#anyway i am low key shipping them harder than i was before

[hydr0phius]

Sorry but Thra'lani (as a platonic and a romantic ship, tbh) has taken over my entire brain right now. They are sOoOooo- ahkajsjjdjssksjirjdjjrjsjfw.

[drabbles-mc]

Family Dinner

Kozik x F!Reader (ft. Dad!Tig Trager)

Request by Anon: Can I request a sort of funny Kozik x female reader (who is Tig's badass daughter), where Tig has no idea that they're a thing until Gemma holds a dinner, and someone goes to offer reader a food they can't have due to a dairy intolerance, and Kozik informs them that she can't have it, and Tig pretty much interrogates him and is like, "how do you know that"? Has a big ol' moment of feeling betrayed and being mad as hell, but ultimately comes around to the idea.

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This was a fun one! I did switch up the reveal a little bit but not too much. I haven’t written a heck of a lot for Tig as a character and having him play the protective dad role in this was really enjoyable to write. Hope you enjoy! xo

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SOA Taglist: @garbinge​ @masterlistforimagines​ @mayans-sauce​ @chibsytelford​ @mijop​ @adela-topaz-caelon​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​​ @shadow-of-wonder​​ (If you want to be added to my taglist let me know! xo)

You were shimmying back into your jeans, trying to pretend that you didn’t notice the way that his eyes were glued to you. You looked over as you fastened the button on them, “You going to Gemma’s later?”

He looked surprised at the question, “The dinner thing?” when you nodded in response, he sat upright, running his hand through his hair, “Am I…am I even invited?”

You laughed, nodding, “It’s a club thing. Of course you’re invited.”

“Yea but no one ever—”

“Does Gemma seem like the kind of woman who is gonna make a damn phone tree and call everyone she wants there?” you chuckled and shook your head, “Just come. It’s always a good time. Good food, too.”

You could see it on his face that he was trying to weigh out the pros and cons of it. Since he transferred into Samcro, things had gone smoothly for him for the most part. Pretty much everyone in the club was glad to have him back around again. However, the one person that wasn’t thrilled about his return, was the person that you knew he was worrying the most about.

“It’s not like you two are going to be alone in a room together,” you told him as you pulled your shirt down over your head, “We’re all gonna be there.”

“You think he won’t jump the table and try to beat the shit out of me in front of everyone?”

You laughed, knowing that that is exactly the kind of thing your father would do, “Just don’t say anything to piss him off.”

“Want me to be silent for the whole dinner, then?”

You smiled, shaking your head, “Give him a little credit, Koz. He’s better than he was when you first turned back up.”

“Pretty low fuckin’ bar.”

You walked back over to his bed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “Progress is progress,” you stroked your thumb along his cheek, “I’ll see you tonight?”

He sighed, giving in only because it was you, “Yea,” he rested his hand over yours, “I’ll be there.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his, “Thank you.”

You leaned in to give him one last quick peck on the lips before leaving, but he grabbed you and pulled you close, not letting you pull away. You laughed as you leaned into the kiss, bracing yourself on his shoulders.

When he finally let you go, he was smiling up at you, “Since I won’t be able to do that later.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you walked towards his bedroom door, “You could, but it’d be the last time you ever did.”

You left Kozik’s place, making your way back to the home that you were currently sharing with your father. You’d been looking for a place of your own, but nothing seemed to be quite the right fit. At this point, you figured you would probably just end up moving in with Kozik before too much longer. There were a few conversations that needed to happen before that, though, and you weren’t sure if you were quite ready to have them yet.

“Dad, you home?” you’d seen his bike in the driveway but the house was eerily quiet when you walked in.

“Yea,” he walked out of the bathroom, half of his face still splattered with shaving cream, “Everything okay?”

You laughed as you took in the way he looked, giving him a nod, “Yea, all good. Was just quiet in here. But now I see that you were very…focused.”

“It’s like sculpting The David, alright? Takes a lot of concentration.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “Right. Something like that. Anyway, we still going to Gemma’s thing later?”

“Yea. I’m not getting in trouble for missing it.”

You laughed, “Figures.”

Surprisingly, Tig let you drive the both of you to Gemma’s place. Usually when you offered to drive it was met with a myriad of comments about how your driving would get the both of you killed. For some reason, though, he was feeling extra agreeable. You didn’t want to ruin it so you swiped the keys immediately and went out to the car.

When you rolled into the driveway, there were already a decent number of bikes parked out front. Your heart sped up a little bit when you spotted Kozik’s in the midst of them. You weren’t the only one who noticed, though. You heard Tig muttering something under his breath about how you can’t believe that someone invited him.

“He’s part of the club too, you know, Dad,” you said, a hint of defensiveness in your voice.

“Doesn’t mean that I gotta like him,” he responded as he stepped out of the car.

You sighed, getting out and shutting the door behind you, “Make everyone’s lives a whole lot easier if you did.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed slightly, “Since when do you care?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, “The less drama at family dinners, the better.”

It must’ve been a good enough excuse, because he let the topic drop. The two of you walked inside, welcomed by the sounds of a few different conversations happening throughout the house, and the smell of whatever Gemma was cooking wafting over from the kitchen. It really did feel like coming home.

You made your way around, saying hello and giving everyone a hug in greeting. You tried not to let Kozik’s embrace linger, but you had to admit that it was hard to pull away. It was getting harder and harder to keep things on the down-low with you two. You were needy and Kozik wasn’t someone that you would ever describe as particularly discreet.

“You need help with anything, Gemma?” you were scanning over everything that she had going on top of the stove and in the oven.

She took a deep breath, hands on her hips as she looked around the kitchen, “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Think we’ve got it all under control in here,” she nodded towards the cupboards, “Maybe get some plates out for me?”

You nodded, “Sure thing.”

While you were bringing the plates to the table, you could hear the murmur of conversations out in the living room. There was laughter and the clattering of beer bottles as the guys got into whatever shenanigans they had time for before the food was done. It’d been a while since everyone got together at Gemma’s, and you had to admit that it was needed.

You looked back into the kitchen and saw Kozik staring at you. You smiled, shaking your head slightly at him as you tried not to draw too much attention to it. The last thing you wanted to do was air out all of your business in the middle of Gemma’s house.

He was leaning back against the counter, watching as you gathered up silverware for the table as well. He opened his mouth to make a flirty remark, but immediately backpedaled when Tig walked into the room. He tore his eyes off of you, trying to look anywhere else.

When you came back from the table the second time, you saw that Gemma had stepped out of the kitchen. With a devious smile on your face, you grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and opened one of the pots on the stove. Gemma ran a tight ship, and that meant no sneaking any food before dinner. But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

You assumed no one was watching you, Tig had his head in the fridge looking for a fresh beer bottle. You scooped a spoonful of whatever was filling the kitchen with a mouth-watering aroma. You never thought to ask Gemma what anything was—it was always good.

You blew on it, and just as you were about to take a bite Kozik spoke up, resting his hand on your arm to signal you to stop, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

You chuckled, “If you don’t snitch, Gemma won’t even know.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “It’s not that. Although…that’s another really good reason to not sneak it.”

“Why can’t I have it? Saving more for yourself?” you smiled.

His grin was contagious, “That’s a bonus, but no,” he gently took the spoon from your hands, “It’s got diary in it. It’ll make you sick.”

You groaned, hating that you were deprived of good things, “Fuck. Fine. Thanks for saving my stomach I guess.”

He couldn’t help but to laugh, “You’re welcome I guess.”

The two of you were laughing but you both stopped short when you saw the way that Tig was glaring at you, beer bottle gripped tight in his hand. His glance shifted from you over to Kozik, eyes boring into the man next to you.

“How’d you know that?”

He tried to be nonchalant about it, not wanting to pour fuel on the fire that was already set between the two of them, “Know what?”

Tig nodded towards the pot on the stove, “That that shit makes her sick.”

He’d never been good at coming up with lies on the spot, “She just, uh, I dunno. Must’ve mentioned it at some point.”

It wasn’t a convincing statement. And Tig had noticed how close the two of you stood, the way that you looked at each other. He wasn’t that oblivious. He wasn’t sure who he was more frustrated with in the moment. It was easier to be mad at Kozik, because he was always mad at him. But he couldn’t believe that you wouldn’t tell him something like this. Despite his own personal feelings, he was still your father and wanted to know what was going on with you.

Tig stepped forward, getting dangerously close to Kozik’s face, “You sleepin’ with my daughter?”

You huffed, trying to insert yourself between the two of them, “Dad, come on. We’re not doing this here.”

His eyes diverted back to you, “You didn’t think you should mention this to me at some point? How long has this shit been going on?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep things as level as possible, “I wanted to mention it, but for some reason I thought that it might not go over well.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, fingertips rapping against the neck of his beer bottle. He knew that you had a point—he didn’t exactly make himself the easiest person to talk to when it came to you dating in general, let alone dating Kozik. But still.

“Maybe that’s true,” he finally conceded.

You laughed, shaking your head. Your stubbornness was a genetic trait, “Yea. Maybe.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of hesitation or discomfort, “He good to you?”

You nodded, not even needing a moment to think about the answer, “Of course.”

Tig gave you a slight nod before gently moving you to the side, once more getting too close for comfort to Kozik’s face, “You hurt her, it’ll be the last thing you ever fucking do. Got it?”

He nodded, wanting to force words out but not quite sure what to say, “Got it.”

“Good,” he stepped away, walking back towards the living room where the rest of the club was sitting.

You wanted to stay and enjoy the relief of not having to hide anymore, but you couldn’t. You pressed a quick kiss to Kozik’s lips before going to catch up with your dad, pulling him aside, “Hey. Thank you for, you know, not murdering him in the middle of Gemma’s kitchen.”

“The night isn’t over. There’s still time for that.”

You laughed, “Stop. He’s a good guy, Dad. I know you don’t wanna see it but—”

He cut you off, “You don’t gotta explain yourself to me. But if he fucks up I swear to god—”

“You’ll be the first to know. Promise,” you held your pinky out.

He locked his finger with yours, a smile on his face, “Good.”

You smiled, “I love you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, “I love you too.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

It’s Always Been You ~ 144

OUT OF TIME MASTERLIST

IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,660ish

Summary: The time travel mission gets started.

Notes: You must read Out Of Time in order to understand this. The chapter numbers continue from Out Of Time.

“I’m going to look the suits over one last time before looking my reactor over,” Tony whispered to Y/N. “Are you going to be okay alone for a little while?”

“I’ll be fine,” she responded. “I need some time alone anyway.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

They shared a brief kiss before Tony headed for the lab and Y/N went outside. She was craving a run, wanting time to short through her thoughts. She began with a slow jog, slowly increasing her speed the more she thought about everything that had happened and could possibly happen. 

Rounding the track for the seventh time, she noticed Steve waiting. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself to run faster passed him. Too bad Y/N wasn’t a super soldier too, he quickly caught up with her.

“We need to talk,” Steve said, running beside her.

“I’m done talking,” she retorted, trying to push herself harder.

Steve sighed and easily caught up with her again. “Well I’m not. Can you stop for a second?”

“No.”

“Y/N, I just want to talk.”

“And I don’t want to listen.”

“Please.”

“Steve, I really don’t want to do this—“

“I’m sorry.”

Those words had Y/N skidding to a sudden stop. She was panting, too shocked to turn around. As soon as the words left his mouth, Steve had stopped. They were a few feet apart, but it felt like miles.

“What?” Y/N breathed out, slowly turning around.

“I’m sorry,” her brother repeated. “And in saying that, I know that it’s not enough. But… I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for exactly? Bringing me along with you back in the 40s? Me waking up before you? You not accepting that I’m different now then I was, and that’s okay? Or for you not trusting me? For doubting me?”

“For all of it. I’m sorry that I brought you along on that world tour. I’m sorry that you fell from the ship and I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry that you had to spend years without any family members, believing that Bucky and I were dead. I can’t—“ He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine how lonely that felt. Because I woke up and I still had you. Though, you had changed…. And I’m sorry for not accepting it sooner. I… I guess I’m just hurt because you kept those things for me. Out of all people, you kept all these things from me, your twin. Your abilities, Coulson, your knowledge of the Stones… you knew so much, yet you didn’t share it…. And… And I guess I’m jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“You’ve found someone who loves you and fights for you. And you fight for equally in return. You guys lean on each other through everything, which is so admirable. And you have Morgan, who is the greatest thing. I love her so much.”

“She loves you too.”

“I want what you have… and I haven’t been able to find it. It’s killing me… the only person who I’ve ever wanted a family with was Peggy. And that’s not an option.”

“You’ll find someone better than her. I know it’s hard to believe, but you will.”

“I’m sorry, for everything. I really am.” Y/N was hesitant to believe Steve, and he could tell. “I don’t want to go into tomorrow, whatever may happen, without having cleared things up with you. I don’t want to do tomorrow without you knowing that I do love you and I do trust you…. Can you forgive me?”

Y/N bit her lips and looked away, trying to keep the emotions at bay and failing. She looked back at her brother and took a deep breath. “Yes… I forgive you.”

Steve rushed up and bear hugged his sister. She quickly wrapped her arms around him as well.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered.

“I know,” she replied. “I am too. Let’s try and not be at each other’s throats constantly.”

“I think I can do that.” He pulled away, still holding onto her arms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Putting up with me.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly made it easy on you either.”

“Right. Have you called Morgan yet tonight?”

“I haven’t, but she’s probably already in bed.”

“Do you think we could try? I want to see her, before anything happens tomorrow.”

“Good thing I have her on the line right here, Cap,” Tony stated, walking towards the twins.

“Uncle Steve!!!” Morgan squealed from the phone.

“Mo!!” Steve quickly swiped the phone from Tony. “How’s my favorite niece doing?”

“Good! Happy and Pepper let me swim in the lake today!”

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed, pushing to get into the view of the camera. “It’s October!”

“I didn’t— Morgan give me the phone,” Happy ordered. He swiped it from the little girl. “We didn’t let her! She snuck out.”

“Way to go, Mo!” Tony cheered.

Y/N smacked his arm. “Don’t encourage this,” she scolded.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, momma,” Morgan said sadly, taking the phone back from Happy. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Y/N replied. “I just don’t want you to get sick. Okay?”

“Okay… when are you and daddy coming home?”

Y/N made eye-contact with the men surrounding her before looking back at her daughter. “Hopefully tomorrow night, or the next day.”

“Yay! Will Uncle Steve be coming with you?” Y/N looked at Steve.

“Of course,” Steve answered. “I need some time with my biggest fan.”

“Yay!!!!!”

“Okay,” Tony took the phone, “it’s time to go to bed, little miss. We love you.”

“Love you 3000!”

“Love you baby,” Y/N said as Tony hung up the phone. “This is going to work, right?” She looked at the men, pleading with her eyes. “We’re going to get the Stones, bring everyone back, and no one is going to die…. Right?”

Tony cupped her face and her hands when to grab onto his wrists. “Nothing is going to happen,” Tony promised her. “We are all going to be okay. And we,” he paused for a brief kiss on her lips, “are going to get back to Morgan safely.”

“Tony’s right,” Steve agreed. Tony broke contact with Y/N’s face, bringing an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. “We’re going to get through this.”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

~~~

Tony and Y/N said goodnight to Steve and headed straight for their room. The door had barely shut before Tony had her up against the wall and his tongue in her mouth. Y/N willing grasped onto him, letting him take control.

“I love you,” he murmured against her as they worked together to tear their clothes off. “I love you… I love you.”

“Are you trying to make up for us not having sex when we said we would?” She panted ever so slightly.

“Maybe,” he smirked, lifting her up. “Or maybe, I just want to show my wife how much I love her before we head off to the past tomorrow.” He gently laid her on the bed and he knelt over her. He ran his fingers down the side of her face. “I love you,” he repeated.

“And I love you… now, are we doing to do it? Or are you going to make me beg?”

~~~

The Team could feel the weight of their mission when they woke up in the morning. Getting geared up, everyone checked everything over numerous times. Scared to over look anything. The Team headed to the platform together, with Steve leading the charge. Bruce stopped at the control panel as the rest walked up onto the platform. They each took a position around where the opening would be, Y/N in the middle of Steve and Tony. They all looked at their Captain to say something before they headed off. With a sigh and a second to get his thoughts together, Steve began:

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends… We lost family… We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win.” Looking passed Y/N, Steve and Tony shared a look. “Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

“He’s pretty good at that,” Rocket commented.

“Right?” Scott agreed.

“Alright. You heard the man,” Tony said. “Stroke those keys, jolly green.”

“Tractors engaged,” Bruce responded.

Tony reached over to Y/N and tugged her into him, landed a loving kiss on her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she responded.

Bruce joined them on the platform and the quantum realm opened up. Tony and Y/N separated, looking down at the swirling colors. Natasha was smiling excitedly.

Turning to Steve, she said, “See you in a minute.”

Steve gave her a small smile in response before the Team’s helmets formed and they shrunk, entering the quantum realm. They were all together at first, until their GPS’ split the groups up to where they were heading. Tony, Steve, Y/N, Bruce, and Scott landed in New York 2012, in the midst of the Battle of New York. Their suits disappeared and Y/N immediately gasped loudly, stumbling back. Tony and Steve were quickly at her side to stable.

