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rae-is-typing · 5 years

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Anything For You

NOTE: If you ever feel as though you want to purposefully harm yourself or even commit suicide, please get some help. I encourage you to reach out. Don’t hesitate to message me.

Description: You’re struggling. Between school and the movie making process, your blood is made of stress and the only way you can get any sort of rest is by taking sleeping pills. One night, you take too many.

Characters: The reader, Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, the rest of the Civil War cast are mentioned, a doctor and medics

Warnings: Accidental overdose, descriptions of an anxiety attack, pills, destructive self talk, the reader is really mean to herself, hospitals, blood, concussion, crying, self harm, mentions of shitty parents. This one is heavy.

Disclaimers: I mean no disrespect to any of the people mentioned, even the reader. I’ve also never overdosed so this might not be accurate nor have I been to the hospital for a serious injury, so that may also be inaccurate. My apologies if it is.

Word count: ~6k

Your tired eyes leer at your computer screen. Ugly, ugly math stared back at you. You sigh, rubbing your eyes. This assignment was due at midnight. It was already 11 PM and you had barely started.

I’m so fucked. Why am I so stupid? I bet third graders can do better than me on this shit.

You thought, shoving your computer to the back of the shitty hotel desk. Groaning, you lay your head on the table.

My parents were right. I’m just a dumb kid, I can’t even do dumb math problems. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pick up your head and drop it back down to the desk a few times, trying to get the gears to start turning. Or give yourself a mild concussion. Whatever came first.

You sit up, rubbing your forehead a little and look around the hotel room you’re in. It was small with a queen bed in the middle of the room. It was nice. Of course it was nice, one of the biggest movie franchises had paid for it. You were lucky to get your own room. The hotel was overbooked, so some actors had to pair up. Your room was between Sebastian and Chris��s room and Robert’s room- three people that would fight (and possibly die) for you. It made sense though, they would do the same for most of Civil War’s cast. But you brought out their more protective sides. That also made sense- you were still a kid, barely 16 years old and already trying to figure shit out on your own.

Kids shouldn’t have to get emancipated at 15 even if they can afford it. You thought bitterly. Kids shouldn’t hate themselves. Kids shouldn’t be this stressed.

You couldn’t do this shit anymore. School was kicking your ass. So was this god damn press tour. You couldn’t get one plain day off. It was always work work work and school school school. Even worse is the fact that you went from an honors student with a perfect 4.0 to flunking three of four classes.

Maybe I’m just a fucking failure. Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead. Maybe I should just give up. I can’t do this anymore, fuck. This is too much. All of it is too much. I’m never going to this shit right. I’m too fucking stupid. Too dumb to do a fucking math problem.

Tears prick at your eyes. You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight off the inevitable sobs. You hate crying, it makes you feel dumb and even more childish. Your breathing only picked up and you began hitching out quiet sobs.

I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t I can’t I don’t wanna do this I can’t do it any longer.

You couldn’t breath as you sobbed in your hands. You could never catch a break. It was all too much. You had no time for anything else, just work and school. No time for friends outside of the cast. Hell, you barely had time for the people in the cast and you felt awkward when you wanted to spend time with them because you were 16 and everyone but Tom was almost twice your age. And sure, Tom was nice or whatever, but he was also an adult that didn’t need a fucking chaperone accompanying him if they wanted to go down the road to get away from set.

You did know that stress was going to be high and there really wouldn’t be a lot of time to relax and take it easy going into the movie, but you seriously overestimated your ability to handle this level of stress. The late nights, early mornings, always needing to be perfect at everything; it was killing you.

Why do I have to keep doing this? I can’t do it anymore I can’t. I need a break.

You sobbed for a good few minutes before dissolving into a coughing fit. You glanced at the alarm clock on the table. It was 11:30 PM. You choked another sob out, realizing that you were definitely failing this assignment.

Tears stream down your face while you finish answering all the questions wrong and turn in the assignment.

Giving up again? Nothing new. Fucking idiot. Suck it up and do it, you privileged fuck. Stop being such a fucking baby and maybe you’d actually get somewhere.

You wiped your eyes aggressively. You weren’t getting anywhere by crying like a baby.

Might as well just go to sleep. I can’t even do that without help, fuck.

You stood up from the desk chair and made your way to your bags. You pulled out an opaque black makeup and looked through it. There was an empty bottle of sleeping pills sitting in it.

Empty of fucking course. Can’t even keep track of simple things. Idiot.

There were a lot of stores around the hotel you were in, but it was almost midnight. And as a 16 year old girl, you had to be accompanied by a chaperone over the age of 25 if you wanted to go somewhere off set or outside the hotel. Even though you are emancipated, there was still a lot of legal risks Marvel was just not going to take with you.

Everyone else was likely asleep at this point. You had to be up at 5 AM to catch your flight the next morning. You could just not sleep tonight, but after that crying spell, you knew you needed to. The only problem was that you couldn’t sleep without help and you had no more pills left.

Besides, no one would agree to go with you to a store to get anything they didn’t perceive as an absolute necessity. Unless…

You pulled out your phone and sent a message to Chris, someone you knew would be up, especially because he had to share a room with Sebastaian. They acted like school girls when they were together.

you: hey you up

cap cap cap: yeah whats up?

you: can you come to a store with me?

cap cap cap: it’s a little late for that kid. can it wait till morning? we have to be up in 5 hours for the flight

you: I need girl stuff and none of the others are up

cap cap cap: meet me outside of our rooms seb is coming too

you: k thanks

You slipped on a sweater, grabbed your wallet and phone and made your way to the lobby. Sure enough, Sebastian and Chris were standing there, both in sweats and sweatshirts. You offered a sheepish smile.

“Thanks guys,” You say. They smile back at you.

“No thanks needed, kid. You have needs.” Chris says.

Sure, you felt bad about lying about the real reason you wanted to go to a store. But it was either leave and get a bit of sleep or stay and not sleep at all.

“There’s a small convenience store a few blocks west,” Sebastian says, looking up from his phone.

“Where the fuck is west?” Chris asks.

“That way,” Sebastian responds, pointing in a general direction. Chris frowned, looking down at your blank face.

“Y/N?” Chris asks. Your head snaps up at the sound of your name.

“Yeah?”

“You usually tell me to ‘watch my fucking language’ when I swear.”

“Oh, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Watch your fucking language, Evans.” You say without the usual fervor.

“You feeling okay, doll?” He asks,moving to place a hand on your forehead.

“Yeah, fine. Girl shit,” You duck away from his hand, moving in the direction Seb was pointing.

Chris furrows his eyebrows, trying to read you. But his small investigation was cut short by a loud group of drunk, and possibly high, men stumbling out of a bar. It was pretty early for people to be this shit faced.

They were stumbling, shoving each other in a bunch of different ways and laughing, whooping and yelling incoherently. You watched as one threw up over the road, only being supported by one of his buddies who appeared to be as drunk as he was.

“Y/N, stay close.” Sebastian says, putting an arm around you and pulling you closer to him. Chris moves closer to the both of you, covering the side of you that was left vulnerable.

The group parted like the red sea when the three of you walked towards them. Apparently they weren’t drunk enough to pick a fight with people that could quite literally rip them apart.

You looked up at Chris and Sebastian. Their faces were stone cold, clearly intimidating to anyone that looked at them, even their friends. It was a far cry from the warm smiles they usually dawned. You glanced around to see one of the guys in the group ogling you. He locked eyes with you, licked his lips then bit down on his bottom one. You moved closer to Sebastian, turning your face into his side. He shot a glare at the guy who immediately called for his buddies that had moved on to wait for him. You wrap your arms around your stomach and settled into a nice walking pace.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asks softly, looking down to you and rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. You simply nodded, fixing your gaze to the sidewalk in front of you.

“That was gross. What kinda person stares at a girl walking down the street?” Chris asks. You knew that if it wouldn’t get him in serious trouble, he’d fist fight that guy.

The rest of the walk was of Chris trying to cheer you up a bit. He told you funny stories of him and his buddies, of the cast on past tours, and just about anything he thought would get you to laugh. Nothing was working.

Sebastian held the door for you as you went in. Chris and Sebastian followed you in, waiting for your wordlessly as you picked up what you needed. The only occupant was a lonely, very tired clerk sitting at the counter looking like he was going to sleep for weeks when he got off shift. You shopped pretty quickly, grabbing a few candy bars, a bottled drink, tampons, some generic brand Tylenol and a pack of sleeping pills before heading to the zombie clerk.

“You have to buy Naloxone with this purchase because you’re buying an acetaminophen. Store policy.” His dead eyes bore into you as you pulled some money from your wallet.

You give a small nod of acknowledgment. He rings up the box and throws the Naloxone in the small plastic bag with all of your other items. You hand him some cash and he gives you your change.

“Ready?” Chris asks, yawning slightly.

“Yeah,” You felt the way zombie clerk looked: tired and totally fucking dead inside.

The three of you walked back to the hotel at the same pace as before. This time it was silent. The walk lasted about the same time, 10 minutes or so each way. The three of you took the stairs up to the third floor.

You held the door to the stairs open for them.

“Thanks again, guys. I really appreciated this.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.” Chris smiles sleepily.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Get some rest.” Sebastian says, moving to hug you goodnight. You wrapped your arms around Sebastian’s neck and he wrapped his arms around your back. He was warm and smelled like old spice. It was nice and you felt safe. Safe enough to want to spill your heart out, safe enough to tell him what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve been so hard on yourself with no good results. You want him to help you. You want him to tell you that everything was going to work out and that you’ll be okay. But you don’t. You simply let go and hug Chris.

Chris was warmer than Sebastian, and he smelled like soft mint. You felt just as safe. Tears pricked your eyes; you really didn’t want to go back to your room and be alone. You wanted to stay with them and talk or listen to them talk. Just being around them makes you feel a little better.

But you let go. You willed your tears away and thanked them one last time before going to your room, unaware that the two men had stayed in the hallway.

You walked down the small entryway and set your bag on the desk by your laptop bag. You pulled out the sleeping pill, popped two in your hand and swallowed them dry. You stayed seated at the desk. A stack of failed papers sat adjacent to the laptop bag. Frowning, you picked them up, barely able to make out the critiques in the dull light of your hotel room. Red pen was scribbled on a paper that you had wrote reviewing FDR’s presidency.

45%. You had received a 45 % on this essay. It took you almost two weeks to write and you got a 45%.

I’m fucking useless. I can’t even write an essay right.

You moved on to another essay you had written, This was your worst, You got a 30% on it. 30% was the lowest grade you had gotten on something that you put genuine effort into.

God, why do I even try anymore. What’s the point of school. I should just drop out, fuck. I should focus on acting. I can at least do that okay.

A drop of water fell on the paper in front of you, smearing the red ink that covered the page. Huh. You didn’t even realize you were crying again.

I’m just a dumb baby. Why do I try anymore? I should go home. My parents were right about me. I’ll never be good enough, I should just go home.

Your breathing sped up and you choked on your sobs in a weak attempt to stay quiet.

Why aren’t the pills working? I want to sleep.

You fumbled with the packaging of the pills, four more falling into your hands. You throw them in your mouth and swallow them dry.

Your hands start to burn. It blossoms through your arms and through your chest, moving down to your feet. Your head throbs as though someone is leading a marching band through your cerebral cortex. You wince, rubbing your temples.

The pounding gets stronger and stronger until you can’t take it. You reach for the plastic shopping bag on your desk. You snatch the painkillers from it, rip off the packaging on grab a small handful. Without thinking, you shoved them into your mouth and swallowed.

You couldn’t breath. They had gotten stuck while you attempted to swallow them. You needed water. You spotted your water bottle on the nightstand. You jumped up and rushed over to the nightstand, you tripped on something. The world is a blur around you as your forehead collides with the sharp corner of the wooden table. You yelp, sucking in a sharp breath. You push your head into your hands, putting pressure on the wound.

The pain moves quickly. Soon, all you could think about was the burning and the pounding in your head. You push yourself against the small space between the wall and the nightstand, head still held by your hand.

You heard three dull thumps resonate through the room. Then you heard your name. More thumps then nothing. The pain was the only thing on your mind. That and the fact that your hands and cheeks were wet and beginning to grow sticky.

Why are my hands wet? I cry from my eyes, not my forehead. Oh, fuck this hurts.

You didn’t know how much time had passed from the thumping and someone pulling at your hands. You didn’t try to resist them. You were fading. Everything was blurry, the blob in front of you reminded you of your friend Chris. He was a real cool guy with really pretty eyes. But there were two of the colored blobs and Chris didn’t have a twin so it couldn’t be him.

Then you were being laid down on your side with your arms being manipulated. You tried to keep your eyes open but you were tired and in pain. You wanted it to go away.

Why isn’t it going away?

_____________________

You reminded Chris of a puppy- energetic, affectionate and adorable in a way that only young and small things could be.

So he knew that something was up when you walked out of your hotel room with red and puffy eyes. This was more than pain and your hormones being out of whack. The walk confirmed his suspicions. You were quite- too quiet. You barely spoke. You barely looked at the two of them.

The hug made him want to stay with you for the rest of the night and talk. You almost cried when you hugged him. The only time you ever cried was when you had to for a scene.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to let you go. He holds you tightly, even when you loosen your grip on him.

“There’s something wrong, man,” Chris said after the door to your room closed. “She never cries.”

“She’s probably in pain. We aren’t girls, but we’ve heard how painful periods can be.”

“This is different.”

“Let’s talk to her in the morning, She’s probably stressed and in pain,”

Chris relented, following Sebastian to their room and laying in his bed, He didn’t get to sleep at all. He doesn’t know how much time had passed before he heard a loud thump and a yelp through the wall. He sat up, throwing the covers off of him. That was from your room. He bit his lip and stood up, slipping on some slide on shoes, he went to your room next door.

He knocked, “Y/N?” He knocked more. “Are you okay? Can you let me in, hon? I want to talk to you.”

No answer. He frowned. He tried one more time. Nothing, again. Chris looked around the hall while he waited impatiently for you to answer. His heart began to pump a little faster and something tugged in his gut. He needed to make sure you were okay and you really weren’t making it easy. After nothing happened again, he went down the stairs and to the front desk. Unsurprisingly, the front desk was empty. He rang a small bell they had. A tired young woman came from the back.

“Hi, how can I help you?"

‘I lost the card to my room, can I get a new one?” Chris quickly lied.

“Sure, what room?”

“321.”

She pulled out a key and magnetized it. In any other situation, he would be appalled that this woman didn’t ask for his name or even check that he was the right occupant of the room, but he was grateful for it now.

He practically sprinted up the stairs to your room, opened the door and walked in. It was dark, the only thing lighting the room was the lamp on the desk.

He fully expected to see you asleep on the bed and confirm that the thump and yelp was something else. But the only thing on the bed was your wallet and phone. He frowned, looking around. The bathroom door was open and you weren’t there.

He turned, looking around some more. Then he saw you. You were curled up between the nightstand and the bed. Your hands were cradling your forehead in shaking hands.

“Y/N, sweetie? Are you okay? Did something happen?” He spoke gently, trying not to startle you.

You didn’t even look up at him. He crouched down by you, gently pulling a hand away from your face. It was shaking horribly and covered in a red substance he prayed wasn’t blood. He pulled the other one away too. This one was drenched in what was most definitely blood and shaking as well. Your face was covered in it; it was dripping down your cheeks, over your nose, in your hair and even on your clothes.

“Y/N? Oh, my god! What happened to you?” He asked, brushing some hair that got caught in the mess away from your face.

You eyes were heavily lidded and unfocused. You were staring him in the face but it was like he wasn’t there. Then he looked at your face closer. Your lips were turning purple.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, patting his pockets for his phone. He stood up from his crouched position he quickly grabbed your phone, opened emergency contacts and dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” A woman answered.

“Something is wrong with my friend. Her head is covered in blood, she’s shaking uncontrollably, and her lips are turning purple, I need an ambulance.”

“Okay, what is your location?”

“W Hotel on west seventh and main. Hurry, please.” Chris begged, pacing in front of your limp body.

“Okay, we have one en route. What’s your name sir?”

“Chris,”

“Okay, Chris. What room are you in?”

“I’m in room 321.”

“Is she responsive?“

"No, she’s just staring at me. I don’t think she knows I’m here,” Chris was crying at this point. With tears steadily flowing down his cheeks, he tried to stay calm for you.

“Did she consume any dangerous substances?”

“I-I don’t know. Fuck, how far is the ambulance?”

“They’re almost there.”

“Okay, please hurry, I think she’s dying.” Chris choked the last part out. This wasn’t real. There was no way that you, a 16 year old girl had just attempted suicide.

No way.

But it was real. You were laying in front of him, dying and he could do nothing about it.

Its takes too long for the medics to get there. But when they do, Chris steps back and panics in the corner.

They’re leaning over you and asking him things but he can’t think. He can’t breathe. Everything he knew about managing his anxiety went out the fucking window.

He ended up riding to a hospital in the same car as you, holding your hand as they stabilized you. When they got to the hospital, he filled out paperwork for you.

Then he waited.

He was led to a smaller, private waiting room and he sat. And he waited. The rest of the cast came in. Most of them were still in the clothes they had slept in. Sebastian and Robert had gotten their first, awoken by the medics and the noise in the hall. They got in a cab or something and followed the ambulance to the hospital. They just sat together in silence while everyone else trickled in.

Lizzie was crying. Hell, they all were in a state of shock. Chris just sat in a chair in a corner, trying to process what he saw.

How did she bleed that much? Why was she bleeding in the first place? Was it on purpose? Was it pills? Did she commit suicide? Why didn’t I see it? Is she dead? How could I have let this happen? His mind was going a mile a minute, but he sat completely still.

He was obviously oblivious to something because if he had done something earlier than this wouldn’t have done this. He could have stopped this from happening.

The doctor comes in about two hours after everyone arrives. Its 3 AM.

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?” He asks, holding a clipboard.

“Yes, we are.” Robert says, standing up.

“What happened?”

“Is she okay?”

“My name is Dr. Ashby,” He began. "Y/N overdosed on drugs. We pumped her stomach. It’s highly unlikely any permanent damage has been done from the pills, but she has fractured a small part of her forehead. We believe that she has a concussion. She’s resting right now. We don’t know when she’ll wake up, but she will be okay.”

“Do you think she did it on purpose?” Tom asks softly, eyes glistening and red.

The doctor sighed. “In my professional opinion, no. There wasn’t enough in her system to kill her or do any permanent damage. However, if you want a more accurate opinion, you should ask the officers that went to the hotel or Y/N after she’s had some time to recover.”

“Thank you Dr. Asby,"

The doctor left. The sounds of sniffling and soft crying still filled the room. Hours ticked by slowly. Too slowly.

"Are you okay, Chris?” Robert asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Chris looked up at him. His dark hair was messy and his eyes were watery like the rest of theirs. Chris sighed and shook his head.

“There was so much blood,” He started. “Her lips were purple- she was dying. She didn’t even know I was there.” Robert sat next to him.

“I was with her before it happened. I could-”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Chris. You couldn’t have known that this was going to happen.”

“I know,” Chris rubbed his face, then ran a hand through his hair.

“You found her, and she’s going to be okay. That’s what matters right now,”

_____________________

The sound of beeping and ringing woke you up. It was constant, loud and probably the most annoying thing that you could have ever imagined waking up to. You patted your bedside, looking for your phone to turn off the alarm and stop the ringing. The sharp stench of bleach filled your nose, making you cringe. Your hotel did not smell like bleach.

Something’s wrong.

You opened your eyes, wincing at the bright lights. You brought an arm up cover your eyes only to find that you were hooked up to a machine. A heart monitor was at your side.

Okay. Why the fuck am I in a hospital? What the fuck? Why does my head hurt so fucking bad?

You sat up, despite feeling weak. You glanced around and began to panic, half tempted to bolt. You hated hospitals. That was a mistake. With the heart rate speeding up , the heart monitor followed suit. Your head throbbed from the added noise. Lying back down, you closed your eyes, taking deep breaths to try and think through whatever the fuck landed you in a hospital with this amount of head pain.

I was on a walk. It was night and I was with Seb and Chris. I went to a store. I bought some sleeping pills. I took them. Oh, my god. I overdosed. But why does my head hurt so fucking much?

You tried sitting up again after a few minutes. This time, you did it slow enough and kept calm enough to process everything that happened and why you were in a hospital.

Soon enough, a nurse came in. She smiled gently when she saw you awake. “Hi, Y/N. How are feeling?”

“My head hurts. A lot. What happened?”

“You overdosed on pills and you fractured your forehead I’m going to call your doctor, hang tight.” She said, still smiling.

Okay. I overdosed on pills by accident. And broke my skull. Okay. What the fuck. I could have died. Cool. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You took a few deep breaths as you waited for the doctor. He didn’t take long to get there, surprisingly. He was older, had thinning hair and a small beer belly. “Good evening, Miss Y/L/N. My name is Dr. Ashby. How is your head?”

