perfectly-intoxicated

[perfectly-intoxicated]

The stinging sensation of where Yancy’s palm had come down on her thigh keeps her from going down the path of a haze she usually so expertly avoids, her head lolling to the side the longer his mouth works her over and clenching around his fingers like a vice as she tries not to outright whine from the overstimulation. God, it’s not fair for someone to be so good at this. If he’s not writhing underneath her once she’s done, she’ll keep going until he is.

When his mouth retreats and her sounds die down into panting, she spares a glance down at Yancy once she deems herself composed enough. If she hadn’t just been pushed to one of the best orgasms she’s had, she would’ve fallen over the edge from the sight of Yancy’s disheveled state and the evidence of her release and slick glistening over his chin. He looked like he just devoured his favorite meal, and a breathless chuckle escapes her.

“Enjoyed yourself?” She asks lightheartedly, as if she hadn’t been the one who’d been close to writhing beneath him a few seconds ago. The unrelenting grip on his hair loosens as her fingers absentmindedly massage his scalp, eyes darkening as she watches him suck his fingers clean. Smug bastard. Hannah swipes her thumb along his bottom lip, catching what’s left of her release on his face and sliding it towards his mouth. Can’t leave anything to waste.

Fuck, she could come from his voice alone, except she wasn’t about to give him the ego boost of knowing that. She just knows he’d be insufferable about it. Like right now, when he can clearly see her struggling to keep her composure and yet he still waits for her to wind her hands into his hair. Fine. She can do that.

Both of Hannah’s hands slip into his hair just as he’d asked of her, but she doesn’t just hold on. She pulls on it, hard, enough for him to get as close as possible and be through with his teasing remarks. An apology might not come out of her if he has something to say, but the sting can always be soothed. “I’ll have you begging for me soon enough.” She breathes out before rolling her hips further against his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for that precipice to draw nearer and nearer. His words, his fingers, his mouth— fuck, his mouth, and she’s coming against it with a curse and Yancy’s name, crying out as her back arches and she rides out her orgasm.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #freebirdyance #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #( nsfw. )

[perfectly-intoxicated]

#𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #hannah core #wolf in sheep’s clothing (mom)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Fuck, she could come from his voice alone, except she wasn’t about to give him the ego boost of knowing that. She just knows he’d be insufferable about it. Like right now, when he can clearly see her struggling to keep her composure and yet he still waits for her to wind her hands into his hair. Fine. She can do that.

Both of Hannah’s hands slip into his hair just as he’d asked of her, but she doesn’t just hold on. She pulls on it, hard, enough for him to get as close as possible and be through with his teasing remarks. An apology might not come out of her if he has something to say, but the sting can always be soothed. “I’ll have you begging for me soon enough.” She breathes out before rolling her hips further against his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for that precipice to draw nearer and nearer. His words, his fingers, his mouth— fuck, his mouth, and she’s coming against it with a curse and Yancy’s name, crying out as her back arches and she rides out her orgasm.

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #( nsfw. ) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

So hannah what’s the size of Yancy’s di—

A grin slowly spreads on her face as an idea forms in her head, and she’s laughing with excitement and amusement as she reaches inside the table’s drawer beside her love chair.

“Why don’t we,” she grabs the tape measurer and waves it around, “find out?”

Her laughs die down to the occasional giggle as she leans back, pausing as if the visualize and measure… everything. Well, the best you could possibly measure perfection, of course. The tape recorder extends and lowers, humming thoughtfully during the process until it settles on the approximate length.

“Just about nine and a half inches? I’d have to look again to be sure.” She chuckles with a mischievous glint in her eye. Hannah tilts her head as she leans the extended tape measurer away from her, examining the length.

“… Damn, how does that fit?”

She can’t help but devolve into laughter in the middle of her sentence, letting the measurer fall away from her hand onto her lap and covering her warming face with one hand. They just make it work, she’d guess.

She really was a trooper. Hah.

