just a little as if of its own accord, and fuck, Scarlet is clenching her cunt.

“You’re a little cocktease, aren’t you?” Yvie grunts, winding her hips backwards and then rocking them back into Scarlet hard enough to make her breasts jiggle, the other woman wincing out a moan and clearly struggling to focus her eyes on Yvie’s face.

“What if I am?” Scarlet breathes, her mouth hanging open, tongue dragging over her upper lip briefly. “What are you gonna do about it, daddy?”

Yvie’s stomach flips, and she curses quietly, rotates her hips a little to watch Scarlet’s face contort, hear her broken whimpers. She knows that she’s got the better of Scarlet, knows full well that she’s already hers, malleable and needy and desperate to be worked into whatever shape Yvie likes. But somehow, despite all of that, Scarlet is still provoking, still being a demanding little thing despite how clearly her body betrays her at every slight movement Yvie makes, and all of it is so unbearably attractive, so filthy, so bratty, and Yvie can’t help but love all of it, can’t resist rising to every taunt.

“Make you beg.”

Yvie’s pointed words hang heavily, deliberately, in the air, and Scarlet’s eyes widen, a moment passing as she appears to hold her breath, mouth moving like she wants to shoot back a reply. Yvie stares right back at her, raising an eyebrow in challenge, and then Scarlet weakens, her muscles visibly loosening as she lets out a shuddering exhale, her cunt softening and giving more easily under the press of the toy.

“Please?” her voice is barely a rasp now, less demanding than pleading, and she wets her lips, makes an effort to roll her hips as if she’s teasing Yvie’s cock, trying to get her to move, and Yvie wants to ruin her, wants to fuck her pussy open proper, make her feel it for days, use her as long as she likes and then leave her to stumble back home wrecked, unable to walk straight or think about anything but the ache between her thighs.

“What’s that, kitten?” Yvie impels mockingly and lightly nudges her hips, just to keep Scarlet on edge. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please, I, oh, ooh,” Scarlet’s words come out in a rushed, incoherent bundle with no breaks between, and Yvie gets a feeling this isn’t something she’s used to or even really good at. A brat like her probably gets fucked plenty without having to work for it any, and as enraging as the thought is, Yvie’s own growing urgency and earnest aren’t making denying her very easy. “I… Please, daddy?”

“Please what?” Yvie tries again, shifting her hips once more, and watching Scarlet’s chin tilt up and her eyes roll back as she gasps. Realizing she must be tapping at Scarlet’s spot just right, she presses Scarlet’s hips into the bed to keep her still, teases her with another slight thrust.

Scarlet moans and arches, her head turning from one side to the other, an incoherent mess of words dripping from her lips as she strains against Yvie’s hand, making it an effort to keep her in place, and Yvie can only catch a garbled please and need and daddy, daddy, daddy. It’s not the response she was looking for, not what she’d normally settle for from a hook-up who she told to beg, but somehow, when Scarlet is the one rambling and gasping on her cock, it’s more than enough, and Yvie can’t keep herself from moving any longer.

Digging her fingers into Scarlet’s thighs, Yvie forces them farther apart, pinning them down with a grunt. She jerks her hips backwards, watches the toy slide out of Scarlet so smoothly as Scarlet winces, tries and fails to chase it. Yvie catches her breath for a moment, staring at the gorgeous wreck of a woman beneath her, the perfect spread of her pussy and her legs, her breast spilling out between her own fingers, and then gives up the fight and slides her cock back in with low groan.

Scarlet’s responding cry is raspy and desperate, and Yvie has to strain to hold her still as she finally starts to fuck her properly. Finding her spot again takes only seconds, and Yvie presses her thumbnails into Scarlet’s soft skin and adjusts her angle to hit it on every pass, biting down on her own lower lip and nearly drawing blood as she struggles to comprehend just how unbelievably sensitive Scarlet is there, how her cock simply brushing past it makes her thrash and twitch and let out broken moans, her free hand making a mess of the comforter beneath her.

“Oh, oh, daddy,” Scarlet pants, her eyes glazing over, her hips still determinedly pushing forwards as if needing Yvie even deeper. “God, you’re so big, I —”

Her teeth gritting, Yvie forces Scarlet to still with a shove of her arms, and slams into her, making her cut herself off with a choked gasp. “Shut up and take it,” she growls, punctuating every word with a thrust, moving faster and faster now, not meaning her order even a little and knowing Scarlet won’t obey regardless.

Scarlet nibbles on her lip and manages to stay quiet for approximately half a second, and then there’s words again, barely cohesive fragments of pleas interlaced with occasional frantic sobs, her voice turning higher in pitch with every snap of Yvie’s hips. Yvie’s pace is becoming more erratic, as relentless as Scarlet seems to be. She’s soaked, so much so that Yvie can hear every inch pressing in and pulling out, filthy wet noises filling the quiet spaces between Scarlet’s desperate gasps. Yvie thinks there will be a dark, damp spot on the comforter under her when they’re done, thinks the wetness must be collecting in the creases between Scarlet’s ass and thighs, most likely between her cheeks too, thinks how it probably makes her skin itch almost unpleasantly and finally notices how wet she herself is, gets angrier at the realization and fucks Scarlet like she hates her, like she means it.

With another string of pleas and praises, Scarlet lets go of the fabric she’s been ruining in her fist, leading it slightly crumpled in her wake, and allows her palm to dance over one of her thighs, stopping at her crotch for just a short moment and then pushing her fingers between her lips. Yvie feels herself go a little numb as she witnesses Scarlet aim directly for her clit, so visibly swollen and pink and perfect, undoubtedly sensitive and pulsing, aching to be touched just like Yvie’s own is. Scarlet slides her fingertips over the spot with a satisfied moan, her chin tilting up again and her eyes falling shut, and then she utters a breathy Oh, my God, daddy, right there and Yvie remembers how to use her muscles.

She pairs the slap she places on Scarlet’s wrist with another thrust of her cock, and Scarlet produces a wounded sound, immediately withdrawing her hand and pulling it close to her chest, her other hand moving to rub the stinging skin. She pouts up at Yvie, like she disagrees with such interruption, and Yvie can’t hold back a scowl.

“You said you wanted my cock, you’re gonna have to come on my cock,” she grunts. “Desperate little things will take what’s given and not an ounce more.”

Without awaiting Scarlets reaction — not that there would have been an intelligent one, concluding by her unravelled state — Yvie hooks her arm under Scarlet’s knee and lifts it closer to herself for a deeper angle. With the first roll of Yvie’s hips in the new position, Scarlet practically squeals, head thrown back as she rocks against the toy, pathetic and unrhythmic, her hair strewn across the cover, undoubtedly a mess of tangles that Yvie wants to drag her fingers through and tug as hard as she can. She imagines Scarlet on her stomach, ass raised to take her cock, back curved as Yvie pulls on a tight handful of those coarse locks, and swears she can feel the sticky arousal dripping down her own thighs.

Scarlet isn’t managing words any longer, just dry sobs and moans, slipping on and off of the strap so easily. There’s hardly any resistance left, just the sounds of her groans and her wet cunt, taking all of it so well, as if she’s made just to be filled by Yvie’s cock, wincing and squirming with the emptiness on every backstroke.

