streepytime

[streepytime]

Title : The Sound You Make When You Can’t Be Quiet Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/66774178 Word Count : 1329 Rated : M Pairing : Julia/Charlene

Inspired by Season 1, Episode 10 'The Slumber Party' where Julia falls asleep at the kitchen table, this story imagines what happens after the lights go out and Suzanne and Mary-Jo go upstairs. Julia’s tired, sick, and full of attitude... but Charlene is soft, persistent, and wearing this lilac silky pajamas. What begins as sleepy affection between them slowly melts into something far more intimate.

-----

Dishes still linger on the table, abandoned in the haze of worn-out conversation and sleepover indulgence.

Julia is slumped at the kitchen table in her pristine satin robe, head down in the crook of her elbow, dark hair tousled, dead to the world. Not even the faint hum of the fridge or the distant creak of footsteps upstairs registers.

From the corner, Charlene emerges. She’s wearing a silky lilac pajama set with a loose button-up top and matching shorts, paired with light pink slouchy socks, giving her a playful and relaxed look. She’s pulled out the convertible couch, opened the sleeping bags they brought to use as covers, and fluffed the cushions with gentle purpose. She glances over at Julia and smiles… tender, fond, a little mischievous.

She pads over slowly, crouching down beside Julia with careful reverence, as if approaching a sleeping tiger.

“Cupcake…” Charlene says softly, letting it hang in the air, singsong and teasing.

“Don’t call me that,” Julia murmurs, muffled, eyes still closed.

“I know, darling. You hate it,” Charlene replies, smiling and leaning closer. “Just like you hate when I kiss your forehead when you’re mad, and bring you hot cocoa when you say you want scotch.”

She reaches up and lightly strokes Julia’s hair, tucking a piece behind her ear. Julia flinches, groans, shifts slightly, but doesn’t move away.

“But I think you secretly love all of it,” Charlene whispers. “And I think you’re too tuckered out to fight me on it tonight.”

“I’ll fight you tomorrow,” Julia grumbles. “Loudly. With full sentences.”

Charlene giggles under her breath, then gently slides Julia’s arm off the table and loops it around her own shoulder.

“Come on now, sugarplum,” she says. “Couch is cold and lonely without you.”

“You’re a menace,” Julia mutters as Charlene helps her up. “A mushy, pastel-wearing menace.”

Charlene practically glows with the compliment disguised as a complaint. She pulls Julia up slowly, supporting her weight as Julia stumbles, disoriented but yielding.

They make it to the pull-out couch. Charlene helps Julia down, easing her onto the soft mattress. Julia groans dramatically but lets Charlene tuck the covers over her.

Charlene slides in beside her, curling up close but not crowding, her hand brushing Julia’s under the covers.

A pause.

“You gonna call me ‘cupcake’ again?” Julia asks quietly, eyes still shut.

“Only in my dreams,” Charlene replies. “Or maybe if I’m ever in a coma and can’t be held accountable.”

“Good,” Julia sighs.

Charlene lies still, warm and sleepy, her head nestled against Julia’s shoulder, their hands loosely linked under the blanket. She lets out a quiet, content sigh.

But then… a shift.

She feels Julia’s hand slowly sliding across her waist, fingers smoothing over the thin silk of her nightshirt, drifting down to the soft curve of her hip. A slow, deliberate touch.

Charlene’s brows lift slightly, eyes still closed.

“Julia… honey, you sure you’re not too sick?” she murmurs.

Julia doesn’t answer right away. Instead, her lips graze Charlene’s neck… barely there, just a whisper of heat. Then:

“If I’m sick, it’s your fault,” she says, low and gravelly.

“My fault?” Charlene turns her head a little, eyes opening. There’s a smile in her voice.

“Mm-hmm.” Julia kisses just beneath Charlene’s ear. “You pranced around all evening in that ridiculous silky lilac pajama set… calling me cupcake, flopping around the living room in those pink socks like some kind of mischievous Southern siren. I never stood a chance.”

Charlene lets out a little breath of a laugh, her cheeks flushed.

“Well I wasn’t trying to seduce you… not entirely.”

She rolls slightly to face Julia in the dark. Their noses almost touch.

“But you were so tired,” she says. “I figured you’d be out until sunrise…”

“I was. Until I woke up to you being soft and sweet and smelling like cinnamon and lilacs. You should be arrested.”