“It hurts. A lot. My ears are ringing”

He nods, writing what you said on a clipboard. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I was on a walk with two of my coworkers and I bought some sleeping pills. I took some and I woke up here.”

“Were you trying to harm yourself at all?”

You shake your head. Another mistake. More pain shot through your head, making your wince, and hold your forehead where the pain was at its worst. “No, no. I just wanted to sleep.”

He gives you another nod, writing that down as well.

“What happened?” You ask.

"You overdosed on pills. We don’t think any permanent damage was done, but we’d like to run some tests to confirm that,” He began, placing his pen in the clipboard. “You hit your head and you likely have a moderate concussion. We’ll run some tests for that too."

"What time is it?” The doctor checks his watch.

“It is 1 AM."

"How long was I out?"

"A little more than a day."

"When can I leave?” You ask, trying to keep the desperation out of your voice.

“We’re going to start running some tests, and once those come back we’ll discuss them and after that, we can let you go.”

“How long will that be?”

“We have a few blood tests that need to be run. Those will take a week to ten days to get back. Don’t worry, you don’t have to tay for those. However, we do have to run a couple diagnostics to see what happened to your head. We can have you out tomorrow or the day after.

You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. “Thanks Dr. Ashby.”

He asked a series of questions and had you do a series of tasks, confirming that you did give yourself a concussion. After that was done, a nurse came into take your blood. After she left, you laid back in your bed, the ringing in your ears growing louder.

Fuck. The media probably has their dirty little paws all over this. Y/N Y/L/N in the Hospital After Overdose. Marvel Actress Dies After Overdose, just kidding she’s alive.

You sigh and close your eyes, wishing this was just a bad dream that you could wake up from. But the bandages on your head, the ringing in your ears and the monitors say otherwise. You struggle to fall back asleep, but when you do its fitful and full of unrest.

The morning came too quickly. Visiting hours started at nine and you knew your co-stars and likely a bunch of reporters were going to want to see you. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about your co-stars- it wasn’t that at all. You loved the people you worked with, but you scared of how they were going to react to what happened.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Your nurse said. She was really sweet and wore a smile whenever you saw her.

“Good morning,” You smile back, taking the meds she gave you.

“Visiting hours begin in 15 minutes. I know you’re nervous. Don’t worry about any reporters or anyone like that coming in. We’ve made sure that no one of those sorts are allowed in.” That was a huge relief.

“Thank you,” You’re sure you visibly relaxed.

“You’re welcome, dear. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thanks again,” She left the room, leaving you to your own devices.

At exactly nine in the morning, Chris shuffles into your room with a bear and a small bouquet of sunflowers.

“Hey,” He said softly. He looked rough. His hair was clean but untamed and his eyes were red. He was wearing a sweater and some jeans. You looked back down at the bed because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

Hi, I’m so sorry for almost killing myself accidentally. Oops, guess my hand slipped and took too many pills when I was just trying to get to sleep. Yeah, no.

“How are you feeling?” He pressed when you said nothing, placing a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. You shrugged, picking at the blanket on the bed.

“C'mon, talk to me. What’s been goin’ on, kid?"

"I don’t wanna talk about it,” You say softly.

“Not talking about it isn’t working,” His voice hardened slightly.

“It was an accident,” You say, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to sleep.” Chris sighs, laying the flowers and bear on a chairs behind him.

“Scoot over,” He says. You gave him a strange look as he stood above your bed, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I won’t bite. Promise,”

You scoot to the other side of the bed. He half-sits half-stands and wraps his arms around you, placing a gentle hand on the back of your head, mindful of your injury, and cradles your head against his warm chest. He smells like soft mint. You feel safe. More tears well up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him in return.

“Did you want to hurt yourself?” He was shaking lightly.

“No, I swear. I just wanted to get some sleep. That’s it. I don’t remember anything but taking a couple pills.” He sighed, your head rising and falling with his chest.

“You scared the shit out of us, kid.” His voice wobbled, some tears fell in your hair. “God, don’t ever do that again,” He buried his face in your hair. You knew he was crying. You were too, the tears flowing freely down your face.

“I’m sorry,” You say softly. “I really didn’t mean to.” He didn’t say anything else, he just held onto you.

Maybe I can tell him. He can help. He obviously cares. He wouldn’t show up if he didn’t care about me. Just be honest.

“I was doing homework,” You mumble, hiding your face in his chest. If you were going to tell him what’s been going on, there was no way you could look at him in the face. You’d back out and pretend everything was okay. He didn’t say anything. And if he reacted, you couldn’t see it.

“I’m failing three of my classes. It was too hard to focus so I just turned it in. I wanted to go to bed so I looked for my sleeping pills, but I ran out. That’s why I asked you to go to the store with me.” You sit up and wipe the tears off your eyes. “I took some and they weren’t working so I took more. Then my hands were burning. That’s all I remember,”

Chris’s arms tightened around you, drawing you back to him. “You hit your head. There was a lot of blood, and your lips turned purple. I thought you were dying.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, breath hitching as you began to cry steadily again. You spent the next few moments crying into his chest.

He must’ve found me. Fuck. Fuck me, fuck me. I’m terrible.

“I’m so sorry, Chris, I am. I’m sorry,” You sputtered out, clutching his shirt in your hands.

“I know. I forgive you now that I know you’re okay. Take a deep breath. It’s okay,” He says, running a hand up and down your back. He started to breath melodramatically and you followed suit, soon calming down enough to stop crying.

“Everyone else wants to see you, but there’s a two person limit."

"Then why’d you come alone?” Chris shook his head, reaching for the bear. He handed it to you.

“A bear?” A brown bear specifically. A brown bear dressed as Captain America with black dark blue buttons for eyes even more specifically.

“Yeah, I thought that if I couldn’t be there for you then another Captain America could,”

“You know I’m not six, right?” You couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips.

Chris shrugged, eyes still wet. You leaned over and hugged him again.

“Thank you,” You say, voice cracking. “For everything.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.”

#tw: overdose #tw: hospital #tw: self loathing #tw: self deprecation #avengers cast x reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #teen!reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #chris evans x teen!reader #sebastian stan x teen!reader #self-hate #depression #overdose #accidental overdose #self harm

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miedemamadness · 3 years

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This story is from my Wattpad but had a request to post it here as well so here goes..

Secret Surprise

{Disappointment and Encouragement}

Tomorrow was the day, the semi final match of the euros, Netherlands were playing England for a place in the final, something the whole team had always dreamed of..Viv was sat in her spot in the changing room prior to the last practice before the big game fiddling with her phone and looking glum, Lisa was meant to be flying out for the semi final and final but had to cancel last minute due to "unforeseen circumstances" back home, don't get her wrong Viv loved football it was all she had dreamed of as a little girl and the fact she got to do it professionally for her country still blew her mind but god she missed her girlfriend so much, her and Lisa had been together for just over a year after meeting each other and falling in love while playing for German side Bayern Munich and Viv always found it extremely hard being away from her, she wasn't a clingy person but Lisa was like her comfort blanket she always felt safe around her and knowing she wasn't going to be here for one of her most important matches killed her inside... she quickly starts tapping away at her phone

viv ~ hey how are you? I miss you so much babe, gutted you can't be here x

lisa ~ hey gorgeous, I'm good thanks you? nervous? I know I'm gutted too but I promise I'll be out there for the final even if it kills me, I miss you x

viv ~ that's even if we reach the final lis... x

lisa ~ of course you will, I have every faith just go out there and smash it like you always do, I'm so incredibly proud of you x

viv ~ thankyou, I love you... better go sarina is yelling at us to go to practice 🙄 speak later? x

lisa ~ hahaha go do your thing gal, I love you too and always ❤️ x

Lisa slid her phone back into her pocket as she handed her ticket and passport over to the lady sat behind the desk, truth is Lisa had managed to sort out the little problem back home within plenty of time for her to fly out to Holland for the semi final match tomorrow and that's where she currently was, at the airport on her way but she had decided instead of telling viv out right she was gonna surprise her, she had messaged Jill letting her know.. Jill was Viv's teammate and best friend and she needed to tell someone so she could get picked up from the airport on the other side, she knew Jill wouldn't say anything to Viv and ruin the surprise she could trust her. After getting through security she grabbed a bite to eat and made herself comfortable if that was even possible on those ridiculous metal airport benches as she waited for her gate number to be called out, she couldn't help but let the massive smile on her face show, just one more night and she gets to hold her girl again in her arms.

"anyone home" Jill said to Viv who was sat on the edge of the training pitch in a daze, waving her hand in front of her face making viv quickly snap out of it "er yes why" Viv replied quickly looking at Jill, "you've had a face like a dead fish throughout this whole practice, what's wrong with you" Jill asked her best friend in a soft manner, Viv just shrugged "nothing, I just miss Lisa.. she was meant to be flying out for tomorrow's game but now she can't, she said she would be here for the final no question's asked but what if we don't make the final? I don't want her to waste her time flying here for nothing" Jill just giggled already knowing what Lisa had planned, "I'm so glad you have so much confidence in this team to make it to the final" she raised an eyebrow as she stands up "anyway she'll still get to see you and I'm sure she doesn't think that's a waste of time you know how much she loves you" Jill offered her best friend a hand up as Viv just laughed the comment off grabbing Jills hand as they both headed back to practice.

As Lisa got ready to board the plane she texted Viv one last time "hope practice went well I can't wait to speak to you tonight x" they had their nightly facetime 'planned' so she knew Viv wouldn't question it, before turning her phone to aeroplane mode she also quickly texted Jill "boarding the plane now, see you in 2 hours thanks again for this I owe you x" Jill got the message straight away as she was led on her bed being lazy after training a smile creeping on her face when she read it she quickly texted back "anytime, can't wait to see Viv's face tomorrow haha, see you soon safe flight x" she quickly jumped off the bed throwing on an oversized hoodie, all she had to do now was get out of the hotel without Viv suspecting anything, if only she didn't share a room with the exact same woman, she grabbed her car keys off the side of the table trying to act as normal as possible but it still caused Viv to look up from her phone that she had been engrossed in ever since they had got back from training, "where are you going at this time of night" she questioned, Jill shot round trying quickly to think of an excuse in her brain, she wasn't a fast thinker but she was quite proud of how fast she thought on her feet this time "er nowhere just for a quick drive to clear my head" she replied hoping Viv would buy it and drop the conversation, "give me a second I'll come with you" Viv smiled back, "NEEEEE" Jill shouted maybe a tad loud cause it made Viv jump "I'm sorry, I mean I just wanna be alone for a little bit" Jill shrugged, Viv knew Jill had just broken up with her boyfriend and was taking it quite hard so decided to drop the subject "okay just be careful okay?" she said softly placing her hand on her best friends shoulder, "I will I'll see you soon yeah" Jill smiled as she headed out the door and Viv got back to what she was doing on her phone which was trying to get hold of Lisa but she wasn't replying and Viv was getting really concerned she decided to wait until Jill was back hopefully with a clearer head to discuss her concern with her, "Jesus Jill that was a close one" Jill muttered to herself as she walked down the hotel corridor towards her car, she hated lying..definitely to Viv of all people but she knew the outcome would be worthwhile and with that she was off to the airport to pick Lisa up, even she was excited to see the Scottish mad girl they had become really close friends themselves what with her being Viv's girlfriend and herself being Viv's best friend.

After dropping Lisa off at her hotel and making sure she had settled in okay Jill returned to her hotel room to Viv pacing up and down the room, "Viv?" Jill called out but got no reply "VIVIANNE" Jill spoke a little louder making the older girl jump a little as she turned and looked at Jill, the first thing Jill noticed was the tears streaming down Viv's face she quickly ran over to her "What the hell has happened I've only been gone an hour?" she questioned worryingly, "Jill, I can't get hold of Lisa she's not picking up my calls or returning my texts what if something has happened to her what if something bad has happened" she slid down the wall with tears still streaming from her eyes as she clutched her chest "I can't breathe...Jill please I can't breathe" at this point Jill had began to panic what was she gonna do? she couldn't exactly tell her where Lisa was and ruin the surprise Lisa had been planning all this time but at the same time she couldn't let Viv go on thinking the worst, she slid down the wall herself to sit next to her best friends side pulling her in "Viv.. just breathe girl deep breaths, I'm sure Lisa is fine maybe she's just busy and hasn't been able to check her phone" Viv turned her head and gave Jill a questionable look "busy at this time of night? doing fucking what?" Jill shrugged "I don't know I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, why don't you sort yourself out and try once more" Viv nodded and got up heading to the bathroom to sort herself out as Jill whipped her phone out to text Lisa...

"Lisa you have to answer Viv's FaceTime I dunno just sit in front of a blank white wall pretend you're somewhere else like your grandparents house but you need to answer she's going out her mind with worry here x"

"oh shit... is she okay? I'll definitely answer I'll throw her off the scent somehow x"

"I think she's calmed down abit now I've tried to reassure her x"

"ta babe I'm glad she's got you there with her x"

" :) gotta go she's coming out the bathroom good luck don't blow it x"

Viv flung herself onto her bed turning towards Jill "do you think I should try again now?" Jill just nodded in response "yeah sure, I'll go see Daan give you some privacy just text me when it's safe to come back" "safe to come back?" Viv questioned as Jill raised her shoulders "I mean I don't know what goes down on these facetime calls when you've been away from each other this long... the sexual tension must be unreal" she quickly added on the end as Viv rolled her eyes throwing a pillow at her as she walked out the door. She picked her phone up off the side and dialled Lisa's number and much to her relief she got the connecting screen almost straight away.

"Hey baby I was just about to text you back, sorry I haven't been answering I've been travelling all day I've popped back up to Scotland to see my grandparents"

Viv smiled as she instantly felt warm inside at the sound of Lisa's voice, "it's fine honestly.. I mean it's not fine I was going out of my mind with worry I thought something bad had happened but it's okay I'm just glad you're safe"

Lisa pulled a face at her girlfriend "something bad? like what"

Viv shrugged and laughed a little "I dunno anything maybe you got run over or the house got robbed or aliens abducted you..."

Lisa giggled at Viv's comments "babe you don't half make me laugh but I promise you I'm fine, just missing you loads"

Viv's facial expression soon dropped "I miss you too... now I've gotta play this stupid semi final without you there and there's a chance we might not make it to the final so I'd be wasting your time making you come out here for nothing" she sighed.

"Anna Miedema stop being silly, you are gonna make that final" Lisa said before Viv cut her off.

"Anna...you never call me by my real name unless you're annoyed" the look of worry on her face thinking she had annoyed Lisa.

"I am annoyed, I'm annoyed that you don't believe in yourself like I believe in you.. like everyone believes in you, you're an incredible player and you have an outstanding team there's no reason whatsoever why you can't beat them tomorrow" Lisa replied softly as a small smile appeared across Viv's face.

"I love you... thankyou for always believing in me I don't know what I would do without you" Viv replied just desperately wanting to hold her girlfriend in her arms.

"I love you too, now we've been jaffing on for almost 2 hours" Viv giggled she loved Lisa's random words for things "you need to get your sleep for tomorrow.. so I'm gonna say goodnight but Viv... remember you can do anything you put your mind too beautiful"

Viv nodded in response "thankyou, night babe I love you"

"I love you too and ring me the second the match is over okay? Goodnight beautiful"

"I will.. goodnight" and with that Viv clicked end call and quickly messaged Jill telling her it was safe to come back before curling up and falling asleep with her girlfriends words of encouragement still in her mind, she knew she could do it, she knew the team could do it but tomorrow would soon tell.

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slitherofgold · 4 years

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Friday Fighting~ Sam Fender

It was Friday night, and you and the girls had decided to go out clubbing to celebrate the end of a horrible, shitty week. Your two best-friends (Grace and Liv) were getting ready round yours, and it was safe to say that pre-drinks had already started. “Who’s ready to get fucking wasteddddd”, Grace sang with a drink in her hand.

“Fucking hell Grace, slow down. I’m not having you drunk before actually going out, and I’m definitely not baby-sitting you the entire night”, you said.

“Chill y/n, let yourself go a bit, have fun. If you get what I mean.” She grinned her cheeky grin and you rolled your eyes in response.

“If you mean go fuck a stranger then that’s definitely not what I had in mind. That’s how people get killed.” Liv, who had been attempting to put on her lashes, turned around to face the two of you.

“Y/n don’t have sex with the first guy you meet, but maybe actually talk to a guy, or I don’t know, dance with someone. You haven’t opened yourself up to anyone since-

“We do not speak his name!!” Grace interrupted before Liv could finish her sentence. You laughed.

“Look guys, I’m over him, I am. It’s just, guys are a waste of time at the moment, and they all turn out to be assholes anyway,” You tried to explain.

“Yeah but what about your sex life, every girl still needs to have her sex life”, Grace said. You looked towards Liv who nodded her head in agreement.

“That’s what a vibrators for. It does the trick and doesn’t emotionally damage you either.”

“Look, I know you’re a strong, independent woman and all, but please let yourself go a bit tonight and just have fun. And try not to blank every guy that comes up to you, at least give em a chance.” Liv stared into your eyes as if waiting for an answer.

“Fineeeee”, you gave in. The two girls applauded and squealed like teenagers, before turning on the music and dancing around the bedroom. You loved nights like this, where you could just let loose of all your problems and act like a child again, singing the words to your favourite songs and dancing as if no one was watching. Maybe the girls were right. Maybe it was time to start meeting new people.

After getting ready, you all left your place and got a taxi to the club. Grace was already a bit tipsy from the drinks back at yours, and you knew for a fact that she’d be passed out, face first, at the end of the night. The cold night air, hit you as soon as you got out the cab, and you wished you had bought some kind of jacket to act as layer over your sexy ass dress, that Liv had let you borrow. You could hear the music from outside, loud and blaring, and you couldn’t wait to sacrifice yourself to the music and let yourself go.

Inside it was a swarm of sweaty, drunk bodies, much like you had anticipated. Without a second thought, Grace swung herself into the crowd, jumping along and dancing to the music, already lost in it. You and Liv followed after her to be quickly engulfed by the crowd.

After a while of screaming lyrics, and grinding your bodies against random strangers, you had decided to go get drinks. You left Liv and Grace out on the dance-floor, not wanting to disrupt their fun, and headed towards the bar. It was fairly busy, and you had to squeeze past a few shoulders to make it through to the front. You waved your hand at the bartender, “Hey, can I get 3 shots of tequila!”, you shouted over the music. He smiled and nodded in return before starting on your drinks. You glanced back towards the dance-floor, and unsurprisingly, Grace and Liv were still there not having noticed you’d gone.

“The music here’s shit, don’t you think?”, you heard someone shout in a geordie accent. You inclined your head towards the voice, to see that the question was directed at you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you took in the stranger. He was hot in such a casual way. Jeans and a t-shit, messy hair, the accent. You were so caught up in how he looked you had forgotten what he said. He laughed, clearly amused. He leaned in closer and repeated the question, his breath warm on your cheek.

“Oh, yeah it’s not my kind of music but at least you can still dance to it. I’ve heard worse anyways.” You smiled back. The bartender tapped your shoulder and you quickly turned having forgotten the drinks. You pulled out your purse ready to pay, when a hand suddenly stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it’s on me.” The stranger smiled at you, and gave the bartender his card before you could intervene. “ 3 shots aye, I’m guessing they’re for you and your mates?”

“ Well, they would be if they were here, but unfortunately they’re still on the dance-floor.” You smiled and pointed towards them. Then as you locked eyes with Liv, you remembered what your friends had said earlier, she grinned at you as if you had spoken telepathically. “Do you wanna, um, share the shots instead, since, well you paid for them, and I don’t think they’re gonna be too bothered. They’re basically already gone.” You stammered, trying to act cool, even though you hadn’t done this in while. As if he could sense your nerves, he smiled, easing your comfort.

“Yeah sounds class that”. He seemed relieved, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask that. “I’m Sam by the way”, he put out his hand and you happily shook it.

“Y/n”, you smiled.

“Well it’s nice to meet you y/n”, he seemed genuinely nice and after downing the shots, the two of you were already having a laugh, taking the piss out of people in the club and placing bets on the most random things.

“Do you wanna go someplace quieter, I can barely hear you over this shit”, Sam said. You nodded your head and grabbed his hand, as he led you through the club to a booth towards the back. You glanced at the girls. Grace was beyond drunk and Liv was mildly sober. They were both dancing with guys, who seemed very touchy-feely, but neither of them seemed to mind. Liv caught eyes with you once more and winked. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t withhold your smirk. Liv quickly mouthed ‘be careful’ before turning back towards the guys she was dancing with, losing herself in the music once more.

Once you reached the booth, you slid in close to Sam. He bought more drinks, that you insisted you would pay for, and carried on with your conversation. It was so nice just having some decent flirty banter, that you couldn’t help but feel comfortable with this guy. You were both laughing and talking as if you had been friends for years. Suddenly his phone started ringing. He pulled it out and checked the screen. “Oh shit, sorry I’ve really gotta take this.” He said.