With a soft grunt and strength Yvie didn’t know she had left, Scarlet lifts the leg that’s not trapped in Yvie’s grip, and hooks it around Yvie’s waist. Her calf flexes against Yvie’s lower back, drawing Yvie nearer still as if desperate to get her as deep as possible inside and keep her there. Yvie wants to slap her thigh, push it away, but then Scarlet lets out a needy whine, and she’s looking at Yvie with that pout, lips so much more swollen than before, her glossy eyes are so wide and trusting, and Yvie presses closer and starts to thrust more shallowly instead, too enraptured and too far gone to make herself deny Scarlet anything.

They’re entwined so thoroughly like this, the proximity of their bodies making it ridiculously easy to tell when Scarlet’s muscles tense in a brand new way, like she’s chasing something and needs to release, melt into a puddle right beneath Yvie. It’s impressive, how undone Scarlet has come with just Yvie’s cock against her spot, no other stimulation, and the thought is nagging at Yvie, making her question what a girl like Scarlet could possibly be after that men can’t give her all the same, but then Scarlet cards her free hand through her own hair and pulls a little, eliciting a raspy groan from herself, and Yvie forgets everything else.

“Daddy, gonna—” she cries out and tries to raise herself off the bed even more.

Yvie forces her lower by her hipbone, and then, almost absentmindedly, fits the same hand between them and places her thumb against Scarlet’s clit. Scarlet immediately whines and jerks like the impact is too much, like she won’t be able to handle it, the muscles in her thighs spasming so hard Yvie can feel it against herself.

“C’mon, babe,” she finds herself commanding. “Come for me.”

She presses harder against Scarlet’s clit, feels it twitch under her thumb, and then the response is like a chain reaction as Scarlet lets go, piece by piece of her body rapidly falling prey to the force of her climax. The jerk of her chin, her fingers pinching too hard at her nipple, the gorgeous broken moan on her lips, the clench of her cunt around Yvie’s cock, so tight and perfect it’s difficult to keep moving and fuck her through it, and Yvie can feel the burn in her own abs as she draws out Scarlet’s pleasure as long as she possibly can, still firmly set on making this the best fuck of Scarlet’s life.

It feels like ages pass before Scarlet’s body relaxes, and she begins to wince a little in response to Yvie’s slow thrusts, seeming too sensitive inside now, the convulsing of her pussy with every nudge against her spot too much to handle, becoming more intense and painful than it is pleasurable. Yvie rubs her thighs, and unhooks her leg from around her, holding her hips firmly as she slowly pulls out. Scarlet catches her breath, hand moving down to drift over her core almost wonderingly, the way one might touch her lips after being kissed, as if trying to confirm it was real, as if she’ll find some imprint on her soft skin as evidence. Her legs fall open on the bed, and Yvie isn’t sure if she’s protecting herself from the ache of having them pressed together or showing off the mess Yvie’s made of her, her folds spread, wetness smeared all over, caught in the curly hair, leaking out of her still and dripping slowly down.

Another few long moments go by before Scarlet starts to shift, prompting Yvie to finally tear her gaze away from her pussy and notice the rest of her, nipples still stiff from how she’s been pinching them, eyes still struggling to focus as she looks Yvie up and down. She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking out her hair and taking a deep breath, and then starts to move towards Yvie, scooting her hips off the bed and then wriggling onto the floor, forcing Yvie to take a small step backwards in surprise to accommodate her. She lands in a messy heap on the carpet, taking longer than should be necessary to position herself on her knees, her limbs clearly shaky, and oh, of course she’s one of those girls, Yvie realizes, one of the sort to clean herself off of Yvie’s cock after coming on it, the kind of woman who wants to keep the fantasy even longer, make believe that she can take care of Yvie in return like this.

There’s a moment of complete stillness, and Yvie contemplates sinking her hand in Scarlet’s knotted locks, grabbing a fistful and holding her in place while she fucks her face, deep and thorough thrusts until Scarlet is drooling around the toy, making a mess similar to the one between her legs. It won’t really bring Yvie any relief, won’t ease the aching want in her gut and lower, but it’ll be something to think about when she’s pressing her own slender fingers inside herself later, parting them and enjoying the way it burns so right, just another bunch of visuals she can turn into fuel for her imagination.

Before she can do it or even decide on it, before she can surge her hips forth and coax Scarlet’s mouth open with the tip of her cock, Scarlet leans in slightly, her thumb and index finger closing around the base of the toy delicately. Yvie gets stuck instantly, studies, as if hypnotized, how Scarlet presses very close to the harness, snuggles her nose into Yvie’s crotch, breathes in like she’s trying to smell Yvie’s arousal, like she’s savoring the scent. It’s enticing to look at, so fucking hot and enchanting and unfair, and Yvie couldn’t tear her gaze away even if she tried. Scarlet whimpers quietly, sounds almost needing, almost genuine, and then her tongue is suddenly dragging along the underside of Yvie’s cock, collecting and tasting her own slick, and Yvie’s whole frontal lobe short circuits. Scarlet reaches the head of the toy, licks her lips as if making sure she didn’t miss a drop, and wraps her pretty little mouth around the crown immediately after.

Hazily expecting her to take more of it, Yvie pushes her hips forward, a weak movement without precision or vigor, but instead there’s a subtle click of the buckle, and the next thing Yvie knows is her harness sliding down her legs. Yvie freezes, her eyes widening, and feels her stomach drop as Scarlet whimpers and buries her face in Yvie’s thigh all at once, tongue lapping at the inside, so close to where she’s dripping, as if she’s searching for the flavor. The sensation is so unfamiliar, so right, and as Scarlet pulls back again, looking up at her with her chest heaving, Yvie feels as if the ground is vanishing from under her.

“All for me, daddy?” Scarlet breathes the words more than speaking them, her pupils so dilated Yvie is dizzy with it.

She reaches for Yvie’s thighs, prying them apart gently but persistently, and Yvie lets her, stepping out of the harness helplessly, captivated by the look on Scarlet’s face and the way she’s touching her, and it’s as if control of Yvie’s body isn’t in her own hands any longer.

“Oh,” Scarlet sighs, and her fingers dig into Yvie’s skin, and Yvie realizes with a jolt that the acrylic nails she’d noticed earlier are nowhere to be found, scrambles to think what could’ve happened to them and finds that she hasn’t the brain power. Scarlet looks up at her, eyes pleading. “Oh, I want to… can I…”

Unsure how she’s managing to stay on her feet despite her shock, Yvie nods wordlessly, unable to fully wrap her head around what’s about to happen but so very desperate for it that she can feel her own cunt throbbing.

Her hands remaining in place, Scarlet leans in slowly, almost like she’s stalking her prey before going in for the kill, leaving Yvie the deer in the headlights, standing stock still and trembling in her grasp. Scarlet wets her lips, and then her nose is running over the trimmed hair, breathing Yvie in again. The first touch of her tongue is electric, the warm tip pressed right against the hood of Yvie’s clit, and the shudder that runs through Yvie’s body is too much, too uncontrollable, the whole situation entirely out of her comfort zone, and she almost grabs Scarlet’s hair to pull her away, but the contact is gone before she can. Yvie gasps in air, unsure whether she’s relieved or upset, shaken at how overwhelmed she is by the barest contact, needing more and hating that she needs anything at all.