Charlene shivers as Julia’s hand slips under the hem of her shirt, warm and seeking.

“Julia Sugarbaker…” she smiles, whispering, “You’re so handsy when you’re grumpy.”

“I’m hungry, Charlene. That’s different,” Julia says, silky and sure.

Charlene bites her lip, brushing hair back from Julia’s cheek, looking into those eyes even in the low light.

“We could just hold each other,” she offers. “I mean… if you don’t feel good…”

“Charlene.” Julia presses closer, voice low and direct. “I want you. Now. I want the feel of you, the taste of your skin, the sound you make when you try to be quiet and can’t.”

She kisses Charlene then… slow and deep, hand cupping her face with surprising gentleness even in her intensity. Charlene moans softly, responding, hands sliding up Julia’s back, under the silk robe.

Julia shifts. She is no longer beside Charlene, but between her legs, her dark hair brushing over soft thighs as she moves down with a purpose that’s all confidence and care. There’s no hesitation. She knows Charlene… knows her rhythms, her sighs, the way her hands flutter when she’s overwhelmed and the way her hips tilt when she’s past the point of thought.

“Julia… baby, maybe we shouldn’t… not here…” Charlene whispers, barely audible.

But her voice is fragile with need, and the rest of her doesn’t fight it. One hand drifts into Julia’s hair like it belongs there. It does.

“Then I’ll just have to be very good. And very fast,” Julia murmurs, low, just above the skin.

She slides her palms up Charlene’s legs, parting her gently, reverently. The silky nightshort is nudged away, exposing soft skin in the glow. Julia kisses her thigh, slow, anchoring… and then she begins.

Charlene’s body jolts slightly, breath catching in her chest as Julia’s mouth finds her. She presses her knuckles to her mouth, stifling the whimper that wants to escape. The texture of Julia’s tongue, warm and insistent, draws her open like a tide. Everything else disappears.

Her fingers fist instinctively in Julia’s thick curls, not pulling but holding… like if she let go, she’d float off the couch.

Charlene feels everything. Every swirl, every precise flick, the steady rhythm and deep pressure that Julia knows will undo her. They’ve been here before, but somehow it always feels new. Deeper. More sacred.

Julia doesn’t rush. Even though she said she would. Her focus is total. She listens with her hands and mouth, reading the cues: the way Charlene’s thighs tremble, the little whine she can’t quite contain, the tightening grip in her hair.

Charlene arches slightly, hips betraying her desire. Her toes curl. She’s doing everything she can to stay quiet, to not cry out into the room that holds the secrets of their friends just upstairs.

But inside her, the pressure builds… tight and molten. Julia’s tongue grows more deliberate, more loving in its hunger. She can taste the change, feel Charlene tipping.

Julia murmurs something low… something that might’ve been “That’s it, sweetheart,” but it’s lost in the wet sound of her devotion.

Charlene’s breath breaks. Her thighs close just slightly around Julia’s shoulders, not pushing her away but drawing her closer. Her body begins to shake… softly, helplessly… as wave after wave rolls through her.

No words. Just feeling. Surrender.

She comes with her hand over her mouth and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Not from sadness. Just too full. Too much.

Julia doesn’t stop right away. She holds her there, through it, gently softening her touch until Charlene melts beneath her. Then she kisses the inside of her thigh once more… tender, like an apology and a promise all in one.

Julia rises slowly, sliding up the length of her lover’s body. Charlene catches her, arms wrapping tight around her middle. They breathe together, trembling slightly in the afterglow.

“I love you so much it scares me,” Charlene says, quiet and dazed.

Julia presses her forehead to Charlene’s, lips brushing the tip of her nose.

“I know, baby,” she says with a soft smile. “I love you too.”

[streepytime]

There’s nothing sexier than the way this woman sways her hips when she walks…

[streepytime]

Title : Stolen Minutes in the Dark Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/66770503 Word Count : 615 Rated : G Pairing : Julia/Charlene

Julia and Charlene are used to sharing quiet kisses in the dark... small, stolen minutes when no one’s looking. But when Suzanne and Mary-Jo almost catch them, the hush they’ve carved out for themselves nearly shatters. Buttons are fastened, skirts smoothed, and everything unsaid lingers just beneath the surface… except in the glance Mary-Jo doesn’t quite hide.