“Nah, nah that’s fine don’t worry”, you insisted. He apologised once more and left the booth in search for a quieter place to have his phone-call. Since being on your own sucked, you pulled out your own phone for some temporary entertainment. You had 8 missed calls and 14 unread messages all from Liv. You opened the messages as quick as you could, panic coursing through you.

Liv: OMG Grace passed out- on the dance floor!!!! Where are you?!

Liv: Y/N WHERE ARE YOU, I CAN’T LEAVE WITHOUT YOU.

Liv: I’ve called a taxi for me and Grace, I gotta get her back home. Please let me know you’re alright??

Liv: I’ll come back for you as soon as Grace is home, are you ok?

Liv: Y/N ANSWER ME!!!!

You quickly typed out a message briefly telling her not to worry, and that you’ll get a taxi back home soon. You also asked about Grace, hoping she was alright. This was often a common occurrence when the 3 of you went out. In fact if Grace didn’t pass out, the night would be classed as shit.

“Hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone?” You heard someone say. You looked up from your phone to see a man, maybe in his late 30s, staring down out you.

“Oh, I’m not alone, I’m just waiting for my friend”, you assured the guy. Instead of buggering off, like you hoped he would, he took a seat next to you instead. He made it very clear what his intentions were, you could basically feel his eyes undressing you as he looked you up and down.

“Well, will this friend be long? Cause I think we could kill some time”. He placed his hand on your thigh and slowly moved it up your leg, making you feel sick to the bone. You pushed his hand away from you in disgust.

“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, wishing that you and Sam had chosen a busier place to sit, rather than somewhere which was remarkably quieter.

“Don’t be like that. You’re basically asking for it in a dress like that.” The guy became a lot more aggressive, and tried to push himself against you, holding your arms to stop you from fighting back.

“Help!!!” You screamed, praying someone would hear. Your legs were trapped under the table, preventing you from trying to kick him in balls. Damn it. You were about to headbutt the guy when you heard a heavy smack, and the weight of the bastard left your body as he fell and hit the table. You looked up seeing Sam, knuckles already bruised and slightly bleeding, with a look of pure rage on his face. He stormed round the table and grabbed the guys collar, lifting him up.

“Get the fuck out of here”, Sam said, the rage seething out with every word. “Or I won’t hesitate to do it again”. He chucked the guy, as if he was worthless, and unsurprisingly the guy ran off in the opposite direction, quickly forgetting you. Once Sam knew the guy had gone and was out of sight, he turned to you and rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t of left you. I’m so sorry.” He looked in your eyes, his own filled with concern.

“I’m fine, I’m just glad you got here in time. Fucking dirtbag. Are you alright?” You glanced at where the guy had left, worried he would reemerge, and then focused on Sam’s knuckles, holding them in your own hands.

“Don’t worry about me”, Sam chuckled. “I’m not the one who had filthy fucking hands roaming all over me. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll survive. But I should be getting back home soon, the girls already left and now they’re waiting on me”, you explained the whole situation to Sam.

“Damn that Grace party’s hard” He chuckled. “Do you want me to call you a taxi? After that whole fucking thing, the least I can do is make sure you get home safe.”

“You’ve done enough. The drinks, saving my life. If you do anything else, I’d be indebted to you.” You joked.

“See, that’s what I was hoping. Cause if you were indebted to me, you’d have to give me your number, and then we’d have to meet up, and you’d have to spend even more time with me.” He looked at you and then down at his hands, which you were still holding, and then back up at you again, a smile slowly forming across his face.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to call me a taxi then”

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Hi guys, me again. Sorry this is a super long (for me) imagine and hasn’t really got much fluff in it but hey ho, this is how it turned out :) Sorry if it’s got loads of typos or mistakes, I finished this at 2am and honestly I am ready to pass out on my bed. Anyways hope you enjoyed, and message me for requests or anything you wanna ask/say. Goodnighttttt <3

#sam fender #sam fender imagines #imagines #fluff #sam fender x reader

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lululawrence · 4 years

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lululawrence’s Fics Posted in 2019

Master Fic Masterpost / Buy me a Coffee?

2019 was a bit crazy, but I’m so proud of the fics that I’ve been able to write and publish this year! There were quite a few of them, so here they are in order of when they were published. I hope you enjoy!

Hey Look, Ma (9k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

“I’m so sorry,” a deep voice said.

Louis made sure he’d only dropped his hat, reached down to pick it up, and was dusting it off when he finally looked up.

“It’s alright...mate…” Louis had seen this man before. He was gorgeous. He lived somewhere in the area, because Louis would often pass him on the street heading home from the tube or the nearest bus stop.

And now, here he was. Standing in all his fluffy, curly haired glory in front of Louis, apologising for nearly bowling him over.

“I really am sorry, though. Let me get you a coffee to make up for it?”

Or the one where Louis is a hybrid who agrees to go on a blind date with his neighbour's colleague's son the same night he literally runs into his dream man. Surely this isn't going to end well... or is it?

Charisma (5k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Harry was smiling, and maybe blushing a little as well, as he accepted the phone back. “Thank you,” he glanced down at his phone and then said, “Louis.”

Smiling happily at the way Harry had said his name, Louis watched him leave the room. The further away he got, the more confused Louis was. Yes, Harry was gorgeous, but how the hell had he forgotten that Harry was also the man who had caused him to almost have a major accident earlier because of his haphazard driving? How had he allowed Harry to distract him with his charm to the extent that instead of giving the man a lecture, Louis accepted the offer of a date?

Well. Whatever the reason was, Louis wouldn’t forget when Harry called. Louis would give him a piece of his mind then and see if Harry still wanted to go out with him at that point. Because yeah, Louis was not mad enough about his overreaction to Harry, both on the road and at the event tonight, to turn that opportunity for a date down. He wasn’t stupid.

Or the one where Harry feeds on awesomeness (possibly literally). Louis is awesome and also angry. They’re probably going to fall in love.

Drabbles for Harry's Birthday Drive 2019 (25k) - Various Pairings

Each chapter is a different drabble dedicated to a person who donated to Harry's birthday drive! The prompt requested as well as the pairing are in the author’s note for each chapter as well. There are multiple pairings due to various pairings being requested by the donors, so please pay attention to that information in each chapter! Pairings include Harry/Louis, Zayn/Liam,, Grimmy/Louis, Greg/Louis, Zayn/Louis, and Niall/Shawn.

It’s the Climb (25k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis stretched out his back and turned around, startled to see the most beautiful man he’d ever encountered in his life riding towards him on a horse.

He had to still be asleep. This was one of those super weird dreams people had where the knight in shining armor (or in this case, red sleeveless flannel) literally rode up to them calling their name.

The Hannah Montana AU where Louis is a world famous punk rock singer with a stage name of William and Jay drags him back to Tennessee for the summer. In her attempt for Louis to get back to his roots, he just so happens to reconnect with Harry, and things never go quite as Louis expects them to.

It Was Only a Kiss (16k) - Various Pairings

I participated in a kiss prompt drabble challenge on Tumblr, and ended up writing thirty-three drabbles! Because of the amount all for one challenge, I decided to post them on AO3 to save them. Each prompt exists on its own without relation to others, so pick and choose as you like.

If You Want To Be Loved (0.5k) - Greg James/Louis Tomlinson

Greg can't sleep. For once, he doesn't really mind.

(Something’s Been) Hiding In My Heart (26k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

“My eyes must be deceiving me,” Harry said in his slow drawl. His voice was deeper than Louis remembered. Maybe some things had changed after all.

“They aren’t deceiving you. I’m here because I need you to finally sign these papers,” Louis said before he dropped the stack of paper on the hood of the car and held out a pen to Harry. “Just do it, Harry. Get it over with and then I’ll be out of your life forever, alright?”

Face blank of all emotion outside of a sneer Harry said, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“God,” Louis groaned. Harry just couldn’t let this be easy. His pride wouldn’t allow it. “You know, I never really understood that phrase, but no. I am not ‘shitting’ you. Just sign the damn papers.”

“Ya know, I don’t think I will,” Harry said before turning back to the front door.

When the screen door slammed behind him, Louis realized Harry didn’t have anything else to say.

Or a Sweet Home Alabama AU where Louis comes home to finally get his divorce from Harry finalized so he can move on with his life. Alderford holds its own set of challenges when he returns, but by facing his past maybe he can find the healing he so desperately needs.

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) (36k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

You Turned Up (Like a Friend of Mine) (10k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis padded downstairs, feeling incredibly thirsty. He filled up a glass of water and was about to take a drink when a loud knock sounded at the door accompanied by some yelling and ringing of the doorbell.

“What the hell?” Louis muttered, setting his glass on the counter and rushing towards the door.

As he got closer to the door, though, his mind stopped whirling because the voice was one that was etched forever in his mind, but one that he never thought he would ever hear again.

“Why’s the door locked? Did you seriously go without me? And who’s car is in the driveway? Lou, I knew you’d be late to get me. We’re going to miss-”

Louis whipped the door open, sure that he was just imagining things. There was no way…

Except there was. Standing on the front step was the curly haired, boy-faced Harry Louis had last seen ten years ago today.

Or the one where Harry disappears on graduation day only to show up on Louis' door looking exactly the same ten years later. Through a series of strange events, maybe they can finally figure out that they're destined to be together, no matter what.

Stealing Flowers (4k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

When Louis finally arrived, he walked in and grabbed an apron. Without even saying hello, he immediately approached Jesy and said, “Sexy Stranger steals flowers.”

She kept pouring the Tanqueray shots she had lined up in front of her, but her face screwed up in confusion. “I’m sorry, he what? Did you finally talk to him and that was what you learned?”

He nodded to another couple of tourists and welcomed them to the Way Station as they eagerly made their way to the Tardis restroom.

“No, I didn’t actually talk to him, but—”

“Then how do you know he steals flowers?”

She was wiping down the bar and stacking the empty glasses to take back to the dishwasher when Louis realized maybe he should help too. After all, he was there to work, not just talk to her about his maybe crush.

“I saw a poster.”

Or the one where Louis pines after the Sexy Stranger on the Subway and almost asks him out. That's when the strange posters start showing up around Brooklyn.

Yellow, Is It Me You’re Looking For? (3k) - Greg James/Louis Tomlinson

Standing in the mess Greg’s shift had left behind, Louis decided he would start small. He’d organise the paint colour cards that displayed the names and then get started on the sample tins. It wasn’t until he started opening the boxes of colour cards that Louis started to wonder whether Nick had been the one to name the paint after all.

Yellow, Is It Me You’re Looking For? was along the top left corner of a mustard yellow card. Nick was as big a fan of puns and music as anyone, so while it was unorthodox, Louis didn’t think too much of it. Part of the appeal of Annie’s Hardware was that they didn’t take things too seriously while always maintaining professionalism.

The names that followed did leave Louis to wonder if Annie knew exactly what the chosen paint names were, though. The Colour Of My Tears When ‘FRIENDS’ Ended for a soft white, Barneys Blood for a pale purple, and Blond. James Blond. for a sand tone had Louis convinced that it was a different co-worker who had renamed the colours.

Or the one where Louis has pined after Greg for what seems like ages, but when Greg renames the company's paint colors, something might finally be ready to give.

Like a Lighthouse On The Coast (I Need You) (19k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis placed his order with the server and was about to type up some possible lyrics when he heard the music being piped in go silent and a throat was cleared into a mic.

Oh God no. If Louis had known there was going to be live music, he would have chosen somewhere else. Why did they have to ruin what was truly the perfect ambiance for Louis with some sub-par wannabe singer-songwriter?

“Hello, I’m going to sing some songs for you tonight. I hope you like them.”

The voice was deep and smooth, slower than Louis had expected. It made him want to look up at the singer rather than cower into the corner of his booth.

So he did. The man didn’t look nervous at all, but he didn’t look like the cocky asshole Louis had been expecting either. Louis continued to brace himself as he took in the simple Ramones shirt and jeans the man was wearing, when something Louis hadn’t been expecting happened.

The man began to play his guitar, and he was good.

And then, the man began to sing.

Or the one where Louis has all the pressure of his sophomore album and none of the inspiration, but maybe all he needs is someone like Harry Styles to turn all that around.

Oh Honey, Honey (4k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis hated honey. He didn’t like the flavour, he didn’t understand why some liked it in their tea, he hated when it was put on sandwiches or cake or anything really. But, standing stock still in front of a rather large display of honey in that 24-hour Tesco, Louis found himself grabbing the largest jar of “100% pure London-local honey” and adding it to his trolley, simply because he knew it would make Harry smile.

Louis always wanted to make Harry smile.

Or the one where Louis pines after Harry, Harry is passionate about helping save the bees, and a late night shopping trip gone wrong doesn't end quite as horribly as Louis imagines.

You Don’t Care About Me (One More Night) (60k) - Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson

“Nick. You’re into guys. What should I do?”

Nick snorted. “You think just ‘cause I’m gay, I know what you should do?”

Louis blinked at him and Nick admired his eyelashes against his will. “Well. Kind of, yeah.”

“That is not how this works,” Nick said. “Besides, it’s not like you can just go and suck someone’s dick to be sure you like it the way I did. You’re too famous to try it my way.”

Louis’ expression changed to one of awe. “That’s how you figured it out? You sucked some random’s dick?”

Nick shrugged. “Yeah. Basically. I mean, I knew for pretty damn sure before that, mind you, but that did solidify the matter for me.”

“I need to suck a dick,” Louis said, turning to look at the wall of Nick’s room.

“You could suck mine, if it would help,” Nick offered before he could stop himself.

Or the one where Louis pines for Harry and Nick helps ease his way into figuring himself out through a friends with benefits sort of arrangement. Things quickly turn complicated.

A Taste of Honey (3k) - Greg James/Louis Tomlinson

Louis opened the door expecting someone with Deliveroo. Instead his gaze lifted so he could look at a very frazzled, incredibly fluffy haired Greg James who was inexplicably holding out a very large jar of honey.

“Hello, Gregory,” Louis said slowly.

Shifting around, Greg stepped forward and held the honey out towards Louis again. “This is for you.”

“Erm, alright,” Louis said before carefully taking the heavy jar from him. “Thank you?”

Greg flashed a wide grin, nodded, and then without another word walked back out the front door of the building.

Or the one where Louis has been pining after Greg ever since he started his job. Greg randomly showing up at his flat with a jar of honey might be just the push Louis needs to finally talk to the man.

Just Like Honey (3k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis opened the door and he looked so soft and beautiful. He was in a ratty pair of grey joggers and that was it. Harry had never seen him look so good.

When Harry finally raised his eyes from Louis’ chest, he realised Louis had likely said something.

“Uh,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Smirking a little, Louis crossed his arms and popped his hip. “I said, ‘Hello, Harry. What brings you here so late on a Saturday?’”

Then his brain kicked in.

“Right, fuck. Hi, Louis. I just wanted to give you this.”

Louis’ brows creased as Harry held the honey out to him. Taking the jar from Harry, he said, “Honey?”

Nodding, Harry said, “Yep. Hope you have a great night!”

Fisting his hands at his sides in frustration, Harry left the building as quickly as he could.

Honey, Honey, How You Thrill Me (3k) - Greg James/Harry Styles

Harry knocked once more before coming to the conclusion that knocking for longer than that was rude.

He’d just decided to leave when the door opened.

“Fuck, you were asleep, weren’t you?”

“Well, it’s past 8, so yeah, basically,” Greg said with a yawn.

God, he’d been asleep for over an hour. Harry was the worst.

“I’m so sorry. Here. Take this and get back to sleep. I’m so incredibly sorry for waking you up,” Harry babbled, shoving the jar of honey into Greg’s hands.

Greg looked at the jar then back up at Harry, still not saying anything. Probably because his brain was still asleep just like his body would’ve been if Harry hadn’t been a fucking idiot.

“Sorry again!” Harry said before giving a lame wave and rushing off to the nearest tube station.

Or the one where Harry pines after fellow Radio 1 DJ Greg James but doesn't know how to start a conversation with him...until he gets the needed inspiration.

Our Love is Timeless (6k) - Niall Horan/Shawn Mendes

He rinsed out his shampoo and began to scrub at his body. Turning around to rinse his back and wash his front, Shawn was not prepared to be met with a cursing blond Irishman.

Letting out a rather loud, high pitched scream and covering himself as best he could, Shawn backed up into the wall behind him, which also turned off the shower.

“Thanks, mate. Was hoping not to get my clothes entirely soaked,” the man said as he began stepping out of the shower stall. “Say, what year is it?”

“I...what?” Shawn sputtered. “You just show up, fully clothed, in a stranger’s shower and your first question is what year it is? How the fuck did you get in here? Why my shower? Who are you?”

“Well, yeah. I guess so. I’ve not quite got a handle of the whole time traveling thing yet.”

Or the one where Shawn falls for Niall, who just happens to be a time traveler. The course of true love never did run smooth.

Like Honey to the Bee (3k) - Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson

Nick didn’t even remember knocking, but suddenly the door he also didn’t realise he was leaning on opened and he started falling inside Louis and Harry’s flat.

“Fuck,” Nick blurted as he tried to right himself. He was caught by Louis, which was great because he was exactly who he wanted to see and he didn’t really fancy dropping a massive jar of honey on his doorstep.

“Nicholas?” Louis asked.

Nick couldn’t help it. Hearing Louis call him by his full name made him shiver. He usually hated it, but there was something magical about Louis Tomlinson that made the usual negative association suddenly become an incredibly positive one.

“I brought you honey,” Nick blurted as he handed Louis the jar.

“I can see that,” Louis said, sounding confused. “Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s what friends do, yeah?”

Or the one where Nick has been trying to find a way to get past the banter stage with Louis for ages, and honey might be just what he needs to finally do so.

Rings and Things (2k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Niall: I know you’re a lesbian and all, but this is fast even for you

Or the one where Harry wakes up after a night of drinking to find her bed isn't empty and there's a ring she's never seen before on a very important finger.

The Only Thing That Keeps Me Grounded (28k) - Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

“Shit, I definitely missed the last train.”

“Oh no,” Louis lamented. “I’d offer a ride, but I’m part of a carpool and we’re full already. I’m so sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Then, what Louis said sank in. “Wait, I thought you were here alone?”

“Oh, I am. I’m the only one dancing here tonight. The others were working. In fact, here’s Nick now.”

It felt like slow motion as a tall, lanky man with incredible hair came walking over towards Louis. He smiled before pulling Louis into him and giving him a quick kiss.

“Nick, this is my new friend Harry. He just moved to the area and he’s amazing at swing. Harry, this is my husband, Nick.”

Fuck.

Or the one where Harry moves to Washington DC to be a nanny and never expects that his past struggles with love will be brought to a head. He definitely never expects the solution to it all will be the man of his dreams that just so happens to be married to the other man of his dreams.

A Halloween M(ass)hap (1k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Harry was never going to forgive Niall. He’d been so distracted by his roommate’s cleaning and fussing while he had been looking for the perfect trousers for Liam’s annual Halloween fancy dress party that he’d not realised the black leather trousers he’d chosen to complete his vampire look were arseless.

Of course there was a no return policy, so he’d done the only thing he could do in order to not waste the money he’d already forked out online for the damn things: he added a cape.

Surely, nothing could go wrong.

I Wanna Love (Like You Made Me Feel) (28k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

By the time Harry and Louis are eighteen years old, they've known each other all four years of high school. Through those years, they never have a real chance to spend time together just the two of them. The summer after graduation gives them that chance, and it changes just about everything.

Ten years later, Louis returns home feeling like a failure after losing his job and not knowing where to go next. He never expects to run into Harry again, much less rekindle their friendship. Could this finally be their chance to finish what they started all those years ago, or did they really miss their chance at love?

Swipe Right for a Clean Flat (3k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Harry was done. He was over this shit. He literally only asked his flatmate to do one chore, and that was the washing up. He couldn’t even handle a few plates and cups. Harry obviously overestimated him.

Louis wasn’t that bad. It was just that he only did the washing if he was going out to pull and wanted to bring someone home. If the dishes were put away, that was how Harry knew to vacate the premises. There was no way he was going to listen to yet another girl moan Louis’ name while Harry laid in bed and wondered what it might be like if only Louis liked men.

Glaring at the full sink and debating washing up himself - again - Harry finally turned and stalked to his room.

“Dire circumstances,” Harry muttered as he picked up his phone and unlocked it.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are flatmates and Harry is tired of Louis not doing the washing up. He figures signing up on Tinder as a hot girl might be just the fix for this issue.

You’re a Nightmare, I’m a Disaster (7k) - Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson

As Nick scanned the shelves, his eyes caught on a bright blue binding. Snooki, it read, A Shore Thing.

“Oh my God,” Nick mumbled, trying not to laugh as he picked it up. He’d watched bits and pieces of Jersey Shore way back in the day.