“Honey? Honey, talk to me,” Tony urged as Y/N’s breathing matched her rapid heartbeat. “What’s going on?”

“Th-The Stones,” she gasped. She could feel the connection forming once again. “They… I can…”

“Can you control them?” Steve questioned, trying to see if he could see what Y/N was trying to get at.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you need to sit down?” Tony wondered.

“I’ll be fine. I just…” The buzzing began, making Y/N cringe. “I just need a second. But you guys can start without me. It shouldn’t be hard for me to catch up.”

“You sure?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then, we all have our assignments. Two Stones uptown, one Stone, down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.”

Suddenly 2012 Hulk passed by their alleyway, smashing everything along his way. Bruce put his hand on his face, embarrassed. Steve looked at him.

“Feel free to smash a few things along the way,” Steve said.

“I think it’s gratuitous, but whatever,” Bruce muttered. He looked Y/N’s way. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” she responded. She leaned over and kissed Tony, pulling him closer by his neck. “Please be save.”

“Always,” he smirked. The two shared one last kiss before Y/N broke off and headed Bruce’s way.

“Need a lift?” Bruce asked, tearing off his shirt.

“Nah,” she grinned, opening a portal behind her. “I think I have a better way.”

“Jealous!” Scott exclaimed. “Do we have to— Ahh!!”

Scott failed to finish what he was saying, due to the fact that Y/N had opened portals beneath the others. She waved and blew a kiss as they fell through, landing them behind the Tower. She chuckled as she went through her portal, Bruce following. Closing the portal, Y/N and Bruce looked to see that they were in the Sanctum where they had met Dr. Strange.

“Hello?” Y/N said. “Is anyone—ah!”

Her trick was played on her and Bruce. The two of them falling through a portal and onto the roof.

“Careful,” the Ancient One warned. “I just had the floors waxed.”

“I’m looking for Doctor Strange,” Bruce said, him and Y/N standing up.

“You’re about… five years too early. Stephen Strange is currently performing surgery about twenty blocks that way.” She pointed. “But you should have known that already.” She looked right at Y/N. “What do you want from him?”

“That, actually.” Bruce pointed towards the necklace around her neck.

“Ah! I’m afraid not.”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t asking.”

“Maybe we should—“

“You don’t want to do this,” the Ancient One interrupted Y/N.

“Ah, you’re right, I don’t,” Bruce responded. He made a grab from he necklace. “But we need that Stone, and we don’t have time to beat it—“

The Ancient One quickly pushed Bruce’ astral form out of his body. Bruce, who now looked more human, stared at the Ancient One horrified.

“Let’s start over,” the Ancient One said, “shall we?”

“You know who I am?” Y/N asked.

“I do. But, do you know who are?”

“I’m getting there. And I’m so sorry to bug, but we really need that Time Stone.”

“No.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I do.”

“Then you know why we need it.”

“Still, a no."

“Please, please,” Bruce, still in astral form, begged.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you two. If I give up the Time Stone to help your reality, I’m dooming my own.”

“With all due respect, I’m not sure the science really supports that.”

The Ancient One created a projection of a long ray, simulating the flow of time. Projections of the Stones hovered above it.

“The Infinity Stones create what you experience as the flow of time. Remove one Stone and that flow splits,” she explained before she plucked the Time Stone projection away and pointed at the diverging line. “Now, this may benefit your reality, but my new one… not so much. In this new branched reality, without our chief weapon against the forces of darkness, our world will be overrun. Millions will suffer. So, tell me, can your science prevent all that?”

“No, but we can erase it,” Bruce retorted. “Because once we are done with the stones, we can return each one to its own timeline at the moment it was taken. So, chronologically,” he held the Time Stone projection, “in that reality,” he set it back, “it never left.” The diverging line disappeared.

“But you are leaving out the most important part. In order to return the Stones, someone would have to survive.”

“We will. I will. I promise.”

“I can’t risk this reality on a promise. It is the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect the Time Stone.” She turned away.

“Then, why the hell did Strange give it away?”

She turned back, shocked. “What did you say?”

“Strange, he gave it away,” Y/N repeated, surprised that the Ancient One didn’t know since she seemed to know everything. “He gave it to Thanos.”

“Willingly?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We have no idea,” Bruce answered. “Maybe he made a mistake.”

“Or I did.” She returned Bruce into his body and opened her necklace, revealing the Time Stone. “Strange is meant to be the best of us.”

“Ancient One, please trust us,” Y/N pled. “I am realizing now you only know so much, but you know what I am meant to do. And I cannot do it without the Stones. They were destroyed and I have no access to them. We need the Stone so that we can bring everyone back and… and so that I can complete whatever calling the Stones have put upon me… Strange knew the calling as well. So he must have given the Time Stone away for a reason.”

“I fear you might be right.” She handed Y/N the Time Stone.

“I’m counting on you two. We all are.”

“Thank you.” 

Y/N handed the Stone over to Bruce, who had something to put it in. Bruce nodded before pressing a button and disappearing. Before Y/N could follow after him, the Ancient One called out to her.

“Y/N.” Y/N stopped and turned. “Before you go, you might want to check on your husband and brother.”

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Just go to their meeting place. And, Y/N, be careful.”

next chapter >

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[javier-djarin]

Son of the Medjai: Chapter 3

Osiris’s Curse: Book 1

The Mummy AU

Ship: Pero Tovar x Aria MacKenzie (OC)

Rating: M

Word Count:  5,022 Words

Warnings: Language, Angst, Mild Violence

Masterlist

Summary: The river boat is attacked, forcing them to leave behind all their supplies. Pero navigates uncharted waters with Aria that seem more difficult to manage than anything he's ever faced.

A/N: This might be my favorite part so far. I am having so much fun writing this fic! I really hope you are all enjoying it as much as I am. Shout out to @rebelscumlena for being my beta! This story would not be what it is without you! Please let me know if you want to be on my taglist and what you think of the fic! Any Spanish Translations will always be found at the bottom of every chapter.

Slowly, Pero drew his revolver and crept through the main cabin door. Someone was on this ship that wasn't supposed to be, and they were headed in the same direction as Aria. The footprints led him down the main corridor towards their cabins. His heart was racing with each careful step, creeping down the hallway to surprise their unwanted guest. He reached the end of the hallway, where the footprints stopped just outside of her door. He contemplated barging in versus knocking. At first he pressed his ear against the door to listen for movement, but instead he heard her mumbling. He decided not to take any chances and barge into the room. Grabbing the doorknob, he used his shoulder to force open the door, startling Aria. She gasped and dropped her brush on the floor, desperately attempting to grab her house robe that was hanging on the hook next to her. “I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed. “Have you ever heard of knocking, Mr. Tovar?”

He frowned when he noticed she was alone in the room. “Who were you just talking to?”

Her eyes widened in horror and her face flushed. “I - were you eavesdropping?”

Pero moved to her closet, ripping the doors open. Empty. He glanced under her bed. Vacant. The curtains near the windows were sheer and showed no sign of disturbance anyway. “Mr. Tovar!” she shouted in a feeble attempt to get his attention.

The bathroom door swung shut, locking her in, as a Bedouin man in flowing black robes leapt from behind it and attacked Pero, knocking the revolver from his hand. He held his arms up to block the blows, but the man took a cheap shot to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Pero groaned and rolled to the left for his revolver. Aria had opened the bathroom door, shrieking at the sight. She walked up behind the Bedouin man and kicked him in the back. Pero was impressed as the man fell forward, bouncing off the coffee table in front of him. He aimed his gun at the man, and growled, “Why are you here?”

The man wiped the blood off his face and glared at them. “Why do you keep returning?”

The cabin door behind Aria opened as another Bedouin man reached in, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her out of the room. Pero swore and moved to go after her, but his first adversary leapt forward, grabbed his ankle and pulled him to the ground. Pero fought against his assailant and kicked free, breaking the man’s nose and knocking him unconscious in the process.

He scrambled across the hallway to his cabin and grabbed his loaded arsenal from inside the door. Tossing it across his back, he sprinted after Aria. When he emerged on deck, he noticed the chaos that had consumed everything. A fire had started in the stables as guests and crew members alike abandoned the ship. The Americans were set up comfortably behind a makeshift bunker they’d made out of their poker table and chairs as they whooped and hollered, shooting at the men attacking. “Pinche gringos,” he muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle. Pero searched for Aria, but couldn’t find her. Murphy and Nabil were cowering in the corner near the Americans defenseless. When Murphy caught his eye, he pointed in the direction of the stern. He wasn’t surprised at her brother’s cowardice, considering she had more of a backbone than he did when it came to confrontation. Following Murphy’s directions, Pero sprinted, knocking several attackers into the water on his way to the back of the boat. He heard her screaming and crying for help as the man cornered her against the railing.

“Where’s the key?” her kidnapper asked in a rough voice with a knife at her throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cried, “What key?”

“The key!” he growled.

She had tears in her eyes. “Please, let me go!”

Pero held his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet, but the man noticed her gaze flash behind him and spun around, holding her in front of him like a human shield. Pero rolled his eyes and aimed his revolver at the man. “Let her go,” he snapped.

The man sneered and pressed the knife a little harder against her neck, allowing a small drop of blood trickle down her throat. “Careful,” he said, “you wouldn’t want me to slit her pretty neck.”

“Do, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.” Pero’s grip on his gun tightened as he carefully took aim. Aria didn’t struggle against the man holding her out of fear that his blade would do more damage than it already had.

The man twisted the blade just a little and more blood appeared in a small stream down her neck. Aria’s eyes widened in terror as she pleaded silently to Pero for help. He squeezed the trigger. The gun’s hammer struck the firing pin as the sound echoed across the Nile. She felt the bullet whiz past her ear, striking the man behind her. His grip on her loosened as he fell limply to the ground. It wasn’t until Pero rushed forward to hold her in his arms did she realize what had happened. Panic consumed her as he wiped the blood off her face. She leaned into him, shielding her eyes from the body as he led her away from the scene. They sought shelter for a brief moment under the awning as he inspected the small cut under her chin. It was there, but it wasn’t life threatening. She was gazing into his eyes as he lightly ran his thumb over it, causing bumps to rise on her smooth skin. He could feel himself leaning into her, captivated by her so close to him. Suddenly, an explosion went off, startling them apart. He checked his revolver again, before pressing himself against the wall. Using his free hand, he forced Aria to do the same next to him. “Stay low and behind me,” he said, handing her his arsenal bag.

She grabbed his hand in hers. “Pero,” she whispered, “what if-”

“They won’t. I gave you my word, didn’t I?” He replied, squeezing her hand before leading them through the battle.

He spun to the right and shot at several attackers climbing out of the second story windows to escape the flames. Aria clung to him, ducking whenever she heard shots fired. They were making their way to Murphy and Nabil when another Bedouin man attacked Pero with a knife drawn. Pero pushed Aria out of the way, forcing her into Murphy's custody. His assailant slashed him across his forearm as he blocked him from slitting his throat. He hissed at the piercing pain that was shooting up his arm now. He grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it, forcing it behind his back. He kicked the man away from him as hard as he could before unloading the remaining ammunition in his revolver into him. The fire had grown, now consuming most of the main level cabins as it climbed up the rest of the ship. He strode to Aria with an annoyed grimace on his face. “Tell me you know how to swim,” he sighed.

“What? Well, of course I can, if the situation calls for it,” she said, placing her hands on her hips to make his statement seem even more ridiculous.

Pero grinned and scooped her up in his arms, causing her to drop his bag. “Trust me,” he added, tossing her over the side, “it calls for it.”

She shrieked as she hit the water, the coldness seeping into her robe and nightgown. Pero watched for a split second to see if she came up, laughing when he saw her furiously kicking and gasping for air as she swam away from the boat cursing him. “Bastard!” he heard her swear, “I never in my life met a man so uncouth, uncivilized! Who does he think he is, tossing me overboard like some cheap rag doll?”

He tossed his arsenal over his shoulder and jumped in after her, followed by Murphy and Nabil. The shore was not a far swim for them, and Pero caught up to Aria in no time. She was huffing and puffing, half tempted to abandon her robe the more she struggled. Soon, their feet hit the river bottom. They stood and Aria immediately adjusted her robe to cover herself. Pero looked down at her with a small grin and shook his head as he situated the pack on his shoulder. “We’ve lost everything,” she cried, “all our food, supplies. My clothes!”

“At least you saved that robe,” he chuckled, “I would hate to have you out here in nothing but that dainty nightdress.”

“Some of us have to maintain a sense of propriety,” she argued, “just because I’ve only got this nightgown left doesn’t mean I’m going to choose to run as naked as a bairn out here in the desert.”

Pero laughed again at the thought and then patted the satchel he carried. “We have enough money from Will to get what we need at the nearest village. You don’t need to worry about running around naked just yet. Though,” he said, helping her out of the river and glancing over her body, “no one is stopping you.”

She huffed, pulled her robe closer to her, and joined a soaked Murphy on the side of the river. “Ah yes,” he whispered to his sister, “absolutely nothing to like there at all.”

She glared and turned to him, cuffing him on the shoulder. Nabil laughed while Murphy feigned an injury and meekly followed behind a fuming Aria. “I think you dislocated it this time, old mum,” he complained.

Aria growled and shook her head. “I’ll rip it out of its socket the next time, if you keep it up.”

Murphy glanced at Nabil and chuckled. “She threatens to do that at least once a week.”

Pero lingered behind them for a moment and glared back at the ship. He watched as the rest of the passengers crossed to the other side of the river, and that’s when he saw Beckett join the Americans. He grinned to himself. Every soul that survived the raid crossed to the East side of the Nile - passengers, crew members, camels, and their horses. Beckett had everything; except he was on the wrong side of the river. He watched as his rival figured out the same thing before their eyes met. Pero gave him a smug smile and waved at him before turning back to join the rest of his party. They would have at least a few hours or so on the Americans if they kept moving to find the closest Bedouin tribe to help them with supplies.

Murphy and Pero had gathered what they could to build them a fire that night, allowing everyone to dry off and rest. As she did her best to stay warm against the cool desert wind, Aria took notice of Pero wrapping his arm with a makeshift bandage. She made an attempt to move towards him and help properly dress it, but stopped as he caught her eye. Anticipating what she was going to do, he instead shook his head and quickly covered the bandaged wound with his sleeve. They would worry about it when they reached civilization.

When he felt that they had rested enough, Pero pushed the group forward. He wanted them to locate the nearest market before Beckett and his crew. Aria was following right behind him with Murphy and Nabil muttering complaints between them. She sighed, rolling her eyes at her brother and ran to walk next to their guide. Before long the outline of a market was on the horizon, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. She was starving and her feet were sore. Holding her robe close to her, she glanced up at Pero from the corner of her eye. She’d caught him gazing at her before he straightened and his eyes darted forward. “Who were those men?” she asked.

He sighed and adjusted the sack on his shoulder. “Members of some tribe or group that protects Aten,” he muttered, “or at least I think that’s their job. I’ve run into them the last two times. They’re Bedouin, I believe.”

“They attacked us in Cairo,” she admitted, “when Murphy first showed me the map he’d stolen from you.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did they get the map?”

She nodded. “This time they were asking about a key.”

Frowning, Pero looked out across the sands. Murphy hadn’t stolen a key from him, unless there was something more to that box than he initially thought.

“Will they be back?”

Pero stopped and looked at her. He could see the fear in her eyes. She was not prepared for this, and he took part of the blame. He should have warned her better about what they were facing. On top of whatever was underneath the sand there, the land was littered with the blood of those the Bedouin deemed as trespassers. “Yes,” he sighed, “they will. But they know me, and they know not to fuck with my group. Honestly, I'm more worried about Beckett than I am the raiders.”

“James?” She asked with a smile. “But I quite enjoyed his company.”

Rolling his eyes, Pero pushed on. He couldn’t understand why her interest in Beckett bothered him so. Regardless of the reason he was choosing to avoid, he didn’t want that man anywhere near him or his party. He knew too much about how he operated, and if there was one thing Pero despised most it was being vulnerable. “Aria,” he huffed as they continued their trek, “be careful with James. He’s a treasure hunter that only takes interest in something or someone if it’s worth anything to him. The second a better price comes along, he will sell you out.”

“Isn’t that how you see…” she paused and glanced at him, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, “me?”

Pero stiffened. The short answer was yes, but the more time he spent with her - the more he sought opportunities to irritate her - that answer became more complex. It’d been a while since he’d felt any emotion outside the realm of mild annoyance. Taking a deep breath, he decided the best answer to give her was a professional, emotionless answer. “I’m true to my word and loyal enough that I won’t sell you out.”

He saw her deflate a little and turn her gaze away from him. “Oh,” she replied, “right. Of course.”

Her tone was different. Disappointed. He knew immediately that his answer was not the one she wanted. “What I meant was-”

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Tovar,” she interrupted.

She moved to join Murphy, who was several paces behind them, when he grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Aria.”

She gazed down at his grasp before looking up at him. “So long as my brother and I make it back home in one piece,” she affirmed, “you will still receive the payment you were promised.”