-----

Julia’s living room is still and bathed in darkness, the hush of after-midnight silence broken only by the quiet tick of the grandfather clock. On the couch, close… too close… sit Julia and Charlene. Their bodies angle toward one another, knees touching, their faces barely inches apart.

They kiss. It’s unhurried, secret, familiar. A long breath drawn together in the quiet.

click

The living room light snaps on with sudden brightness. Julia and Charlene break apart just in time, shifting like magnets forced into reverse polarity.

Suzanne sweeps in dramatically. “Well, for heaven’s sake, what are y’all doing sitting here in the pitch dark like it’s a haunted house?”

Charlene bolts upright, her face flushing crimson. She knocks into the coffee table, sending a coaster skidding. Julia stays seated, calm as ever… but her hands quickly, almost imperceptibly, fasten the top button of her blouse. She smooths her blazer with dignified grace.

Charlene tugs her skirt down a couple of inches… the fabric having ridden up too far during those forty-five silent, stolen minutes.

Mary-Jo walks in behind Suzanne, clocking every detail with quiet curiosity. Her eyes land on Julia’s blouse, Charlene’s panic, and something flickers in her expression… but she says nothing.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I forgot…” Suzanne says. “My house keys! We were halfway down Peachtree when I realized I didn’t have them. Had to make Mary-Jo turn all the way around, and now my entire sleep schedule is off. You know how that throws off my entire beauty cycle.”

Mary-Jo replies dryly, “Yes, Suzanne. The lunar calendar we all live by.”

Ignoring her, Suzanne continues, “This is why I keep saying we need to get keychains that beep when you whistle. I don’t know why we don’t have those in the office, frankly. How many times have I misplaced something in here?”

Charlene, still flustered and fiddling with a stapler, suggests, “Well, maybe next time you could try… uh… just leaving them in your purse?”

“Charlene, sweetie, I do leave them in my purse. I just carry a lotta purses, that’s all,” Suzanne says as she crosses to her desk and scoops up her keys.

She doesn’t notice Julia’s watchful eye or the way Charlene quietly trembles. Mary-Jo, however, does.

Mary-Jo looks over at Julia. Their eyes meet. Julia raises one elegant eyebrow, daring Mary-Jo to say something. But Mary-Jo just smiles… soft, wry, and warm.

“Well, now that the mystery of the missing keys is solved… how about we all get some rest?” Mary-Jo suggests.

Suzanne, already turning to leave, agrees, “Yes, please. My melatonin window is rapidly closing.”

She grabs Mary-Jo’s arm and pulls her toward the door. Mary-Jo lets herself be dragged.

“Honestly, if I have dark circles tomorrow, I’m sending y’all the spa bill!” Suzanne calls over her shoulder.

The front door closes. Silence.

Julia rises, brushing her skirt smooth. Charlene remains turned away, her breath shallow.

“She didn’t see,” Julia says softly.

“But Mary-Jo did,” Charlene replies quietly.

Julia walks up behind her, laying a hand gently on her back. Charlene leans into it just a little.

“She smiled,” Julia says.

“I know. But I still feel like I swallowed a canary… that was sitting on top of a dynamite stick,” Charlene admits.

“Charlene… we’re grown women. We are allowed our secrets,” Julia reminds her.

Charlene searches her face. “Are we really just not gonna talk about it?”

“We’re talking now,” Julia says.

Charlene laughs, shaky and sweet. Julia reaches out, gently brushing a bit of glitter from her cheek left over from their earlier celebration.

They stand close again, not touching now… but only barely.

“I should go,” Charlene says.

“I know,” Julia replies.

[streepytime]

Suzanne always brings up homosexuality whenever Charlene and Julia are around… and their physical and verbal reactions are absolutely priceless.

[streepytime]

preparing to let go of ava so ava can pursue her dreams vs. preparing to let go of her own dream so she can pursue a life with ava

[streepytime]

There’s nothing heterosexual about this.

[streepytime]

Those little smirks are full of secrets.

[streepytime]

[streepytime]

she loves me proshot!!!

just as a fyi! I always have the she loves me proshot linked in my desc. for anyone to view (click on where it says ‘she loves me’)

and I’ll link it here too. I know there’s sometimes one floating around on youtube, but I’ll never delete this one - so this is just a free gift lol! because no one should be denied the right to watch this beautiful show. no one.

ok that’s all, enjoy! 💕

[streepytime]

Title : Only When It's Just Us Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/66769759 Word Count : 747 Rated : G Pairing : Julia/Charlene

On a quiet Friday afternoon, Julia and Charlene find themselves sharing more than just a drafting bench. Between soft sketches and quiet teasing, their hands touch, and the space they’re building on paper begins to mirror something tender between them. Sometimes, the best rooms are the ones you create together... line by line, heartbeat by heartbeat.