Without bothering to look any further around the store, he headed up to the counter where Blue eyes was watching him. Nick cleared his throat nervously and set the book on the counter and the man immediately flashed him a look of disdain.

“Seriously? Out of everything we have available, you chose the book we special ordered for a customer?”

“Well, it can’t be that bad if someone specifically requested it, right?” Nick said, trying to keep a teasing tone.

“Why do you think we still have it if it was a special order?” the man asked with a scoff. “They returned it after reading something like three pages.”

Nick frowned at the book. “Well that doesn’t seem very fair.”

Or the one where Nick is a writer, Louis works in a bookshop, and things don't exactly start off on the right foot, but they might just end on it.

The Goat Guy of Bethlehem (26k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

“What a pretty little thing!” a voice cried, catching Harry's attention.

Harry looked up, assuming it was a merchant talking to Gemma or some other “citizen” of Bethlehem, but when he did, he found a woman with bright eyes and long dark hair walking over to him.

“Me?” He wasn’t sure what to expect from any of this since she wasn’t a merchant he had met before.

“Yes, you! I think you’d make a very good husband for my son. Are these your parents?”

“Uh, yes?” Harry said, almost like a question. Robin and his mom just watched on with amusement, much to his chagrin.

Turning to Anne and Robin, the merchant woman said, “I’ll give you six goats for the marriage of your son to mine.”

Or every year, Harry and his family attend a church festival called Bethlehem. Harry's freshman year of high school Bethlehem expands, bringing in new vendors, including one that just might change everything for Harry. But first, he has to see if Anne and Robin are willing to part with him for the price of a few goats.

#mine #my fic masterpost #yearly masterpost #2019 masterpost #my fic #my fic rec #fic rec

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qionow · 4 years

Text

A Brief Introduction As To Why Tinder Sucks: As Told By Russia

i’m not even gonna try to defend myself with this one. you wanna see fem!america making fem!russia’s first tinder account??? you want 3k words about this shit??? let’s go y’all, enjoy some shenanigans

“I do not understand the purpose of this.”

“It’s in the name dude!” America barely glanced up from Russia’s phone, tapping away at the screen with a dexterity that made Russia’s head spin just to watch. “You need me to spell out what a dating app does?”

Russia peered over America’s shoulder as she worked, leaning over from her seat at the desk chair in their hotel room in order to reach the bed. “I thought we were already dating.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never used one of these before, and that’s like a 21st-century sin!” America huffed out. “Seriously, how the hell did you hook up with people?”

“By talking to them.”

America waved her off with a flick of her wrist.

“Whatever. You just gotta catch up with the times!”

She squinted down at the screen for a moment, swiping through what seemed to be a few photos before she nodded to herself and held the phone up. “You like these?”

Russia plucked the phone out of her hands, although she had to admit that she was surprised when she saw her own face looking back at her. “Where did you get these pictures?”

“Saved them from your texts!” America reported cheerfully. “You got some real cute ones there!”

Russia only hummed in acknowledgement, looking over the photos America had selected. They were nothing new, simply a few shots she had taken herself (upon America’s insistence) and a few that America had taken of her on their various outings.

She was sure that there was some kind of determining factor behind them, whether it be the lighting or framing, but Russia chose to avoid going down that rabbit hole for the time being.

“They will do.”

“Sweet!”

America snatched the phone back out of Russia’s hands before she could even get another word out, already back to typing furiously.

“Alright, I’m gonna set you up so you get guys and girls,” she called out.

Russia blinked.

“Huh?”

America glanced up in order to wave the phone around, as if that was an adequate explanation in and of itself. “For when you start weeding people out! You gotta get the full experience if you’re doing this!”

Russia barely understood half of the words coming out of America’s mouth at this point, but she merely chose to smile and nod. That certainly seemed to be the right answer when America beamed at her before she busied herself with the rest of Russia’s profile.

It didn’t take long before Russia’s phone was being handed back to her for her approval of the final product, which admittedly, wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The photos were decent enough, and America at least had the self-restraint to avoid putting any mocking jokes in.

Russia briefly looked over it once before she nodded. “I forgot that you would need my human name for this,” she commented.

America only let out a boisterous laugh at that though, tossing her head back and sending her messy blonde hair flying across her face before she leaned back forward. “Well yeah dude! It’s kinda weird if you’re trying to hit on the whole country of Russia, y’know?”

“You certainly did not have a problem with that.”

“Not about me, shut up!”

Russia giggled when America’s face quickly turned bright red, cheeks flushed before she could manage to wave her off. “I am sure it is not.”

“Whatever!” America reached over to grab the armrest of Russia’s desk chair, yanking her in as she leaned over to see the screen. “Hurry up and start swiping!”

Russia shook her head with a bemused smile, although she did follow America’s instructions and look down in order to judge the profile in front of her.

She had to admit, with the competition sitting next to her, she doubted that any of these candidates would stand a chance.

“America?”

Russia heard the sheets rustling behind her before a familiar weight draped itself over her back, arms looping around her neck as America peeked out from behind her.

“What’s up dude?”

Russia only stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard without ever typing anything out. “You said you chose both men and women, right?”

America nodded her head, resting her chin on Russia’s shoulder. “Yeah, why?”

Russia didn’t even know how to begin to explain that one. She didn’t even dare to say it out loud, opting instead to hold her phone up so America could see what she was currently dealing with.

“Huh?”

America squinted at the screen, blue eyes narrowing for a brief moment before they blew wide again.

“Oh that’s a dick.” She let out a low whistle. “That’s just a full-on dick.”

Russia quickly lowered the phone as soon as America started to speak, keeping it face down on her lap as she glanced back up at her. “Is this normal?”

“I mean, pretty much,” she answered, returning her cautious stare with a nonchalant shrug. “Why, you just wanna see girls now?”

“Yes please.”

Thankfully, that little incident had yet to repeat itself after America had changed the settings again, leaving Russia to look through the various profiles of other women in the area.

There were some fairly attractive people around, but Russia still found it a little more difficult to choose between pictures presented to her.

“Oh, she’s cute,” America murmured, voice muffled from her insistent use of Russia’s thigh as a pillow.

Russia paused, tilting the screen down so America could get a clear view of the woman in front of her. “Her?”

America nodded, squirming around in order to lay down on her back instead of her stomach. “Yup!”

Russia hummed thoughtfully, studying the image again. The smiling face of Elizabeth Warren looked back at her, offering long brunette hair and pale skin covered up with a warm flannel. She certainly was pretty, but she wasn’t quite Russia’s type.

“Maybe you should do this instead then,” she said, eventually settling on swiping right just for America’s input.

America only snorted, bringing one hand up to wave it lazily in the air.

“Not the point dude!” Her hand quickly dropped to land back on her stomach. “This is a learning experience or whatever!”

“I didn’t know your vocabulary was that big.”

Russia let out a quiet grunt when America smacked her arm, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the grin from spreading across her face.

“Rude.”

Russia shook her head, swatting away the last of America’s hits as she settled back down to focus on the screen. Each woman was attractive in her own way, but Russia just couldn’t really find the appeal in them when she already had America draped across her lap.

Still, she did her best to sort through them, idly swiping away at the numerous profiles without much attention to detail.

At least, until a certain profile forced her attention right back onto it.

“America,” she started, eyes locked on her screen, “you said anyone can use this, right?”

“Yup!” America glanced up at her, tilting her head with curiosity written all over her face.

“You are certain about that?”

“Of course I am!” America shot back. “Why would I be wrong?”

This was something yet again that Russia couldn’t even hope to explain and once more, she relegated herself to showing America her phone so she could see the profile for herself.

At first though, America only stared back at the picture without a single connection being made.

“What’s wrong with her? She’s just-”

Russia could have sworn she saw the moment the gears in America’s head started to turn, face going blank for a moment before her jaw dropped.

“Is that Germany?”

Russia was relieved that America came to the same conclusion she had, although there were relatively few conclusions to be made when faced with a muscular blonde named Monika Beilschmidt on Tinder.

“I think so,” she finally answered with some hesitation. “I do not know who else it could be.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” America quickly reached up to snatch the phone out of her hands, pushing herself up as her eyes darted across the screen. “That can’t be her.”

“It certainly looks like her,” Russia pointed out.

America only waved her off though, focus narrowed solely onto the picture in front of her. “It’s probably a catfish or something.”

“Germany does not hand her name out lightly.” Russia leaned back over in order to get a better look at the profile again. “It is very unlikely that someone would have both her picture and her true name.”

“I mean, yeah, but-” America cut herself off to throw a hand out towards the screen. “That’s Germany! She only uses her phone to like, call her boss!”

Russia merely shrugged. “Perhaps she is changing as well.”

America opened her mouth and Russia could already see her argument forming before she snapped it back shut, turning instead to the phone with a new determination. “Oh just you fucking wait.”

Russia furrowed her brow, but that quickly changed into a wide-eyed shock when America swiped right.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, reaching over to snatch her phone back.

America firmly kept herself out of reach though, twisting around to avoid Russia’s hands as she started to type. “I’m gonna prove that this isn’t Germany!”

“America, no!”

Russia’s protests went unheeded though and eventually, there was nothing she could do but watch as America sent the first text.

do you know when the meeting starts tomorrow?

She managed to get her phone back too late, staring at the screen with horror before she glared at America. “Amelia, I am going to-”

“It’s not even her! Chill, dude!” America motioned back towards the screen. “Whoever it is won’t even know how to answer that! Just wait!”

Russia certainly had some thoughts on that little piece of advice, but those quickly went out the window when her phone buzzed in her hand.

9 in the morning, although I expect people to start arriving around 8:45.

Also, I must emphasize that there are other ways to contact me if you have any questions.

“Oh no.”

“What? Ready to accept defeat an-”

America’s words died in her mouth as soon as she caught sight of the screen.

“No way.”

Russia nodded, vaguely wondering if she had entered the first stages of shock as she looked over the message again. “I thought she was with Italy.”

“Maybe they’re not exclusive or something,” America offered, although her voice was still colored with disbelief.

She snapped her head up to look at Russia fast enough that Russia thought she would break her own neck for a minute.

“We gotta figure out what’s going on.”

Russia hesitated. “I do not think that is a good idea. It is none of our business.”

“Yeah, but look at this!” America motioned wildly towards the texts, nearly smacking the phone out of Russia’s hand in the process. “This is like a whole mystery movie waiting to happen!”

“That does not change the fact that this is not a good idea.”

“We’re not gonna follow her around or anything!” America protested. “We’ll just text her and see what’s up!

Now, the very smart and rational part of Russia was telling her to drop the app completely and hope that what little of the professional relationship she had with Germany could be salvaged before she would have to meet her in the morning. Unfortunately, that part was quickly being drowned out by the much more America-influenced portion of her that was rather curious to see how this turned out.

“Do not embarrass me.”

America quickly snatched the phone out of her hands with a broad grin. “You got it dude!”

Russia leaned over to watch as she typed out a response, deleting and retyping phrases in the blink of an eye before she hit send.

i didn’t take you to be the kind of person to use these apps

especially with italy around

“That sounds like you, right?”

“Don’t you think you should have asked before you sent that?”

Any response America could have given was quickly interpreted by the vibration of the phone in her hand, forcing both of their heads down in order to take in the new message.

This is not something that Italy needs to know about.

“Dude.” America looked back up with Russia with a slack-jawed shock that she knew she was mirroring. “Dude.”

Russia couldn’t even come up with any words to say, only able to stare between the phone and America with a hand coming up to uselessly try to explain herself. With America around though, she really didn’t need to.

“Dude!”

America leaped up from the bed in order to pace around the room, staring at the phone in disbelief. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I have no idea,” Russia admitted, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. She only watched as America tore around the limited space she had for a few moments before she flopped back onto the bed.

“Ok, ok, hold on.” America quickly typed out another response, eyes fixed on the screen as Russia scooted back onto the bed to join her. “Hold on.”

i thought you and italy were together

is that no longer the case?

As soon as the message was sent, America turned her head to stare back at Russia. “Holy shit.”

Russia didn’t even get the time to nod in agreement before the phone was buzzing away in America’s hands again. She was quick to lean over America’s shoulder to peer at the response though, already eager to see the new development.

Is that an invitation?

The glass window came dangerously close to shattering with the two high-pitched screams that tore through the hotel room.

“Give me my phone back!”

“Wait, I gotta see what she says!”

Prussia ducked as soon as Germany reached for her arm, her eyes never leaving the screen for a second.

“Do it yourself then!” Germany snapped, wrestling Prussia’s hand away in order to make another grab for her phone. “Why did you even use m-”

She was quickly cut off by the sound of her phone going off, Prussia’s hand coming up to shove her away as soon as it did.

“Shut up for a minute!”

Prussia glanced at the screen once, narrowing her eyes to read the message before she burst out into a fit of cackling laughter, tossing her head back with a wide grin cutting at her cheeks.

“What did you do?”

Germany didn’t even want to know the answer to that question, but she still did her best to catch a glimpse of the screen before Julchen pulled her hand away, just barely managing to see Russia’s answer.

what kind of invitation are you looking for?

“We’re in!” Prussia crowed, eyes alight with unhidden joy as she held Germany’s phone up. She quickly started typing up another text, maneuvering around Germany’s attempts to reclaim her phone with a new determination to her steps.

“I’m gonna tell her to come over!”

“No!”

“Germany?”

Both Germany and Prussia stopped at the new addition, looking up to see Italy standing in the doorway, keycard in her hand and looking thoroughly confused.

“Did something happen?”

Before Germany could even think to answer her, Prussia shoved her away again in order to speed right for her, although she managed to tackle her down before she made much progress.

“Italy!” Prussia called out, waving the phone in her hand desperately. “You gotta help me out!”

“No you are not!” Germany snapped her glare up to target Italy instead of her sister. “Get out of here!”

Italy didn’t move though, only tilting her head as she tucked the keycard back into her pocket. “What do you need help with?”

“Nothing-”

“I made Germany a Tinder account just to mess with her and I found Russia!”

Prussia quickly tossed the phone to Italy, who managed to fumble a catch before it hit the ground.

“You gotta keep up my work!” she called out. “Tell her to come over!”

“Italy,” Germany practically snarled, “you better think very carefully about what you’re going to do.”

Italy looked between the two, eyes wide before she looked down at the phone in her hands. She stepped forward and Germany finally let the tension seep from her shoulders as she held an expectant hand out.

However, Italy paused before she fully entered the hotel room, hesitation evident all over her face as she eyed Prussia.

“You put Germany on a dating app?” she asked slowly.

Prussia eagerly nodded from where she was currently being pinned to the ground. “Yeah!”

Germany’s eyes narrowed when Italy shot her an apologetic smile, fingers curling around the phone.

“Italy, I swear-”

“Sorry Germany!”

Just like that, Italy was gone, darting out of the hotel room in a flash with Germany’s phone in tow.

Prussia cackled from her spot on the ground when Germany let out a series of swears fit for a sailor as she scrambled up, tearing after Italy and slamming the door shut behind her as soon as she left.

“Marzia!”

“I just wanted to see what people think about you!”

“You better pray I don’t catch you!”

#rusame #nyo rusame #gerita #nyo gerita #my writing #i started writing this at 1 am and now its 4 #this was supposed to be a drabble #what happened to me

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chaptersinprogress · 4 years

Text

it ain’t a lie if it’s now true

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing

Pairings: Arthit/Kongpob

Prompt: ‘my new romance-obsessed friend asked me who my last date was with and i was too embarrassed to say i’ve never been on a date so i blurted your name and it turns out they know you’ au - by @mraculous

"Kong, when was the last time you've gone on a date?" asked Oak, after downing a shot.

Aim perked up, head lifting from the glass of alcohol he'd been staring into. Now this was something he wanted to know too. For all the confessions he'd seen his best friend receive since high school, he'd never heard anything about him going out with one of them. Well… from the person himself that was. Plenty of rumors of all the fantastic dates he'd taken girls out on made their way around the campus. As expected from the Campus Moon.

Kongpob, however, didn't seem all too happy about the turn the conversation had taken. "Why, Oak? Are you interested?" he deflected with a teasing smirk. "We just met less than half an hour ago, and you're already making moves."

Oak flushed from a combination of both embarrassment and alcohol. "Hell no! You're good-looking, but I don't swing your way. Come on, you're the Campus Moon. People are falling over themselves to go out with you. Give us the deets. We wanna know which lovely Star has caught the eye of the Moon."

"We have heard a lot about it," said Tew apologetically. "We're all curious, and it's a harmless question."

Kongpob sighed and raised an eyebrow. "And if I happened to swing both ways?" he asked challengingly.

Wad snorted, "So what?"

All the others nodded their heads. Why should the gender of the person Kongpob loved matter? It was his business who he decided to take to bed. They were only interested in finding out so that they knew who to tease the lone economics student about. Or help set him up with.

From the unwavering stares of the engineering students around him, it was clear that Kongpob wasn't going to be able to wiggle out of answering the question. But there was just one problem - he'd never actually gone out on a date with anyone. Those rumors were exactly that: rumors.

Except, if he told them the truth, they'd most likely keep attempting to set him up with someone. And that was the last thing he needed. He received enough propositions on his own already; he didn't need his new friends adding onto that.

Aim prodded him out of his thoughts. "So, who did you last go on a date with?"

Kongpob blanked. "Uh… erm…" How on Earth was he going to get out of this?! His eyes fell on the stack of papers beside him, and he immediately recalled the helpful senior in a crimson workshop jacket.

"P'Arthit!" he almost shouted.

All his friends stiffened immediately, Oak and Aim almost jumping out of their seats, as they hastily searched for the person whose name had been called. When their frantic head-turning failed to reveal him anywhere near them, the freshies let out sighs of relief.

"What the hell, Kong?!" Aim shouted, whacking Kongpob solidly in the side. "Are you trying to give us all heart-attacks?"

Kongpob winced and rubbed his bruised ribs. "What was that for?" he complained. "I just answered your question."

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Kongpob stared at them in confusion. "Why are you guys acting as if the world is ending?"

Oak pointed a trembling finger at him. "That's because you just said that you went on a date with P'Arthit!"

"So?" he asked, still not getting it.

"Kong… Kong, P'Arthit is the head hazer I've been telling you about all this time," said Aim, finally finding his voice.

Kongpob's eyes widened. Shit. 'Abort! Abort!' his mind screamed at him.

"Uh… Y'know what, I gotta go," he stammered. Scrambling to collect his stuff, he threw a couple of bills on the table to cover his share of the tab and raced out of the bar like a bat out of hell. Leaving a couple of shell-shocked engineering freshmen behind him.

And while Kongpob might have nursed the fragile hope that everyone would dismiss his statement as a collective fever dream, he soon found himself sorely disappointed. Because by the next afternoon, the news had spread around the campus like wildfire.

On the bright side, he was no longer being stalked or confessed to. Because no one, absolutely no one, wanted to bring the wrath of the fearsome engineering head hazer on top of them for daring to proposition his supposed boyfriend, ex or otherwise.

On the down-side, Kongpob was now constantly watching his back and sleeping with one eye open. Waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Because while Kongpob's friends might be pretty accepting; from what he'd heard about the engineering hazing so far, the hazers were very, very cishet. And they didn't seem to be the type to take the insinuation that one of them, especially the head hazer, might be "gay" lying down.

All too soon, Karma seemed to catch-up with him. Kongpob stared at the text which remained unchanging on his screen.

A: Kong, found ur bk whr u left it in the lib. It's in my locker, pwd 0097. Ps, mae wants u 2 come 4 dinner nxt wknd.

He bit his lip. After all he'd done to avoid the engineering campus like the plague, he'd still have to walk into the lion's den?

K: U sure u can't just pass it 2 me?

A: Got a grp proj til l8. Can't pass it 2 u anytime soon.

He groaned. No way around it. It was either he enter the gladiator's pit to retrieve his textbook, or fail the quiz tomorrow. There was really only one option. He just hoped that he wouldn't get beaten up. Steeling himself, he strode determinedly into the Engineering campus to get his book.

He let out a sigh of relief when he managed to make his way to Aim's locker unmolested. Step 1 completed. Retrieving his book from inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Step 2 completed. If he could make it back without running into any of the seniors, he'd be home free. But he had taken no more than 3 steps down the corridor when his luck finally ran out.

"Hey, isn't that your faen Ai'Arthit?" came a loud voice from behind him. "Oi, Moon, wait up!"

A familiar voice responded. "Ai'Bright, shut the hell up!"

Shit. Kongpob froze for a second before continuing forward as if he had not heard the seniors. Maybe he could get away if he -

"Nong, we know you heard us so turn around and greet your seniors properly!" called a different harsh voice.

'Uh oh… busted…' sang a cheerful little part of his brain. Kongpob squashed it mercilessly and slowly turned around to meet his doom. He fixed a pained smile on his face and gave the approaching seniors a polite wai.