Scarlet seems unfazed by Yvie’s responses, encouraged, in fact, her hands moving inwards to spread Yvie’s lips with her thumbs, and then her tongue is tracing across them languidly, a filthy moan vibrating against the flesh, and Yvie’s mind goes blank again, a whimper leaving her before she can stop it.

Scarlet places another long lick along the length of Yvie’s pussy, the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly against the clit when she reaches it and her lips pressing a kiss above it right after, and Yvie feels her own shoulders droop, almost says something, but before the sentence is even fully formulated, Scarlet leans away, craning her neck to gaze at Yvie and resting her head against the side of the bed. Yvie’s stomach drops in disappointment, her first thought being that Scarlet just wanted to try it out, perhaps to have a story to tell, or maybe to see if she likes it and shortly deciding she didn’t. Yvie hates the way the feeling dwells, but it’s nothing compared to the wave of nausea that follows suit immediately. She didn’t like it, realized it’s not worth it, that Yvie is too much work and not enough return, not something she should or would or needs to put any effort in.

Scarlet keeps staring at her, almost perfectly still, and Yvie wants to cover her own mouth with her palm, wants to look away, but can’t bring herself to, too frozen and sick to move at all. She loathes their position, loathes how bare and mortified she feels, rendered defenseless and caught in a vulnerable position just because she let herself be blindsided after avoiding it so successfully for ages.

“God, you taste so good,” Scarlet breathes finally, tongue working its way across her upper lip, and it’s like all of the air rushes back into Yvie’s lungs at once in a soft gasp as the whole earth seems to shift below her, assumptions and insecurities starting to crumble, her mouth falling open as she suddenly identifies the slack expression on Scarlet’s face as heart-stopping, overwhelming arousal. “Daddy…”

The title hangs in the air, exhaled carefully and helplessly, almost like a prayer, by the woman on her knees before her. Scarlet’s head lifts from the bed, and her fingers wander over Yvie’s thighs, lips moving soundlessly as if murmuring devotions as her gaze dances over Yvie’s still body, and when she finally speaks again, the need in her tone makes Yvie dissolve, as if she’s sugar on Scarlet’s tongue.

“Want you, want to…”

Her eyes are hazy and heavy lidded and slow to move, her touch is earnest and careful, and her voice is barely there, raw and raspy, forcing out the words as if they’re the truest thing she’s ever spoken, and Yvie can’t help but believe her. She blinks, hard, nausea replaced with tingling warmth that twists in her gut and slowly starts to spread outwards, filling her whole frame with the dizzying, sunlit sensation of being wanted.

Defenses weakening for the first time in as long as she can remember, Yvie tries to catch her breath, inhale and exhale through the heat under her skin. She reaches out her hand almost tentatively, carding her fingers through Scarlet’s messy hair, and feels the other woman nudge against her, just leaning into her hand for a moment and then tilting her head so she’s looking up at Yvie, the plain, honest desire on her face making Yvie’s stomach swoop.

“Please fuck my face, daddy?” Scarlet says, eyes fixed on Yvie’s as she nuzzles into her hand. Her tone almost sweet, as if she hasn’t just said something unbearably filthy, and Yvie tenses, feels herself leak, knows her pussy will likely drip on the carpet any moment.

She grunts, mostly to hide the way Scarlet has left her speechless, a rare occasion where her silence isn’t conscious rather than collateral. Fist tangling in the coarse hair, she tugs sharply, and then twists her wrist to guide Scarlet’s head closer. The triumphant little sound Scarlet lets out prickles Yvie’s skin, crawls up her spine and tingles the nape of her neck, and she allows herself to suspend her disbelief just like Scarlet had done earlier.

“Filthy,” she spits out the first thing that comes to mind, pushing her hips up and dangling her pussy just an inch or so above Scarlet’s face, her hand forcing Scarlet’s head back slightly.

“That’s right, daddy,” Scarlet purrs, pleased, satisfied, like she couldn’t be prouder of the fact Yvie noticed, and the sensation of her hot breath against Yvie’s folds makes Yvie’s stomach drop and lock up.

“Gonna show me how filthy you are, aren’t you, baby?” Yvie mutters through gritted teeth.

Scarlet nods eagerly, her movement restricted by Yvie’s grip. It’s followed by a confirming noise as if she’s impatient to let Yvie know how much she desires this, and she struggles to close the distance, bury her face in Yvie’s cunt, but Yvie’s hold stays iron. All of it makes Yvie inhale a little easier, makes her feel like she’s still in the driver’s seat, pulling the strings, collected and composed and not at all vulnerable, and they’re both probably well aware that in reality she’s putty in Scarlet’s hands, but Scarlet is willing to pretend, and that’s enough for now.

Yvie’s still for a few beats, torturing herself with the way her stomach keeps tightening and her heart keeps skipping in anticipation, and then, when it gets a little bit too much, she ruts down against Scarlet’s parted lips.

This time, when Scarlet’s tongue connects with her cunt, she shudders even harder, groaning and wrapping her fist tightly in Scarlet’s hair. She grinds against the contact instinctively, rubbing her clit against the soft warmth, swearing she can feel the shockwaves from the touch all over her body, and Scarlet responds with a needy whimper, her mouth opening wider and her tongue pressing hard right where Yvie wants it. Her blunt nails dig into Yvie’s tensed thighs as Yvie holds her still to rock against her, as if it’s getting hard to breathe, but she only presses closer, and Yvie can feel herself clench and leak in response, Scarlet’s tongue quickly and messily lapping up the wetness.

Needing more, requiring Scarlet even closer, Yvie bends her knee and props it on the bed, spreading her cunt open wider and providing Scarlet with better access. The way Scarlet laps over her clit with the new angle makes her groan so loudly she shocks herself, and when the tip of the other woman’s tongue starts pressing slowly into her opening, Yvie can’t help but force her hips forwards, crushing Scarlet’s head back against the bed and trapping her own hand in the process. Scarlet’s muffled, ecstatic moan sends a thrill down Yvie’s spine, and then her tongue slips inside, licking eagerly as if desperate for the taste. The dirtiness and enthusiasm of her movements makes Yvie’s head spin so badly she nearly blanks out, managing in a moment of coherence to be glad she has the bed for support.

Scarlet eats pussy like she can’t get enough of it, and for a moment, something about her motions and ardency makes Yvie feel like she’s worth it. Scarlet pushes her tongue into Yvie as much as she possibly can, licks inside like she’s thirsty for it, and then withdraws a little and twirls the tip around Yvie’s entrance as if she’s trying to open Yvie up. Yvie mutters a string of profanities, her fingers instinctively flexing in Scarlet’s hair, nails scratching the scalp, and as she frantically nudges forth, Scarlet closes her mouth and rubs her puckered lips against her slit. It’s not even a little bit enough after all the sensation, and Yvie growls, yanks and twists on the locks in her fist, the heat building in her gut when the gesture has no effect, Scarlet’s pout remaining pressed against her folds.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Open — open your mouth, or I’ll fucking do it for you.”