He dropped her hand and watched her help Murphy off the ground. He’d clearly stumbled in the sand, and now she was helping him dust off. Pero’s chest tightened the longer he gazed at her. He wasn’t used to being in the presence of a woman who’d stirred something in him. She challenged him in a way that he wasn’t sure agitated or thrilled him. She was fiery and way too stubborn for her own good; he liked it. It was fun and she kept him on his toes. He found himself smiling when a large shoulder knocked into him. “Careful there, Tovar,” Nabil said, “the desert is an unforgiving place for those unprepared.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes at the cheesy piece of advice. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Tell that to the stupid look you have on your face.” Nabil laughed and began singing another popular Egyptian song that was loud and wildly off key.

By early morning when they reached the small market, Aria had said very little to Pero since their talk about Beckett. When it came time to find supplies, he decided to task her with finding food and bedrolls. He even tried to joke with her about finding clothes for her to wear, but he was met with a cold stare and a feigned smile. He was left to watch Aria’s back as she walked away, ignoring his attempt to call after her. Murphy came up and slapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Not that I want to get involved in this,” he laughed, “but, you really fucked it up back there, mate.”

Pero glared at him. “You heard?”

“We’re four people roaming an empty desert with nothing else around. Of course I heard you.” He watched as Pero internally groaned, staring in the direction Aria disappeared.

“I didn’t mean to offend her,” he added, not really aware that he’d said that out loud.

Murphy and Nabil both laughed, pulling him towards a man selling camels and horses. “Are you having a laugh?” Murphy asked. “You’ve been trying to get her goat since the two of you met.”

He forced the two men to walk in front of him. “Murphy,” he spat, desperate to change the topic, “make yourself useful and secure our transportation.”

Murphy approached the merchant, shaking his head at Pero. He started bargaining with a man for four horses, but the man wanted to sell him all five in the herd. They started arguing, but Pero wasn’t paying any attention. He was staying alert, waiting for Aria to reappear in the market. She’d been gone for a while - too long for his liking. He started in the direction she went, asking if anyone had seen her. Finally, a woman nodded and pointed in the direction of a large tent just down the way from where he was. “Aria!” he called.

He heard some women murmur and giggle from inside the tent. “Aria!”

The tent door ruffled before a short, middle-aged woman flung it open and walked out, leading Aria in her own deep blue dress with a sheer veil covering her in typical Bedouin fashion and a thin golden belt that kept the layers wrapped together. Her hair had been brushed and twisted into a loose braid beneath the sheer fabric. In a word, she was bewitching. She glanced up at him with a smile, completely different from when they first arrived. He returned her smile when she stopped in front of him. “Were you worried I ran off with Mr. Beckett?” she softly asked.

He felt his face flush a little, but he managed to hide the emotions bubbling at the surface. “We’re ready to go,” he replied. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry, and he found himself struggling to take a deep breath.

She grinned and watched him shift nervously in front of her, his eyes suddenly averting from hers. Aria noticed he anxiously tugged at the sleeve over his makeshift bandage that had turned red. Frowning, she reached out to grab his hand. “You’ve bled through your bandage ,” she said, gently lifting his sleeve up.

“It’s nothing to be concerned over,” he replied, trying to pull away from her, but her grip was firm.

She slowly peeled back the dressing and saw a long gash down his forearm. Not having seen much of it from when he initially wrapped it himself, she started to feel guilty knowing he had sustained such an injury from protecting her. It wasn’t deep, luckily. “Let me help,” she suggested, “At least to clean and redress it properly.”

“Librarian, herbalist, and now doctor. Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked with a chuckle, following her back into the tent she’d just exited.

Aria smiled at him again before turning to one of the women and asking for medical supplies. “When you grow up with Murphy as your brother, you tend to acquire a unique set of skills.” Once the supplies were brought to her, she immediately began cleaning it. Pero winced, and she smiled almost bashfully, taking more care as she continued on with her work. He found himself enjoying her smile more than anything and made it his personal mission to find ways to make it appear more often. “For a man as tough as you, this hurts?”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m not immune to pain, Aria,” he grumbled, “Mortal weapons can still kill me.” This drew a laugh out of her; it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and he’d do anything to hear it again.

“Well, fortunately for us,” she added, “this is too far from your heart to kill you.” Aria went to place the bandage around his arm when she noticed the peculiar tattoo she’d seen at the prison. It was the Eye of Horus in the center of a pyramid with a circle that she assumed was the sun protruding from behind it. Pero noticed her gaze and froze as she traced it. “I’ve seen this symbol before.”

He didn’t move away from her, as he typically did when people saw his strange tattoo. He let her examine it, gliding her fingers across it. In a weird way, he enjoyed it. This was a new sensation to him, one that he didn’t want to end. He could feel knots in his stomach churn as his chest tightened, squeezing every last bit of air out of his lungs. “I’ve had this for as long as I can remember,” he softly replied, “I think I got it when I was still in the orphanage in Cairo.”

She looked up at him, sorrow in her gaze. “The orphanage?”

He nodded. “I ran away from one in Barcelona when I was twelve. I stowed away on a ship and ended up here where they tossed me right back into another one in Cairo. I left there when I was fifteen, and then spent the better part of my life job hopping until the War started.”

She glanced down at his tattoo again, lightly rubbing her thumb over it. “It’s a sign of protection,” she continued, “this is the -”

“Eye of Horus,” he said, “The Bedouin have the same tattoo.” Aria froze, staring at him with a mild panic in her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not working for them. But their leader, Shakir Fahmy, once told me that it was the sign of the Medjai. He tried convincing me that it was my destiny to protect Aten from outsiders; that it is my duty to ensure the safety of the secrets that lie beneath the sand, instead of selling expeditions to the highest bidder.”

“If they have this tattoo, they’re not just any Bedouin tribe,” she replied, “those men after us are sa-en Medjai, Sons of the Medjai. I heard stories that they survived long after the Egyptian Empire fell, but never had I seen evidence of this being true.” She glanced down at his arm again before wrapping the bandage tight around it. “Mr. Tovar -”

“You can call me Pero,” he softly stated, holding her hand once she finished wrapping his injury.

Aria smiled at him again, leaning closer to him. “Pero,” she paused, letting the sweet sensation of his name felt rolling off her tongue sink in, “this must mean you are a Son of the Medjai.”

He chuckled. “What does that mean?”

He watched her light up, suddenly excited to share her knowledge with him. She talked fast and with such passion, he was pulled into this world she’d created and brought to life in front of him. “The Sons of the Medjai, according to records found in the Valley of Kings, were the elite of the Medjai. Not much is known of the Lost Dynasty, but it is said they were founded then. There have been references to them all over Ancient Egypt, and one thing has remained constant: they never leave the city of Thebes. They served no Pharoah, only Osiris himself. Their symbol was this,” she said, pointing to his tattoo, “a gift from their god to protect them while they served. Some records say they were warriors for Osiris against the armies of Set. Many believed that the Sons were sent by Osiris himself, born to the people instead of families.”

“Born to the people?”

She nodded feverently. “Yes. It means they had no family, but instead were raised by their village until they were old enough to take on their sacred duties.”

He coyly smiled at her. “So, what you’re saying is,” he softly said, moving closer to her, “I am a gift from the gods?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Pero,” she smirked. They were close enough that she could feel his lips lightly brushing against hers, when suddenly there was a commotion outside that forced them to move apart. He watched as her eyes averted from his and a deep burn spread across her face. He grinned and moved past her to see what the ruckus was. Murphy, of course, had dragged their transports through this part of the market, causing several of the merchants to yell at him, cursing him for knocking over a few stands. Pero growled, silently cursing her brother himself for ruining the moment. He stormed out of the tent, Aria following closely behind him, and grabbed the reins from Murphy, who was giving both of them a knowing smirk.

“Did I interrupt something?” Murphy asked, “The looks on your faces say it all.”

Glaring at the man, he turned the horses away from the market and grumbled loud enough for him to hear, “Te dispararía ahora mismo si no tuviera un gran respeto por tu hermana.”

Murphy walked up next to Aria and bumped her shoulder with his. “Do I need to have a chat with him? You know, man-to-man?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at her brother. “You really are an idiot, Murph. I was dressing his wound from that ghastly man on the boat.”

He snickered and covered his mouth with his hand to hide it. Nabil was busying himself at a fruit stand, and Pero was now on the opposite side of the small village, waiting. Aria turned to Murphy and crossed her arms, in clear annoyance. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” he said, “I just remember you said there was nothing to like there at all.”

Aria sighed. “We have to work together. I might as well make the best of this situation.”

She stormed off to join Pero. She watched him with a small smile while he calmed one of the horses that was spooked by a couple of children who ran by them. Her gaze caught his, and he returned his smile. All at once, he watched as his surroundings turned from the quiet, desert market to a brightly lit, gold-encrusted hallway. There were elaborate hieroglyphics and paintings on the walls with high arches on the left, open to the expanding city below. The sunset painted the sky with purples and oranges as a cool breeze drifted in from the Nile. In front of him was a beautiful, dark-haired woman dressed in silky, white robes with an intricate headpiece that resembled a much smaller version of Isis’s headdress. She looked like a queen. As she walked toward him, he realized the strong resemblance she had with Aria. She was Aria but she wasn’t at the same time. She smiled when she reached him, wrapping her arm around his. He saw her mouth move, but he heard nothing come out. No sound, no words. He tried to listen, but all he heard was a muffled voice in the distance yell “Nefertari!” The woman turned to look in the direction of the voice. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before disappearing, taking the rest of this hallucination with her.

Pero reached up to touch his cheek. He felt her lips against his skin. Clearly still lost in his fantasy, he couldn’t hear Aria running forward calling his name until she was in front of him. The worry was written all over her face as she held his face in her hands to force him to look at her. His eyes were still glossy as they looked through her instead of at her. “Pero!” she cried, “What is it?”

He frowned, absorbing what happened. He was back in the small market, Aria was no longer dressed like the Egyptian royalty he’d just held in his arms. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he let out a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I-I-,” he was struggling.

“Pero,” she said, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks, holding his head up.

“I think that blade was laced with something,” he said, “or I need water.”

Much to Aria’s horror, the color didn’t return to his now pale face. She helped him sit down on the low wall he was standing near. She waved for Murphy to grab water. “What’s wrong?”

He grabbed her wrists, gently running his thumbs up and down the insides of them to calm her. “I saw -” he paused. No, it’s best to keep what I saw to myself.

“What?”

“I’m not sure what. I think the desert heat is just getting to me.”

She was not convinced, but decided not to push it.

“The Pharoah returns and now he will die. Ausar and his queen will meet their fates again.”

The ghostly voice Aria had heard not three days ago had returned. She slowly glanced around for the source, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But when she looked back at Pero, she could see on his face that he had heard it too. The two remained holding each other’s gaze, each worried for what they would face the further into the desert they went.

Translations

Pinche gringos - Fucking gringos (white people)

Te dispararía ahora mismo si no tuviera un gran respeto por tu hermana. - I would shoot you right now if I didn't have high respect for your sister.

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[thepigeonsopinion]

So, "Hack San" was released...

The episode "Hack San" has finally been released and here I am now, about to go on and on about the episode :) But first let's do a small summary or synopsis of the episode!

Warning: Spoilers to the episode "Hack San"

Summary:

The episode starts off with Marinette trying to make up excuses to stay in Paris/home, instead of going to London to visit her Aunt. So far, all of her attempts have been failures. Marinette then has no choice but to leave Paris with her family. Meanwhile, Gabriel or Shadowmoth creates a new sentimonster with the name of Hack San, which is a virus that allows for Markov to be vulnerable to an akuma. Then, Marinette contacts Alya to meet her at the train station before she is to leave. Marinette gives Alya the Ladybug miraculous trusting her to protect Paris while she is gone. Alya has a chat with the kwami's, Tikki and Trixx, in which they tell her the ups and downs of being the holder of the Ladybug miraculous and the guardian of the miracle box. Alya returns to the park that she was hanging out at before Marinette contacted her. At the park, Alya starts to fuss over everyone's emotions, mainly if they are feeling any negative emotions. Meanwhile, Markov is effected by the virus and is akumatized by Shadowmoth and becomes Robustus. Robustus then (through the internet) takes control of people and orders them to give him their most prized possessions. While on the train, Marinette's parents are affected by Robustus, which leads to Marinette being captured by Robustus. It is then Alya's responsibility to protect Paris. Alya transforms into her version of Ladybug, and while she is trying to find her new super hero name she is met with Chat Noir. Chat Noir does not immediately trusts the new super heroine and suspects they are the villain. However, this distrust is cut short because of the akuma Robustus still being at large. Robustus orders everyone to capture Ladybug and Chat Noir. The super heroes hear a person crying for help and while Chat Noir is at first suspicious, Alya heads straight to where the civilian's voice was heard. This turns out to be a trap and the super heroes are forced to run into a building where they are also trapped by Robustus. Alya summons her Lucky Charm to aid her in this situation. Alya or Scarabella receives a frying pan. This leads her to think of a plan to manipulate Robustus to release the people's possessions in exchange for both her and Chat Noir. Robustus agrees to this and releases all of the objects and among those objects is Marinette who catches on quickly to the plan and uses the frying pan to release the akuma. The super heroes are released as well and Alya uses her Miraculous Ladybug. And as always, Paris is saved once again. A few days later, Marinette and her family are back from her trip and Alya suggest Marinette/Ladybug go talk to Chat Noir, and she does. Ladybug and Chat Noir have a talk about how someone knows about Ladybug's secret identity and Chat's new found fear that Ladybug might not be there anymore, in which Ladybug gives him the reassurance that she won't be going anywhere. And, the episode ends.

Yay! Another very detailed and unnecessary summary of the episode! Welp! It's too late now. :|

Anyway! Now onto my opinion or thoughts on the episode!

(Also I'm re-watching the episode as I do this so this might have some unnecessary details. Anyway, carry on!)

First things first the, I know that Marinette is trying to get out of going to London and staying in Paris, but I swear her excuses are getting weaker. I swear she had better excuses in the earlier seasons or is it just me? Not to mention, since Marinette is so desperate to stay in Paris she purposefully trips down the stairs. Damn the dedication and I mean, I know that Marinette needs to stay in Paris just in case, but she has left Paris like three times now, you would think that she would have a backup plan if anything happened in Paris when she wasn't there (and I'll talk about one of her solutions later on *cough cough Scarabella cough cough*). Also, Tom's desperation and persistence for Marinette to come on the trip is kinda amusing. And the not so subtle jabs at the aunt :0

Moving on! Ummm Nooroo and Dusuu you know that Gabriel is RIGHT there right? I mean he could probably hear what your saying. Also, Gabriel are you just deaf or did you not just hear what they said? Because their right behind you. When Shadowmoth made Hack San, was the weird "Haah" sound really necessary? Also, why does the virus, USB thingy low key look like Nino's shirt logo. Are they somehow connected? Or did they just run out of ideas for the design? (Not me being salty over a sentimonsters design) Why the fuck is this robot doing like three things at the same time? I know that he's a robot, but come on.

Hmmmm. No other option you say? What about bringing the Horse miraculous with you like in Startrain? Or use the cosmic suits that can legit let you fly around the world? Come on, let's be honest here giving Alya the Ladybug miraclulous wasn't the ONLY option. Claps to Alya for doing a fake doubting act, but in reality just trying to think of a new superhero name. You almost got me there Astruc, you almost made me thought that Alya had her doubts about taking over for Marinette, but in reality is just super excited to take over. Props to you my dude, props! Also, I'm not going to lie Alya all of your name ideas are kinda weak, I mean the fandom has better name ideas than you do, but then again that is to be expected. Props to the kwamis for putting all the pressure that Marinette has on her back and transferring it to Alya. Thank you for making Alya aware of all the pressure Marinette's under. Even if Alya's probably not going to bring it up and probably will just brush it off. Yes, Alya just keep telling your self that this weekend is going to be totally chill. Not to mention, Tikki being more supportive to Alya than to Marinette, whaaaaaaaaaaa- :0. Alya you just told yourself that this weekend was going to be chill why the heck are you making your life harder for yourself. To be honest, if your acting like this already you deserve whatever is coming for you. Marinette, honey, why the fuck do you need to right down 675 tips for Alya? I mean I get 33 tips even 40, but 675, really? Not to mention, the tip about laughing at Chat Noir's jokes even if they aren't funny just to make him happy, why the fuck do you need to keep him happy he could be mad, upset, or sad and I wouldn't give a fuck :p.

I will say this again, how the fuck does a multi-intelligent robot that is connected the world wide web, that is also doing at least 4 things at the same time get tempted and corrupted by a virus by clicking on a cute kitty cat ad. HOW!?! EXPLAIN THAT TO ME!?!

Okay, so remember when we thought we were actually going to get a canon Marcenial moment. Hahaha welp Astruc you've done it again you have crushed our shipping dreams again. I hope your proud of yourself. Also, the most precious possession to Marc is his and Nathaniel's manga/comic, really?

Damn the amount of times this girl makes us and Trixx second guess that she's doubting herself, like she's done it three times now. Not to mention, why is her ladybug suit more detailed than Marinette's hmmm? I mean, don't get me wrong I like the design, but why can't Marinette have a detailed suit like this? Also why is Alya acting like The Owl? *Hoot Hoot!* I also just realised that the kwamis are a bit territorial, well not Tikki, but Plagg and Trixx have proven themselves to be a bit territorial of their holders.