"Oooh, the Campus Moon is as gorgeous in person as he is in pictures! Ai'Arthit, if you hadn't snatched him away, I would've loved to have him for myself!" cooed one of them. "I'm Toota by the way. That annoying loud one there is Bright-"

"Oi!"

"The scary one is Prem and the muscly one is Knot," Toota carried on. "And of course, you know Arthit," he added with a smirk.

"Sawadee khrap P's. I'm Kongpob, Faculty of Economics," he greeted the seniors warily.

They didn't seem inclined to beat him up, certainly not after taking the trouble to identify themselves, so maybe he'd manage to get out of this relatively unscathed. Recalling Aim's complaints about the various punishments the freshman had undergone, he swiftly revised that opinion - at the very least, with his bones still intact.

Knot cocked his head as he studied the junior. "Ai'Toota's right, Ai’Arthit. At least you have good taste in men."

Kongpob choked on his own saliva. Arthit, on the other hand, let out a scream of frustration and threw a punch at Knot, who side-stepped it with a laugh.

"I'm going to kill all you fuckers!" the head hazer snarled. "You have 5 seconds to start running before I come after your heads. 5! 4! 3-"

His friends seemed to get that he'd already been pushed to his breaking point and took the out they'd been given, promptly sprinting down the corridor to save their lives.

"And you!" Arthit snapped, spinning back around to face Kongpob.

Kongpob flinched before smiling awkwardly. "Yes?"

The head hazer seemed ready to tear his throat out with his teeth. Oh god, he didn't want to die young! Where was the nice, caring senior who'd helped him collect all the assignments when the wind decided to snatch them off the table a couple of days ago? The one who blushed oh so prettily when Kongpob moved just a little too close into his personal space. How could the angry dragon in front of him be the same guy?!

Arthit sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologise for all the trouble my friends have caused, Nong. They've been teasing me the last few days due to the rumors and you being here was too good of an opportunity for them to miss."

"Um… it's alright, P'Arthit. No harm done," Kongpob replied, shifting his weight. 'Well, for now,' he mentally added.

Arthit's face darkened. "If I catch whoever it was who started those rumors I'm going to-" He paused. "What's with that expression?"

Kongpob stared back guiltily at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Confess or deny? As Arthit's frown deepened, a realisation struck Kongpob: with a bit of digging, the engineering freshies would cave, and his role in the mess would come to light.

If he admitted it now, he could possibly plead for mercy instead of having P'Arthit find out later and then disembowel him for lying. Shit. It was either speak now or forever hold his peace (six feet underground, that was).

He fiddled with his textbook cover. "Um… P'Arthit?"

"Yes?"

Kongpob stared at some point over Arthit's shoulder, not daring to meet his eyes. "I might have a tiny part to play in that."

"What? Speak up."

Kongpob gulped before speaking louder. "I said I might be part of the reason why those rumors exist."

And if Kongpob had thought Arthit looked angry earlier, well, now he had to be downright furious.

"You’re the one behind this mess? Do you think this is funny?" Arthit hissed. "Are you mocking me?!"

"What? No!" the words spilled out. "No, of course not! I… ugh… this had nothing to do with you in the first place!"

"Then explain what it is about!"

"My friends were asking me about the last date I'd gone on, but I've never gone on a date before so I just randomly blurted out the first name that came to mind which was yours 'cause I remembered you helping me earlier that afternoon!"

Arthit stared at him incredulously. "You've never been on a date?"

"That was what you got out of everything I said?!"

Arthit's shoulders began to shake. Kongpob eyed him warily. A chuckle escaped the senior, and then it was as if a dam had broken. Kongpob stared at the head hazer who was almost bent over in half, struggling to stop laughing.

Kongpob’s cheeks burned. Now this was precisely why he had lied to his friends in the first place. At the very least, his complexion helped disguise his shame. He pulled together the last shreds of his dignity.

"If you're done, I'll take my leave first," he said frostily.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry," gasped Arthit, straightening up. "It's just… I didn't expect that at all."

Kongpob remained silent.

"Oh come on, the most popular guy on campus who gets confessed to left and right has never been on a date? Surely you'd find that fact just a little bit funny."

Kongpob's lips thinned at the continued mockery. Arthit walked over to him, grinning, and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry na… stop looking like that Nong."

He turned his head stubbornly to the side, refusing to even glance at the senior.

"Tell you what, I'll treat you to dinner as an apology."

Kongpob side-eyed the hazer.

"2 meals?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Fine! A whole day of whatever you want. Now will you stop sulking and forgive this senior?"

Taking the opportunity to turn the tables, Kongpob twisted in Arthit's hold and leaned in, their noses almost brushing. "Are you asking me out on a date, P'Arthit?" he murmured softly.

He bit down on the smirk that threatened to form as he watched the senior's eyes widen - at both the question and their proximity - as that lovely flush his thoughts always wandered away to appeared in reality. Arthit dropped his arm from Kongpob's shoulders as if he'd been burnt and took 2 giant steps away.

"Kongpob!" he shouted, almost shrilly.

"Don't worry P'Arthit, the whole campus already knows about us. There’s no need to be shy."

Arthit’s jaw dropped. Kongpob snickered and began to walk down the corridor back to his dorm. ‘Ah, revenge is certainly sweet,’ he thought. As the senior sputtered behind him, Kongpob threw a final parting shot.

"Pick me up on Saturday, 11am at the dorm entrance, don't be late!"

"KONGPOB!"

Laughing, Kongpob began running as Arthit spat curses after him. Looks like he’d get to go on that date after all.

#chaptersinprogress #sotus #sotus the series #kongpob x arthit #arthit x kongpob #kongarthit #kongpob #arthit #fanfic #fanfiction #fake exes au #it ain't a lie if it's now true #baby we're meant to be #slightly ooc but it's an au so fk it

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monochromemedic · 3 years

Text

Celebrity Run in

Everyone knows about Johnny Cage. Even people that hate him know about him. One of the biggest actors in the world, a real A-lister that disappeared from time to time only to come back long enough to release a new movie. Cocky, arrogant but presumably more mellow now a days, he was the stereotypical egotistical celebrity. I had to admit, some of his movies were ok. Fight Dirty, Cage Fight, Time Smashers. And of course I’m not immune to how he looked. He was a good looking man! Buff as hell, usually sweaty and covered in blood in movies... a questionable chest tattoo of your own name. Yeah that one was weird.... but in every other way he was Hollywood sexy. There was rumors he was back on the street after one of his ‘hiatuses’, always said he was off on ‘important heroic duties’ when he came back. Weirdly enough there was rumors he was back in my town for some role about a farmer who learns karate, undercover and observing the locals to better suit the role. Needless to say people were more out and about to get their sights on the famous actor, hands hovering over their phones to take a quick snapshot. I’d probably do the same if I had a phone that wasn’t an old brick, and if I actually thought that I’d have a chance to meet him. Although it was a rural state the town we were in was bigger, just surrounded by fields and fields of nothing. It was just another needle in a haystack case, just a slightly smaller pile of hay but one none the less. There was no need to go out and find someone who might be a dick and want nothing to do with you. No I was out here at the local coffee shop to people draw. Mask on my face, cheap coffee beside my sketchbook with only my thoughts with me. It was good practice, and even when I couldn’t draw anymore the quiet atmosphere calmed my mind. The soft bustle of people coming and going, the bubbling of the coffee machine in the background. All was calm. And then he came in. Waltzing in with a gait that screamed confidence, baggy sweats, sneakers that were probably worth more then my life despite how plain they looked and a plain black face mask and snapback cap. I had to look do a double take as I watched him approach the counter, taking his phone out to quickly text someone. His disguise was obvious, to the point that if it wasn’t for the hat and mask, it’d probably just be his lounge wear. My fingers nervously grazed the pencil, quickly jotting down lines of the actor’s body as his voice rang out clear. “Large Mocha, ooh and uh one of whatever that is.” He said, poking the display case for pastries. The woman behind the counter seemed just as surprised that Johnny was here at her café, eyes wide as she started to babble while making his drink. “Y-yes sir. Y-you know I was always a big fan of Ninja Mime despite what the critics say.” “Really? We’ll it’s good to see a true fan among all the bull shitters. Some people just don’t know quality entertainment when they see it!” You didn’t speak the entire time and wore grease paint that made you break out for months, you told tabloids that... And you did 4 of them. I doubt that the critics were lying about how bad it was. She was just kissing up. “Can I get a picture Mr. Cage?” “Of course, just maybe keep it from the feeds until I leave. Wouldn’t want the paparazzi to hound the place while I’m trying method act. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want those leeches to bother this place would you?” “ Of course not!” Cage flexed in his sleeveless shirt, turning and leaning backwards on the counter for the selfie. Now that I could see his front, I noticed how ripped he was. I mean it made sense, the man was an action star. One that focused on martial arts in every film that he was in. He was probably on some tight work schedule and food restrictions. Bet that little cake he bought wasn’t approved of by his personal trainer. I began to sketch his new pose, trying to take down every little detail before he moved. As my eyes darted back up to get a last look I noticed his eyes do the same, locking with mine from behind his sunglasses. He gave a loud click of his tongue as he flexed harder and winked at me before returning to the barista, acting if nothing had ever happened. I, however, nearly jolted from my seat, knee banging on the underside of the table and jostling the drink that I quickly grabbed from falling. Did he just do that to me? Johnny Cage?! Well I knew he was cocky but god. Was I just so easy to impress or was his confidence so overwhelming that a quick gesture made me nearly bust my kneecap? From my silent anguish of my table I could tell he was finishing up with the woman, paying for his drink and beginning to make his way to the door. I tried to play off my pain like it was nothing as he passed, only to have my heart stop as he backed up a few steps to turn towards me. “How’s it going? Don’t think I caught on to you either. I know when someone’s staring at me. Paparazzi senses are going ballistic.” He huffed, his smile somehow coming through even the in the tone of his voice. At least he wasn’t pissed. If he was he could easily beat the shit out of me, that much was true. I tried to open my mouth to speak when he cut me off, pulling his mask down to take a sip of his coffee. “You want a picture too? On the house.” Oh god my phone. My brick of a phone that couldn’t take pictures... I somehow had the best luck and the worst luck all rolled into one day. I nervously held up my phone, showing him the black chunk of plastic. “Oh wow! The 2000′s called, they want their doorstop back!” He laughed, leaning in a bit more. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. Uh no offense.” “No it’s... I know how it is.” I assured him, placing the phone back in my pocket. “Ok then all the offense.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, taking a bite of the flaky pastry with delight. “Diego’s gonna kill me for this... Mm- hey is that me?” His finger pointed to the sketches I made of him since he walked in. Quick, light, and probably inaccurate in about a hundred ways. Although I guess I should be proud that he even registered is himself... then again I did draw those sunglasses on every pose. “Uh... yeah. Sorry if that’s weird I-I people draw, art... practice-” “No, that’s rad. Look at that I must have stood like that for a few seconds! And the muscles, well... you’re very accurate with those. Say how bout this. We do an old fashion trade. I get the sketches and I’ll give you my John Hancock?” I had to pause before I realized what he said. Hancock not... Jesus get your head out of the gutter, Jenna. He wanted my drawing? To keep? Well he could have it, I didn’t care much for it. I began to gently tear the page from the book, handing the page outwards him. “Ah, this is gonna be sweet. Here you... sign your name on this and I’ll sign the book. We’ll do a real trade.” I nodded my head, printing and signing my name on the page with my mechanical pencil as he took a sharpie from his pocket, signing large letters onto the blank page left behind, a small doodle of a person beside it. “Never one for the artsy fartsy stuff, more of the on screen stuff but, hopefully that’ll suffice uh...” He paused, looking at the page before smiling. “Jenna.” I felt a shiver run down my spine as my name left his lips, his fingers pulling the mask back over his nose as he left the store, my page of drawings still in his hand, held gently inside of his scarred up hands. I stared at the signature in my book, cheap marker fumes and overly glittery gold ink staining the sheet. Flashy, but then again, it fit. Johnny Cage’s signature... I gave Johnny Cage my art of him, and he said MY name. He complimented me, talked to me! Maybe I should... watch more of his movies... give Ninja Mime another shot. Leave a good review.

#self ship: J. Cage #self shipping #i don't wanna try to fix this anymore your gonna take this #mistakes and all #still trying to get comfortable with my likes

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ughthatimagineblog · 5 years

Text

When John Met. . .

john mulaney x reader

prompt: you’d loved him for years, before, during and after his fame, but what happens when you close your heart and he tries to win you over? oh, by the way, it’s in front of millions of people. requested: @lundqvistisgod warnings: cursing? kissing? word count:4232 a/n: jesus christ idk why it took me so long to shit this out. it was a beautiful prompt and the idea for the skit came to me from my fave fave fave rom com ever pls enjoy

You knew you wanted to be a writer, but staring at screens all day with the accompanying hum of machinery is not what you had pictured when you would think of your dream job. It never occured to you that maybe writing isn’t as simple as just “writing”. It had, but of course you were blindsided by the glitz and glamour of the flashing lights you had in your mind when it came to success in your dream career. Writing for Saturday Night Live was a dream… Sometimes. A lot of the time it was constant meetings with producers, stuck up famous people, more writers and interns that didn't know what the hell was going on. But at the same time, neither did you.

However, there was something off about this draft for next week’s show. It didn’t have a host written in. You looked over your computer to Pete who was also clicking away at his desk. You had come to be quite fond of him over the past couple of years. You were about the same age but you met him when you were also a clueless intern, prime in your senior year of university and he was only slightly more familiar to the studio than you were and just a little bit more outgoing which made him the perfect person to cling onto while you learned the ropes. It didn’t matter whatever you went through, he was there to help and it often saddened you to think of the day he moves on and expands his career without you. It was something you didn’t enjoy dwelling on and out of all the ups and downs you both had been through, you know you’d never trade them for the world.

One of the biggest issues you’d had that Pete had helped you with was John. Yes, John Mulaney. You’d met him towards the end of your intern years as you were invited back as a full time employee and writer for the show and he changed your life. He gave Pete a run for his money and even caused a little fight between you both while all three of you were first writing for SNL. You had spent so much time with John it drove Pete wild and he didn’t understand it until he drove you to confess your feelings for him. You and Pete knew you hadn’t had much luck with guys or felt so strongly for someone since high school so it was kind of a big deal for you. Alas, it did not last long and you were given the chance to move on as John left the show to pursue his standup career which turned out to be fruitful.

You remember seeing his shows start popping up on Netflix and then he’d have new ones every now and then, still performing in New York. You even went to see a few a couple years ago. But over time your frequent conversations became, well, less frequent. Every day turned into every week, every week into every month and every month into every year and then not at all. The world kept turning and he had forgotten.

By the time he’d returned to SNL to write you’d figured he’d become another washed up celebrity you both used to snicker at. You’d assumed the jabs in his shows were just quips to pander to audiences that were alien to celebrity life and not genuine like they would’ve been years ago. Now he was almost thirty two, much more skilled in his practice and you were closing in on twenty five and still at the same job you started at just with a higher pay raise and a little more creative freedom.

It pained you sometimes to see him around, to be forced to interact with him. There have been several late nights with your pal Pete where you would just rant about John and how hellish it was having to work with him again. Of course, Pete would listen and offer sage where he could but overall you would do most of the talking. At one point, he asked if you’d even spoken to him to see if your assumptions were true. You admitted you hadn’t. At least not in any way that had been genuine. You worked with him so of course you had to speak with him but not for longer than moments at a time and not for any more than a few words. It was all you’d offer John. It broke you when he left, it broke you again when he changed, something still unconfirmed but you were sure of it, and you couldn’t allow yourself to be broken again. Your fingers flicked the edge of a packet of paper idly as you debated asking Pete for help on the somewhat empty screen plan in front of you. He looked busy, like he didn’t want to be bothered and had better things to do. Besides, you were starting to feel bad about how much you ranted to him. Of course you let him rant to you as well but it was nothing compared to what you needed to let off and you could tell how much it was wearing on him. Little did you know, though, that Pete wasn’t necessarily tired of your rants, he was more tired of being the middleman. John, since coming back to SNL had been coming to him for advice as well. He knew that Pete was your closest friend and wanted to know how to get close to you again so John would go to Pete. They’d exchange emails and text, even going out for a beer a couple times a week all without your knowledge. Well, Pete would have a beer, John would go for the water or tea. If Pete let you find out, he knew just how angry you’d be and how you’d never let him live it down and he’d go down as the traitor friend who let her long time unrequited love just walk back into their lives with no fight. But that’s exactly how it was. Pete and John became really good friends since he had come back and actually found more things in common than just ‘you’. During this formed friendship, Pete learned John actually felt for you. In more ways than he had ever led on.

You sighed, finally caving in and opened your mouth to ask Pete why there were blanks in the forms when one of the interns walked into the office with a bouquet of flowers. Pete’s eyes quickly looked up from the monitor to the intern and back to you with a questioning look. Only a moment more and you stood. “Um, hi, can we help you?” You said, voice soft. “Yeah, these flowers are for a,” The intern paused to look at the note in her hands. “Y/N.” They looked back to you expectantly. “Oh, that’s me. Are you sure that’s correct?” You asked, doubt lacing your voice as you looked between Pete and the intern. They nodded, showing you the card. Sure enough your name was written in calligraphy and signed, ‘Secret Admirer’. You smiled, furrowing your brows a bit in confusion. “All right. Well, thank you.” You took the flowers from the temp’s arms and set them on your desk, staring at the card.

“Well?” Pete’s voice jolted you from your train of thought. Looking up from the piece of paper between your fingers you saw his expecting expression. “It’s from a secret admirer.” You laughed, giving the card to Pete. He smiled, shuffling in his seat as he turned it over in his hands. “Someone in the office likes you.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah well, very funny Pete but valentines day isnt until next year.” You turned back to your desk, ready to work again, already forgetting about your earlier question. “It wasn’t me.” His tone was serious. Looking back up at him, his face matched his voice. “You mean this wasn’t a joke?” He shook his head and you returned to your work, noticing your coworker had sent you a couple emails regarding a different project and for the rest of the day, the blanks in the form and the anonymous love had been forgotten.

For the next week, conversation with John had grown and you realized, maybe, he wasn’t as stuck up as you had previously believed. He was still kind, still funny, and still knew you better than most. But you were still wary, moving farther away when he would get close enough to, what seemed like, hear your heartbeat. Or sometimes he would say something that would edge between friendly and flirty and you’d change the subject, shutting it down before your face could heat up. But even as the interactions frequented, so did the flowers.

Followed by chocolates, and gifts that were surprisingly personal to you, each coming with a new note that became more detailed over time and by Monday, table work day, it was obvious your admirer was on the writing team for this upcoming Saturday. You smiled as you unveiled the card tucked into the sleeve of the coffee cup before you, which by the way, was ordered to your specific liking. Amused, you turned to Pete, leaning on your desk, reading the note out loud. “I hope you enjoy this special cup of your favorite blend. I’m looking forward to seeing you later today- later today?” You paused, surprised. Pete’s eyebrows shot up as a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“They must be in the table room for later.” Pete shrugged, leaning back in his chair, biting on the end of his pen with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Must be.” You giggled. “Nice sweatshirt by the way.” Pete said with a pointed look. You looked down and felt your face heat up with the realization. You had bought a shirt online with a reference to one of John’s show’s on it. Despite everything you had claimed, you still admired him and were proud. You were really just scared of getting hurt. “You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of but-“ He checked the time. “We have to get to the meeting.” You nodded grabbing your coffee and the notebook, heading out the door with Pete.

You were halfway down the long hallway towards the table room when it finally dawned on you. “Oh yeah, Pete, there was a mistake in my forms. Who is the host? The spot was blank?” You asked as he reached for the handle and opened the door. You walked into the room, still waiting for a reply from your friend. You wouldn’t get one. Sitting at the table was two other writers you were not super familiar with and then John. John Mulaney sat at the head of the table. One of the writers turned to you and smiled. “Y/N, John’s going to be our host this week.” Shutdown. Your brain began to shut down. This meant youd work with him more. Every day for a lot longer than just a few seconds. You were so shocked you didn’t feel the hot coffee that was now on your hands as you had squeezed the cup too hard.

“Oh, shit.” You cursed, face heating up and the horrid chain of events unfolding before you. John’s face changed from smiling to concerned as he leapt up from his seat to help assist in the cleanup.

You stood in the breakroom, water from the sink left running as you leaned against the sink while John was applying Neosporin onto your burn. “Does it hurt?” He asked softly, eyes focused solely on the injury before him. “No, not anymore.” You managed to get out. He was so close. Your cheeks felt hot and even though he towered over you, the proximity made him feel small. “I told you, it’s not that big of a deal-“ You were cut off by him shushing you. “Hey, I wanted to help so I’m helping.” You rolled your eyes as he finally made eye contact again. “You’re wasting time.” He scoffed. “Pete and Megan can handle it for a while.” You shook your head and it fell silent. “Nice sweatshirt.” He grinned. “Shut up.” He laughed and your heart clenched in your chest. You loved his laugh. “No animosity. It’s a good bit.” He turned to reach for the bandaid. “Yeah, a lot of people seem to think so.” You said, a hint of venom in your tone.” His eyes shot to yours. “Is there something wrong?” John’s voice has both concern and hurt in his voice.