-----

The sun hangs low, painting the walls a soft honey-gold. The living room is quiet… almost sleepy. Paper files sit stacked neatly, fabric swatches are tucked away for Monday. It’s just Julia and Charlene now, and the air hums with that peaceful stillness only late Fridays bring.

Julia sits at her narrow drafting bench, perfectly upright as always, sketching in slow, deliberate strokes. A gentle breeze ruffles the curtain behind her. She’s deep in concentration, but the set of her mouth is relaxed, content.

Across the room, Charlene slouches at her desk, chin in her hand, lazily twirling a pencil. The phone is dead quiet. She finished her work two hours ago and has been pretending to stay busy ever since.

“Ain’t this the quietest Friday in creation?” Charlene muses aloud.

No reply. Just the soft scratch of Julia’s pencil against paper.

After a moment, Charlene stands and meanders over, then gently perches beside Julia on her narrow little drafting bench… just wide enough for two, if you don’t mind being close.

“You mind if I sit with you?” she asks, resting her hands in her lap. “I promise I won’t talk your ear off. Not right away, anyway.”

“That would be a refreshing change,” Julia replies, her voice quiet, still sketching.

“Hush. You know you love my stories,” Charlene says, nudging her playfully.

“Only when they don’t involve Elvis, moonshine, or any of your cousins with the same first name.”

Charlene giggles. “Well, that rules out ninety percent of my childhood.”

They sit in a peaceful hush. Charlene watches Julia work, her eyes drawn to the graceful movement of her hand, the precise way she pulls each line.

“Whatcha working on?” she asks softly.

“A bungalow renovation,” Julia answers without glancing up. “Bay windows, Spanish tile, too many opinions from a husband who doesn’t understand the concept of negative space.”

Charlene grins. “That’s most husbands, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Unfortunately, yes.”

Charlene leans in, eyes tracking Julia’s hand as it glides across the page. Her voice quiets naturally, as it always does when Julia sketches… less out of reverence, more out of something unspoken and tender.

“You really are something when you draw, you know that?” she says. “It’s like watching someone write music… with a ruler.”

Julia slows, then gently pushes her current sketch aside. She reaches for a clean sheet of paper, laying it carefully on the desk in front of them.

“I’ve got something new I’ve been thinking about,” she says. “I haven’t put it on paper yet.”

She picks up her ruler and aligns it on the blank page, then, without a word, reaches for Charlene’s hands. Gently, she sets Charlene’s fingers on the ruler. Her own hands rest lightly over them.

Charlene’s breath catches. “Oh… we’re doing this together?”

“Just the first few lines,” Julia says softly.

They move together… slow, thoughtful strokes, the pencil guided by both of them. Charlene leans in a little closer, caught up in the quiet magic of it.

“You always draw so steady,” she murmurs. “If this were me alone it’d be all wobbly.”

“Well, that’s what practice and architectural training gets you,” Julia says, gently teasing.

A beat.

“It’s funny…” Charlene whispers. “It feels kinda like we’re building a little world right here.”

“Maybe we are.”

The moment stretches, quiet and full. Their shoulders are touching now. The hush around them isn’t awkward… it’s warm, gentle. Familiar in a way neither of them ever says out loud.

Charlene smiles to herself. “You know, if this was the room we were building, I think I’d wanna sit in it forever. With sweet tea. Maybe a little dog sleeping in the corner. Not too loud. Just… cozy.”

Julia doesn’t respond right away. She just draws a soft curve… maybe the arch of a window. Then, quietly, she says, “Sounds like something I wouldn’t mind, either.”

Charlene looks at her. Julia’s still focused on the paper, but there’s a softness in her eyes, in the way her lashes catch the last of the afternoon light.

“You ever think about why it’s always so nice… when it’s just us?” Charlene asks, her voice barely above a breath.

Julia looks at her now. Really looks.

“I do.”

A beat. The silence between them turns gentle, golden, like the light spilling across the floor. They keep drawing, but slower now… hands still touching, the new room unfolding line by line, like something they’ve both been dreaming up for a long time.