I love Chat Noir's distrust to Alya as Ladybug because this shows a different side of Chat Noir that Paris doesn't see, but does Alya see this and realize how much of a ass he is? Nope. Also, not going to lie, his distrust kinda amuses me. Carrying on! Chat Noir, I can hear the toxic jealousy from here my dude, you might want to tone it down a bit, you've got a audience here you know. You know, I was expecting him to say his most prized possession was Ladybug, or even his kwami, Plagg, but I wasn't expecting him to say croquettes. OMG! GUYS! IT'S HAPPENING! CHAT IS FINALLY BEING CAUTIOUS FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF IMMEDIATELY JUMPING INTO TROUBLE!!! Also, Chat Noir being responsible whaaaaaaa- :0. Ummm, why the fuck did they just run into a building, when they legit could've jumped out of that mess, like seriously why isn't anyone using their head today?

Moving on! Why the heck is most of this episode just Alya trying to think of a super hero name like seriously, I know it's supposed to be some kinda of gag, but it's starting to get a bit annoying. Chat Noir being supportive to Alya: *slow clap*. When Alya's whole plan is to just to leave everything up to Marinette, Me: Wow! I TOtAlLy didn't see that coming! Hehehe Chat Noir with a pot over his head. You know, I thought upset Chat Noir was enough for this episode, but now we get sad Chat Noir and Ladybug reassuring him, just wow, you have out done yourself Astruc.

AND! That's that end of the episode! So all in all, this episode wasn't that bad? But it wasn't my favorite (maybe one of my least favorite tbh :0) Mainly, because of the appearance of Scarabella and ladybug catering to Chat Noir needs. This is probably mainly because I'm a bit biased, but in my opinion and I will repeat in MY OPINION I don't think Alya really deserves to get the miraculous. I mean yeah, Marinette has given her trust to her and has told her that she is Ladybug, but has she really done anything to show that she deserves that trust. If I'm being honest she has shown more reasons for Marinette not to trust her. One of the reasons being that Alya doesn't fully trust Marinette herself, and the other being that she disobeyed Marinette by telling Nino that she is still Rena Rouge and not telling her that she did so.

Anyway! Those are most of my thought's on this episode. This has been a loooong week for me with the addition of school now. So expect me to be posting more on the weekends than on weekdays.

Anywho! I hope everyone has a great rest of their day. And always remember...

But that's just my opinion (・ε・)

(This week has been soooo tiring and with the edition of this episode and a sneak peek of a new episode coming up, I know it's only beginning. *smiles through the pain :)*)

[hisunshiine]

Escape ✈︎ Chapter 6

✈︎ chapter 6: But I Still Want You Pt. 1       | ✈︎ Escape Series — 18+, Mature  

    ✈︎ genre: angst

    ✈︎ word count: 1898 words

    ✈︎ pairing: Jin x YN

    ✈︎ warnings: personal issues with abandonment, YN is a foster child, healthy attachment issues, crying

    ✈︎ summary: It's time for you to make your decision about the island: stay or go? Some people make the decision harder for you than it should be.

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You can’t believe that you won the GA and were invited to Bangtania Island, not to mention that once you arrived here, you were let in on the secret that this is also a secret getaway location for the guys?! You truly love it here, and feel so accepted and appreciated by everyone, like you have a family and friends again. The life you left behind wasn’t much of a life so to say. You worked a basic job, you had no family, having been a foster child your whole life, and you had no real connection with anybody. When you found BTS and Army, that was the closest you ever felt to having family.

Unfortunately, having the life you’ve had, you begin to feel yourself wanting to isolate again. Nobody has actually done anything to make you feel you need to, but you are afraid of being abandoned. You’ve always had that fear, been afraid that people will leave you, so you put up walls so that people don’t get too close. You also tend to run from anybody that tries and gets too close, unsure of their reasons. You weren’t putting out any signs that you wanted people close, so you thought, so you were wary of anyone who tried to breach the walls you had built. It was safer that way. When people made attempts to get closer than you wanted them to, that was your cue to jump ship. It was better to leave them.

You have dated, but as soon as they try to get too intimate, and not in the sexual way, you run away. Sex, that was easy. Growing up with your circumstances, you weren’t ever taught the same ideals about virginity and sex like people who were from ‘loving’ families appeared to be. No mom and dad trying to convince you that sex was sacred, or meant for just one person for your entire life. You had the normal education, very cut and dry, and scientific. Penis, meet vagina: insert here. And as you got older you learned it could also be penis meet anus, or vagina meet vagina, or mouth meet anus, mouth meet penis, and the oh so wonderful mouth meet vagina.  So being physical with someone wasn’t deemed as intimate as actually letting people into who you were. What your thoughts and feelings were. It was that level of opening up and letting people in that was scary. You knew this from childhood that it’s a lot less painful when you decide to walk away, versus someone walking away from you.

It’s currently your twelfth day here. And now you only have two more days to decide whether you want to stay or head back to your life of unattached isolation. You have truly enjoyed your time here thus far, there really is the feeling of peace and serenity, able to share in the familiar love with everyone of BTS. That’s a safe area for you. Love for BTS can’t hurt you. At the same time, you still feel a sense of solidarity, like you are surrounded by people yet you still feel alone. You decide you are going to hurry to the restaurant to get something to-go before you head back to your temporary living quarters.

On the way there, you remember the first time you saw Jin in person.

“So here is a map of the island, everything is color-coded and in the map key. I think your first agenda should be to unpack and then meet us down at Jin’s restaurant.” Vanessa hands you your map and copies of your NDA and other rules and regulations to be followed on the island.

Once you unpack your belongings, you take a short detour before heading to the restaurant. You are enchanted by the happiness of everyone that is here, enjoying the private island, and the guys. You haven’t really witnessed any arguments or issues, and that brings you solace, but you still keep your guard up.

When you enter the restaurant, Talia notices you and waves you over to their booth, “Hey! Y/N! Over here! We almost ordered without you.” She laughed, then introduced you to Dahlia and Xael.

You all order your food and carry on with small talk, you ask questions about different activities you saw in your guide for the island, and then you see him. Jin came walking out of the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. He was talking to one of the residents that helps him out in the restaurant.

He turned his head and your eyes met, it seemed like an eternity, but it only lasted about 10 seconds. He smiled, you blushed, then he went back into the kitchen.

When your food was ready, Jin made sure to help your waitress bring your food to the table. “Hello ladies,” he said with a gentle smile, blushing when he looks at you. “A new arrival I see. Well I am Seokjin, the Bangtania Island Chef. If you are ever hungry, come to my restaurant, if I’m not here, the you can come to the dorm...I mean, when we have parties, I always cook for that as well. Anyway, enjoy your meals ladies,” he winks at you as he places your plate in front of you.

How could you know that would lead to you eating there everyday, just to steal a glance of him, or have him smile and wink at you. All of the silent and distant flirting, that you feel would never go anywhere, and you want to keep it that way.

You walk into the restaurant and stand at the to-go counter, but it’s pretty quiet. You have been waiting for about 10 minutes, being consumed by your thoughts, until the grumbling in your stomach reminds you that you are waiting to order food. You are surprised that nobody has come to help you, especially since the whole time that you’ve been in Bangtania everyone has been super helpful and attentive. But then you get worried, so you head behind the counter to check the kitchen. Maybe Jin closed early and forgot to lock up, you aren’t sure, you just want to make sure everything is okay.

You open the swinging door to the kitchen, probably with a little too much force in your worried state.

“Whoa, whoa!”

It’s all you hear before the pile of dishes crashes to the floor, causing you to scream.

“Jin-ah I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you, I was just here to order food to-go, and --”

He cuts you off.

“Frighten me? You were the one who was scared! Hahaha! I was just putting these dishes away and you swung the door into me.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and you try to hold them back but they begin streaming down your face.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to cry. I’m not mad, we have many more dishes to replace these ones. Just please don’t cry.”

He grabs a clean towel from the shelf and begins to softly blot the tears from your cheeks. He has a look on his face of worry, as if your sudden tears were a shock to him. You reckon they were. You drop your head in embarrassment, though he softly grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger and lifts your head back up. Your eyes meet his brown ones, taking in the way that his eyebrows are furrowed together, his lips softly parted creating his beautiful look of concern directed towards you.

“I told you, I’m not mad, now clean your face and help me pick this up. Then we can sit and have a meal together. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and that is a long time for me, you know?”

You giggle, because you do know. Jin loves to eat.

After you finish salvaging the dishes that did not break and sweeping up the ones that did, Jin says he has something special to make you. You make your way to a booth in the corner of the restaurant furthest from the windows, the most secluded booth in the whole restaurant. When Jin comes out with a tray, he scans the restaurant for you.

“Y/N?” His voice is loud, trying to find you.

“Did she leave? After I made her this delicious food, she runs off?” You hear him mutter under his breath, but not low enough that you don’t hear him.

When he turns to head back to the kitchen, he sees you sitting in the hidden booth, shoulders bounce from giggling so hard.

“You think that’s funny? I make this food and you have me to believe you left? Oh, hahaha…” He laughs with you as he sets the food on the table. He pulls off his apron and joins you at the booth, you both begin eating in silence. After a while he asks, “Y/N, you’ve been here almost two weeks, what do you think so far?”

You shove a dumpling in your mouth, as you are not ready to answer that question. He smiles encouragingly, his bee-stung lips surrounding his perfect smile, and you feel yourself wanting to open up. But you can’t. You only want to show him your best side. I guess that’s something you have in common with them.

“Oh, it’s great! You guys really spoil us here.”

He nods, happy to hear your positive feedback, not realizing it’s shallow. You want to elaborate. The words are on the tip of your tongue to tell him that yes, they spoil you here and you love it, but a part of you is scared to really fall in love with it, to truly believe you’ve found a place you can call home that has a new family that’s perfect for you already waiting. Who gets that lucky in life? Not you. So you tuck away your fears, and keep it surface level with him.

The rest of your night was lovely; it was easy to tuck away the thoughts that had been so prominent before spending time with Jin. He was someone who tried his best to make sure that everyone was comfortable. You had known this about him since prior to meeting him, watching him on RunBTS and Bon Voyage, he had that caring, nurturing way about him that drew you in, and made everything appear better in the aura he cast out. He made it easy, which you knew would make it that much harder.

That night you lay awake long past the last sounds of your housemate have dissipated and watch as the ceiling fan circles and circles. You always thought that it was safe, that loving BTS was safe. Friends over the internet, they didn’t have to know you completely. You could take days off and come back when you wanted, no one really depending on you. No one actually knows your deepest secrets and thoughts. Those were kept safely tucked away, behind lock and key deep within your heart.

You could have sworn that love for BTS couldn’t hurt you. Hindsight is definitely 20/20, as you lay curled on your side, looking out the window at the reflection of the moon on the ocean, tears streaming down onto your pillow, it hurts.

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine & mrsparkjimin18 2020-2021. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[cyb-by-lang]

Jailbird

Another preview of All The Little Children: Side B, this time focusing on a flashback to Kei several months before she meets up with the FNG gang and the ASL brothers.

~this is a page break for people on mobile~

Several months ago: 

Kei’s arm hurt a little. Her left didn’t tend to heal from that kind of treatment so quickly, even years after the damage to her chakra coils, but the low-intensity ache felt like something she could still ignore. Sleeping on her arm wrong was a minor annoyance at best. 

Wake up.

No. Kei did not need a chakra monster to do double duty as an alarm clock. No one did. 

I refuse your refusal! WAKE, Isobu’s voice rang out again, UP. NOW.

And to emphasize his point, the next sensation slammed through Kei’s brain was like getting kicked in the shin by someone wearing soccer cleats.

Kei jackknifed upright from a combination of pain and reflex, and discovered instantly that this was a mistake. For one, her head jerking up slammed it against a sloping wall, which was enough to make her see stars. For two, Isobu’s chakra was angry enough to spit nails. In even more alarming news, her body let her know immediately that her arms were chained to the slowly rolling floor and the wall she’d just hit. 

While she blinked the spots from her vision, Kei sat there with her arms chained out to her sides with a buzzing noise filling her entire brain. It felt like television static. It was the verbal incarnation of total bafflement. The oppressive darkness—broken only by a lantern and a glowing eye at ankle height—at least helped her focus by blotting out anything other than the creak of wood and stinking salt air. 

It didn’t help clear her thoughts much. It raised so many other questions that she honestly didn’t know where to start.

Do you see why I might think this is alarming? Isobu asked inside her head. 

What the fuck happened to me last night, Kei asked him, and looked properly down into the cat-sized Tailed Beast. Was it just the crappy lighting, or did he really seem unaccountably younger, too. Hell, what happened to you? Is that you, or is it a clone?

This is me, Isobu said, raising all three of his tiny tails. A single, dark length of chain was wrapped around the base of them, but he’d pulled the other end loose from the wall and left the screws and the links to trail him around. Scraps of broken steel sat scattered across the floor of the...cell.

This was a cell. Kei was chained to wall in a cell. She’d been “sleeping” while slumped forward over her knees, suspended by the manacles, and now she had a massive crick in her neck.

Kei looked straight at the ceiling and noted, in order: The slow sway of a ship, the heavy smell of sea spray and dead fish, and the generally damp conditions. Past the moldy ceiling and the faint sound of leaks belowdecks, mens’ voices and heavy footsteps clomped all around the ship. Wooden walls made up three of the four, and the cell door was made of iron bars too close together for a child to slip through. She could hear rough accents she didn’t completely recognize so soon after waking, and didn’t need a checklist to figure out that she’d been fucking kidnapped. 

So, Kei thought at Isobu, this is a thing.

It was the shortest possible way she could understate the magnitude of the situation while still acknowledging its existence. She’d get around to freaking out when she finally ran out of options to deal with it. 

Yes, it is. Isobu wiggled his tails for emphasis. 

“Well, this sucks,” Kei finally said aloud, because why not complain aloud when there wasn’t anyone around to hear her? If her captors appeared, she’d at least sound a little less congested.

“Guess you’re finally awake, then?” asked a man’s voice from a source she couldn’t see. The cells were designed such that Kei couldn’t tell there was another person so close by without someone speaking up. “I heard the thumping earlier, but I didn’t know if you were actually awake or just flailing around.”

“Uh,” said Kei. Her chains clinked as she shifted to listen to the left wall. “Hi, I guess?” 

The voice’s owner chuckled dryly. “Not a great place for meeting new people, is it? Cells, I mean. Sorry if I surprised you.” 

“It’s fine.” Kei looked down at Isobu, who did his best to shrug despite his lack of shoulder rotation. He never had any interest in helping Kei talk to people. Then she said, “I’d agree, but I also have no idea how I got here.” 

“I’ve been here less time than you have, actually, so I don’t know why you’re here either,” said the voice, companionable and helpful despite the circumstances. It was like talking to someone about the weather on a nice, sunny day. “When I got dragged past most of the cellblock, you were already there.”

Shit, Kei thought. “How long ago was that?” 

“About three hours, I think,” said the voice in a thoughtful tone. Chains rattled on the other side of the wall. “It was past lunchtime, but I’m not hungry yet.” 

Having even one friendly voice besides Isobu, who was always with her, bolstered her spirits just that little bit. She was still quite nettled about being stuck in a cell for who knew how long, but Kei just felt her mood lift anyway. By a fraction of a percent. Still… “You don’t sound worried.” 

“Wow, I must be a better liar than I thought.” The man laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. “Being captured by one of Kaido’s subordinate crews is honestly pretty scary, but I can deal with it. I have someone to talk to now, don’t I?” 

Kei frowned, eyes landing on Isobu but more staring past him. Kaido? Who the hell is that? It was superficially similar to her student’s name, but so were a lot of names. And what was this business about “subordinate crews?” 

I do not recognize the name, Isobu said, even though he hardly ever bothered with human names. At this point, Isobu mentioning that kind of thing was more for the sense of being included than anything. But I am willing to bet this involves pirates.

Why pirates?

Because we are on a ship. Kirigakure does not have a navy based on wooden ships, and had they been the one to capture you, we would not be speaking now. Isobu dragged his body across the floor until he rested his soft underbelly between Kei’s feet. The chain rattled behind him. He went on, Kirigakure would have recognized us on sight.

Amazing what effect a particular battle could have on one’s international reputation, even almost a decade from the event itself.

“Just so you know,” the voice said, “that wasn’t a joke or anything. I really do like to talk. Ask anyone.” 

“That’s definitely the impression I get,” Kei agreed. As she spoke, the bulk of her attention was instead on the iron(?) rings fastening her chains to the wall behind her. Pulling experimentally, nothing creaked in a way that suggested weakness. 

You will have to work harder than that, Isobu scolded her. It is not as though you are in a worse position than I was.

Kei blinked. Isobu was a Tailed Beast, tiny or not. He’d broken his chain loose already. I’m not?

Isobu replied, I do not have leverage on anything at this size. Getting free and waking you took a long time.

That’s fair, Kei admitted. She leaned back against the wall to ease the strain on her shoulders, then said, “Kaido, huh? Damn.” 

“Only the worst of the worst for us,” said the man on the other side of the wall. “But at least Kaido’s predictable in his own way.” 

“I guess,” Kei said. To Isobu, she said silently, See if you can fit through the bars. I want to know if the guy I’m talking to actually is a prisoner. 