“No. Put the bandaid on.” John’s hand withdrew. “No, now I know something’s wrong.” You looked at him and sighed. “You’ve just been gone and you’re different.” You confessed. “I’m different?” You nodded, crossing your arms, flinching and then uncrossing them. He muttered a “Give it here.” before taking your hand again and dabbing it with a cool cloth more. “You left a long time ago and it was hard seeing you go. And then it- you got really really big and famous and soon enough you were just like them.” Your words felt small saying them aloud. His expression was incredulous. “Like them? Like who? Like the people we used to shit on? Y/N, I’m not ‘like them’. I haven’t changed. But every time I’ve tried to show you that since being back you’ve backed away. Pulled away. If anything you’ve changed.” Your head snapped up at him, a ping of hurt went through you.

“I have not changed. I just don’t know when you’re going to leave again so I’d rather not lead my own feelings on and let you get close to me again just for you to run off again.” Your eyes closed after you finished confessing, only in the back of your mind registering what you had told him.

“Your feelings for me?” He asked and your eyes opened. “Yes. And I’d rather not re-open that wound if you’re just going to run off again. But thank you, for trying.” You grabbed the band aid from his hands, which were shaking but you were too quick to notice, and left. You left him in that break room with no room for a response or time to register. You didn’t want or care to know his response.

Saturday finally came and so did the end of working within more-than-close proximity with John. He had talked to you the same amount as the days before, not mentioning what you had told him, treating you just the same and eventually your heart sank at his indirect answer to how he felt in return. But the secret admirer never stopped sending gifts. Another cup of coffee, more flowers, your apartment was filled with them, and more food. By the time your last gift came in today, you marched down to the other writer for Saturday’s episode, Michael’s office to tell him to stop. You knew it was him, especially after Monday. At first it was sweet but at this point you didn’t like him that way and knew you had to tell him.

You knocked on the threshold and leaned in the frame. Michael’s eyes popped up from his desktop and smiled when he saw you. This was going to be hard. “Hey, Mike, I just wanted to say thank you for all these little gifts but,” You walked further into the room to make sure you two were alone. “I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry. I just have feelings for someone else and you’re a great guy, and I-“

“Stop, stop, stop. I didn’t send you those gifts.” Michael said, a smile on his face. “What?” He chuckled. “Yeah, those gifts that intern’s been delivering? Those aren’t from me. Thanks for thinking it was me, but they weren’t.” He smiled with a closed mouth before returning to work.

You left his office perplexed. Who could it have been? Maybe Pete had been doing it as a joke. You would wait until he got off of lunch to confront him and tell him how mean that was but for now there was work to do and a show to air.

Night fell and Pete returned just as everyone was preparing for places and you nearly stabbed him with your own finger when he got back. “You asshole!” His arms flew up and the couple steps he took back from you were staggered. “What the fuck?” People shoved past as you pressed on. “You sent all that bullshit to me?” Pete’s face turned on a dime as he registered what you implied. “No! I did not!”

“Do not lie to me, I talked to Michael, he didn’t send them.” You claimed, crossing your arms, brows furrowed so deep you felt like you hadn’t moved your face for ages. “Of course it wasn’t Michael. Michael is gay, Y/N. But that’s not even the top reason why it wouldn’t be him.” You shrugged, throwing your arms and feeling one of them flop to your thigh as your other hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Then who did?” You released the bridge and looked up with a questioning gaze. Pete only returned with an equally expectant stare.

It registered and your turned towards the cast hallway in horror and surprise. “No.” Your voice sounded distant, even to your own ears. You stood there, frozen, people bumping into you in a hurry as they passed. What was really ten seconds felt like thirty minutes before Pete sighed. “Yes, it was him.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“He wanted it to be a surprise! He told me this is what he was going to do and holy shit, finally. I was so sick and tired of you both secretly pining for each other like, what kinda bullshit is that?” Pete rambled for a few moments before finding your unresponsiveness a little tiring and walking off. Your feet moved you before your brain did after that. Back to your office, to put away a couple folders given to you by some bustling assistants, cameramen or more interns, then they carried you back while the anxiety built up. You came back to see John take his place, an assistant handed him a bottle of water and he took a drink, catching your eye. The director began to count. You smiled and he waved back and they hit five seconds. The audience was in place, you were next to camera man A, aka James to oversee how well the script ran and soon enough, John began hosting.

His bit ended sooner than expected and he came straight up to you the moment the cameras were off of him. “Was that okay?” He asked, half jogging up to you, nearly chugging the water he was given. “Yeah, you did great.” You nodded, offering to hold the bottle for him but he shook his head in response. Your head was still reeling, not forgetting about the fact he was the one to send those gifts but not knowing how to ask about it. “I have to do a couple more skits before I can bring you on.” He admitted, signaling you to walk with him. “What?”

“I talked to Lorne and Don. They agreed to let you do a skit with Aidy and I. It’s close to the end and I talked to Inga. She agreed to do your makeup and hair while I go on to do my other ones.” You failed to speak as he explained and all you could do was stutter. “I won’t even know what to say? This is not what we wrote.” You tried to weasel your way out of it. “It’s an improve. You’ll do fine. Kate comes in around the middle so if you start dying she can help.” He nodded with reassurance as you reached his dressing room and opened the door to meet Inga, Louie and Cara. “Oh god.”

You waited in his room long after he left. His costume changers were also there to help, which you were booted for, but welcomed back in as he went on. They changed you into your costume which fit you surprisingly well. Well cut skinny jeans and a nice shirt. Inga did your makeup to compliment your face and eyes and your hair to complete everything. “I must be one of the normal ones in this one, huh?” You quipped and Inga just smiled which, admittedly, worried you. Just as you were about to dwell on it too much, the door opened and Stella, the girl you liked to call the cue girl, opened the door and waved you out. Your breath was shaky and steps were uneven as you made the trek to the stage. She informed you they had three minutes until the commercial break was over, the musical guest would introduce the skit and they would signal you to go on with John. You nodded adamantly, not bothering to tell her you knew how the show ran in fear of throwing up the moment you opened your mouth. Three minutes passed faster than they should have and right before you were about to ask about them rigging the clock, John came up, dragged you to side stage and whispered “Break a leg.” You smiled up at him and his eyes found yours with a soft look. It felt safe. The musical guest walked onto the main stage and introduced the skit. “New Years Eve” they had announced and before you could think of how odd it was, considering it was August, they started counting you down from behind the camera and it was also only then you realized the room was packed with extras all wearing party clothes. You recognize the scene immediately. “When Harry Met Sally.” You muttered. The camera guy’s hands counted down from ten as Aidy rushed you into place. “When John Met Y/N.” She said and winked, walking away. “What?” You asked, panic and confusion now flooded you. The room was so crowded and she was gone before the man hit five. Four… Three… Two… One… Everyone in the room began counting down as the music kicked up and the twinkling of party decor littered the set. Your confusion was appreciated but genuine as John approached you. He had the nerve to drag you into this. Your confusion turned to anger and you no longer cared. “Dammit, John, what the hell is this?” You made a vague gesture around the room. It was improv technically, or at least, you could play it like it was. The look in his eyes told you he knew it wasn’t. “You drag me into your crap the moment you come back like nothing has changed? And you sent me all that other stuff like nothing has happened? Don’t you care about me? Because if you did, you’d know you can’t just walk back into my life like that. It doesn’t work that way.” Your heart gasped. You’d said it. “Well, I do care about you. I care about the way you bite your lip when you get real nervous,” He wasn’t. “I care about how you can never make up your mind whether you want tea or coffee and how, despite claiming you hate me, you still wear my sweatshirt. And most of all I care about how, even after all this time, your laugh hasn’t changed a bit and even after I leave work and go home to my apartment at night, I can still hear it in my head. Away from home, that's what I missed most. And come to think of it, you are what I missed most and it killed me you never knew how much I loved you before I left.” He finished and it took a few moments for the blood to stop rushing in your ears long enough to realize the crowd had stopped counting and you could hear the tail end of the audience’s ‘awe’. “And all this?” “Surprise.” He whispered sheepishly, coming close to your, his arms coming up to your biceps as you had crossed your arms earlier. “You’re an asshole, yknow that?” You smiled, as he leaned down to kiss you. “Believe me, I know.” Your lips brushed his and he smiled through the tender kiss before pulling away. The audience clapped as you both pulled from each other. You looked around. “Did you plan all this just to ask me out on a skit?” You realized cameras were still rolling. He nodded and turned to the camera. “That’s right folks, you just witnessed an elaborate plan to ask the love of my life out on a date instead of an actual skit. That’s something you just paid money for. Thank you all for watching… “ You turned away from him and the giggling audience to find Pete off stage. You smiled softly at him and mouthed ‘thank you’. He smiled and winked in return. “... And goodnight!” John finished and came back to kiss you more as the credits rolled and the music resumed. Maybe he wasn’t stuck up, but he was right about one thing. Famous people are weird.

#john mulaney bull question mark #john mulaney #john mulaney x reader #john mulaney imagine #john mulaney x you

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hyunjilicious · 5 years

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Happy Birthday (College AU)

A/n: This isn’t edited but i’m so so happy i got this done!!!!

Summary: Yn and Shawn broke up 2 months ago, but her when her birthday come around, things changed.

I hope you’ll like this, feedback makes my day! Enjoy! Love ya!

Your ears buzzed heavily as you stared into the bartenders eyes, your mind, for whatever reason, now completely blank. Despite realizing you had been asked a question and that people were waiting for an answer, you just found yourself at a loss for words. Something was surely going on inside your mind, but you still couldn’t quite put your finger on it. “Just plain vodka” Danielle yelled, leaning across the bar. Her loud voice and the way she pushed you aside to talk to the bartender in order to hear him over the loud music at the party, brought you back to reality. “Shit” you groaned, rubbing your forehead, “I’m sorry” “That’s ok” she laughed, talking to you over her shoulder as she waited for the shots she just ordered, “You alright?” “Yeah, I’m fine” you answered, shaking your head. You obviously weren’t, but it was your birthday party, everyone canceled at the last minute and now it was just you and your best friend, so you didn’t want to let anything ruin your night. That whole attitude changed after taking what was probably the 5th shot in the last 2 hours, and at this point, it was very unlikely for thoughts to cross your mind without you vocalizing them, “Shawn didn’t text me” you said, without looking at anyone in particular. “What?” Danielle yelled, leaning closer to you so she could hear what you had to say. “Shawn didn’t text me happy birthday” you repeated, this time not looking at her either.

Her whole expression changed, not displaying curiosity anymore, but just disappointment - in you for caring, not in Shawn for forgetting. “Hun, you two broke up two months ago” she said, placing a hand on your lower back, “He doesn’t really have to do that anymore, does he?” “Of course he doesn’t” you scoffed, “But that’s not the point” “Then what is it?” she asked, even if you could tell she wasn’t too excited about this topic. “We ended things on good terms, I thought he would send me-” you mumbled, before shaking your head and blinking a few times, “Screw this, I don’t know if he forgot or if he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. So I won’t let it bother me” “That’s my girl” Danielle yelled, throwing herself around you for an honest hug. “Let’s find some cute guys to dance with” You nodded in response, allowing her to take your hand and guide you through the sea of people. Eventually, the two of you stumbled across a group of people your age, who turned out to be close to decent. While Danielle found in less than 10 minutes a guy to cling to, you were far from letting anyone even approach your personal space. There was this dude called Finn, who talked to you about how wasted his friends had gotten mere hours before, and then proceeded to explain to you in the most cringe and poetic way just how beautiful you were, and to be fair, he was starting to get to you. He seemed like a decent guy. Despite rocking what was probably considered the appearance of a greek god, his cuteness what was ended up drawing you to him. Or maybe the alcohol you ingested had something to do with how much you all of a sudden liked him, but we’ll fail to mention that. “Come on” Finn pleaded, holding a hand out to you as he kept his glass close to his chest with the other, “I embarrassed myself enough, save me from having to dance to Hips Don’t Lie by myself!” Leaning your head to the side, you smiled at him, ready to take his hand when your phone buzzed. “I’ll save you in a minute” you giggled, grabbing your phone, and unlocking it only to have the contents of the screen wipe your smile away. You looked at the time, it was 11:43pm and here it was - late, in typical Shawn Mendes style - the text you had been waiting for all night. When you saw his name in the notification box, you actually wondered what the hell went through your head when you were sad he hadn’t texted. Now that he did, you felt lost. He sent the birthday message on WhatsApp. His last seen was immediately after sending the text, but your heart was still pounding, even if he wasn’t in the conversation anymore. Without bothering to leave the dance floor, you started reading it. “Hey, Y/n, I hope you didn’t think for a second that I forgot about your birthday. I’m pretty sure you’re silently judging me for being late tho, and I’m also pretty sure you cracked a smile reading this part, because it’s true. It is late. I’m sorry about that. I’m just gonna go straight to the point and tell you that I’m typing this on a day that’s very special. It marks yet another year that has passed where you, out of the pure kindness of your heart, worked on making everybody’s day a bit better. That’s just you, it’s the way you wear you heart on your sleeve, it’s the way you put people first and it is, simply, you. You’re a beautiful soul, and the day where I won’t be thankful for knowing you, will never come. I look at myself and I like what I see. Despite trying so hard to move on, every time I look in the mirror, I see a little bit of you, because you helped me grow, and even if it’s hard, I love it, because again, it’s you. One of the things that I admire the most about you is how you stop and put yourself in other people’s shoes, take their pain away and form your sentences in a way that even their deepest, darkest wounds start to heal. And the best part? You have no idea you have this power. I spent months by your side, admiring your courage, but what made me fall madly in love with you was just how oblivious you were to all the good you were going. It’s simply who you are and that’s why my feelings will never truly go away. I am thankful for you, and for who you are as a person, so I want to wish you the happiest of birthdays, because god knows, you deserve it.” “Thank you. You almost made me cry” you typed, and hurried to lock your phone. With a deep ache in the middle of your chest, you wrapped your arms around your middle, and took a deep breath as this was not something you knew how to deal with. Even if the party was still going strong around you, Shawn and everything he meant to you, took over your mind, and you only realized what was going on when droplets of tears fell against the skin of your forearms. “Nvm, I’m actually crying” you texted, then stuffed your phone back in your pocket and covered your face with your palms. Looking through your fingers, you saw Danielle making out with some random guy a few meters away from you, while Finn, who moments before actually seemed interested in you, now had his tongue down some chicks throat. You actually considered leaving, but it was your party and there was only one guest. There wasn’t much you could do. So, you sucked it up and pretended nothing happened. You didn’t even bother to hide your tears and swollen eyes, everyone was too drunk to care. The night ended much, much later; the sun had risen and Danielle was still feeling the music. A disappointingly long while later, you two found yourselves in a taxi, headed over to your place. When you made the plans for the party, you invited her to sleep over, so you couldn’t back out now and send her home. The next day, you woke up at around 4pm, and after a healthy round of gossip to nurture your hangovers, she finally headed home. Despite the throbbing head ache that was torturing your brain and against your better judgement, you picked up your phone and checked the conversation with Shawn, only to see a few unopened texts from him. He had started by asking how you were celebrating your birthday, and ended by assuming you were in the middle of the best night of you life, hence the lack of replies. You giggled at how off he was. Even if you probably shouldn’t have, you responded to him. It took a few seconds for him to text back, and the way your conversation started flowing was truly painful. You really missed him. “Any chance you’re in Toronto?” you asked, and cursed yourself the second you sent the text. “Summer job” “I work at that comic book store just outside campus. Not leaving the city anytime soon” “I’m so bad at this, my boss is probably gonna fire if I look at her the wrong way. No chance in hell I’m taking any time off” You bit your lip as you typed your response, “Shit, I just remembered I didn’t get the July issue of the TWD comic, any chance you guys have it?” “Only two copies left. Hurry” There was no doubt in your mind that this was probably the worst idea you’ve had in months, but as you brushed your hair and applied your mascara, you didn’t bother to think of any possible repercussions. You took an Uber and 20 minutes later you found yourself in front of that comic book store, amused with how many times you said you’d check it out and with the circumstances that now brought you here. You thought about what you were going to say to him the when you saw each other, but now that you were mere moments away from actually doing it, you really wanted to back out. Your phone buzzed, “Y/n, the windows are tinted, not painted. I can see you standing there like a weirdo lol” said Shawn’s text. ’Fuck’, now you had to walk inside. Saving you from any further embarrassment, Shawn opened the door, and greeted you with his arms open, “Hey, stranger” “Nice hat” you laughed, hugging him for what was probably the most nerve wracking second of you life. “It’s ruining my curls” Shawn sighed, walking you inside. “Oh no” you mocked, “Shawn Mendes without his curls…”. You trailed off, taken aback by the looks of the inside of the store, “I can see why you’re bad at this” you laughed, “There are more books here than I’ve heard of in my entire life” “Wait till some dude comes in, and goes like ‘I’m looking for that comic, with the dude with an eye patch, that’s always dressed in blue and who’s looking for his long lost twin’” he shook his head, walking behind the counter. “God” you laughed, “Is that even a thing?” “Probably not” Shawn chuckled, “But I wouldn’t know anyway. I always call my colleague, Mike, he knows everything.” “You like working here?” you asked, walking over to him, and leaning on the other side of the counter with your elbows pressed against its glass surface. Shawn placed his hand on the side of his face, and mouthed a truthful, ‘I hate it’, “The money’s ok though” “Wouldn’t have seen you make such sacrifices last semester” you giggled. “I’m a changed man” he shrugged with a devilish smirk. “For the better?” “You tell me!” “Only you can know that, Shawn” you smiled. “Listen” he said, “My shift ends in 20 minutes, maybe we can go grab something to drink and talk?” “About?” you asked, your heart starting to pound. Shawn took a deep breath, and after shaking his head, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “Maybe about how I started drinking at noon on your birthday and went to sleep to sober up before texting you” “Shawn, I-” “Or maybe talk about why you’re here, because honestly?” he sighed, “It’s giving me hopes, and I thought I wanted you to come, but now I think I’m just playing myself” “Shawn, stop” you sighed, grabbing his hat, and starting to play with it in your hands only to stop them from shaking, “You’re not playing yourself, it was my idea to come here, ok?” “And why did you?” he asked cautiously. “Because-” you started but were interrupted by a group of kids storming inside the store. As most of them ran through the isles looking for god knows what, one girl walked over to Shawn, “Hi, sorry, can you help me” “I can try” he smiled, tapping his back pocket, probably getting ready to call his friend and ask for help. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself. “What are you looking for?” Shawn asked the little girl. “My boyfriend broke his arm yesterday, and my mom is taking me to see him, and he likes Batman, so I thought I’d buy him a figurine or something” Hearing her words, your head snapped towards Shawn, who was already looking at you, pure awe in his eyes. He went to the back of the store and started rummaging through the shelves, as you and the girl made small talk. “I only have 3 dollars and 50 cents” she said, “I hope you guys have cheap stuff here” When Shawn came back, he laid on the counter about 15 different figurines, all nicely shaped and beautifully painted. Finally deciding which one to get, the little girl picked the toy up, and asked how much it was. Seeing the price tag read $19, you hurried to answer her before Shawn did, “It’s your lucky day, it’s 2.99” “Sweet” she exclaimed, handing Shawn the money, and then heading out of the store along with her friends. As you fished the remaining $16 dollars out of your pockets, which by the way were surely going to leave a whole in your budget, Shawn spoke up, “I’m so in love with you” “Shut up” you rolled your eyes and chuckled as you handed him the money. “I’m not taking it” he shrugged. “Don’t make me fight you!” you threatened, starting to walk around the counter. “I’m so scared right now” he mocked you, taking ridiculously small steps back. “Come on, Shawn” you belted, “Take the money” “Nope” “So be it” you rolled your eyes, still giggling. You walked past him, which was suspiciously easy as he didn’t put up any kind of fight, and tried to open the cash register. “Fuck” you sighed, realizing you didn’t have the key to open it outside of a purchase. “Clearly you haven’t worked a day in your life, princess” Shawn taunted, grabbing your waist and pulling you with your back against his chest. Still laughing at your antics, he bend down and allowed his breath to fan over the skin of your ear, “I love you” Remaining in his hold, you looked up. You could still see him out of the corner of your eye, as he was looking at you with a wide smile on his lips. “I love you too, Shawn” you said eventually. “Fuck, yes” he exclaimed, leaning down to kiss you. He went in lewdly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip as he squeezed you tighter in his arms. Not surprisingly, you proved to be just as eager, spinning around in his hold to grab his cheeks, as you finally allowed his tongue to meet yours in a battle of dominance, which you proudly and most likely, for the first time, won. “Shit” he sighed, after pulling away, “I missed this” “Me too” you agreed, and changed your whole attitude in a second, determined to make sure that if you were going to get back together, this time things were going to be different, “Better time management, ok?” “I promise, baby” Shawn nodded without hesitation. “You don’t push me away when shit gets difficult and I won’t get jealous that easily anymore, ok?” “Babe” he said, shaking his head, “I promise to bother you with all of my problems everyday for the rest of my life. And you can be as jealous as you want, you didn’t even cross any lines, but I was too blind to see that” “That’s ok” you mumbled, knowing very well you crossed many lines during your relationship, every time out of pure insecurity as he never actually gave you any reasons to get jealous. “We’ll both work on things” “Ok, so…” he whispered, leaning down towards your lips again, “Does this mean I got my girl back?” “Always” you smiled, reaching on your tip toes to kiss him.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes x reader

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lostinroses · 5 years

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When You’re Ready

A/N: this was originally supposed to be a one shot but i decided to just make it into two parts + i was slowly starting to lose motivation for it and questioned if i should even continue so feedback would be very much appreciated <3 (in-depth version of this btw)

The erased marks on the blank page had been taunting him for the past hour. His hair a mess from the constant tugging his hands had done out of frustration. He flicked the pencil across the room as the urge to break it in half had became almost overwhelming, sitting back in the chair and rubbing his hands against his face. He had hummed the tune stuck in his head for the past week, but couldn’t seem to find the right words to go along with it.