[streepytime]

Charlene x Julia and “Golden Hour” 😭😭😭

[streepytime]

Charlene Frazier sounding like Deborah Vance… I love when her voice gets higher and whinier like that. Also, she looks incredible in that outfit with the yellow crown print.

[streepytime]

Title : Deborah Daniels Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/66765586/ Word Count : 1378 Rated : M Pairing : Avorah

Established Avorah. Rated M. Fluff/Smut. Inspired by the song "At Last" performed by Etta James and by Deborah Vance becoming Deborah Daniels.

90% of my one-shots are inspired by incredibly funny conversations with @carothepoet... so I basically owe her everything. Thank you for bringing these little rays of sunshine into my life.

-----

The lights are dimmed low in a grand old ballroom, casting a soft golden glow over everything. Candles flicker on every table. Strings of fairy lights crisscross the ceiling like stars caught in a net.

A hush falls over the room as the first notes of “At Last” by Etta James drift through the air.

Ava Daniels, in a sharp, perfectly tailored white tux, stands at the edge of the dance floor, jaw slack, eyes wide, because…

Deborah Vance… now Deborah Daniels… glides toward her.

And she is breathtaking.

Her gown is old-Hollywood glamour with a modern twist: ivory silk that drapes and hugs in all the right places, a dramatic train, sheer lace sleeves that shimmer subtly as she walks. Her hair is swept into an elegant twist, soft curls framing her face, a vintage comb sparkling just above her ear. Deborah is glowing, like someone has dipped her in Krug champagne and told her she’s allowed to be adored forever.

Ava swallows hard and offers her hand.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathes, voice catching. “You can’t just walk toward me like that and expect me to stay conscious.”

Deborah lets out a laugh that’s already laced with tears. “You better stay conscious. I paid a small fortune for this dress and you’re the only one who gets to unzip it later.”

Ava pulls her in, trembling slightly. The crowd disappears. It’s just them.

They begin to sway.

🎵 At last… my love has come along… 🎵

Ava leans in, her voice low, breath warm against Deborah’s ear. “So, just to clarify… are we sure you married me and you’re not an extremely fashionable ghost who’s here to seduce me and then disappear into a mirror?”

Deborah laughs, clutching her tighter. “You’re such an idiot.”

“But now your idiot,” Ava says, grinning. “Forever. In sickness, in health, in Spanx.”

Deborah leans her head on Ava’s shoulder, eyes wet, smiling so wide it hurts. “You always do this. You make me laugh when I’m trying to look composed and glamorous.”

“Darling, you look like if Grace Kelly and a thunderstorm had a baby,” Ava says. “You could cry-laugh on a pogo stick and still look like you walked out of a perfume ad.”

Deborah laughs again, really laughs, echoing softly in the warm light. She pulls back slightly to look into Ava’s eyes.

“I love you, Ava.”

Ava beams. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Daniels.”

“I never thought I’d have this.”

“Me either. But here we are. You, me, and a room full of people pretending they aren’t crying watching two gay weirdos slow dance to a 1960s power ballad.”

Deborah wipes a tear off her cheek and kisses Ava, soft and slow.

The crowd cheers, but they barely hear it.

They just keep swaying. Holding on. Laughing quietly into each other’s necks.

🎵 At last… 🎵

And for once, everything is exactly where it should be.

-----

The door clicks shut behind them.

The suite is palatial: soft ambient lighting and a fireplace flickering in the corner. Outside the window, city lights stretch endlessly into the dark.

Ava and Deborah stand in the entrance for a beat, still holding hands, their cheeks slightly flushed from dancing and champagne and everything…

“Well…” Ava says, mock-serious. “Here we are. Our wedding night. Our… first time.”

Deborah tilts her head, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “Ava.”

“I just… I’m nervous, okay?” Ava says, eyes wide and innocent. “I’ve never seen you naked before. I definitely haven’t had your legs wrapped around me while the headboard slammed into the wall and the neighbors filed a noise complaint.”

Deborah exhales through a laugh, shaking her head. “Again, you’re such an idiot.”

“But don’t you ever forget,” Ava says, grinning. “Your idiot now. Forever. In sickness, in health, in… embarrassing attempts at roleplay.”

Deborah walks slowly toward her, slipping out of her heels. The soft swish of her gown trails behind her like a sigh. She puts her hands on Ava’s lapels and smooths them down, just once.