@late-night-cabaret

#𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #margarita (answered asks) #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #freebirdyance #anonymous #( nsfw. ) #((anon i love you /lh))

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Jesus, the way he talks. If he wanted her to be addicted to his presence, then it's been fucking working for a while now. The lines between obsession and actually caring have become blurry with time, and she can't stay away for long before she's pouncing on the opportunity to see him again. And fuck, God forbid she ever sees him speaking to anyone else, let alone that someone else trying to get too touchy with what's hers.

He could go on all he wanted about Hannah being his, and as true as that may be, Yancy was hers before he ever had her, even before he knew it. And she hates sharing.

Her knees are immediately hooking over Yancy's shoulders and her ankles are crossing over each other to keep him there, looking down at him as if she wants to completely devour him. His fingers replace his tongue, and she swears she blacks out for a moment when she feels them graze something inside her that forces her to tilt her head back and cover her mouth when it pulls an honest to God whimper out of her.

"Fuck, the mouth on you–" A breathless chuckle leaves her before her thighs are tightening around his head and she's moaning when his tongue goes back to giving attention to her clit, and she can already feel the coil in her gut tightening.

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #( nsfw. ) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

I FORGOT IT WAS SINDAY 😭

Have my late post as an apology </3

#𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #( suggestive. ) #sinday #((thank you lola for the indirect reminder /lh))

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Fuck, look at him. He’s so fucking pretty on his knees for her, and the look he's giving has Hannah damn near spiraling with the prospect of having this kind of effect over him, this control over such a normally powerful man. His tongue easily slips inside her, and she's keening as she pulls his face closer. If he wanted her to take what belongs to her, she would gladly show him just how happily she'll take what she wants.

"Look at you, I could just– keep you right here the rest of the night, fuck." Hannah rambles over a moan, panting for air as she rolls her hips onto his tongue. The thought was tantalizing, but she'd much rather end the night by watching Yancy writhe from the pleasure she can give him. She could bet every dime she had he barely touched himself while she was away, and she had her ways of helping him unwind from the stresses of his life.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, hon– shit, I swear." Whether that was by riding him until they both saw stars or sucking the soul out of his body didn't matter. She wouldn't be satisfied until Hannah is able to train him to the point he couldn't find pleasure in anyone but her.

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

#negroni (reblogged) #hannah core

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Pride immediately swells in her chest from how hungry his gaze is when he looks at her, and as much as she likes the thought of just grabbing him by his hair and using his mouth any way she wanted, she could give him what he wants. Just this once, she can make it easy for him, because once this shit show really is done and forgotten, she's gonna make him work for it.

"God, Yancy." A soft moan is pulled out of her when his tongue slides over her arousal, head falling back when his mouth starts gently sucking her clit, and she tries her damn best to not be impatient. She makes a note to look into the meaning of the rough Italian leaving him, or at least try to remember them. "So fucking perfect." Her pinned thighs twitch with the want to trap him in place and keep him there for the rest of the night, and just the reminder that she really is at his mercy right now was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Not a single fantasy or dream she may have had about him really compared to the real thing, and she spares a glance down at Yancy's knelt form; the sight alone makes her want to simultaneously keep him on his knees for her and see how she could make his composure crumble. A satisfied smirk twitches at the corners of her mouth before another moan is forced out of her, fingers maintaining a firm grip on his hair.

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#chopin (reblogged) #vivaldi (rp thread) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #( nsfw. )

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Why are you keeping the redhead around? Is she that good of a lay? I can’t imagine it’s actually love, so will you just toss her off to the next guy that gets to use her when you get bored?

After all, it’s always nice to share.

There's a brief moment where Yancy just stares at you, his face set in cold stone and eyes just as frigid. He isn't amused in the slightest by your words, spoken with the intention of getting a reaction out of him.

Be careful what you fucking wish for.

"Not that it's any of yer fuckin' business, but I'll answer the first question since i guess that's the point of this. Because I like her. Genuinely. I don't have many people that I trust, let alone actually enjoy being around."

It goes deeper than that... so much deeper. But you wouldn't be getting anything else from him as he steps up closer. His full height casting a shadow as dark as his eyes.

"As for yer other 'question'? Talk about her like that again, and it'll be the last thing you ever say, 'cause I'll rip yer fuckin' throat out."