Today was originally supposed to be an off day from the studio, but Shawn couldn’t get himself to stay away. He wanted to get the tune out of him and some words before he forgot, but it seemed useless at this point; he was at a standstill.

Checking the time on his phone, he sighed quietly to himself. Regardless of the long day that awaits you in just a couple of hours, he knew you’d be awake at this time like the night owl that you were. A part of him was hesitant on calling you in case you actually decided for once in your life to go to sleep early, but that thought got a snort out of him and called you anyway, knowing damn well the chances of that were slim to none.

“Hey, what’s up?” you yawned into the phone.

“Fuck, were you sleeping already?” he asked, feeling the guilt slowly rise in his chest. A small noise escaping from your lips as you began to stretch, “On the verge of it, yeah. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, no, everything’s perfectly okay. Don’t even worry about it,” he reassured you in a rush. “Just get some sleep okay? Call me tomorrow.”

“If you even have time tomorrow,” you giggled quietly. The communication between the both of you had been minimal the past couple of weeks as Shawn was deep into the album writing and production of it all. At this point, you didn’t care that it was well past one in the morning when he called. It felt good to finally have him to yourself.

He knew there wasn’t any hurt behind your words, but the guilt grew inside him nonetheless. He didn’t mean to be pushing you to the side so much, but you knew that. You never took any of it to heart.

“Hey,” you called out softly, “you still there?” It was nothing new for him to be getting lost in his thoughts like that out of nowhere, but it only brought you worry, especially with his calling so late.

He chuckled dryly, “M’still here. Just thinking.”

You sighed, “Where’s your head at, huh? You sure you’re okay?” Your voice was soft, and it calmed him.

“I just need you to talk. That’s it,” his voice was desperate, begging almost. “Tell me something. Anything.”

You wondered if he was on the verge, or in the middle, of an anxiety attack with the way he was talking, but decided not to question him in case it only made him panic more. There was a moment of silence as you tried to think of what to say, but had suddenly forgot every single thing going on in your life right now.

“My professor lost my exam,” you huffed after what felt like hours of silence. “He’s letting me redo it for homework, but it’s still a shitload of math that I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go through again until the final.”

“The one you had stayed up all night studying for?” he asked in disbelief.

Despite your frustration, he couldn’t help, but smile as you began to ramble on about your classes, his heart warm as he began to imagine what it’d be like to go to university, too. Usually, sadness and a feeling of missing out would overcome him, but the way you described things made him feel like he had been part of it, living your uni life.

The party stories were his favorite. Although you weren’t much of a party person, it amused him to hear about all your awkward moments you seem to have at every party you attend. He longed for a time where he could go to a party with his friends without being recognized, wanting to stop having to make up a random name for himself when he’d talk to girls. A part of him was almost envious at everyone’s normalcy.

But then, he remembered the purpose of this conversation and felt a sense of gratitude, all the while trying to zone back in and catch on to what you were saying.

“I know I haven’t given him a chance, but I just really am not interested in him,” you continued to ramble, causing him to furrow his brows.

“Interested in who?” he questioned.

You sighed, “Were you even listening at all? To anything?”

Rubbing the side of his face, he let out a small groan as he apologized for his zoning out, “I swear I was at first, but I just got a little lost. Can you say that again?”

“Guy in one of my classes. Asked me to hang out sometime. Gave me his number a couple days ago. Still haven’t texted him. No interest in him whatsoever,” you shortened the last five minutes into less than ten seconds.

“I mean, the least you could do is text the guy and tell him you’re not interested,” he suggested. There was a sort of stressful tension radiating from your end of the phone that made him confused.

“But what if I accidentally pass up the opportunity at love?” you argued.

“Give the guy a chance then. Just one hangout and see how it goes.”

“Okay, but what if it’s just a waste of time, and I’m disappointed in the end?” you argued, again, seemingly more with yourself than with Shawn. He chuckled at your indecisiveness, “Stop doing that! You question yourself too much.”

“I don’t know, dude. It’s just scary,” you tried to brush off the topic, but there was a nervousness in your voice that he caught onto quickly.

“What’s scary?” he wondered before you could change the subject. The thought had been haunting your mind the past couple of weeks, but you did everything in your power to push it to the back of your mind, not expecting to be faced with the option of having to say it out loud or lie and quickly change the subject. But it’s Shawn. Even if you could avoid it now, he’d find a way to bring it up again until he got his way and got it out of you like the little shit that he was.

“I don’t know… love?” You felt silly saying it out loud and instantly regretted opening your mouth, but still, you continued, in a much softer and more distant voice, “I’m scared to be one of those people that just never finds love.”

“You know, I read an article a couple weeks ago about these people who had never found love,” you recalled, “They were well into their 50s and were still single and had never been married.”

The more you continued to talk about it, the bigger the ache in your chest grew, but it’s like your mouth was on autopilot, and your brain had completely checked out.

“They never found love, Shawn!” you shout in sudden distress. “They never found love because the universe doesn’t owe you a damn thing, including love.” The shakiness in your voice made it clear you were on the verge of tears, making his heart sink deeper than it had already.

“Then, me and you will just be together. Fuck the universe,” he lightly joked in attempt to get you out of your own head. You chuckled, and he smiled.

“I don’t think I’m ready for you and your superstar life,” you sniffled. Your nose crinkled at the thought of you ever dating Shawn. It’d be a lie to say you wouldn’t look cute together, but it was just weird to imagine.

“Well,” he breathed out, “when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

You snorted, “You’ll be waiting for like ten years, so don’t hold your breath.” The way he continued with the idea started to make you question if he was still actually joking, or if he was being serious.

“Oh I’ll be around. You’ll see.” You could hear the smile in his voice, leaving you even more confused, but didn’t press on the subject. It’s probably nothing.

Leaving it at that, you proceeded to bid him goodnight, reminding him of the time and how busy of a day you have in a couple hours.

“Get some sleep, okay? Put that brain of yours to rest,” you urged him.

He scoffed, “Look who’s talking! You’re the one who just went through a love crisis. You put your brain to rest.”

You waved him off, once again wishing him goodnight and hanging up the phone. The second the call ended, he sprang to action, running across the room to where he threw his pencil and went straight back to writing.

All you did was blink, and suddenly, it’s the night of May 24th. Despite the album’s planned date of May 25th, it had came out just a couple hours earlier for you than for most people. Having your laptop open and ready for Shawn’s FaceTime call, you tried to keep yourself busy with some homework, but couldn’t bring yourself to focus, wanting so badly to listen to what your best friend had been working on for almost a year.

No matter how many times you begged him to give you just a snippet of some of the songs, he wouldn’t budge. You were offended after having found out everyone else had listened to the album except for you. Remembering that exact moment of discovery had caused you to grow irritated again, despite you already forgiving him for leaving you out, and had begun to argue with the Shawn in your head, but was interrupted by the sound you had anticipated since the moment you woke up in the morning.

Quickly answering his call, a huge smile formed on your face as he popped up on the screen of your laptop.

“Oh my god, I’m so excited!” you squealed, finger hovering over the play button for Like To Be You, having been ready and prepared since the album was released.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said with a raspy voice and a sleepy lopsided smile.

“I thought you had been awake since the album dropped,” your fingers danced over your phone. As much as you love talking to Shawn, you didn’t care to hear about anything else at the moment. The wait was killing you.

“It was a late shooting last night, and then, Rita and her crew were hanging out with us for a bit, so I didn’t really get much sleep,” he explained as you nodded at him. Your lack of response caused him to chuckle.

“Alright, press play.”

With every song passing, the more his nerves grew, and he didn’t know why. It had took everything in him to hide When You’re Ready from you, wanting to know what you thought about it, but decided to hold off until the whole album was released. But now he didn’t want you to listen to the song at all. Having been really good friends for a while, he was unsure of how you would take it. Maybe you’d get offended for using your fear as inspiration for a song? Or maybe it’d turn into a really awkward “I just don’t see you in that way” conversation despite his lack of interest in you as well? Or maybe you did see him in that way. Fuck, what if she gets hurt if I have to turn her down? he thought.

Anxiety had begun to rise up inside of him, and he wished someone would come in his room and tell him he has a last minute schedule change, but he grew hopeless of that happening as he heard the familiar sound of the piano keys of Perfectly Wrong.

“Ah fuck, I already know this is the one I’m gonna listen to when I need a good cry.” Snapping out of his thoughts, he snorted at the worry lines forming on your forehead.

“The last song better not break my heart as much as this one, you asshole,” you clutched your chest as you slouched in your seat. He swears your eyes become glossy, but doesn’t bother pointing it out.

The last note of the song caused him to feel like his heart was gonna fall out of his ass. He wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart beating out of his chest.

A small smile had formed on your face as the humming began; it eased his nerves a little. A smile of his own had grown as he noticed the dazed look on your face, almost as if you had gone to your own little dream world.

He noticed the way your smile faltered in the middle of the chorus, and his heart rate picked right back up. He mentally scolded himself for not warning you about it beforehand, but it was too late. He had to let you finish the song.

Every single line beyond the chorus had become familiar to you, making your heart drop. A part of you was in denial that he could’ve possibly wrote a song about you, but everything was too spot-on. It all become too overwhelming, a million thoughts running through your mind as you tried to process this, not even completely sure if this was really about you or not.

Your facial expression was hard to read as the song came to an end.

“Damn, was it that bad?”

Your eyes widened and began to shake your head rapidly, “No, no, no, I’m sorry! It’s not bad at all!” You began to stumble on your words as you tried to reassure him how much you really liked the song, but couldn’t cover the panic in your voice.

He chuckled a bit nervously, “Yeah? I hope you do. You’re the inspiration behind it.”

You stared at him with a doe-eyed expression on your face, just waiting for him to laugh and tell you he’s joking, but he didn’t. The emotions that began to stir inside of you only confused you more, not sure why you were feeling like a nervous school girl talking to her crush.

“Remember that night you had your little love crisis and worried about never finding love?” he asked, breaking the silence. When you didn’t respond, he continued, “And I told you I’d be waiting for you, even if ten years goes by?”

You hesitantly nodded as you thought back to that night, growing fearful of where he might be going with this.

“Jesus, Y/N, you look like you just saw a ghost. Calm down,” he sent you a reassuring smile, “It’s just a song, honey. I’m not being serious.”

“What?” you breathed out in surprise.

“The song isn’t for you, but you inspired me to write it.”

Despite the tiny unknown disappointment you felt in your heart, you sighed in relief, letting out a small laugh as he continued to explain the writing process of it.

He tried convincing himself that the disappointment he could’ve swore he saw in your eyes was just a figment of his imagination, but a small part of him wanted it to be real.

Shawn was unsure if it was one-sided, feeling as though something had changed in your guys’ friendship. It’s not that you guys were rough with the way you acted towards each other before, but he was sure you had never been so soft and gentle with him than ever. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been acting the same with you, too.

The pet names for each other had slowly become more and more of a frequent thing, the scheduled FaceTime calls were new, he even began to fly you out to wherever he was when he knew you had time or a break from school. It sounded like you both were in the beginning stages of a relationship, but whenever someone had asked about it, you both denied anything going on between the two of you.

There’s always a hesitation from you both whenever you’re alone with each other. The question hanging at the tip of both your tongues almost always slips out of your mouths, but never do, in fear of being rejected by the other. So you both grow comfortable in a state of wonder and confusion.

The view of Toronto had distracted you from the excited voices echoing throughout Shawn’s condo. You were still trying to shake the tiredness off from your flight earlier that day and match everyone’s energy, but it was a struggle. Shawn had jumped at the opportunity to fly you out once he found out you were on a break from school, wanting you to attend the Travis Scott concert with him and everyone else.

You felt the couch sink in beside you and a heavy arm being thrown around you, “You okay over here?”

Turning your head, you were met with a concerned-looking Shawn, making you giggle as you nodded.

“Just a little tired still from the flight, that’s all,” you shrugged, laying your head on his arm. You felt his thumb gently rub at your shoulder as he nodded with his puppy dog eyes. Closing your eyes, you rubbed your cheek against his arm, getting ready to get comfortable and curl into him, but felt the couch on the other side of you sink in.

“Oh man, I love some cuddling.” You felt Brian lean what felt like all his weight against you and curling up at your side. You opened your eyes and glanced over at the redhead beside you curled up in a ball. Giggling, you looked at Shawn to see him glaring at the boy with an irritated look on his face.

Mumbling to himself, he took his arm off of you and got up from the couch, walking over to his plugged in phone in the kitchen. Brian sat up straight upon noticing Shawn’s disappearance and laughed to himself.

“Jesus, tell your boyfriend to stop being so damn sensitive,” he shook his head as he glanced over at Shawn.

You sighed deeply, “Not this again. Not tonight, alright Bri?” You pressed your cold hands against your heated cheeks and tried to calm the craziness going on inside of you at the thought of Shawn being your actual boyfriend, missing the feeling of his warmth beside you.

“Uber’s here!” Shawn announced, making everyone cheer and gather their things.

Arriving in the VIP section near the stage, you could feel your head start to pound from the noise coming from the crowd, already feeling a headache coming. By the look on your face, Shawn could tell something was off with you, especially with how unmatched your energy was compared to everyone else’s.

He leaned down close to your ear, “You sure you’re okay?” Glancing up at him, you nodded and sent him a small smile. You could feel your cheeks heating up again once you noticed how close his face was to yours.

“I’m gonna go get a water or something. You want anything?” you asked, taking a couple steps back towards the stairs.

“I’ll go with you!” he stepped towards you, a loose grip on your elbow. The lights dimmed right then, causing the crowd to cheer. You shook off his hand and shook your head, “I don’t want you to miss the opening act. I’ll be okay.” You shake off his hand as you give him a reassuring smile. Before he could protest, you turn around and make your way up the steps.

Watching you walk up the steps, Shawn sighed to himself, wondering if he did or said something that upset you prior to you arriving in Toronto. You had been a little off since the moment you arrived, and despite your constant reassurance to him, his thoughts still ate away at him.

He stood not too far from the stairs, looking up at the top every so often. He began to grow worried after four songs had passed, and you still hadn’t returned. Just as he was about to make his way up the stairs to check up on you, he felt a sense of relief once he saw you walking back into the arena, a small smile forming on his face seeing you laughing about something.

Just as he was about to make his way up and meet you halfway, he stopped in his tracks noticing you weren’t alone. He furrowed his brows as he stared at the (male) stranger who appeared to be the one making you laugh, jealousy bubbling inside him.

She’s not yours, she’s not yours, she’s not yours, he repeated to himself. Crossing his arms, he stood beside Jon and Brian, trying to focus on the performance, but couldn’t help looking over at you and your new friend, noting the way you both seemed to be in your own little bubble.

He immediately sensed your presence beside him after another minute had passed, getting a whiff of your perfume and suddenly growing irritated. You stretched out your arm, offering him some of your water to which he shook his head without even looking at you, keeping his gaze on Trippie Redd on the stage.

He noticed the way your mood had changed, having so much energy he thought you’d be bouncing off the walls pretty soon, rapping along with everyone else. Shawn knew he must look ridiculous right now with his arms crossed and a pout painted across his face. It’s not like he wanted to feel this way. He hated being so jealous when he has no reason to be; you guys are just friends.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Bro, let’s go get some drinks.” So much time had passed while he was too caught up in his own jealousy and irritation; all that was left was Travis’ set. Taking advantage of the small break, he began to follow the guys towards the stairs, looking around for you.

Before he could even think about what he was about to do, he walked straight over to where you were, once again talking to your (male) friend. Putting his hand on the small of your back, he interrupted your conversation, “Babe, we’re gonna go get some drinks. You want some more water or…?”

Your eyes snapped towards him the second the pet name left his mouth, noticing the way his lips twitched fighting back a smirk. The tension between the both of you suddenly became thick.

“I’m good, thanks,” you blinked, dullness evident in your voice. He winked before leaving you back alone with Jack, the guy you met in line while waiting to buy some water.

He chuckled awkwardly, “Didn’t know your boyfriend was that Mendes guy.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head, “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Kinda seems like he wants to be more than just that,” he sipped his drink. After your lack of response, he cleared his throat and continued, “I should, uh… get back to my friends.” You give him a defeated smile as you nodded, waving to him as he made his way back to his friends. Letting out a frustrated groan, you go to stand beside Jon, trying to hide your dejected mood.

For the rest of the night, you kept your distance from Shawn, knowing it’d put you even more of a bad mood if you were near him, and you didn’t want to be a downer for everyone else.

Rummaging through your suitcase as you picked out some pajamas, you heard a knock at the door. You looked up at the tall figure in the doorway leaning against the wall and stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

“So... are you gonna tell me why you haven’t said a word to me all night?” You scoffed at the stupidity of his question and looked back down at your suitcase as you took out your toothbrush, “You know why.”

“I didn’t fly you out here, so you could go and flirt with some stupid guy,” he spat instantly, irritation laced in his voice. You glared up at him, “Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? You’re not my boyfriend.” You push past him and make your way to the bathroom, not seeing the point in having this argument.

He grabs ahold of your arm, “Then, what the hell is this between us?! Huh?!” You stood in place and felt your nerves acting up, wanting nothing more than to disappear. As much as you were confused about the change in relationship with Shawn, you weren’t ready to have this conversation. And knowing him, you were almost positive he isn’t ready either.

“There’s nothing between us, Shawn,” your voice was small, and it caused him to scoff.

“Who are you trying to convince here, me or you?” he argued. Turning to face him, you shook your head, “Whether there’s something between us or not, it doesn’t give you the right to go into jealous boyfriend mode. What the hell was that anyway?!”

He shrugged, “He was probably an asshole anyway.” You gave him a hard stare, hands balling into a tight fist.

“Since you want to play boyfriend so badly, then why haven’t you asked me to be your girlfriend yet?”

It felt like you had knocked the wind out of him as he tried to come up with an answer. It was hard for him to get anything out with his mind racing a million miles an hour. The minute-long silence that followed after made you grow tired, making you not want to look at the dumbfounded look on his face any longer.

“Next time you want to throw some shit like that at me again, at least be ready to have the conversation.” And with that, you slammed the door.

Checking the time on your phone, your frustration grew more as you rummaged through your bathroom, trying to find your only scrunchie you had left, mentally scolding yourself for losing all the others. You wouldn’t doubt it’s in your suitcase you have yet to unpack since your trip to Toronto, but you didn’t have any more time to waste. The Uber’s about to charge a Wait Time fee if you weren’t out the door in the next ten seconds, and as a broke college kid, you needed to save as much money as you can.

Quickly grabbing your bag from your room and stopping to get a banana from the kitchen, you flew out the door with your phone and keys in hand, locking the door before you made your way towards the Uber. You greeted the driver as you got in the car and buckled your seatbelt.

Sighing, you leaned your head back and took a second to calm down after rushing all morning to get ready. You could almost hear Shawn’s laughter in the back of your mind, teasing you for always being in a rushing and having such poor time management.

The rest of the weekend you spent with him in Toronto was awkward to say the least. Although neither of you have addressed (surprise, surprise) the question you threw at him, you both tried to carry on the rest of your time there trying to be as normal as possible, even though the tension was palpable. As much as his lack of response was bothersome, you knew you weren’t completely ready to have the conversation that’s been burning inside you for the past couple of months.

The thought of being a part of his life romantically was enough to make you anxious. Just being his friend was sometimes too much for you to handle. You knew people talked and theorized about what’s going on between the both of you. There’d be times where you couldn’t help, but scroll through endless tweets of anything involving you, which always turned out to be a mistake, but that’s just who you were. You care too much about what people think, which is why you try to avoid social media as much as possible. For as long as you could remember, all your social media accounts were set to private, not liking the idea of strangers being aware of your activity.