The responding whimper from Scarlet is gorgeous and pathetic, her lips parting in accordance with the command as if she’s helpless to do otherwise. Her fingernails scraping against the back of Yvie’s thighs desperately, she manages to place a filthy lick over Yvie’s entrance before Yvie shifts, getting the contact where she craves it. She can practically feel herself throbbing as she grinds against Scarlet’s tongue, the stimulation so intense, so aching, so good that her eyes start watering.

Scarlet’s a dream, and at the same time, so much better than what Yvie’s imagination is capable of creating, eagerly figuring out Yvie’s tempo and adjusting to it, meeting Yvie halfway, participating rather than just submitting to being used to get off on. As soon as Yvie loses her rhythm, slows down a bit, Scarlet picks up, her mouth dragging over Yvie’s pussy, her teeth grazing the flesh lightly in a manner that makes Yvie gasp and gives her chills, and then, when the rocking of Yvie’s hips becomes completely intermittent, Scarlet closes her lips around the clit and sucks.

There’s a swift flick of Scarlet’s tongue over her clit, and Yvie feels like a live wire, heated as if there’s a current running under her skin, sparks swimming behind her eyes, whole body ready to catch fire at any moment. Scarlet whimpers weakly, and then she’s humming, lips vibrating against Yvie’s cunt, and it’s so much and so intense that Yvie feels her bones melt, a wild cry leaving her lips as her pussy pulses and twitches, her orgasm taking over her body and making her vision go dark for a moment. She’s aware of her hips rocking against Scarlet’s face, of the wetness slippery between them, of her own teeth sinking so hard into her lip it hurts, and there’s heat spreading all through her, radiating all the way to her fingertips, hot enough to burn through something.

It rages for a while, the wildfire inside her, drowning everything in the smoke except Scarlet, solid and sound in front of her, and the rush of adrenaline and ecstasy in every tiny blood vessel of her body. Yvie feels delirious on it, like there’s not enough oxygen in her lungs, like the atmosphere is too cloudy for her to breathe in properly. It isn’t until Yvie manages a greedy intake of air that the flames start dying out, sizzling as they retract inwards and settle somewhere between her hips, leaving her skin a sticky, sweaty mess in their wake.

Finally regaining traces of control over her own muscles, Yvie stops jerking against Scarlet. Her knee sliding off the bed, she stumbles backwards, legs shaky, breathing still ragged, and vision blurry around the edges. Scarlet doesn’t let go of her thighs until Yvie steps out of reach, like she’s set on keeping her close but can’t muster the energy to go through with it, and when Yvie slips through her fingers, she tiredly drops her hands in her lap. She shrinks a little, like she was upholding her posture only because Yvie was trapping her, keeping her spine straightened, and her head falls back against the side of the bed.

Scarlet’s a wreck, her hair visibly tangled where Yvie’s been gripping it, her lids even heavier, her lips puffy and glistening with Yvie’s wetness, smeared all across her chin, too, and she’s so fucking gorgeous it stings just a little, a sharp stab somewhere between Yvie’s ribs. She’s gulping in air, her still exposed tits heaving, and she’s staring at Yvie all dazed, like taking Yvie apart ruined her more than anything else tonight, and then suddenly her hand shoots up, one finger swiping over her slick lower lip and slipping into her mouth.

Yvie stares at her, an aftershock clenching her pussy as Scarlet sucks lazily. Her legs feel so unsteady she thinks she might collapse, and her brain is sluggish, processing information slowly, consumed with the warm tingling in her gut and between her thighs and distracted by the sex goddess in front of her, trying to puzzle out where her assumptions about Scarlet had gone so wrong. Scarlet pops her finger out of her mouth and inspects it with dark eyes, and Yvie manages to hold onto a thought long enough to try to articulate it.

“You — nails,” she manages, pointing at Scarlet weakly.

“Huh?” Scarlet gazes up at her open-mouthed, pink tongue dragging over her lips. She makes a movement like she wants to stand, hand tugging Yvie’s covers halfway off the bed and her legs tensing, and then pouts, apparently not having the strength to do it herself.

“You had nails, before,” Yvie says, her voice hoarse but more sure now. Instinctively moving forwards on wobbly legs as she sees Scarlet struggle, she offers her hands, pulling the smaller woman to her feet with more effort than should be required, her muscles feeling like they’re made of chewing gum.

“Oh.” Scarlet nods slowly, maintaining her grip on Yvie’s hands, her bare chest bumping against Yvie’s clothed one as they come nearly face to face. “They were — they were press-ons,” she says in a murmur, blinking earnestly. “I um, I took them off in the car. Wasn’t gonna keep ‘em on when I was going home with a woman as hot as you.”

“You’re not straight,” Yvie exhales, unsure if she’s asking or just stating, almost awed, squeezing Scarlet’s hands tighter as the realization washes over her again.

“What?” Scarlet stares at her, seeming utterly baffled, like she doesn’t even understand the question.

“You like women.”

“Of course?” Scarlet says, her brow furrowing. “I’m a lesbian.”

Yvie feels her throat tighten, as if she might choke or gasp or start crying. Scarlet looks so confused, her pretty mouth slightly open and still glossy from Yvie’s wetness, and Yvie is surging forwards to crush their lips together before she can help herself, the kiss a clumsy bumping of mouths for a moment before Scarlet catches up and reciprocates, lets Yvie taste herself on her tongue, the flavor so entirely different than the sticky lipstick she’s grown accustomed to that it makes her heart skip a beat.

The kiss isn’t long, Yvie breaking off to gasp in air, her hands curled around Scarlet’s gently. The woman in front of her looks even more dumbstruck now, chasing Yvie’s lips instinctively as she pulls away, her body leaning in closer as if magnetically drawn towards her, and she’s still so unbelievably responsive to every move and touch that it takes Yvie’s breath away.

“What was that for?” she mumbles, tilting her chin up to peck Yvie’s bottom lip.

“Nothing,” Yvie dismisses, ignoring how the gentle contact makes her dizzy, trying and failing to make her voice emotionless and disinterested.

She lets go of Scarlet’s hands all at once, and turns to grab the strap-on from the floor, hesitant once again to show any of her emotions or vulnerability as she steadily comes back to her senses. Scarlet hums softly behind her, seeming unconcerned, and Yvie sets the toy aside to be cleaned later, turns around to find Scarlet with her thumbs hooked into the top of her dress, pushing it down over her hips and leaving her entirely naked.

Yvie’s first reaction is dumb staring, her gaze drifting over Scarlet’s soft breasts, her slender waist and her tummy, the smooth curve of her hips and the brown curls between her thighs. Her second is confusion, wondering why Scarlet would undress after sex, if she’s planning on staying the night, why she’d plan on that without bothering to ask. Yvie opens her mouth, ready to object, and then closes it again, realizing after a moment that even though the women she brings home never stick around, Scarlet is different, and she doesn’t particularly have an objection, can’t actually believe that for once she won’t be abruptly left behind.

“So,” Scarlet says, drawing out the word, her tone teasing and playful again as she leans back against the bed and tugs on a lock of her hair, every bit the brat Yvie’s known she is since the beginning. “Where’s the weed, daddy?”