@perfectly-intoxicated

#negroni (reblogged) #freebirdyance #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #((I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS)) #((^^ I’m lying /lh))

[perfectly-intoxicated]

It looks like the mob boss' future is up in the air. Aren't you worried about being involved in his mess? Is he that important, or are you that obsessed?

"Could you be any more of a nosy little shit?"

Hannah grumbles, huffing as she leans back in her love seat, one leg crossed over the other as she glares bitterly in your direction. “I do this all the fucking time, I can handle myself. A little mess on my doorstep would never kill me. I’d like to see them try.”

Who the hell did they think they were, poking and prodding at her mind like she’s some psych patient? “If I wanted to understand myself better or some shit, I would go to a fucking therapist. Does it really matter that much if he’s ‘important’ or not? In the end, you always end up obsessed with them. I’ve just skipped a step or two.”

Yancy’s just… nice to have around. That’s it. So what if she was two seconds away from killing off every single dickhead that day when he’d gotten hurt? The need for bloodshed is engraved in her way of being now, it’s a necessity.

She just needs to get him out of her system. Hopefully it’ll happen soon enough, because right now, it feels impossible.

Damn it.

@freebirdyance

#𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #sway with me (ask memes) #anonymous #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #((hannah when she Feels something for someone for once: :O))

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Anonymously ask my muse a question about any of their relationships you've seen them in on this blog.

#sway with me (ask memes) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Hannah lifts her hips when the band of her skirt and panties is pulled down, relishing in the sound of his low growl and the eagerness behind every touch, like he’s the one getting off on just the sight of her. That should not be enough to both inflate her ego and send heat rushing down to her gut. “And it’s all yours… only yours.” She responds to his hoarse praise with her own sensual tone, hand threading into his hair with a hum as she watches him.

As much as she wants to keep appreciating how fucking pretty Yancy looked on his knees for her, eyes dark and so ready to please, her head falls back against the bed with a soft moan when his mouth latches onto the skin of her inner thigh. It won’t take much for her thighs to mark, and she wants to wake up tomorrow with the clear evidence of shared ownership on her body.

Hearing him apologize is— not what she was expecting to hear though. More-so when his face is inches away from her dripping arousal and he’s following up the words with another mark to her skin. Fuck, she didn’t want to think about that right now. Not ever, actually. With the hand in his hair, she tightly grips it before pulling his head back just enough to look up at her.

“Never again.” Even if her voice is slightly breathless, her words are still firm and her face gives away what she’s feeling. Hannah would survive if he had to leave, but she didn’t want to. She wants him around, for some reason. Is that so horrible to ask for?

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#chopin (reblogged) #vivaldi (rp thread) #freebirdyance #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #( nsfw. ) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

If we’re dating I will get you sexually frustrated a lot just to amuse myself

#𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #HANNAH CORE #((literally her)) #((the biggest tease ever oml /lh)) #((especially out in public)) #((just constant brushes of her hands on you)) #((or casually spewing the dirtiest shit only loud enough for you to hear)) #( nsfw. )

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Yancy better really fucking mean never again, and he better mean it wholeheartedly, or else she might kill him herself the next time he shows up after pulling some shit like that. He had no idea just how much she missed him or how pathetic she was during it all, did he? How she immediately fled towards the next kill with barely any break so she wouldn’t spend her time sitting and waiting for her phone to vibrate with a text from him. It was embarrassing. She has become so embarrassing.

Arching into his every touch, she lightly pants as Yancy’s teeth graze her chest, and a fleeting thought hopes he gives in and leaves a mark there, anywhere, really. Just mark what’s yours.

As she’s carried over to the bed and carefully set down, the soft satin fabric of her gloves grazes his chest as she traces old and forgotten scars, unable to look at the newest one without getting pissed off. Except the sight of Yancy kneeling in front of her wonderfully distracts her from the thought, laying back just as she’s instructed once her heels have been taken off.