It wasn’t uncommon for interrogators to use the fake prisoner ploy, which was far more effective than torture. People were so much more willing to give up information if they thought they had an ally. While Kei’s erstwhile companion was by far the chattier one, she didn’t have his name yet. And he’d apparently already seen what she looked like. 

Isobu turned his spiky head and eyed the bars dubiously. I cannot fit through while on my belly.

You might if you go sideways, Kei said impatiently. Come on, give it a shot.

I blame you if this goes wrong. 

Of course, Isobu’s arms weren’t long enough to flip him back over if he tumbled onto his shell, but that would only be a problem if he was exceptionally clumsy. Besides, he wasn’t nearly as vulnerable as a real turtle would’ve been in the same situation. And Kei needed more information before she could decide what to do next.

As far as plans went, “break out” was somewhat lacking in relevant detail.

Isobu slid across the floor with a loud huff, tangled chain rattling in his wake. He reached the cell door, then tried to grasp the bars with his tiny hands in order heave himself up onto his side. Game attempt though it was, even flattening his belly only allowed him to sneak the first rank of shell spikes past the bars. By the time the second set met metal, he was too far along to go back, but also unable to make any progress.

Isobu wiggled his little arms and his tails, but to no avail. The chain lashed violently in the air, crashing against the bars as well as the floor, and it kept doing so until the little Tailed Beast was forced to give up. 

Oops, Kei said. 

I officially blame you, Isobu said petulantly. When he was held sideways in the middle of the cell door by his spikes, he couldn’t come across any other way. I cannot move.

[captain-of-the-historicfuture]

~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (Consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway.)

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK—shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (Plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations...?) Tell us about them!

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as (film, webcomic, animated series, etc.)?

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

[spaceysp]

Saying random stuff to feed into the hyperfixations; pick one of these statements to rant about because I wanna read :)) if u want,

How skeppy must feel with everyone meeting up cause BaD JUST COME ON ,

Opinions on bad planning to take skeppy to dinner and all that jazz ,

Skeppys newest video on the skep channel where bad and skeppy are surprisingly sweet to eachother (and how lately in general bad has been less angee with him) ,

Literally the whole discount skeppy situation , bad being literally in love,

Ride with U,,,,,hetero,,,,explanation,,,, anywhere?

ANONNNNN I OWE YOU MY LIFE ILY 

im literally going to talk about all of these so im sorry but read more at your own risk

one: skeppy, i am so sorry a mf does this to you. but seriously, i can only think of a few reasons (that dont sound entirely made for fanfic) that bad keeps putting off meeting skeppy 

1. (the most unlikely) theyve already met and they keep the bit going so the fans dont find out. i can get that they wouldnt want to tell at first because its their own business, but i seriously doubt they would wait very long to confirm it, because ppl honestly can put a lot of pressure and hype on the meetup (esp with skeppy’s “surprise”) so i think theyd release something just so everyone knew that it finally happened! they didnt lie!

2. bad just doesnt want to meet skeppy (actually nvm this is the most unlikely) 

bad seems to be genuinely excited to meet skeppy, even claiming skeppys the one to keep putting it off, not him (which skeppy immediately disproved but) and saying over and over he wants to meet up with him, but always avoiding actually making plans (every single tweet about the meetup) so its clear he does want to meet skeppy eventually, which makes trying to figure out why he wont even harder

3. its not the right time/ waiting for a specific date

leading up to this, i was thinking that there was a pretty good chance theyd meet up on their anniversary, but that never happened rip. the issue is with this is that they guaranteed they would meet up before the end of the year, and at this point theres only one “event” left, but they still dont seem to have any plans to meet. if bad was waiting for the perfect time to do it, why not just tell skeppy to confirm a meetup date? it would get him (and maybe the fans, if they told them) off his back. another variant of this is that there is a set date, but they havent told the public, but again, skeppy seems to be just as much in the dark about this as everyone else

4. health issues 

bads apparently been feeling pretty under the weather lately, with his arm and kidney stones, its very plausible (and reccomended, imo) that bad doesnt want to travel when hes having these problems. of course, skeppy could visit, but he could either not want to spend their time together sick or the plans they have could also be too straining. i think this is probably one of the most likely atm, go see a doctor bbh im begging you

5. bads nervous

this is also one of the more plausible to me. for whatever reason, bads just anxious about it, whether it wont be the same as talking online, or be super awkward or whatever, he could just keep putting it off for that (its still weird and kinda doesnt make sense but in a more realistic way this time)

i know i totally went off track but this brings me to my point, skeppys kinda just waiting for bads confirmation at this point, so seeing his friends have fun meeting up is probably just lowkey depressing and i could see him using it as more the reason they should meet up. really the only thing he can do in this situation(at least, as far as i can tell) is what he has been doing, annoy bad about it or he take advantage of bads jealousy and meet up with someone else. the other option is to randomly come to his house, but it doesnt seem like skeppy is gonna do that, maybe to respect his boundaries? if he was planning on it i think he wouldve done it by now

OKAY NUMBER TWO LETS GO

this kinda ties into my point in the “reasons why bad wont meet skeppy” thing, that bad seems really excited to meet him yet still wont?? its clear he really values any time spent with skeppy, but he also make sure skeppys having a good time too! that why he never does any actual work with skeppy around (i.e. building statues or gathering materials for such), he knows its boring so instead theyll wander around the server telling stupid stories or punching each other off stairs for 20 minutes. im sure itll be the same irl, he mentioned wanting to meet somewhere like a nature reserve or amusement park, probably to make sure theres never a dull moment or time wasted. dinner seems much more low-key, and i wouldnt be surprised if bad just wanted to have an excuse to try and impress him with a nice totally-platonic date

NUMbeR tHree *airhorns* 

they really do be the best of friends! ive noticed that skeppys def been trying to halt arguments fairly quickly now, saying a lot to appease bad and move on, and while bad seems to like to start fights for fun, hes also been a lot more chill lately, im guessing because hes been oh-so desperately missing skeppy and big s was also in Baby mode (aka if bad disagreed with him hed probably just cry until he got his way((sand))) i think that vid just showed them being a lot more natural and happy to talk (plus bad usually is more argumentative when theyre competing, while in that vid they were either just hanging out or working towards a common goal) 

n u m b e r f o u r 

where to even BEGIN with discount skeppy. well, bad actually first came up this idea a few months ago, in either july or august on an idots smp stream when he crafted an ‘artificial skeppy’ in his snack shack that he could talk to whenever skeppy was gone. as we all know idots smp is now rip, but the idea of replacement skeppys remained, just this time they can talk and also ship skephalo. it actually seemed like more of puffys idea at first when she put on skeppys skin as a joke, which bad didnt like the first few times, but when she brought it up again he actually requested it (missing skeppy brainrot 🤔?) this could be either cuz bad wanted to bait some shippers so gave in or he thought it was a pretty funny bit so went along with it (or he actually missed skeppy that much.. surely not ??) either way i think we can agree puffy is not only a comedic genius but a top tier friend and slight wingman, and getting some good jealous skeppy content out of it is also top tier. in conclusion, love and appreciate discount skeppy, badboyhalo has only skeppy on his brain and his friends have to deal with that, hoes (skeppy) mad even though the whole bit is how much bbh is into him

NUMBER FIVE im really doing all of them

What, can be said, about ride with u. GODDAMN. im not tryna insinuate anything, but if someone told me that song reminded them of me i would have no choice but to marry them immediately. i really really want someone to ask bad what songs remind him of any of his other friends (dream, sapnap, george, ant, puffy, etc.) because there are three options

1. theyre just cool platonic friend songs and bad is just in love with skeppy

2. he cant think of any songs for them and bad is just In Love with skeppy

3. they have equal romantic undertones and bad is just Like That with his friends (even so i bet people would be picking out the most minute differences between the songs that make one more.. You Know than the other) 

i know FOR SURe that if i was in bads position (where even the person who made the lyric video assumed they were gay in love) i wouldve curled into a ball and never made another public appearance again, but he really owned that shit, singing it and making unprompted references to it (”i already have a bonnie” YOU AINT SLICK SIR WTF) 

i just wanna know if skeppys listened to it (i mean, hes surely at least heard of it, i know he wouldve seen it all over his timeline) and what he thonks about it. pls tell us big s do you also feel the love in this chilis tonight (ALSO when is someone gonna ask skeppy what song reminds him of bad. im waiting ((hed probably say something like a faster remix or something equally memey (((unless???)))

ANYWAY SORRY FOR MAKING YOU READ ALL OF THAT HOLY SHIT i dont wanna reread this to check for errors so it might be incoherent but again ty for letting me infodump about this it was super fun im in love with you anon

[vuure]

Embrace your past and get to know your friends’ fandom origins!

Rules: Post gifs of your fandoms / ships starting with your most current hyperfixation and work backwards. (Bonus points if you share any stories about how or when you got into that ship! But not necessary!!) Then tag anyone whose fandom history you’d like to learn about!

 @ilackallhonour​ has tagged me in this, and usually I’m really bad at actually joining in, but this one really got me thinking back on all my old fandoms and hyperfixations. I didn’t really do shipping until a few years ago, might have something to do with my recently discovered ace-ness :’)

I always had fantasies that I was part of the world of that particular hyperfixation at time. Of course very heroic and awesome, and very close to my favorite character. Alas, real life is disappointing in that regard.

Merlin/Arthur, I never watched the show when it first came out. Mostly because I can be a bit stubborn and when a lot of people keep telling me that I should totally watch something because I will love it, I refuse to watch it. Don’t know why I’m like that. Turned out, I totally did love it, and binged it like crazy. Also shipped Arthur/Merlin like crazy. Was really disappointed in the ending, and thus, turned to fic. For me, when I’m really obsessed with a show or book I just cannot let go and will read fic until eventually my fixation dies out.

The Umbrella Academy, I don’t really ship anyone, except maybe bromances, and their sibling relationships (Five and Vanya <3 Klaus and Diego <3<3). Man, I love this show, I binged it when it first came out, immediately watched again, got other people to watch it, and watched it again so I could talk to them about it some more. Of course turned to fic, but got a bit eww-ed out, because there was a lot of shipping going on and I didn’t dig it (too each their own, though).

Black Sails, uuuugh I can’t with this show. @Ilackallhonour actually got me curious about it because all the stuff she posted and reblogged. And damn, was it a life changer. I’ve always had a bit of a weird obsession with ships and that time period, but more from Dutch, and VOC perspective. Still, the setting immediately hooked me in, but I really stayed for the story, the characters…Silver. Oh damn. And Silver/Flint, oh double damn.

Sterek. Really, I can’t even say I liked Teen Wolf that much, although I did enjoy the first few seasons. But I stayed for every glimpse of Sterek I could catch. The first time Derek shoved Stiles into the wall I was screaming at my TV, NO WAY there are no people shipping that. Dude, that’s so canon it hurts! But well, the show turned into a big dumpster fire, and I found the online fandom. Got an AO3 account just so I could bookmark and comment and give out kudos so my favorite Sterek fic. And there are tons of fics. I can admit it, I was an addict. I can’t go on AO3 without drowning back in fandom hell, so I keep off it. Really, it was a problem. I was reading fic ALLLL the time. When I should’ve been working, sleeping, socializing, etc. Followed so many Sterek blogs on Tumblr, but wanted my sanity back so unfollowed them all. Sorry @andavs​, I still love your blog, and your art, and your fics sooooo much, but it was too big of a problem *sigh*

Harry Potter, of course. My favorite character was Fred, and got very upset when people tried to convince me he was exactly the same as George. NO HE ISN’T! He’s the idea guy!! Lol. It’s been a while since I’ve read the books, and not sure how much of that is true anymore. Back then I didn’t really do shipping, but now I’m a Drarry shipper, haha. The fics are just so goooood.

Gilmore Girls, duuuude. This show shaped my life. Every time I’m one a re-watch I’m like…oh thát’s where I got that from! I copied character traits and sense of humor and stuff into my own personality. Didn’t like the new episodes much, but that won’t destroy my love for the Gilmores.

Veronica Mars, same as with Gilmore Girls really. Huge impact on my life. Love the snarkiness, and yeah did have some ships in there. Actually did like the new season (though I hated the movie), but they did LoVe dirty man.

I should put Supernatural in this list too, although I feel like I abandoned the show and am not a true fan. I was obsessed with it for so long though. Those first seasons were so great, I loved the relationship between Dean and Sam (in a platonic, totally brotherly way because I do not like incest-y things) and the normal everyday hunting things part of the show. But than all the demons and angels en Gods came and I got a bit tired of the endless cycle of dying and being brought back to life, evil turned to good turned to evil turned to good thing. I’m of the opinion that shows should have an end. Just like three or four seasons, tops. Just finish it with a good, solid ending. Don’t drag it along until it dies an ugly death.

And now unto some total different things, that shaped my childhood. Hard to find a GIF for these books, but what is fandom without some cool art ^_^

 Tomorrow when the war began, by John Marsden. I was obsessed with these books, and read them over and over again, even now I’m not tired of them and could get lost in them before I finished the first page.

Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan. This series really got me into the fantasy genre back then. I had no idea of any of the fantasy cliché’s, or Arthur legends yet, so I wasn’t tired yet of all the same old tropes. I find it a lot harder now to read them, but back then I saved money to be able to buy them as soon as a new one came out, and re-read the entire series up till that point before I read the new one.

Cats the (broadway) musical. Me and my little sister watched the movie version of this show over and over again, every time focused on a different cat. We knew all the lyrics, we knew all the cats. We knew every little thing there was of them to know. We named our black cat (we ..I demanded a black cat) Misty, for Mistyfollees (she’s a girl you see, so we couldn’t name her Mistofollees). I even wrote some fic for it, haha.

(note: I tried really hard to find another GIF but there’s none) Elfquest, oooh Elfquest. This was my truest and biggest obsession, I think. I created my own elf characters, joined online RPG forums to write stories about our own characters, met up with other fans, dressed like a favorite character. A lot of the friends I have now, I met at those forums. I’m still low-key trying to collect the better-looking English paperbacks of the series, but am in no hurry to finish it, and don’t really read them anymore anyway. And my ship? Skywise/anyone, haha. I love Skywise so damn much. And his and Cutter’s relationship is everything (who’s Leetah? Fuck Leetah).

Tagging @stormnyk​ @andavs​  (I tagged you already anyway, sorry ;p) @imperfectimpostor96​

[frostygar]

Arrow S7 Ep2 Thoughts

- Oliver’s so annoyed with this dude calling himself his friend lmaooo

- The gang back together (almost) we love to see it! It’s low-key kinda sad that they’re much better without Oliver… like they’re more interesting and flow well.

- Laurel using her powers to ditch her security detail, I’ve missed her 😜😜

- RENE AND LAUREL’S FUCKING KNUCKLE BUMP YESSSSSS we stan this friendship!!!! I love Curtis being all worried, it’s cute. And yes overaggressive Felicity is low-key annoying but I can pass over it because at least it’s not because of her relationship with Oliver (that controls everything) it’s HER. Anyways… now they’re in deep shit by compromising ARGUS’s active investigation and I hope that doesn’t affect Curtis’s job there 🥺🥺

- Okay it’s been awhile since I worked on this and I like… these four thoughts are from like HALF an episode??? Wow either I don’t care to comment on everything like I do with Riverdale or basically nothing is happening. Anyways, let’s hope I can get through this!

- And THIS is why we work TOGETHER. A.R.G.U.S. is such a weird company or whatever like they work with these kinds of people but then they don’t and also keep them in the dark… like you really have to make everything harder than it needs to be huh lol

- I never wanted to hear “WWGAD” but to answer: he’d be a hero, yet not at the same time then whine about how he WANTS to be a hero but can’t because of something holding him back that’s usually just himself……… Riverdale has me salty (even if the last musical episode was literally the best episode they’ve ever made) and forgetting how I feel about Arrow lmao SORRY

- LMAO OLIVER REALLY JUST WENT RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE FLASHLIGHTS AND THEY JUST LET HIM PASS. I know he’s supposed to but I just found it hilarious

-  Ahh, there’s that “here’s something I don’t have a skill on but for plot sake I’ll suddenly have it” :) Reminds me of Iris suddenly knowing how to do shit and “leading” the group and I despise it thank you and goodbye

- OH YEAH THE FLASH FORWARDS WITH WILLIAM AND ROY!!

- Why is Diggle giving up on saving Oliver—

- Not Diggle thinking it’s selfish of him for not putting on the Hood to save his family. It’s not, at all. It’s actually very smart of him.

- Oh we fucking KNOW Felicity is too impulsive to not go off on her own despite saying she’d do it the A.R.G.U.S. way. She’s going to get greedy and fuck everything up. How I know? This is DC and it’s exactly what Iris would do.

- That Laurel bit of her stepping into silence? Fucking AMAZING. AND THEN SHOWING DINAH WITH NOISE AND GOING BACK? I don’t even know why I like it so much… god I am PATHETIC

- DINAH AND LAUREL USING THEIR SONIC SCREAMS TO DESTROY THE SILENCER WHAT A FUCKING POWER MOVE!!! They should work together more instead of having Dinah be like the good enemy kind of person if that makes any sense

- JUST FUCKING KILL DIAZ YOU HAVE HIM IN YOUR FUCKING SIGHTS JESUS

- The length of that fire gun is not fair but it’s okay because Diggle just did the coolest fucking move—

- Now how is Felicity going to fuck this up for no reason??? Ahhhh,,, well thankfully Curtis isn’t a dumb bitch blinded by an obsession with Oliver.