“So, what now?” she murmurs. “Are you going to awkwardly ask if you can take my dress off like you’ve never seen a zipper before?”

Ava lowers her voice, mock-nervous. “Would madam be so kind as to… disrobe?”

Deborah rolls her eyes… then bursts into laughter. That gorgeous, slightly rasping laugh Ava lives for.

“God, I hate you.”

“You love me,” Ava says. “And now it’s legally binding.”

She kisses her… playfully at first. But then the kiss deepens, Ava’s hands slipping around Deborah’s waist… careful, reverent. She kisses like she’s still stunned that she gets to.

Deborah melts into it, into her, arms wrapping around Ava’s neck.

A beat.

They pull back, foreheads touching, breath mingling.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Ava whispers. “I don’t know how you do that. You walked across a room and I forgot my name.”

“Well, I remembered yours,” Deborah says. “It’s mine now too, remember? Deborah Daniels.”

“You don’t have to be a Daniels to be mine,” Ava says. “But hearing it? Hearing you say it? Kinda knocks the air out of me.”

“Good. Keeps you from saying something stupid for five seconds.”

They’re giggling again, but it fades as Ava’s fingers find the buttons at the back of Deborah’s gown.

She undoes them slowly. Carefully. Like unwrapping something rare.

The dress slips off her shoulders, pools around her feet like liquid moonlight.

Deborah stands in front of her in nothing but silk and skin and trust.

Ava stares… not for effect, but because she can’t not.

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

“You’re really committing to the whole ‘first time’ thing, huh?” Deborah asks, a little breathless.

“I mean it,” Ava says. “Every time with you feels like the first time.”

Deborah pulls her in, and this time the kiss is deeper. Slower. Hungrier.

Ava is on top of her now, fully undressed, her body stretched over hers like a perfect fit. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

Deborah’s back arches as Ava’s hand slides up her thigh, firm and slow. She lets out a sharp gasp… half a moan, half a laugh.

“Jesus, Ava,” she breathes.

“Nope,” Ava murmurs against her neck. “Just your wife. Here to worship you.”

Deborah whimpers, actually whimpers and that sound goes straight through Ava like lightning. She kisses her harder, mouths open, teeth grazing lips, tongues tangling. It’s messy and real and so, so good.

“God, you feel so good… don’t stop… don’t stop,” Deborah gasps.

Ava doesn’t.

She moves with her, hips rolling, hand sliding, mouth pressing into soft spots that make Deborah cry out. Loud. Desperate. Her voice rising without apology, without care for who might hear through the walls.

“Ava… Ava, please… oh my god,” Deborah moans.

Ava’s mouth finds her chest, her jaw, the shell of her ear… driving her wild with every touch, every breath.

“Say it again,” she whispers, low and hot.

“Ava…” Deborah can barely form words. “Don’t you dare stop…”

Sheets twist beneath them. The headboard knocks softly, then harder… rhythmic and real. Deborah’s nails dig into Ava’s back, anchoring herself as she tips over the edge.

She cries out Ava’s name, voice breaking, loud and unfiltered, like she’s been holding it in her entire life and finally lets go.

Ava holds her through it, kissing her like she’ll never get another chance, whispering, “That’s it, baby. Let go. I’ve got you.”

Deborah shudders, breath catching, then softens in Ava’s arms… boneless and radiant.

They breathe together for a few moments, tangled and slick with sweat and love, until Deborah starts laughing, breathless and glowing.

“God. I’ve never been that loud in my life.”

“Babe,” Ava says, “I want that engraved on our wedding rings.”

“I’m gonna be hoarse at brunch.”

“Worth it. I should’ve recorded it. That was basically a five-star Yelp review.”

They collapse back into each other, flushed and tangled, completely spent…

…but not done. Not even close.

Ava slides her hand back over Deborah’s stomach, lower.

“We should probably try again,” she murmurs, smirking. “I think you forgot my name around orgasm number three.”

Deborah’s eyes flutter shut as a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Try again, Mrs. Daniels. Let’s see how many times you can make me scream it.”

[streepytime]

fun fact: this was what made me watch 0UAT

“Well, Emma,” Regina said, “You said you wanted to be the leader. Lead.” The low purr in her voice and the speculative way she looked Emma up and down gave her a little thrill that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

[streepytime]

finally had time for my fav toxic yuri

[streepytime]

Clair Obscur

[streepytime]