Her stomach dropping at Scarlet’s attitude, Yvie swallows hard, pussy suddenly interested again, her fingers practically itching to grab for Scarlet. Ignoring the impulse and arousal, she quirks an eyebrow, watches Scarlet’s responding pout, the bossy tilt of her head. The other woman’s arms cross under her tits, squishing them together, and the sight makes Yvie’s brain go blank for a moment.

“Right,” she grunts through her teeth, set on restoring her front. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“And the dick,” Scarlet says solemnly.

Rolling her eyes, Yvie mostly fails to suppress a chuckle, her composure already cracking again. Scarlet beams at her, her expression a combination of pleased and hopeful, like eliciting the reaction out of Yvie is the greatest thing she’s ever accomplished. Yvie sucks on her lower lip, fighting the twitch of the corners of her mouth before it spills into a full smile and shoulders past Scarlet to pull the comforter and the covers off the bed.

She gestures for Scarlet to climb in, and belatedly realizes she’s offering her side of the bed, but that stops mattering as soon as she sees Scarlet crawling across the sheets, round, perfect ass flawlessly in the air, the fair flesh oh so tempting. Scarlet flops onto the mattress face first, humming contently and going from a seductress to an adorable little thing in a split second, and Yvie’s rib cage suddenly feels oddly restricted. Shaking her head as if to get rid of the sensation, Yvie follows, readjusting the pillows so they can serve as a backrest. Beside her, Scarlet shuffles and turns, sitting up against the headboard and making a show of getting comfortable just like she had done in the Uber. Yvie lets her fidget in peace and leans over her to reach for her smoking materials, conveniently stored in her bedside drawer.

“Your fingers are so long,” Scarlet observes. “You should finger me next time.”

Yvie stills mid loading the grinder, the little baggie of weed still unsealed in her lap, and snaps around in Scarlet’s direction. The other is clearly examining Yvie’s hands, face thoughtful and the corner of her lip crushed between her teeth.

“I should…what? Wait, next time?”

“D’you finger yourself?” The question is so unexpected, so unabashed, that Yvie’s body locks up again. “You’d moan so pretty with those inside you.”

“Um,” Yvie says, stupefied, and, without looking what she’s doing, grabs another pinch of weed from the baggie and deposits it in the grinder, rubbing her fingertips together to brush the remnants off. “I — yes.”

“Oh, so you do moan pretty?” Scarlet prods her coyly, a little smile on her lips. “You sure did with my tongue in you, daddy.”

“Not half as much as you with my cock in you,” Yvie shoots back, unsure whether she’s teasing or defending. “You’re a screamer,” she adds, and Scarlet’s mouth opens in affront.

“Well, if you had the daddy of your dreams dicking you down after feeling you up outside a shitty bar, you’d be screaming too,” Scarlet returns, wiggling her head sassily.

“Sure, babe,” Yvie chuckles and screws the lid closed, immediately starting to grind the weed, the familiar clicking filling the room.

“Mean,” Scarlet huffs, narrowing her eyes, her pout pronounced and playful.

Looking at Scarlet, Yvie sticks out her tongue in response, mocking her right back. Scarlet’s eyes widen comically, all the traces of flirting disappearing as she freezes, her mouth slightly agape.

“Oh — okay, maybe not fingering next time,” she breathes.

Realizing that Scarlet’s reaction is fluster over seeing her tongue, Yvie quickly presses her lips together, feeling a little unhinged herself. Glancing away, she rotates the grinder a couple more times and then deems the job done well enough to begin rolling. Retrieving a paper and a filter, she starts evenly distributing the weed, moving with a tiny bit more precision and caution than necessary to avoid looking at Scarlet as long as she possibly can.

Scarlet’s words feel as if they’re etched into her brain, and Yvie can’t help the downwards spiral of her thoughts, the way her mouth waters and her gut twists at the idea of getting between Scarlet’s thighs. It’s been so very long since she tasted a woman, so long since she’s let herself indulge in something so up close and personal, never wanting to risk the embarrassment of doing something unwanted and unrequested, always worried the intimacy of the act that she loved so much would make it even more of a slap in the face when the women inevitably left her hanging.

Pinching both ends of the paper between her thumbs and index fingers, Yvie tucks one side over the weed and rotates the filter in a single swift motion. As she brings the blunt up to lick the paper, she hears Scarlet gasp and then honest to God whimper next to her, and her mind is made before she’s even finished rolling.

Tossing the materials aside, Yvie grabs the glass ashtray she keeps on her nightstand along with a cheap plastic lighter and sets it on the bed close to Scarlet. She taps the filter against the back of her hand impulsively before placing the joint between her lips and lighting up. There’s a sound of burning paper and then Yvie tastes the weed, inhales on reflex, and holds the smoke in for a moment. She looks back at Scarlet only when she lets it out, and finds the woman pressing her thighs together tightly, nibbling on her lower lip, her darkening gaze fixed on Yvie’s mouth.

Yvie hands her the blunt, clearing her throat to get her attention and prompt her to move. With a little oh, Scarlet takes it, immediately bringing it to her mouth without shifting her eyes from Yvie’s face, and taking a slow drag. Yvie watches her cheeks hollow and grits her teeth against her arousal, feeling her pussy twitch as she remembers Scarlet sucking on her clit. While Yvie is busy staring, Scarlet offers the blunt back, but instead of taking it, Yvie just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you gonna smoke with me, daddy?” Scarlet purrs after she exhales the cloud of smoke, her voice noticeably thicker now. “Deemed you someone who likes getting high after sex.”

Yvie suppresses a shiver and moves closer to her, utterly entranced by the sight of Scarlet smoking her weed naked in her bed, briefly tempted by the possibility of shotgunning before she dismisses the idea for another time. Laying the tip of her index finger on the bruise she’d left on Scarlet’s throat, Yvie drags it across her chest slowly and lightly, swirling around her nipple before rubbing it to elicit a whimper and moving farther down, over her tummy and finally to the inside of her hip, the rest of her fingers joining the first to slide softly over Scarlet’s curls and between her thighs that open for her so easily, cupping her pussy gently.

“No, baby,” she says lowly, immensely satisfied by the wide-eyed expression on Scarlet’s face and the way she nudges into Yvie’s touch. “I’m gonna eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Scarlet chokes out, her legs immediately moving farther apart. “Please.”

Wasting no time, Yvie maneuvers herself on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, snaking her arms around her thighs. Scarlet’s cunt is shining with wetness, her scent strong and prominent again, and Yvie revels at how easy it seems to wind her up into this state. She pulls Scarlet a little closer, a tiny yelp escaping the other woman as she slides on the sheets, but she quickly catches up and settles against the pillows, pushing her hips up for a better angle, her heels digging into the mattress either side of Yvie.

Yvie turns her eyes up, studying the dreamy expression on Scarlet’s face. The blunt she’s holding close to her mouth has gone out, and Yvie thinks she’s starting to recognize the tendency to forget the stuff she’s smoking whenever something mildly more interesting emerges, and it should be infuriating or annoying at best, but for a reason unbeknownst to Yvie, she finds herself endeared instead.

“Want you to smoke while I do this, babe,” she says and it comes out far too tender to be considered a command.