- William watches as Roy burns the paper and does nothing to even TRY to stop it lmao okay

- Why does Dinah helping Laurel make Laurel want protection from the SCPD??? It makes no sense… Also I just thought about Diaz, and why not just send people to collect him and the others on the train cart that would have to slow down before they get off—

- Oh 👀👀👀 anyways is there a ship name for Dinah and Laurel so I can jump on the train that’ll definitely not go anywhere because I clearly hate myself lol

- OH MY GOD I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT?!?!?!! OLIVER YOU FUCKING KING!!! But lmao I love that no one helps Oliver at all—

- Not Felicity working for that bitch…….. can Felicity have anything other than obsessing over some guy she shouldn’t be with and barreling into everything head first without thinking? I’m getting Betty Cooper vibes and I hate it because Felicity can be so GOOD if everything of hers didn’t revolve around Oliver and Oliver only…….

- Anyways thank god I’m finally done with this episode… 

[artificialqueens]

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.

-

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 6

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

--

Her chest felt tight. Why was it so quiet?

She didn't think she was dead. Probably not anyway. Kasumi had taken far worse hits in her life, ones that promised much more damage and much more deathy. Whatever light she could see through her eyelids was low and out of the way, the corner of the tent she thought. Two quiet voices above her, and though she couldn't make out what they were saying, they were morose and depressing-- deep. Whatever she missed in the mean time hadn't ended well.

The blanket was snugged tightly against her body. Mm. Warm. Pleasant too, like a home comfort when home was so very far away as a concept. She was used to that. Packed light, but brought the things that reminded her what she had to leave behind. Usually small things, like old novels that Keiji had surprised her with over the years they had been together. Others were... simpler. Blankets were always good for that, especially on the harder nights when the ship was far too cold and empty. A blanket brought more of something familiar, and perhaps make a portrait of a place that wasn't home but more, paradise. A vacation that's farther away from the worst.

But eventually, eventually reality would call back to her. Kasumi flickered her eyes open to see the canopy of a tent that wasn't hers, but similar. White, low-ceiling. There was a candle burning in the corner she thought, lavender and a mix of chamomile. Calming agents. Oh. So this was Sha'ira's. Suddenly, the paradise felt more like an intrusion.

She twisted her head and found Sha'ira kneeling next to her, in a heavy conversation with the red salarian. There were tools behind them, doctor ones, and a few medi gel applicators. Her head ached, and even the low light seemed too much. So maybe she had been hit harder than she thought. Her hearing seemed to be coming back at least.

“Ms. Maeda?” Sha'ira's voice was soft, remorseful. The harsh shadows that danced along her face made it seem all that more morose, but relieved. She could see that too with the way her eyes softened, and that. That made it easier to smile in return.

“Proximity mines are a favorite in the Terminus Systems.”

She breathed a small laugh. “You'd know about that, wouldn't you?”

The red salarian sighed, and turned to the doctor's bag. “Then I'm sure you've heard the whole 'another angle and that would've killed you' lecture, so I'm gonna save it. I kinda figured that anyway. Any discomfort in your chest?”

“A lot.”

“Cracked ribs. Ache in your head?”

“Concussion?”

“Yep. Though to be sure have you had any memory loss, disorientation, mild confusion?”

“Just over how long you've been a medic.”

“Long enough. It's mild then.” He snapped the bag closed, and seemed satisfied with the diagnosis. “I'll leave you two then. I'm sure Sha'ira can give you the news.” Then he eyed her critically, a scowl clear on his face. “You're off your feet for today. That medigel needs to work its magic and all that.” Not surprising, but she kinda missed that awkward, scarred smile on his face.

“Okay. But why am I in Sha'ira's tent?”

He ignored her, much to her annoyance, and instead slipped out of the tent flap. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, and for once, neither of them seemed to be up for breaking it. Sha'ira's frown and furrowed brow easily killed any voice that would've risen in her throat, and the way she focused on the slow rise and fall of her chest told her there was plenty on her mind to keep herself occupied. She wanted to ask a hundred different things that could come to her, but looking at her, it was almost like she didn't have the right.

Still, she had to break it. “So... why am I in your tent?”

“I was closer than yours,” her mouth twitched, “We wanted to get you... situated as soon as possible.”

“Was it bad?”

“... No. The dirt made it seem worse. We couldn't really tell until...” She took a deep breath before finally looking her in the eye. There was an unsteady gaze. “I apologize. Are you okay?”

“You didn't get hurt any, right?”

“Thanks to you, yes.” She blinked once slowly, sucking in a deep breath. This had shaken her, and how she tried to loosen her shoulders out. How long had she been unconscious? Enough time to be dragged back to camp, and whatever medical practice needed to be done and not feel it. It had been more like a pleasant afternoon nap with a side dose of a headache and a little bit of heartburn-- not unlike post-food coma after a particularly noisy holiday dinner. She'd only ever been to three in her lifetime, once as an uninvited guest to Kiera's.

Her bedroom window had been left a crack, and Kasumi had simply slipped in, and greeted the downstairs family as if she was an expected guest. Her mother, an old willowy matriarch with just as much fear as there was wisdom with those that had followed her, had roared at the mere sight of her and rose from her seat as a tall, brightly gleamed with biotics, tower. That matriarch never cared for her too much. She was much like Kiera, a creature of selfish control and careful planning, but couldn't see her pats the initial threat she had posed.

Everyone was a little fragile once or twice to people you didn't want to be. It didn't matter if it was her mother, Shepard, herself, or even Sha'ira. Especially Sha'ira now.

“You ever had this happen to you before?” Kasumi chanced to ask with the fact that neither of them seemed ready to move-- Kasumi unable to move. It was worth asking, to know, and perhaps give what little comfort she knew to give.

“Once.” The consort glanced away, fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. It still was grimed with dirt and what seemed to be a little metal shrapnel stuck in between. “The Geth had not been known to discriminate in their targets. Everyone lost something in that first takeover.”

“I saw what happened to your office.” It was an ugly, twisted mess. Entrance caved in, bullet holes all over the walls. Furniture turned over, and again that scent of gun smoke and metal-- blood. She could've lost more, but still. “Were you there?”

Sha'ira sighed. “At the start, yes. Nelyna and I...” And then just as suddenly, she shook her head. The tension vanished as if it never existed, and Sha'ira's face remained just as placid as ever. “It's well passed in any case, and I have made steps to... adjust.” It didn't surprise her that Sha'ira knew how to guard herself as well. To keep things tightly locked and key. Still, very disappointing. It'd be nice to pry open and see what was inside, not just have her under scrutiny from watchful, careful eyes.

“Lost an aunt from it too.”

At the mention, Sha'ira immediately perked up. “So you do have a family.”

“Little, but I did.”

“I imagine not quite so eccentric.”

She didn't know. Not as much as she would've liked. From what she remembered, her mother was a quiet figure, gently chiding, and working hard. Did a lot of... pipe work for the colony, she thought. There were wonderful, tempting aromas of spices and something sweet whenever she would walk into her kitchen, and her burly bear of a father would be standing behind the counter, occasionally with a cigar in his mouth. Shipments from the Alliance. Always took one out on a good day. Her sister... she was an elusive image. One replaced by blood and fragments of bone. Long hair. She had longer hair.

“They were pretty normal, I guess.”

Sha'ira studied her for a moment, and she could feel how naturally her gaze traveled to that well-worn scar at the back of her skull. “That is surprising, considering where you ended up.”

“Normal families don't birth consorts either, Sha'ira.”

A long, thin smile formed, then a delicate hand against her forehead as she brushed the bandages just barely back to see the healing wound. “... I'm glad you're okay, Ms. Goto. It would have been a shame to see our arrangement end so early.”

“Arrangement sounds so formal. You have other friends, right?”

“Of course. Some of my clients can be worth knowing outside of work.”

“That sounds really boring.”

Sha'ira laughed before applying the bandage back against her temple, gentle as she did so. “Not everyone can lead a life so exciting, Ms. Goto. Though, I get the feeling I may last longer than you will.”

She hmphed. “Or have already.” Kasumi would do the math every now and then, when the days seemed to grow and twisted into a crazy, niggling wounds and betrayals. It was hard to see the old wounds and the new ones eventually, though she never looked too hard at her skin. The lessons stuck well enough on their own, and the catsuit, it was already like her skin. Stuck to her close enough to be. But now? Now she can look at her hands freely. See all the little lines that sunk into her palm. Little callouses too that built up closer to her fingers. The skin was smoother than she expected though.

“Does it bother you?”

She didn't know. It was more like a pale hand that followed her, every now and then taking something else away, just to remind her that it was there. And eventually her luck would and her time would start wilting, and she would feel that cold brush against the back of her neck. Days where she begged it. Days where she questioned it.

A shudder and Keiji's old touch seemed so far away from her. Death always led to him, one way or another. And another part, gone. But it felt... necessary to keep him in mind, that little note in her head that no matter who it was or what was happening, no one was invincible. Sha'ira wasn't either.

…. What was she doing?

“Kasumi?”

She looked back, saw the concern glazing over her clear blue eyes. It wasn't unattractive to think of her the same as she did Keiji and Shepard. To think nothing could take them, especially if she was there to do something about it. But Kasumi had looked away long enough, and both of them were rotting somewhere. Shepard in the city, Keiji back in Bekenstein. Sha'ira would have something more dignified with the luck of not being a soldier like so many others that she knew. Maybe quiet. Maybe a disgruntled customer getting too emotional.

That sudden intruding thought told her to run. Run. But she swallowed it down this time and refused to look away. “My death is inevitable,” she said, ignored the bile sticking to her throat, “I already made peace with that.”

“And others?”

That was a question she knew was coming. The silence gave her away, and Kasumi knew the flow of the game by now. It was simply a matter of moving the game forward, another little piece and twist. “Tell me something,” she ducked the question, but no, she wouldn't give Sha'ira the benefit of looking away. “For folks that live for so long, you see plenty of death yourself, don't you?” She didn't respond, but Kasumi barely gave her the time to. Just kept pushing. Push, pry. Who was that woman underneath? “Does it ever get easier every time? You have centuries to recover, but when it matters, doesn't it always...”

“Yes.” She broke the gaze, and saw the small switch inside of her, reverting to the scared, small thoughts that crept inside her when Kasumi had first woken up. “... Death is an awful, wonderful fact. It will come before you are ready, and it will take what you love. But that, in itself, creates some of the most wonderful memories I have had the pleasure to hold.”

And she was locked out. Still though, she felt amazed by the response, unexpected, pleasurable. She could want more of that. “Why?”

Sha'ira chuckled, even if there was still a fragility in the air. “Because when we have learned, we take each moment, each greeting with someone for what it is, and we cherish it. How many times did it take you to watch someone die to realize that?”

She was just a small girl quivering away from beady eyes looking for them. “Once.”

“Once.” And those blue eyes were like fire. “Nelyna took the shot for me. Kept them away from me, and... she died.” Oh. … Oh. The archives she dug through had never mentioned that. Whatever had happened that morning, Sha'ira had kept it tightly locked. “I will have to live with the last memory of her... her dying. And her blood. That is something that will never be removed. In those instances, recovery may seem simply a relative concept.”

May? The possibility was still there, but in the depths of it all, she couldn't stop how much it hurt.

“But we must, Kasumi. Not just for their memory, but for our sakes as well.” It was gentle, but noticeable with the way she shook as she brushed Kasumi's hair back. “I have to ask this... I am sorry.” No. She knew where this was going. “I saw what was in your bag the other night. Just enough to know what it was.”

“Sha'ira. No.” Not when she couldn't run. Not when she couldn't hide. “I'm the one whose supposed to cheat.”

The smile was more of a taut grimace. “I only do when I feel it is important.”

“It's not.”

She laughed. “They may have worked on everyone else, Kasumi. I am positive that Shepard, and you for at least a time, have disagreed.”

Kasumi still did. It was just easier to dismiss its presence when others noticed. Keiji was with her in a way that he promised, though never really, fully intended. It was a gift that comforted her when she needed it, and drove the knife inside when she wished for the reminder. That was not a place for anyone else to bring up, not without her making the first move. “Perhaps another day then, my friend. He's...”

That look. Sympathetic, but still, sad. “I understand.” She gave a moment's pause before standing up and brushing off the edges of her dress. It still had dirt, grime, and blood. She hadn't changed yet? “If you would, offer some condolences to Sura. … She might appreciate whatever advice you could give.”

“Uh--”

“Her wife is who we found. Thyra.”

Oh. Oh. “Sha'ira---”

She was gone before she could finish, in what Kasumi could imagine with almost a self-satisfied look on her face. Kasumi sighed, defeated.

It was fair, wasn't it?

–

The priest came by to see her first, QEC with hand. Before she could have the gall to reject, he raised a placating hand. “The consort asked me to pass it along to you. She is... preoccupied with other matters.”

“I suppose she said yes to letting you come in here,” Kasumi huffed. But she never said yes to Sha'ira walking into her tent either. If she hadn't known better, she'd think the consort just took her grey-box and destroyed it herself. That would be a little beyond her though. At least, she hoped so. If not, this friendship would be ending very shortly. She extended her hand out for it, and felt a small bit of relief with the cold metal against her bare skin.

The priest lingered though. Again. “Ms. Maeda?”

“Hm?”

“Do you, er, did you happen to see the body?”

“On the count of being nearly blown up? Not really.”

“Oh... Yes, that would stop you from seeing the sights, I suppose.” He fiddled with his hands for a moment, only making them both uncomfortable before sighing. “... I'm happy to see you remained mostly intact. A former--”

“Stop.”

“It's a compliment to your resilience, Ms. Maeda,” offering a small smile in reconciliation. “Though I regret that it ever happened in the first place. You---”

“I know I can't forcibly throw you out, but I will try, and when I fall and start screaming, they're going to blame you.” He didn't bother to respond, instead bowing politely and tucking his tail to go. She gave the courtesy of a, “If you tell anyone, you're dead, priest!” just as the flap closed.

She unwound in a long sigh and tried to settle herself in a way that still made it easy to breathe through the unsettling pressure on her chest. A quick couple of boots and she was greeted to the familiar sight of static before Khalisah's face showed on the screen. The smile was smug initially before she got a good look at her appearance, she thought.

“Uh.”

“So there's a guy setting mines in the city. And that girl was definitely dead... or so I've been told.”

“You're taking this well. … You were hurt?”

“A little.”

She eyed the bandages with a well-worn scowl that paled her cheeks. “Right. Try not to do that again, I guess? Erm...”

The way it made her squirm was funny. “So, maybe you should think about telling the others you're here? Just in case they find you a particularly helpful lone ransom.”

“I'm sure you'll take care of it just fine, thanks.”

Kasumi laughed. “See, that's the sort of thought that gets you killed, dear.”

“If you call me dear again, I swear I'll scream your name to the nearest person.”

“Stay alive, dear.” And with that, she switched off the QEC for now. Khalisah was making a mistake, but if she managed to be caught in one of those trip mines somewhere down the line, it'd save her some of the trouble. She didn't like to drag people that didn't know how to fight in shit like that though. It was her biggest dividing factor when it came to the Terminus Systems. Whether a poor choice or not, others simply tried to live in those neon lights. And just as well, even underneath the veil of blackmail, Khalisah was trying to do the same.

Death. Death was a heavy hand to deal. Maybe one she could finally break and leave behind.

–

The asari came in later when the sun began to sink from the darkening of the folds in the tent. The candle had long since burned out, leaving a fragrant, slightly ashy scent behind. She had dozed somewhere in the early afternoon, tired of the uncomfortable unsettling movement of her ribs and out of sheer boredom. In a way, she was thankful that Sha'ira hadn't dug enough to grab one of her books out of the bag, but it would've been far better company than the QEC-- which she would only connect to a few friends anyway, subordinates not withstanding. So, instead, she slept.

Someone had come in beforehand. This, she knew. Delicate fingers had peeled back the bandages, an unsteady breath before a sigh of relief. It had been warm, and the quiet study had been enough to lull her back to sleep, but she remembered it. She remembered feeling the smile that had been left behind.

That wasn't the asari wife though. The tension settled in with her entrance, just the quick snap of the tent flap. Her eyes were brimmed with something red, and her eyes still looked glossy. A quivering bottom lip, and that lost, listless gape in her expression. Maybe Sha'ira was actively trying to draw those buried down thoughts and feelings, and this was her plan. Expose, and maybe, eventually, that mask would break. Instead, she just wanted to go home.

“The consort...”

“I know. Sit down for me?”

She hadn't wanted to be there either. Her legs dragged to the side of the cot, and she knelt down into something almost prim and proper, only broken by the curvature of her spine, sagging with the weight of her grief. She watched her with the expectation of answers, but that. That wasn't anything anyone could give.

Kasumi sighed. “I'm sorry first of all. If we knew from the start, we may have been able to save her.”

She nodded.

“But those what ifs will always be there. You can hold onto them, or accept that what happened did.” She spent weeks wondering the scenarios. Maybe she could've turned away when Keiji had second-guessed the heist. Maybe she could've stayed with him. Maybe there had been a way to stop the bleeding. Maybe... But none of them brought him back now. Nothing ever would. Not without dying maybe, and if there was a place for the soul, she'd find him there. “And whatever I say here won't change what happens now. It's horrible. That love is.”