She stares down at him with a light smile twitching the corners of her lips, eyes darkening with want and face dusted a faint pink. “As long as I get to do the same, hon…”

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au)

[perfectly-intoxicated]

i love this character so much......i hope they get seriously injured and almost die

#heh

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Hannah can’t help the gasp that escapes her when Yancy latches onto her neck, nearly shivering with every warm breath that lands on her skin. She could practically feel just how much he’d missed her, the evidence of that marked on her neck and in every brush of his hands on her, and she’d be a fucking liar if she said she didn’t need him just as much.

The feeling of hands squeezing at her ass pulls a breathy moan out of her and the hand in his hair tightens. The world around them blurs, vision tunneling onto each other, and as she’s hoisted up into Yancy’s arms as easily as picking up a bag of grapes or something, she can’t help but giggle in excitement as she holds onto him.

Hannah barely pays attention to the sound of voices coming from inside the main house, too busy trying to rile him up further by paying attention to his own neck in return. One hand pulls down the collar of his hoodie enough to allow her lips to brush over the side of his neck, her teeth teasingly scraping over the skin and licking over bite marks.

Suddenly they’re inside a smaller guest house, and she’s clutching at him with need when their lips meet again. “Fuck, I missed you.” She breaths out, moaning against his mouth when his hand palms her breast and rolling her hips against him as she unconsciously digs her nails into his scalp. “I thought I about you constantly.”

Yancy isn't sure why he reaches out to Hannah.

Or he does know, and it's buried so deep that he can't get a proper look at it. Maybe he could if he wasn't currently pinned down by gunfire and about fifty percent sure he was close to finding out what the afterlife is like.

It isn't love. Hell, he's not sure he's capable of it... or if she is. They spent an incredible night (and morning) together. They've talked here and there. She makes him laugh. He appreciates her sass and how she doesn't take shit from nobody, not even him.

He smiles. Fuck it. Least he could do is let her hear his voice one last time in a message.

"Hey, gorgeous... yer not gonna believe the shit I've got myself into. Or hell, you probably will." He chuckles, and it's cut off by a pained groan as he clears his throat. "Listen... shits gone sideways. I, ah... got some rats that I need to exterminate. I just wanted to tell you that... I had a lotta fun. Yer one of a kind, ya know? Of course you do... that's why I like you." Another groan, pops of gunfire. "If anyone contacts you claimin' to know me, don't give 'em the time of day. If... when I'm good, I'll call you."

There's a pause and a grunt, and it sounds like he's on the move. "Take care, Red."

What the fuck.

Hannah stares down at her phone and feels her food turn into cardboard in her mouth. She swallows, and then blinks as she processes the absolute twisted shit that was the voice message left for her by Yancy.

What the fuck?

“Come on Opie, get off.” She’s gently ushering her dog off her lap, voice monotone and mind blank as she starts to listen in on the news being displayed on the TV. If it wasn’t for the voice message (her gut twists for some ridiculous reason at the reminder of pain in Yancy’s voice), she would’ve ignored it, but that’s one of his stupid cars and that’s his stupid self in the middle of a stupid fucking shootout.

She’s not nervous, she’s not anxious, and she definitely doesn’t get scared. Who knows how many times Yancy’s had to deal with this kind of stuff or something similar?

If she wasn’t currently so pissed off at the people shooting at him and maybe, selfishly, a little bit at Yancy himself for some reason, she would’ve gone back to eating. They weren’t even a thing. They weren’t anything important. She had no reason to go and help him, no excuse she could use without doing some internal searching.

She recognizes that street.

… Fuck.

With a loud groan of exasperation and frustration, she grabs her phone and heads out with her special guitar case and towards the center of the action. She dials his number, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of his stupid fucking life-or-death situation, and quickens her pace.

“What the hell is going on, Yancy? Who the fuck are those people?!” She yells into her phone before lowering her voice to a loud scolding when she gets side-eyed by a random individual. “‘When you’re good, you’ll call me’? Like hell you will. I swear to God, if you get yourself killed, I’m raising you back from the dead and killing you myself!”

She’s already driving to the nearest corner where she won’t be seen when she hangs up.

#negroni (reblogged) #cosmopolitan (rp threads) #late night cabaret #you can be the boss (mb yancy) #𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞. (au) #( nsfw. )