“Okay,” Scarlet says anyway, a perfect picture of obedience. “Okay, daddy.”

She puts the blunt back between her lips and blindly pats around the sheets until she locates the lighter Yvie left next to her. With trembling fingers, she attempts to spark up again, the process taking more than a few tries before she manages to get a proper flame and suck in another cloud of smoke. Scarlet exhales unsteadily, her heavy-lidded eyes blinking at Yvie, rotates her hips just a little as if in invitation. Yvie drops her gaze back down, enjoying the view before her, taking in the gorgeous contrast between Scarlets pink, still swollen pussy and the brown of her damp, unruly hair, considers, for just a second, how she wishes she could capture the colors in an abstract painting, but then Scarlet’s clit spasms visibly as she clenches around nothing, and Yvie’s mind goes foggy.

She presses in closer so her nose is tickled with the hair just above the cleft of Scarlet’s pussy, breathes her in open-mouthed, dragging her lips oh-so-gently over Scarlet’s folds. She laps her tongue tentatively, blindly along Scarlet’s slit, and groans quietly, the taste so strong and distinct, the warmth driving her crazy, her head already swimming even though she’s just barely begun. Scarlet’s mewl is weak and needy and perfect, the light, lingering touch making her hips cant forwards, and this time, Yvie doesn’t make much of an attempt to stop it, doesn’t force Scarlet’s stillness, instead dipping her tongue deeper to flick against her entrance and savoring the feeling of having a woman so responsive, so alive, so wanting under her mouth.

One of her arms slipping farther around Scarlet’s thigh, Yvie strokes her nails through the hair, then spreads Scarlet’s soft folds with her thumb and pointer finger. She teases her tongue up to tap at Scarlet’s clit, coaxing another whine out of the woman beneath her, and then drops back down to get another taste of her wetness.

Scarlet’s leaking so profoundly, and combined with how Yvie herself is salivating, she knows they’re making a mess, can feel it coating her lips, trickling downwards, so untidy and filthy, foreign and intimate in the way Yvie has longed for so bad she’s succeeded to convince herself she’s never needed it anyway. Yvie licks over Scarlet’s entrance to lap up the slick, not wanting to let any go to waste before she twirls her tongue around the opening and starts edging the tip in.

Above, Scarlet moans around the filter, her hips jerking into the contact slightly, and Yvie glances up just in time to witness how she closes her eyes and throws her head back in pleasure, gradually blows out a cloud, the smoke playing at her lips in intricate swirls prior to tracing higher and dissipating. The way this position exposes her neck is exquisite, the blooming mark clearly noticeable, her strong jawline defined, and Yvie feels a little overwhelmed, wishes she could capture this, and, using the only outlet she has right now, works her tongue deeper into Scarlet’s cunt. Scarlet cries quietly, head falling farther back against the headboard, breathing growing heavier, the rise and fall of her tits driving Yvie mad, and as she bites on her lower lip and chokes out something incomprehensible, the blunt goes out once more.

Yvie pulls away and cranes her neck to gently plant her chin on Scarlet’s pelvis right above her pussy instead, still looking up at her in fascination. “C’mon, Scarlet,” she murmurs when there’s no reaction from the other.

Scarlet jolts like she’s only now coming to, previously too lost in her hazy desire to pay attention to her surroundings. Meeting Yvie’s eyes, she blinks stupidly like she’s trying to get rid of blurriness and focus her dilated pupils, and suddenly there’s a tiny, wondering smile on her lips.

“Say that again,” she whispers in a rasp.

“Hmm?” Yvie hums, absentmindedly trailing her fingers on Scarlet’s inner thigh.

“My name. Say it again, please.”

“Oh,” Yvie breathes out. “Scarlet.”

The name is titanium on Yvie’s tongue, full of weight, interlacing with Scarlet’s taste until Yvie can’t tell them apart, and Scarlet’s corresponding beam pulls at Yvie’s heartstrings in a way she isn’t sure she can justify just yet, not this soon.

“C’mon, Scarlet,” Yvie repeats thickly, swallowing in an attempt to clear the dizzying weight of the emotions in her head. “C’mon, baby, try again,” she coaxes. “I want you smoking for me, remember?”

Whimpering, Scarlet squirms, stares down at Yvie pleadingly. Yvie whispers her name one more time, sweetly, and watches as Scarlet weakens and moves to do as she says, fumbling for the lighter again and struggling to make it work. Unable to resist the small smile that nestles into the corner of her own mouth, Yvie lifts her head, hides it with a gentle kiss pressed to the place where her chin had been. She glances up just as Scarlet manages to raise the flame to the end of the blunt, and then presses her lips to the edge of Scarlet’s hair, near the fold of her hip, lingering there as the warmth of her skin sinks into Yvie’s like the first touch of sun in the early springtime.

“There you go,” Yvie hums easily, feeling Scarlet breathe in more than seeing it, hearing her whine on her exhale.

She moves back down again slowly, her gaze on Scarlet’s features, the need in her eyes, the softness of her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she takes another hit immediately after the first as if desperate to do as she’s told, keep it lit this time. When she’s faced with Scarlet’s core again, Yvie feels like all the air has been knocked out of her, Scarlet seemingly twice as wet as before, folds slippery with it, juices dripping onto the sheet below her and pooling at the source.

Shaking herself out of her staring after a moment, Yvie swipes her tongue over the length of her, collecting the slick and groaning helplessly at the taste and the rise of Scarlet’s hips in response. Not wasting any time, she circles her arms farther around Scarlet’s thighs, slips her hands down to pry her folds apart with her thumbs, and thrusts her tongue inside of Scarlet once more. The heady flavor makes her gut twist, the clench of Scarlet’s channel so unbelievably tight and needy, and Yvie can’t believe she’s kept herself from this for so long. She pushes deeper, eliciting a moan, and realizes that now that she’s had Scarlet on her tongue, she can’t imagine how she’ll be able to do this with anyone else, or go back to not doing it at all.

As if she’s unable to keep still, Scarlet slides down on the sheets, her back arching and her free hand clutching one of the headboard bars, nails clawing at the wood like she’s trying to ground herself. She drops the half-finished blunt in the ashtray, and then her fingers are pressing into the back of Yvie’s neck, not necessarily to pull her in, just to keep her close as her hips repeatedly push up and she grinds her pussy against Yvie’s mouth. She’s probably taking it too far, crossing some sort of line Yvie knows she should and does have, but there’s strings of please and more and oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod tumbling off Scarlet’s lips, and Yvie is drawn in head over heels, wants to indulge her so bad it hurts.

With the new tilt of Scarlet’s hips, it’s even easier to fuck into her, even easier to raise the pitch of her voice and make her breathe in gasps and pants, but its not enough, somehow, and Yvie needs to have her absolutely overwhelmed, no coherency left in the words spilling from her lips. Laying the pad of her thumb against Scarlet’s clit, Yvie starts to rub slow circles, and the reaction is instantaneous. Scarlet cries out, jerking uselessly as if it’s too much when she’s still so sensitive, but Yvie only presses harder, more insistent with her movements now, and it’s only moments before Scarlet surrenders with a sob, her thighs opening wider as if she’s inviting Yvie to have her way with her, and Yvie lets herself get lost in all of it, in the taste and the sensations and the sounds, in Scarlet’s willingness and complete trust in her.