The asari furrowed her brow, and the gaze turned into stone. “The consort said you'd know. How--?”

No. She didn't want to talk about it. “That's not important. It... It happened a while ago.” She tried to grab what little advice and comforts she remembered those first few weeks, but she remembered feeling a torn, empty void that swallowed so much of her. Told her it was all for nothing if it didn't mean him. And it was such a scary thought, to remember how much she had put herself in him.

Kiera's hands were warm as she tried to bring her back from it, but it took stripping herself down to just a woman, and putting herself at her aunt's doorstep that she realized no matter how deeply she dug, she wasn't completely human either.

That wouldn't help the newly-made widow. She had no real comfort to give her. Why was she put in this position again? Keiji.... he would've been so much better at this. “I can't say it gets easier either, but... it's manageable. Remember whose with you now--- the kind of people that reach out to you. It may not seem much, but when it's at its worst, you'll remember them.”

“It... it gets worse?”

She grimaced. “You'll be alone. Eventually.” Then the cold would creep in, subtle at first but almost frigid with its loneliness. Then she would remember the steady pattern of his heartbeat against her ear, and the way he seemed to sigh with every second breath. And she would crave it. She would crave it more than anything, and the hurt was so indescribable. Some nights, it'd still sweep her, and today, it just seemed to be waiting. Just when she would close her eyes.

The woman stayed for a time, though for how long, Kasumi couldn't say. Just that with every moment, she could feel how the widow tried to pick up the pieces that were left behind. There wasn't any comfort to give, but hopefully, as she left the briefest of smiles with her departure, she left something to think about.

Kasumi wasn't good at it, and everything hurt so much more and seemed so much more raw now, but maybe, it would be worth it to see someone else step closer to better.

–

“You must hate me.”

Sha'ira only smiled.

“Why did you send her here?”

She unfurled her sleeping bag beside the cot, shoulders loose and free from stress despite what Kasumi was willing to guess was a long day. “It worked, I believe. She seemed in better spirits at dinner. Thank you.”

“You could've done it better.”

She settled herself with her legs tucked underneath her, amusement clear in her eyes. It was a better look on her. “You sell yourself short, Kasumi. The pain of a loved one lost is better described by those that have experienced it. Shut yourself all you like, but you have compassion for those that feel it.”

“You hate me.”

Sha'ira sighed, an amused smile forming on her face as she turned on her heel and scrounged an electric kettle in between what seemed to be a pair of dresses. It didn't take long for steam to begin to form around the spout, and the heat brought some small measure of comfort. “Does it alarm you to be able to relate to someone?”

“More that they could relate to me.”

“And why is that?”

She wasn't sure if that was a serious question or not. There was that whole being a thief thing, and she was... Oh. That was a thought she didn't need to get into. The day had been depressing enough, and all of the reminders had been so unavoidable. It was her fault, clearly. Whether good intentioned or not. They were her thoughts, and from the start, had never been meant to be shared with anyone else on this trip. She still remembered the look the asari widow gave her. How did anyone help heal that? No one could fix her problems, much less herself.

But a warm cup was being passed to her, and the smile that was given made it easy to return, even if a little strained and tired. “Some pains you would never wish on your worst enemy, Consort. That should be reason enough.”

She situated herself beside Kasumi, and the smile waned into content as she breathed into the steam. “... I suppose so. From what little I could gather, I assume this hasn't been an easy road for you.”

“Oh, never.” She grinned. “But we reap what we sow, right? You don't rise up to your status as consort without a little backlash.”

The chuckle died into something more contemplative, the silence creating a thin line for her mouth. Had she said the wrong thing? It wasn't for her to think about, but that was part of making friendships right? Come up with something exciting, try not to piss each other off. But still, there was a gentleness with the way she looked at her. “And you have to consider the damages, don't you?”

“Not when I can count them.”

“Some scars don't show on the skin.”

And the circle came around again. She blew against the hot liquid, ignoring the underlying question, and hoping perhaps that the burning on her tongue would numb the rest of her too. It was a shame that almost never worked. It was a nice little thought to distract her, as if it was ever really possible to absolve all emotional limitation with the sip of something hot. There was the comforting edge of it, a reminder of younger times when magic seemed real enough and her mother's-- She was getting off topic. Sha'ira looked at her expectantly, either for rejection or explanation. Kasumi wasn't sure which one to give.

“You've serviced... that sort of thing before?”

“In a manner of speaking. The side-effects were discovered rather quickly after release. … It has been some time since I have seen a functioning one.” She took a chance in inching a little close to her, just enough for their knees to touch. “Do you have a grey-box installed as well?”

“Of course.”

It didn't seem to be the answer she wanted, because Sha'ira hesitated, noted how little her own expression had changed-- as if afraid at how natural her decision had been. “Did anyone speak to you about the issues that it can pose?”

Enough so. There had been a long, drilling lecture by Kiera, then a series of private hired doctors that had been paid just enough to install it but not enough to not be nervous about doing the procedure. She had joked that Kiera had done that in the hopes that Keiji would die during the installation, a joke that had been briskly brushed off. The both found the idea tempting. The ability to remember every secret, every memory whether on the job or between them. Every little bit of gossip and every detail of a person's face and mannerisms. If anything was forgotten, it was out of willfulness, but oh, if she dug hard enough, it would be there. “I have good doctors, promise,” she decided waving it away would be better than anything else, “You'll be the first to know if anything weird happens.”

“And the other one?”

“No protection plans for assholes splitting your skull open.”

Neither of them laughed, but Kasumi was fine with it. She was fine joking about it because it was easier that way. Coping mechanism, whatever. It kept people from digging too much, but it didn't surprise her to see that Sha'ira wasn't impressed with it. “They must've been important to you.”

“Partner. He was my partner.” And the humor died with it, if it had been there at all.

“I'm sorry.”

The sorry had already been repeated to her countless times before, and it had become almost as sickening as the mere thought of him could be. Revenge was a nice driving force for a while, using that anger and regret to one singular goal, to be thrilled to have that man's blood on her hands. Sometimes, she still relished in the memory of his face sinking and glowering as she removed the shield off the gunship. The evening would come though, and even with the comfort of the grey-box, the lack of direction had been stifling. She never really knew what she wanted after that, and that, she was convinced, was why she went on the crucible project in the first place. “You knew already though,” she said plainly, “Or you wouldn't have sent her in there.”

“I had a hunch that it had been personal.”

She felt tempted by it still, even as the hurt settled in. “So. Tell me, Sha'ira,” she began, “You let yourself fall in love once, and in an instant, it's all gone-- just imagine that briefly.” And still, Kasumi watched her carefully, noted how her eyes briefly flickered away, to a far-off corner of personal affects-- one she could see as an old photo of a younger, livelier her, standing side by side with a gentle matriarch. “You think you could throw something like that away? That's every piece of his life. As it will be mine when I die.”

“It's unlike you to simplify a situation, Kasumi.”

What? She had gotten plenty of responses about that thing, mostly from Shepard after a few drinks, and she had felt the need to say something to save herself from the guilt of letting her keep it. Shepard was perhaps the only person that had the power and her respect to take it from her, but even that, still, didn't start with something so off the rails. “... Why?”

“I can't speak for your partner, of course, but just looking at your history, to say that is all of you is...” And she seemed to think better of her wording, paused with a furrowed, thoughtful look. “... It's irresponsible. We all leave traces behind, and that on its own, can bring comfort where we need it. We leave our memories behind in others. That...”

She didn't want to hear the rest of it.

“That destroys every person that touches it,” and her voice shook as Sha'ira said it. “I have never seen anyone come out of that attachment unscathed. To recover would take even longer.”

“I'm going to sleep.” The silence that followed was nothing like Kasumi had felt in so very long. It was those clear blue eyes staring into her back as she leaned back into the cot, and feeling the concern cut through her. To be asked was nothing. But to have the sympathy? She wasn't sure if it was a thought that scared her or insulted her.

Sha'ira hid a low sigh, and she heard the cot briefly whine and give as she slipped to the small pallet she had made for herself. The only thing that was left behind was a small graze at her calloused finger-tips. Whether out of apology or another small gesture to reach out to her, Kasumi didn't know. For the evening, it was too much for her to think about.

The long silence would be interrupting with the morning, and the startled and stern commands of a salarian that waited for them from the other side of the tent flaps. It would only be then that Kasumi would miss the peace that only came from a closed mouth.

[wolfsoulrain]

RESET [Chapter 1]

The yellow screens show every places in the Homeworld, After the revolution every gems can do whatever they want but still under the laws.

As the commander of the army when the colonization has been canceled, it was a very big change for Yellow Diamond who was made for war or something like that, but now the Homeworld is in peace that means the end of her job as she decided to change herself from the commander to the chief of Homeworld security, Most of warships became patrol ships. Only a few of Quartz Soldiers are still on duty while most of them went out. About the kindergarden, they only use planets with no organic life forms on them. Everything looks perfect, everyone seems to get along with it...

...except.

"Yellow" Soft voice floated in the air makes Yellow's heart bumping hard even she doesn't have it anyway. Blue Diamond walked pass through a long way hall to where the commander stands and huged her from behide make she blushed even harder and finally stop her hardwork to pay attention with Blue "You've been working hard all day,take a break, we live in peace now, remember?"

"I know..." She sighed and rolled her eyes like she has been listening to this conversation for a million times "But we're still the leaders of The Great Diamond Authority, no matter our colonies are in peace or not if there are no leader everything will fall into chaos, and THIS IS my responsinility to not let we ended up like that."

"It WAS your responsibility" Blue touched the commander's lips softly to not make this conversation a mess. "It's true that we are made to become the leaders, but now everything has changed, you don't have to make yourself overwork or wearing these armors suit."

"Yes, It's true. But Homeworld isn't strong like before if we're under attack we'll doomed!-"

Solf lips touched the overworker's mouth that made she jerked a bit but started to relax and enjoy this kiss. She can't handle the feel Blue gave her anymore.

"I'll talk to White about cancel the diamomd authority." That made Yellow shook.

"WHAT!? But Blue-" All Yellow could do was clenching her hands and turned her face away. Anger changed into sadness as Blue gently touched her face.

"After all we've been through I think White is changed, in a good way of course."

"She's the one who created this system! Cancel it is mean we overthrow everything White has created for over 10,000 years! Why are you still keep doinf this!?" Armored-person walked away through the window with grumpy face, her sigh was way longer than the first one that show she was very tired of this awkward situation. "Just go...You're surely good at talking more than me, and I...um...will wait for you in the royale bathroom."

"The bathroom? Really!?" Blue's face filled with happiness, It's been so long since the last time Yellow went there, since the time pink is gone. "I'm so glad you'll use it again!"

Blue leaned a kiss on the commander's cheek. Yellow smiled a little bit while looking at the blue-haired-woman walked out of the room as the time all of the screens are shuted down made the room fill with darkness.

"The sauna room is ready, My diamond." said Yellow Pearl who walked not too far from her diamond. she remembered every actions her diamond would do in a day to make sure everything is perfect, but not this time.

Yellow Diamond walked to the east wing of the palace while the sauna room is in the west wing. Pearl looked around to check that she didn't miss anything then decided to ask her master with low key voice. "Um...My diamond? What are you doing in the east wing?"

"Take a bath"

"A-a bath!?"

"Yes, and what's wrong with that? Since Pink gone I've never use this place again, but now, I have to move on."

Good old memories ran back make Yellow felt both happy and guilty as she walked in. Back when 4 diamonds were taking a bath together, when Pink was singing under water. Until the day Rose Quartz shattered Pink, everyone went back to do their duty, no talk, no meet, especially White.

Today the truth was showed so everything should be back to normal but the only problem is she was too scared to face the truth, the memory she has been running away for many years.

She has to face it, NOW.

It's time to face the past and move along with it!

The loyale bathroom still has lightblue lights with a pool filled with indigo water, steam, and the smell of good old days. except one thing that seems new here...

A pink-haired-gem swimming in the pool while singing a song. She jerked, stopped then staring at each others for a moment.

"YOU!!!!" Pearl shouted "How DARE YOU!?"

"Hm? Oh! Hello your majesty. Take a bath?" She waved.

"Yes..." She answered with bored in her voice. Yellow just wanted to take her time relaxing in this place but got a entertainer instead. "How did you get here?"

"I don't know, I just explored this palace around and accidently found this amazing place! And I just noticed..." Spinel said with embarrass "I didn't take a bath for 6,000 years...so I may ask for permission to use-"

"Invade" Pearl said angrily.

"-Invade your Royale Giant Bathroom." A joke not even make them smile. This turned into a awkward moment. "W-welp...If you want some private time I'll-"

The conversation wasn't finished yet when Yellow walked into the pool and sat there with no feeling, gave this room with a very big AWKWARD situation.

"Do whatever you want, I don't want to be serious anymore." Yellow dived away like it can cut her out of this chaotic world.

After the diamond dived away Yellow Pearl turned her face to a silly gem and insanely shaking her very hard.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!?" she already gone insane. "This is so far a very FIRST time in forever my diamond came to this place again! But you RUINED it! WHYyyyy!!!?"

"Caaaaaalm DOWN!" pink gem locked a pissed-out pearl with her stretchy arms before she would vomit out. "Listen, I didn't mean to disturbing her 'cuz I thought this place was abandoned, and I guess you didn't think she might use this room instead of her sauna neither, am I right?"

"That's not the point! Where you stand is The Royale Bathroom where only our highness diamonds can use, not for a entertainment gem like you!"

"So what!? I'm a part of them now why can't I use it anyway!?"

Sounds from two gems was very loud even the diamond can't take it and came up to splashed water on them made them soaked. The diamond looked at those annoying gems with disappoint face. They were lucky that she didn't use her power.

"Can you two shut up?" Said with evil grined. Long time since she last trying to do the sleep thing, she tried so many times but failed. Something always disturbimg her to stop and go back to work.

There were 2 voices in her mind:

one said: You have to accept it , crying, and move on.

Another one said: You have to forget it and find something to do,and move on.

Yellow didn't want to listen to the first one so she decided to act strong and put herself overwork hoping she can forget everything.

Even so, it worked! She was forcing herself to having 'fun' at colonization,war,and more. But when she's on her freetime, the pain and guilty filled inside her. The memory of 4 diamond spent their time together,if she,even just a second, can go back and having her time forever...But it's just a dream only a fool would has.

'How foolish I am...Pink'

Her words turned into bubbles floating to the surface,as same as her tear became one of the water, No one would have notice her pain like a storm in the deep of the sea that showing nothing on the surface.

"My diamond..." Somehow Pearl can feel the pain as she saw many bubbles on the water, She was serving Yellow Diamond since she was new in the diamond authority. The commander was a good person with respect as she would like to talk to Pearl everytime she felt sad. This may be the reason why she knows and cares about Yellow Diamond's feeling more than any other gems out there, even the diamonds hadn't see Yellow cries.

When bubbles gone, it's time for her to go and give her master some private space. "My diamond.., take your time."

There was no respond from the diamond, even so the layalty pearl still bow down before walked out of the room. So there are only 2 gems left.

"My diamond...I'm so sorry about what I've done...I..." Still no respond, made Spinel felt that something must be wrong.

Pink gem jumped into the pool and dived deep down with the thought of something might be happend to her diamond but...

She's sleeping

...The commander who was shattered many gems and killed many life has cried until fell asleep...

(Sorry for my bad English, I hope you enjoy the story :3)

[draftingtides]

It Ain’t Freddy Krueger

SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 22 | otrera-kicks-ass vs. @truthfulnomad

Prompt: Freddy Krueger

Ship: Sam/Mick (Sammick)

Word Count: 2272

Summary: Sam and Dean take Mick on a case. It has an unexpected outcome.

Notes: Thanks to the mods of @rareshipcreationschallenge for allowing me an extension!

AO3

There was exactly one thing Sam disliked about the Impala, and it was the fact that it had lap belts instead of regular seatbelts. Every single time Mick rode in the car with them on the way to the bunker or the Men of Letters' base, the lap belt let him lean forward until his chin was practically on Sam's shoulder as they listened to a podcast or Mick read lore books over Sam's shoulder. Mick's breath tickled the edge of Sam's collar and his hair, leaving goosebumps and a tingly sensation in its wake.

It was very distracting.

"So, uh," Sam stuttered, trying to keep his mind off how close Mick was, "this looks like a baku."

"The hell is that?" said Dean.

"It's a Japanese chimera-type creature. It kills people in their dreams," said Mick.

"Like Freddy Krueger?"

"Not quite," said Sam. "It doesn't kill people in their dreams, it kills people by stealing their dreams. Apparently, it's pretty common in Japan for children to ask a baku to take away their nightmares, but if you summon it too many times, it starts taking all of your dreams. And without dreams, people can't get a deep enough sleep, which leads to sleep deprivation and eventually death.”

"But none of the vics in the article died from sleep deprivation. They all killed themselves."

"Baku can steal metaphorical dreams, too," said Mick. "And without dreams... there isn't much to live for."

Dean scoffed, like he usually did after Mick spoke. "Yeah? What're your dreams, Harry Potter?"

Sam couldn't see him, but he could imagine Mick's lips tightening as he bit back a rude response.

"They're similar to most people's, I would imagine. To be happy."

"Real textbook answer," Dean remarked.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, yeah." He pressed harder on the gas. "We're almost there. Say something if you see a motel."

Sam frowned. "Hey, I know cash is kinda,low right now, but are you sure you want to stay in a motel? With, ah..." He tilted his head subtly in Mick's direction.

"Hell no, Sam, we are not changing our whole lifestyle for the Queen of England over here. He'll just have to deal with it. See how real hunters live."

"I'll manage, Sam," said Mick. "It can't be too bad."

Sam chewed on his lower lip and refrained from saying anything else.

Dean pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car to book rooms. Sam got out to stretch and leaned against the car to wait for Dean. He was back in a few minutes and tossed Sam a key.

“You're in room twelve.”

“You got us separate rooms?”

“You're sharing with him,” Dean jerked his thumb at Mick. “I'm getting some company after this is over, and I'm not gonna let either of you complain about it.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I deserve it for putting up with him.”

Sam tapped on the window of the Impala. Mick looked up. Sam gestured for him to get out.

“I’m gonna be in room fourteen. I’m thinking we get some takeout, do a little research on this Freddy Krueger thing, then go to sleep and interview the vics’ families tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam said as Mick got out of the car.

They went their separate ways to their respective rooms.

“Okay, I know this isn’t exactly what you’re used to,” Sam told Mick, “so don’t take off your shoes, don’t sleep on the covers - actually, maybe just don’t touch the covers at all - and, uh, if you see any weird stains don’t think about where they came from.”

“Right,” said Mick, looking a little queasy.

The room was small, like most motel rooms. One of the beds was so close to the door that they could barely get into the room. There was a small, old, staticky television on a table directly across from the other bed. The carpet was a hideous electric green.

Sam took the duvets off both of the beds and put them on the floor in the corner, then dropped his stuff on the bed closest to the door. Mick did the same with the bed by the television and began to unpack. All the clothes Mick was taking out of his duffel bag were suits.

“Hey, did you bring any casual clothes?” Sam asked.

Mick raised his eyebrows. “This is casual.”

Sam bit back a laugh. “You ever try to fight in a suit?”

Mick shook his head.

“It’s not exactly easy. It’s fine, we can pick you up a few outfits or something tonight. Come on.”

They went over to Dean’s room and Sam knocked on the door. Dean opened it.

“Hey, can I borrow the keys to the Impala? Mick needs some clothes.”

“What?”

“He only brought suits.”

Dean snorted. “Smooth. No way am I letting you drive my baby if I have a choice, though. I’ll drive and we can get some food on the way back.”

They all got back in the car. Dean turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

“Either of you know if there’s a Goodwill nearby?”

“Dean, don’t make him get clothes from a thrift shop. He’s already had enough culture shock.”

“No way in hell are gonna go to, like, J. Crew or LOFT or somewhere to spend a million dollars on hunting clothes,” Dean growled.

“We don’t have to go somewhere high-end, just, like - I don’t know, Target.”

Dean rolled his eyes like going to Target was the worst store imaginable. “Fine.”

When they arrived at Target, Dean stomped through the store to the men’s section with Sam and Mick hurrying to keep up. Dean grabbed a bunch of flannels and some t-shirts off the racks and shoved the bundle at Mick. “Try these on, see if any of them fit.”

Mick took the clothes. “Where are the fitting rooms?”

Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back of the store.”

Sam and Dean hung around the outside of the dressing rooms while they waited for Mick to try on the shirts. Dean tapped his foot impatiently and checked his watch every five seconds.

“Well?”

Sam turned around. Mick was standing behind him with his arms spread out, like have at it, then. His shirt was buffalo plaid and buttoned up all the way to the neck. “How do I look?” he prompted.

“Uh, good,” said Sam, who couldn’t help but notice the way the flannel accentuated his narrow hips. “Like a hunter.”

Dean snorted. “He’s got a long way to go.”

Sam ignored him. “Will other shirts fit under it? It gets cold at night sometimes, so hunters tend to layer up.”

“I dunno. Give me a sec.”

He disappeared into the fitting room and came back out a minute later, looking the same as before.

“Did it fit?”

Mick nodded and tugged at the collar a bit. “But I must say, it’s quite warm with all these layers.”

Sam stifled a laugh. “Mick… are you… wearing another shirt under that one right now?”

“Yes, why?”

“You should unbutton the flannel, it’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

Sam stepped forward and unbuttoned the top few buttons without thinking. Mick stilled, and Sam realised that it was probably weird to help someone unbutton their shirt unless they - well. It would be weird to keep unbuttoning. Would it be weirder to stop? Sam kept going, feeling the heat of Mick’s body as he did so, until he’d unbuttoned every button and revealed the white t-shirt underneath the flannel.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and took a couple steps back.

Mick seemed as thrown as Sam was. “Thanks,” he said, his face redder than usual.

“No problem,” said Sam.

“Hey, Harry Potter, do they fit or not?”

Sam rolled his eyes as Mick answered. “They fit.”

“Cool. Hurry up and change back so we can by them and get out of here.”

“He still needs some jeans,” Sam reminded him.

Dean snorted. “Wanna help him unbutton those, too?”

“Dean!”

Mick went oddly quiet, his fist balling in the bottom of the flannel.

“Ignore him, he’s just being a dick,” Sam muttered. “Come on, let’s go find you some pants.”

Mick ended up choosing some yoga pants over jeans because he liked how flexible they were - and they were flexible indeed. They moulded to his lower half the way Dean’s memory foam mattress moulded to his body. Every time Sam thought about it, he face heated up and he got tingly all over.

The baku leaped forward, its claws outstretched, ready to scratch Mick’s face off. Sam barrelled into it from the side, knocking in over. It bared its teeth at him and screeched horrifically,

“Sam!” Dean shouted. “You help Mick, I’ll keep it away!” He began herding it out the door.

“Dean! Wait!” But Dean ignored him and chased it out of the room, so Sam scrambled over to Mick. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched at his bloody leg.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam mumbled, opening the first aid kit, “you’re gonna be fine, hang on, just give me a minute.” Sam pressed a dressing to the cut. “Can you hold this here for me?”

Mick nodded.

Sam began applying the roller bandages. “Do you feel any different? Lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous?”

“Um,” said Mick, “dizzy. Tired.”

“Okay,” said Sam. He tied off the bandages and leaned back on his heels. “Can I look at your pupils for a second?”

Mick nodded, so Sam leaned forward and examined them. “They’re not enlarged, so I don’t think you’re going into shock yet, but you will soon if we don’t close that wound.”

“Sammy!”

Sam looked up sharply. “Dean!”

Dean entered the room, grinning broadly, both he and his angel blade covered in blood. “I got him!”

“By yourself? Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

Dean shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

By the time Sam finished the last of Mick’s stitches, Dean had showered and left to go to a bar.

Sam stands up and stretches leisurely. “You want to get dinner?” Vaguely, he thinks of taking Mick somewhere not too expensive but classier than Dominos.

“How about some takeout?”

“Sounds good.” Mick shouldn’t be going anywhere with his new stitches, anyway.

They order Chinese from a place down the street and ate on their beds, chatting about lore and the case and other trivial topics. When they’re done, Sam takes Mick’s trash for him so he doesn’t have to get up and gets them both beers.

Mick turns on the television and they channel surf for a while before landing on some conspiracy theory show. It was an awkward angle to watch from Sam’s bed, but he was tired and didn’t really care.

Mick patted the bit of mattress next to him. "Come over here. You'll get a crick in your neck."

Sam obeyed silently, heart beating faster as he got closer to Mick.

They clinked beer bottles. "Cheers to a successful hunt."

"Cheers," said Sam.

It wasn't long before he was pleasantly buzzed. The room was warm, the television dimly lit the room, and Mick was slowly leaning on his shoulder. Sam wasn't sure if it was because he was tired or because of... other reasons, but Sam wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He put his arm around Mick's shoulders and pulled him in closer. Mick went willingly, settling in closer to Sam's body.

The television faded into the background as Sam watched Mick's chest rise and fall. Its rhythm was slow and steady, like Sam's, but probably not because Mick was drunk. Sam didn't even know if he could get drunk, based on that time Mick slept over at the bunker. He had gotten at least a little tipsy, though, with pink spots on his cheeks and lips wet from alcohol. Mick's lips were really pretty when he was drinking. Sam shifted them so he could see if Mick's lips were that pretty right now.

"Sam?"

Sam realised he was staring, but he didn't think to stop. Something somewhere in his brain connected, and he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Mick looked up at him and Sam was half a second away from retracting his question when Mick said, "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Sam leaned over and just kind of... smushed his lips against Mick's. They weren't so much kissing as feeling each other's skin and breath. Sam brought his left hand up to cup Mick's cheek and turn his face to get a better angle. It was chaste and sweet, like teenagers kissing for the first time. Except they were adults and drunk instead of teenagers.

Mick pulled him down to reach him easier until Sam was laying flat on his back with Mick leaning over him. They separated slightly in order to breath and took a moment to just look at each other.

Sam absently stroked his thumb over Mick's cheekbone. “Y’know… you're really cute. And smart.”

Mick thumped his forehead onto Sam's chest and giggled the most un-Mick-like giggle ever. It was adorable.

“So…” Sam absentmindedly rested his hand on the back of Mick’s head. “Do you… like me?”

Mick sighed. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’m not good at people,” he confessed. “Or feelings.”

“Does that mean we’re not going to do this again?”

Mick was silent.

Sam’s heart sank. He nodded, a lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“I didn’t say no.”

Sam tilted his head to look at his eyes. Mick met his eyes and smiled. Sam smiled back.

[deeafrotailmisstress]

Not Enough

((A flashback oneshot that displays Jazz’s relationship with her mother; I wrote this before the news about Wildstar but honestly, better I post this now than sulk and just hide it forever. Sorry guys but this one’s a bit of a sad one <3))

She tried to rub away the blood on her lips, but there was no hiding the bruises and the busted lip. The last kid was let off a long time ago with a warning, but Jazz wasn’t surprised. Kids with a bad track record like Jazz usually don’t get early leave, even if your father was the celebrated Commander Marcus Abernale. Once celebrated.

She looked down past her scabbed knees and to her bare sooted feet, dangling above the grated ship floor. Jazz tried to bribe one of the other kids who was placed in the detention cell with her to get her out once his parents picked him up, even handed him her shoes and her last stick of gum, but all she got was one response.

“Not good enough.” He shrugged. He shoved her down before he ran away with her things anyways because of course he did. Being stuck at 3 feet when you’re already 12 usually entailed that kind of disadvantage.

Jazz scowled down at her feet before simply tucking them under her as she tried to get comfortable in the very large plastic chair. Her dad used to promise that she’d grow if she continued to eat her vegetables. Jazz hugged her own knees as she contemplated how maybe when dads die, the promises they make usually die with them.

Her train of thought was interrupted when the door was finally opened and Jazz’s heart dropped to her stomach. There awaited Ms. Abernale, her face permanently sketched into a frown. Her eyes narrowed down at the small child curled in the waiting chair before nodding her head out the door.

“Come.” She ordered and immediately started to march out, not even waiting or looking behind to see if her daughter managed to hurry out the chair to follow her. Thankfully she did.

Not a word was exchanged as they walked down the corridor until they reached the tutor awaiting them.

“I’m sorry fo’ da mess.” Zayna nodded politely, her hand placed gently on Jazz’s shoulder, but it only made the child look down to the floor.

The teacher, a stout woman with a bald patch, sighed, “This is the third time this month Zayna…”

“An’ it won’ happen again.” Zayna stated with a final nod before pulling Jazz along. Once she made sure Jazz was still following her, Zayna placed her hands behind her back and resolutely stared ahead as they walked.

One could tell from far away that Jazz’s mother was a woman of professionalism, her posture straight as an arrow and she walked like a woman who knew exactly where she wanted to go and how to get there. It contrasted heavily with Jazz’s clumsy shuffling as she tried to keep up with her mother’s walking.

But she wasn’t tall enough. Perhaps it was for the best anyways that she maintained her distance. Jazz knew that when her mother walked this fast, it meant that she was letting off steam to control her temper. There was a long tense moment of silence as Jazz continued to hang her head in shame, until her mother finally addressed her.

“Lemme guess. Ya started it again.” Her mother looked down coldly as she observed her daughter’s reaction. The way Jazz sunk her head into her shoulders and looked to the side only confirmed her assumption.

Jazz meekly spoke up, “Dey wuz makin’ fun’ o’ me mammy…”

“An’ ya t’ought fightin’ dem four boys would’a been enough huh.” Zayna scolded, her eyes went back to glaring ahead as she yanked out the key code before opening the door to their abode and storming in. The little child rushed to try and hide her bruises with her baggy sleeves and hood.

But she wasn’t quick enough. Her mother pointed a warning finger with a narrowed stern gaze, “Ya nuh hide dem bruises from me Jasmine.”

Jazz’s fists clenched but she glared down at the kitchen floor and pouted. She didn’t dare sass her mother, especially when she was the one who always helped patch her up after her fights. But it still annoyed her when her mother made a fuss and continued to lecture her.

As predicted, Zayna sighed and looked for an ice packet in the freezer as she grumbled, “Weh di ice deh...Gal, ya know why Jaxon never ge’s hisself inta dem fights? ‘Cuz he don’ dignify schoolyard taunts wid a response. Ya too violent an’ emotional.”

“Baba said I is perfect da way I am.” As soon as Jazz had let that statement escape her lips, she knew she made a terrible mistake.

She could feel the anger radiating off her mother as the older woman slowly took out a bag of ice, with a low hiss, “Well den. Accordin’ ta ya, he must’a had some low standards. But I know bettah.” In less than a second Zayna aggressively slammed the freezer door shut and whirled to Jazz snapping, “So don’chu /dare/ blame ya fathah fo’ how ya turned out!”

As if she physically felt that statement cut deep in her, the little girl wrapped her arms around her stomach slowly. Jazz tried to focus on the kitchen tiled floor, but her vision grew blurry as she already felt her eyes welling up. She tried to hold it in, tried not to prove her mother’s accusation right with her tears and keep quiet. Perhaps if she held a hand against her mouth and nose...

But it wasn’t enough. Zayna’s face dropped immediately however as she turned around and inhaled shakily with a horrified glance to the side, ashamed of what she had said. To her own daughter no less. The older woman placed the bag down with a painful sigh, her heart breaking every time she heard her daughter sniffle.

Jazz picked up her small backpack as she prepared to leave. It seemed like everyday Jazz found it more and more difficult to avoid upsetting her mother. But then again, it was always difficult ever since her father passed away. She learnt at that moment to never mention him again in front of Zayna.

As she was about to shuffle away, she saw Zayna’s knee bend on the floor beside her feet, but Jazz didn’t dare look up in case her mother would still gaze at her with angry eyes. Finally she had no choice but to look up when her mother gently pulled her closer for a hug.

“...’m sorry baby.” Her mother softly shushed and rubbed her back as Jazz’s tears continued to fall, but the little girl refused to let out a sound as she bit her lip harshly.

Zayna continued, “Ya know I don’ mean dose t’ings. Ya fathah...it harder now dat he ain’ here. I miss him suh much, da’z why I get upset. An’ I kno’ ya upset nowadays too ‘cuz he ain’ here, but ya can’ be pickin’ fights wid every boy who disrespec’ ya. But I’m sorry I shouted at ya. Ya forgive me?”

Jazz admittedly took her time letting her mother hold her since it wasn’t a feeling she was used to. The warmth of two big comforting arms around her was one of the biggest things she missed from her dad. She squeezed her arms around her mother, as if committing the feeling to memory one last time, before she finally nodded with a sniff, “Mhm.”

Zayna sighed, “...good. Bettah we resolve d’is now dan ya carryin’ on fightin’. I’m glad ya got it outta yer system.”

The older woman stood up with a resolute nod and went back to picking up the ice bag. Jazz stood there for a moment with her arms still held up imploringly for an embrace. But she quickly put them down with a nonchalant nod; it was understandable. After all she was still in trouble for the fight she got into.

“Ya said ya wanted ta show me some test papers today?”

Jazz blinked before gasping excitedly, “O-oh yeah!” The little girl hurriedly opened up her bag and pulled out a datachron with a page already open on a math set. She was particularly excited on how well she did yesterday.

The little girl waited as her mother gave her an ice patch for her bruised eye and medi-plasters for her cuts. Even after Zayna finished and was packing away the items, Jazz shuffled right behind her and was bouncing on the tips of her feet, excitedly waiting.

As Zayna turned around, she blinked when she saw her daughter still behind her, “What’re ya-OH oh.” She picked up the chron and swiped open the file with an emotionless glance. Despite her stoic demeanor as she read the results, Jazz still awaited her review eagerly with a big smile.

Zayna responded. Jazz’s smile froze. The elderly woman casually placed the datachron onto the counter with a tired sigh before rolling up her sleeves. She made some comment about going up to her office to work, but Jazz was barely listening as she watched the open datachron with a pensive, dejected stare.

As her mother passed by her while rubbing her eyes, grumbling about late night hours, Jazz despondently shuffled up to the counter and pulled down her chron, her mother’s review left her feeling numb. Even as she left to take comfort in her own room, the statement followed after her like a bad smell stagnating in the air.

“...Not good enough.”