There’s a prominent trembling of Scarlet’s muscles under Yvie’s touch, uncontrollable and steadily increasing, and Yvie can conclude she’s close to coming undone. She almost wishes she could move up Scarlet’s body, trace her lips over her ear and growl a command to come, or maybe just press kisses under the lobe and talk her into it in a murmur, come on, baby, let it go, give it up for me, gorgeous, that’s it baby. But Scarlet is dripping everywhere, covering Yvie’s chin and lips and cheeks with wetness, and she’s fluttering around Yvie’s tongue so addictively as she begins to tense further and further, and Yvie knows she couldn’t move if she tried. She works her tongue harder, as if she can press the words into Scarlet’s walls, and hums instead of speaking, sending vibrations through her folds, coaxing the climax out of her with the merciless movements of her thumb on her clit.

When Scarlet orgasms, she does so with a low moan, her pussy pulsing against Yvie’s face and under her thumb, her thighs spasming and trapping Yvie’s head between them. Her hips jerk into the contact, once, twice, and then she’s falling back onto the mattress, crying out softly, like this is finally too much and she can’t bear to be touched any longer, is trying to escape Yvie. Withdrawing her tongue, Yvie laps softly over her entrance to collect the wetness, as if there’s still remnants of thirst to quench, and removes her thumb from Scarlet’s clit. Her arms tight around the other woman’s thighs, Yvie lays her palms on Scarlet’s lower abdomen instead, pressing her hips solidly into the bed to keep her steady and anchored as she comes down.

Staying where she is, on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, Yvie turns her head slightly and noses Scarlet’s silky inner thigh, litters little kisses everywhere she can reach and listens as the pattern of Scarlet’s breathing pacifies and evens out slowly. Scarlet’s intakes of air are raspy, her exhales long and shattered, and her frame quakes with aftershocks, forcefully at first and then with decreasing intensity and frequency, until she eventually goes completely boneless. They lie there like that, bodies not quite intertwined but still skin on skin, and Yvie tells herself it’s to let Scarlet catch up, pointedly ignoring the way the tightly wound knot in her own gut begins to untangle, leaving her limbs the pleasant kind of heavy and achy.

“Come here, baby,” Scarlet calls in a quiet murmur after a while.

Yvie pushes herself up on her arms, set on just flopping onto the bed next to Scarlet, and hesitates for just one faltering moment, a little disoriented and caught off guard by the sweetness of the pet name. Her pause gives Scarlet enough time to curl her fingers around the base of her skull and grab onto Yvie’s shoulder, tugging her up her body almost urgently instead, as if she needs the weight of Yvie against her, needs her close. Yvie goes willingly, sliding up between Scarlet’s legs, heart in her throat as Scarlet’s hands move to cradle her face so carefully, her gaze wandering over Yvie’s features with an expression Yvie can’t identify.

Yvie opens her mouth, immobilized all over again, wanting to say something but completely lost for words, and Scarlet shakes her head lightly, pulls her in and brings their lips together before she can make an attempt. Yvie gives in to it easily, jaw relaxing as she lets Scarlet take the lead, kissing her slow and thorough, like she’s trying to reassure Yvie of something. She sucks Yvie’s lower lip into her mouth, tongue and teeth pressing into the flesh, and then releases it with a quiet pop.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Scarlet mumbles against her, sounding almost adoring, her thumbs tracing over Yvie’s cheekbones.

Yvie nearly gasps, her chest constricting, and then Scarlet’s kissing her again, needier now, letting out an almost inaudible whine as she nuzzles closer. Her tongue is pressing eagerly into Yvie’s mouth, and Yvie thinks she’s searching for leftover hints of her own taste, or maybe just trying to suffocate Yvie with the nearness of her, to draw all the oxygen out of her lungs so that when she lets go, Yvie will fall weakly onto Scarlet’s chest with every last defense broken down to useless pieces, nothing left between her cheek and the gentleness of Scarlet’s touch, the warmth of her skin.

When they finally break apart, Scarlet holds Yvie in place still, pressing lazy, close-mouthed pecks on her lips, and Yvie keeps her eyes shut, tries to will her head to stop spinning and loses that fight miserably, feels like Scarlet could draw any confession from her breath right now if she wanted. Her grip on Yvie starts to loosen slowly as she lets out a sigh and tilts her chin up to place one more kiss on Yvie’s mouth. Yvie opens her eyes, watches as Scarlet settles back against the pillows again with a satisfied, sleepy smile on her face and her puffy lips shiny with saliva.

“Want my blunt back,” she announces in a purr, blinking up at Yvie.

Yvie almost chuckles at the demand, props herself up a little farther. “Oh, do you?” she husks, lifting an eyebrow, smiling right back at Scarlet and tilting her head towards the ashtray. “It’s still right over there, technically. You could just grab it.”

Scarlet lifts one of her hands, makes a weak and uninspired effort to reach for it, and then sighs dramatically, shakes her head with a pronounced pout. “Nah-uh. Can’t.”

This time, Yvie doesn’t even attempt to hold off the wave of endearment that washes over her, Scarlet’s blatant attitude so very charming to her. She feels herself soften in response, the tension in her shoulders and neck weakening as both her body and mind relax. Barely stopping herself from kissing the pout off Scarlet’s mouth, she rolls her eyes instead, opting for sarcasm, but, as she deducts from Scarlet’s smug little face, ending up looking quite fond instead.

“Brat,” she says, unable to shake the sensation it comes out praising more than anything else.

Scarlet just hums like Yvie’s making a fair point that she can’t really argue with, and Yvie rolls her eyes again, grabbing the blunt from the ashtray and tapping it against the edge before she gently brings it up to Scarlet. The other takes it between her lips, still no move to indicate she’s going to do anything herself, and Yvie scoffs, pulls back a little to allow herself space to click the lighter, and then snatches her rolling materials off the bedside table and sits back against the pillows.

“Are you at least gonna smoke it yourself, or do you need help with that too?” she quips, fingers quickly working on a new blunt.

“Ha-ha,” Scarlet says dryly and blows some smoke in Yvie’s general direction.

“Try not to let it go out this time,” Yvie comments lowly, and Scarlet shrugs, seeming unbothered.

“Hurry up and finish, I wanna cuddle.”

Yvie doesn’t try to stop the smile that plays at her lips, eyes narrowing as she finishes up with her rolling and sets the materials aside again, bringing the blunt up to light it. The smoke is satin, smooth and rich, and it fills Yvie’s lungs in a way that oxygen never could, satisfying the craving she didn’t realize was there until it was already being eased.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, as if something has just occurred to her, and Yvie glances over at her quizzically. “You never told me your name.”

“Yvie.” She replies before even thinking it through, instinctively giving Scarlet what she wants, and is shocked when it doesn’t feel like a mistake, instead feels like something she should’ve done far sooner. “It’s Yvie.”

“Yvie,” Scarlet repeats, and it’s soft on her lips, her tone wondering, as if she’s exploring how it feels. “Yvie, Yvie, Yvie.”

Her heart beating noticeably quicker, Yvie holds the next puff of smoke in as long as she can, willing it to slow down, trying to regain her composure as Scarlet mumbles her name a few more times and stares up at her so searchingly.

“You gonna stop calling me daddy now?” Yvie asks once she’s sure her voice won’t shake.

“I will literally never stop calling you daddy,” Scarlet says, her voice level and completely serious, looking Yvie dead in the eyes. Yvie lets out a laugh before she can help it, and Scarlet grins all at once. “But Yvie suits you,” she adds, and pats the bed next to her. “C’mere and lay down with me, Yvie.”

Refusing to let herself overthink it, she scoots downwards so that she’s reclining, and waves her hand at Scarlet, indicating that the other woman should move closer instead.

“Hm?” Scarlet hums, squinting at Yvie. “No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Baby,” Yvie says after blowing out a cloud of smoke, amusement audible in her voice. “We’re not laying in your wet spot.”

“Oh.” Scarlet blushes, a cheeky little smile on her face, and Yvie’s ribs feel suddenly too tight, affection swelling in her chest at the sight.

Scarlet finishes her blunt and stumps it out against the darkened, ashy glass, making sure the cherry is out properly before leaving the stub in the ashtray and handing it to Yvie. Yvie turns her attention elsewhere for just a split second to set it down on the mattress next to her thigh and flick her own blunt against the rim. That’s enough time for Scarlet to slide closer on the sheets and plaster herself to Yvie’s side, one leg immediately tangling with Yvie’s and a palm being flattened against Yvie’s abs right below the hem of her crop top.

As if on autopilot, Yvie immediately lifts her arm to accommodate Scarlet better, and Scarlet slips under it easily, allowing Yvie to wrap it around her and feeling so comfortable and warm and just the right size for snuggling. Yvie clears her throat like she’s ashamed of the thought, and while she takes another hit, Scarlet’s hand starts climbing higher unhurriedly, up and up, under the top and slightly to the left and suddenly she’s cupping Yvie’s breast.

“Um,” Yvie lets out with smoke. “What are you doing?”

Scarlet swipes a firm thumb over the nipple, pressing down a little harder when she’s right in the middle, the rest of her fingers digging into the flesh adamantly, and nuzzles her face into the side of Yvie’s neck, pecking the jaw.

“Feelin’ you up, daddy,” she murmurs sweetly, dropping another kiss just beneath the first. “I love your tits.”

“Shut up,” Yvie chuckles lowly.

“Mmm,” Scarlet muses, kissing Yvie’s neck once more and squeezing the breast. “Why don’t you make me.”

“I am so not falling for that,” Yvie informs her and side-eyes Scarlet who produces a meek whine in response. “But I like your tits, too.”

“Aw, thank you, daddy,” Scarlet says through a yawn. “They like you too, especially when you made them bounce when you fucked me. You should definitely do that again soon.”

Puffing on her blunt, Yvie lets the smoke fill her lungs and seep into the very fibers of her being before releasing it and replying to Scarlet, a lazy smile on her lips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Uh huh,” Scarlet hums, snuggling closer, forehead pressed to Yvie’s neck and her cheek resting against her collarbone.

The thought that Scarlet fits perfectly beside her reemerges, and Yvie mulls it over, contemplating the weight of Scarlet’s head against her shoulder, the dizzyingly soft press of her breasts to her side, the way her leg curls around Yvie’s as if she’s a vine climbing a pole. Yvie continues smoking as Scarlet yawns again, mumbling something incomprehensible, and wonders why the feeling of interlocking with her like a puzzle piece doesn’t make her stomach sick with fear. Putting it down to the weed and the orgasm, Yvie lets go of both thoughts and sinks into Scarlet’s warmth, her lids lowering.

Scarlet’s breathing starts gradually growing deeper and heavier, as if she’s seconds from falling asleep, and the idea of keeping her on her chest like this while she drifts makes the back of Yvie’s throat prickle. She tries to swallow against the lump of emotions forming there, still almost unable to believe that Scarlet wants to be close to her like this, even after everything that’s happened. She stubs out her blunt, placing the ashtray on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

“Babe,” she whispers, bouncing her shoulder lightly to attract Scarlet’s attention, worrying for a moment that Scarlet will roll over or go away, like a cat who’s settled in her lap and will only stay in place if she refrains from moving a single muscle.

But Scarlet only produces a little wincing noise and clings to Yvie even harder, and Yvie catches her breath, her head tilting back as she processes that Scarlet is holding onto her like this, loathing the prospect of stirring her right now or ever doing anything to disturb her comfort in any way, even temporarily.

“Baby, I need to move us,” she tries again. “Come on.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet whines. “‘M comfy.”

“You’ll be even comfier once I lie down with you, I just need to adjust us real quick.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet repeats, her voice fading toward the end like she can’t stay awake long enough to finish her half-hearted protest.

Tightly hugging Scarlet close to herself, Yvie cautiously sits up, the calming effects of both weed and her orgasm as well as the desire to maintain the peace of the now quietly snoring woman on her chest preventing her from making any quick movements, Scarlet mutters something, but it’s muffled and feeble and barely audible, and Yvie twists her arm to blindly reach behind her back and reposition the pillows the best she can without fidgeting too much or letting go of Scarlet.

As she lies down and pulls Scarlet farther onto her chest, the other unconsciously moves her hand from Yvie’s breast to circle her arm around Yvie’s middle, and hides her face in the fabric of Yvie’s top. Yvie pushes her own spare arm behind her head and settles, lets her eyes flutter shut.

In an hour or so, she’ll wake up to Adore bringing Violet home, swinging the front door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and falling into the apartment. They’ll both be far drunker than they were when Yvie last saw them at the bar, and Violet will be giggling loudly while Adore will be whispering dirty promises to her in a voice that isn’t nearly as hushed as she apparently imagines it to be. One of them will walk into a piece of furniture, and their ensuing laughter will finally make Scarlet stir and slur out something in her sleep right before she’ll cuddle a little bit closer to Yvie, and that’ll force Yvie to give up her plan to get up and go shout at Adore in lieu of holding Scarlet tighter and allowing herself to doze off again, a weird, unfamiliar feeling dwelling in her chest at the realization Scarlet hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

The next time Yvie will wake up after that, it’ll be morning already, the bright light of the low November sun shining through the curtains she forgot to close. Scarlet will be gently tugging her legs open, looking up at Yvie wonderingly and asking if she please may, daddy in a sugary little tone. Yvie will nod and close her eyes again, let Scarlet’s warm tongue take her apart until she’s unable to hold back moans, and then she’ll bask in the afterglow and watch as Scarlet throws one of her flannels over her naked form and informs Yvie she’s going to get something to drink.

All of that will happen, but right now Yvie doesn’t think ahead, doesn’t ponder the future at all. She just lets contentment wash over her in tides and enjoys the lightness of marijuana in her fingertips and the weight of a body on her own, pulled safely down to earth by the limbs draped over her and the feeling that this time around, maybe no one will leave or be left, curled so sweet and secure in her chest.

#rpdr fanfiction #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #scyvie #adore delano #violet chachki #viadore #smut #fluff #lesbian au #cisgirl au #this time around #rbcch #miss bianca #tw daddy kink #tw heterophobia #brooklyn babies #s11

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