Even thinking about it now is giving you the urge to check social media, but only out of boredom. Not like you have anything better to do in the car.

Opening the Twitter app, you read through some tweets that pop up on your timeline, giggling at some and sending them to yourself to look back at later. Just as you were about to switch to Instagram, you noticed a familiar head of hair at the bottom of your screen. Noticing Shawn had liked the tweet, you scrolled up and squinted down at the picture attached to the tweet.

Scoffing, you instantly spotted your scrunchie around Shawn’s wrist. This asshole thinks he could just wear my scrunchie.

take my scrunchie off your wrist, you look ridiculous, you typed out to him and hit send. You chewed on your bottom lip, anxiously waiting for his response.

Are you stalking my update accounts? I knew you were obsessed with me

You snorted. In the middle of your typing, he sent you a picture of himself with the tiniest “man bun,” if you will, with your scrunchie. You bit your lip trying to suppress the smile wanting to come out on your face, but failed as you let out a soft giggle.

alright fine it’s yours now. only because you look cute in it i guess

Cuter than you that’s for sure

You rolled your eyes.

Pressing the home button on your phone, you groaned quietly as the time neared three in the morning. Despite the heater being turned on, you couldn’t shake off the coldness that was spreading throughout your body, causing you to not be able to sleep. You were convinced it was the snow outside the cabin that was making the room so cold (and the fact that it was winter time), but everyone seemed to be just fine.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you wrapped your blanket tightly around yourself as you tiptoed outside the room, careful not to wake anybody up. You closed the door quietly and turned around, only to run into something hard, causing you to let out a small yelp.

“What the hell are you doing awake?”

You squinted your eyes, “I can’t sleep. It’s too cold in here,” a slight pout settled on your lips.

“What about you, huh? Why are you awake?”

“Bathroom,” Shawn yawned sleepily as he made his way past you and into the bathroom.

You shook your head as you walked to the kitchen and turned the light on. You started to look through the cabinets in hopes of finding hot chocolate, or something warm, to take the coldness away. After not finding anything, you sighed and stole one of Shawn��s teas, knowing he wouldn’t mind, but might find it a bit of a shock to see you drinking tea after professing your hatred for the nasty liquid.

In the process of preparing the tea, you felt heavy arms wrap loosely around your waist and felt his hot breath close to your ear.

Turning your head slightly, you felt your heart rate pick up at the proximity of both your lips. His eyes were shut, and by the slowness of his breathing, you were almost convinced he fell asleep.

“You should go back to bed,” you gently ran your fingers through his mess of curls.

He hummed, “Wanna stay up with you.” He nuzzled your neck, lips just barely ghosting over your skin.

“I don’t wanna keep you up,” you spoke softly as you played with his curls. His eyes fluttered open and looked at you, “Are you gonna be long?”

You glanced over at the water boiling, “Well, I-”

He shut off the boiling water before tugging on your arm and pulling you towards his room. Your eyes widened as you tried to snatch your arm from his grip.

“What are you doing?!” you shouted in a whisper.

“Going to my room, what does it look like?” he tightened his grip, rubbing his eyes sleepily with his free hand.

“Why are you taking me with you?”

He ignored your question as he opened the door to his shared room quietly and gave your arm another tug as you hesitantly walked in after him. Glancing over at the sleeping boys in the other two beds, you prayed silently they wouldn’t wake up. You knew if they were to catch you in the room with Shawn at this hour you’d never hear the end of it.

You watched him as he climbed into bed and got comfortable under the blankets before he glanced at you and motioned for you to join. Rubbing your sweaty hands against your pajama pants, you quietly climbed in next to him and awkwardly lay on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Are you still cold?”

You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you close against his body before you had the chance to respond. With the quietness of the room and his body up against yours, there was no way he couldn’t hear your heart about to burst out your chest.

“This okay?” he whispered sleepily, picking his head up to look at you through heavy eyelids.

Staring into his sleepy eyes, you bit your lip as a small smile formed on your face and nodded, whispering a quiet ‘yes.’ Laying his head close to yours on the pillow, you felt his nose brush against your temple and felt his breathing start to even out. All the worries of getting caught faded away as you soaked in the warmth his body radiated.

You close your eyes, but continue to stay awake, cherishing the feeling of his arms around you and wished for the night to go on forever.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes x reader

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Dropping a bullies self worth to 0 in secondary school

Sorry this is a long one.

So some back-story,

I've always been good at dealing with bullies, and just not letting them bother me, I found it really easy to disassociate from the usual playground bullying. I'd make a joke and move on. When I was about 9 years old I had to move house and schools due to my father losing his job. And in my new school I made a couple of friends but this focuses on 1 in particular, my future bully. We got on really well, he helped me get through junior school. As we moved into secondary school now at age 11, a new kid joined and remembering what my friend (bully) had done for me, I wanted to return the favour and showed the new kid around helped him, and became good friends, he got me into Army Cadets in i different town which is where I met my (now ex) girlfriend (this story basically hinges on her). This is where my story starts.

Me and my GF were together a year and a half (roughly) through that time we'd gone back and forth visiting each other meeting each others friends usual BF GF stuff. Well my friend (bully) took a particular shine to my GF made all sorts of disgusting comments about her. "look at her tits, she'd produce more milk than a cow" "how have you not shagged her yet?" At 11 this was kind of shocking for me to hear.

I'd asked him to stop numerous times. It made me uncomfortable. She never heard some of things he'd said. Didn't want her to. Whenever the 3 of us were together he started pressuring us into "going further" as apparently everyone had lost their virginity at age 12 we weren't having any of it. Said we'd do stuff like that in our own time. he kept this up for the last 3 months of our relationship, due to that and a few other stresses at the time. we mutually decided to end it. (we are still best friends and I'm happy with that). this is where the bullying really started.

This was a bit after i'd turned 13 and he started making comments along the lines of: "You'll never get someone like her again" "Shame you never 'hit' that" "You're always gonna be a virgin now"

"You're going to die alone" etc. etc.

He did this every couple of weeks for 3 YEARS (As I said I can take a LOT of flak) he could always do this as we walked to school together, he'd helped settle into this new town. part of me always saw him as friend right up until the end. We also usually walked as a group as we'd both continued to make more friends and all lived close by.

To begin with I just said, "yeah yeah whatever, we ended it on our terms, were still friends. we just couldn't deal with all this pressure we have at the moment and want to focus on exams" or words to that effect, or just ignored him. after a few months I realised he wasn't gonna stop so I stopped asking him to stop, and started telling him. "you need to stop this. otherwise I will go to the teachers and say something" he didn't stop at this point I just keep silent. Maybe 8/9 months after us breaking up i go to the teachers say blah de blah is bullying me, saying about how I'm gonna die alone. they asked where it was happening I said on the way to school.

"i'm afraid we cant do anything about it then"

So on our walks to school now I just keep silent. Put music on, low enough to still hear the conversation. But loud enough I could selectively drown him out. after a couple weeks of this, he starts tapping me on the shoulder to get me to remove my headphones thinking Id missed a bit of the conversation. and he uses that opportunity to say the same shit again. at this point I stop taking the headphones out and just keep walking. only takes a week for him to catch on. and he starts pulling my headphones out. so I start walking on my own. away from my friends, this makes me a bit of a recluse at school. To this day I still only have 1 friend from that school (His ex who realised he was a waste of space).

For a month everything was fine. I was happy. Then he changed the time that his group of friends of walked to catch up with me. At this point I started getting physical i'd been doing army (cadet) training. But he was faster and stronger than me. so I stopped that real quick. as it just ended with me on the floor his friends laughing at me stepping over or sometimes on me. I just put up with it.

By the time I was 15 I knew something had to be done, his words had sunken in, they started rattling around my head at night.

The teachers won't / can't help, nothing I said had helped, nothing I could do would help. I got on with my work. and kept my head down. a couple people had started talking to me, one in particular (his ex) and we were chatting on MSN one night. she'd had a couple drinks with her folks in her home. we got onto the subject of my bully

His ex: "He thinks hes gods gift to women, well news flash, he's not, he's wayyyyyy too pushy, just wants his way no matter what, got cold hands, no idea what to do with his tounge, and a dick like a maggot, its tiny and he never washes it, it's disgusting"

And several other slants against his sexual prowess (something he is very proud of) well during this time we had an internal school e-mailing system, and you could send emails to EVERYONE in school, including teachers. A couple people had used this system to message the usual chain mail (like what you get on Facebook now "like this puppy in 5 seconds or your heart will explode, PLEASE COMMENT AND SHARE"). Now i was pretty computer savvy, and had used that to help people with IT work from time to time, even using their login to see what they'd done.

See where i'm going

One of these people i'd helped was my bully. (back before the bullying started) I'd just hoped he hadn't changed his password. Id taken a screen shot of the conversation with his ex, blanked out our names on Windows Paint. Logged into his account from a computer in an unused IT room and sent an email to everyone in school, saying: my name is Blah de blah, i have sent you an attachment about how truly disgusting a human being I am. I have been bullying people for years and I am finally getting my comeuppance.

It took 2 months for them to find out it was me.

They only found out, because I went up to my bully and told him. I wanted him to know it was me.

The punishment I got: a chat with the school police officer about what slander is and that i could go to jail for it. along with 3 dinner time detentions about 150 minutes of break time (i'd never set a foot wrong through school and had A*- B grades so my punishment was reduced a lot) I still got my dinner, I just had to sit outside the heads office during break and catch up on homework. I then had to have a meeting with my bully to try and "sort it out"

As i went in he was crying. All i said was "thats what you fucking get, for driving me and ex GF apart, for rubbing it in my face FOR 3 YEARS, I hope, no I PRAY that every woman in this school has read this and will stay away from you. I'm going to quote YOU here: 'You will die alone' " and I left.

They didn't punish me for swearing, didn't punish me for shouting. I think they were so shocked by the change in me, I am usually a very quiet timid guy. but that day I dropped my voice about 3 octaves and drove all my hate for him into what I said.

To this day (about 7 years after) he still hasn't had another girlfriend (i like to keep tabs on him through facebook) He hasn't spoken to me since. I haven't been bullied since. I've also had several relationships since. And each one has helped me realise his words were vacuous crap, born from jealousy as she stopped talking to him altogether after we broke up.

(source) story by (/u/kurekren)

#prorevenge #by /u/kurekren #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

This Time Around (Scyvie) - Miss Bianca & rbcch

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 27.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, a bottle.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ shameless.” Adore winks at her.

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

Good thing she had never particularly liked cherry flavors anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got a light, daddy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yvie herself certainly hasn’t been able to.

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

“Can I get two shots?” Yvie asks her.

“Tequila?” the bartender asks back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not here.”

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

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

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

“I wasn’t smoking.”

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

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

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

“Ready, daddy?”

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

“No,” Adore says.

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

“Are you, like, serious right now?”

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

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

“Drop it,” she hisses.

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

“I said, drop it.”

“I swear to fucking God, Bridges.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roommate,” Yvie says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wait tables,” Yvie grunts.

“Where?” Scarlet continues.

“In a restaurant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make you beg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Digging her fingers into Scarlet’s thighs, Yvie forces them farther apart, pinning them down with a grunt. She jerks her hips backwards, watches the toy slide out of Scarlet so smoothly as Scarlet winces, tries and fails to chase it. Yvie catches her breath for a moment, staring at the gorgeous wreck of a woman beneath her, the perfect spread of her pussy and her legs, her breast spilling out between her own fingers, and then gives up the fight and slides her cock back in with low groan.

Scarlet’s responding cry is raspy and desperate, and Yvie has to strain to hold her still as she finally starts to fuck her properly. Finding her spot again takes only seconds, and Yvie presses her thumbnails into Scarlet’s soft skin and adjusts her angle to hit it on every pass, biting down on her own lower lip and nearly drawing blood as she struggles to comprehend just how unbelievably sensitive Scarlet is there, how her cock simply brushing past it makes her thrash and twitch and let out broken moans, her free hand making a mess of the comforter beneath her.

“Oh, oh, daddy,” Scarlet pants, her eyes glazing over, her hips still determinedly pushing forwards as if needing Yvie even deeper. “God, you’re so big, I —”

Her teeth gritting, Yvie forces Scarlet to still with a shove of her arms, and slams into her, making her cut herself off with a choked gasp. “Shut up and take it,” she growls, punctuating every word with a thrust, moving faster and faster now, not meaning her order even a little and knowing Scarlet won’t obey regardless.

Scarlet nibbles on her lip and manages to stay quiet for approximately half a second, and then there’s words again, barely cohesive fragments of pleas interlaced with occasional frantic sobs, her voice turning higher in pitch with every snap of Yvie’s hips. Yvie’s pace is becoming more erratic, as relentless as Scarlet seems to be. She’s soaked, so much so that Yvie can hear every inch pressing in and pulling out, filthy wet noises filling the quiet spaces between Scarlet’s desperate gasps. Yvie thinks there will be a dark, damp spot on the comforter under her when they’re done, thinks the wetness must be collecting in the creases between Scarlet’s ass and thighs, most likely between her cheeks too, thinks how it probably makes her skin itch almost unpleasantly and finally notices how wet she herself is, gets angrier at the realization and fucks Scarlet like she hates her, like she means it.

With another string of pleas and praises, Scarlet lets go of the fabric she’s been ruining in her fist, leading it slightly crumpled in her wake, and allows her palm to dance over one of her thighs, stopping at her crotch for just a short moment and then pushing her fingers between her lips. Yvie feels herself go a little numb as she witnesses Scarlet aim directly for her clit, so visibly swollen and pink and perfect, undoubtedly sensitive and pulsing, aching to be touched just like Yvie’s own is. Scarlet slides her fingertips over the spot with a satisfied moan, her chin tilting up again and her eyes falling shut, and then she utters a breathy Oh, my God, daddy, right there and Yvie remembers how to use her muscles.

She pairs the slap she places on Scarlet’s wrist with another thrust of her cock, and Scarlet produces a wounded sound, immediately withdrawing her hand and pulling it close to her chest, her other hand moving to rub the stinging skin. She pouts up at Yvie, like she disagrees with such interruption, and Yvie can’t hold back a scowl.

“You said you wanted my cock, you’re gonna have to come on my cock,” she grunts. “Desperate little things will take what’s given and not an ounce more.”

Without awaiting Scarlets reaction — not that there would have been an intelligent one, concluding by her unravelled state — Yvie hooks her arm under Scarlet’s knee and lifts it closer to herself for a deeper angle. With the first roll of Yvie’s hips in the new position, Scarlet practically squeals, head thrown back as she rocks against the toy, pathetic and unrhythmic, her hair strewn across the cover, undoubtedly a mess of tangles that Yvie wants to drag her fingers through and tug as hard as she can. She imagines Scarlet on her stomach, ass raised to take her cock, back curved as Yvie pulls on a tight handful of those coarse locks, and swears she can feel the sticky arousal dripping down her own thighs.

Scarlet isn’t managing words any longer, just dry sobs and moans, slipping on and off of the strap so easily. There’s hardly any resistance left, just the sounds of her groans and her wet cunt, taking all of it so well, as if she’s made just to be filled by Yvie’s cock, wincing and squirming with the emptiness on every backstroke.

With a soft grunt and strength Yvie didn’t know she had left, Scarlet lifts the leg that’s not trapped in Yvie’s grip, and hooks it around Yvie’s waist. Her calf flexes against Yvie’s lower back, drawing Yvie nearer still as if desperate to get her as deep as possible inside and keep her there. Yvie wants to slap her thigh, push it away, but then Scarlet lets out a needy whine, and she’s looking at Yvie with that pout, lips so much more swollen than before, her glossy eyes are so wide and trusting, and Yvie presses closer and starts to thrust more shallowly instead, too enraptured and too far gone to make herself deny Scarlet anything.

They’re entwined so thoroughly like this, the proximity of their bodies making it ridiculously easy to tell when Scarlet’s muscles tense in a brand new way, like she’s chasing something and needs to release, melt into a puddle right beneath Yvie. It’s impressive, how undone Scarlet has come with just Yvie’s cock against her spot, no other stimulation, and the thought is nagging at Yvie, making her question what a girl like Scarlet could possibly be after that men can’t give her all the same, but then Scarlet cards her free hand through her own hair and pulls a little, eliciting a raspy groan from herself, and Yvie forgets everything else.

“Daddy, gonna—” she cries out and tries to raise herself off the bed even more.

Yvie forces her lower by her hipbone, and then, almost absentmindedly, fits the same hand between them and places her thumb against Scarlet’s clit. Scarlet immediately whines and jerks like the impact is too much, like she won’t be able to handle it, the muscles in her thighs spasming so hard Yvie can feel it against herself.

“C’mon, babe,” she finds herself commanding. “Come for me.”

She presses harder against Scarlet’s clit, feels it twitch under her thumb, and then the response is like a chain reaction as Scarlet lets go, piece by piece of her body rapidly falling prey to the force of her climax. The jerk of her chin, her fingers pinching too hard at her nipple, the gorgeous broken moan on her lips, the clench of her cunt around Yvie’s cock, so tight and perfect it’s difficult to keep moving and fuck her through it, and Yvie can feel the burn in her own abs as she draws out Scarlet’s pleasure as long as she possibly can, still firmly set on making this the best fuck of Scarlet’s life.

It feels like ages pass before Scarlet’s body relaxes, and she begins to wince a little in response to Yvie’s slow thrusts, seeming too sensitive inside now, the convulsing of her pussy with every nudge against her spot too much to handle, becoming more intense and painful than it is pleasurable. Yvie rubs her thighs, and unhooks her leg from around her, holding her hips firmly as she slowly pulls out. Scarlet catches her breath, hand moving down to drift over her core almost wonderingly, the way one might touch her lips after being kissed, as if trying to confirm it was real, as if she’ll find some imprint on her soft skin as evidence. Her legs fall open on the bed, and Yvie isn’t sure if she’s protecting herself from the ache of having them pressed together or showing off the mess Yvie’s made of her, her folds spread, wetness smeared all over, caught in the curly hair, leaking out of her still and dripping slowly down.

Another few long moments go by before Scarlet starts to shift, prompting Yvie to finally tear her gaze away from her pussy and notice the rest of her, nipples still stiff from how she’s been pinching them, eyes still struggling to focus as she looks Yvie up and down. She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking out her hair and taking a deep breath, and then starts to move towards Yvie, scooting her hips off the bed and then wriggling onto the floor, forcing Yvie to take a small step backwards in surprise to accommodate her. She lands in a messy heap on the carpet, taking longer than should be necessary to position herself on her knees, her limbs clearly shaky, and oh, of course she’s one of those girls, Yvie realizes, one of the sort to clean herself off of Yvie’s cock after coming on it, the kind of woman who wants to keep the fantasy even longer, make believe that she can take care of Yvie in return like this.

There’s a moment of complete stillness, and Yvie contemplates sinking her hand in Scarlet’s knotted locks, grabbing a fistful and holding her in place while she fucks her face, deep and thorough thrusts until Scarlet is drooling around the toy, making a mess similar to the one between her legs. It won’t really bring Yvie any relief, won’t ease the aching want in her gut and lower, but it’ll be something to think about when she’s pressing her own slender fingers inside herself later, parting them and enjoying the way it burns so right, just another bunch of visuals she can turn into fuel for her imagination.

Before she can do it or even decide on it, before she can surge her hips forth and coax Scarlet’s mouth open with the tip of her cock, Scarlet leans in slightly, her thumb and index finger closing around the base of the toy delicately. Yvie gets stuck instantly, studies, as if hypnotized, how Scarlet presses very close to the harness, snuggles her nose into Yvie’s crotch, breathes in like she’s trying to smell Yvie’s arousal, like she’s savoring the scent. It’s enticing to look at, so fucking hot and enchanting and unfair, and Yvie couldn’t tear her gaze away even if she tried. Scarlet whimpers quietly, sounds almost needing, almost genuine, and then her tongue is suddenly dragging along the underside of Yvie’s cock, collecting and tasting her own slick, and Yvie’s whole frontal lobe short circuits. Scarlet reaches the head of the toy, licks her lips as if making sure she didn’t miss a drop, and wraps her pretty little mouth around the crown immediately after.

Hazily expecting her to take more of it, Yvie pushes her hips forward, a weak movement without precision or vigor, but instead there’s a subtle click of the buckle, and the next thing Yvie knows is her harness sliding down her legs. Yvie freezes, her eyes widening, and feels her stomach drop as Scarlet whimpers and buries her face in Yvie’s thigh all at once, tongue lapping at the inside, so close to where she’s dripping, as if she’s searching for the flavor. The sensation is so unfamiliar, so right, and as Scarlet pulls back again, looking up at her with her chest heaving, Yvie feels as if the ground is vanishing from under her.

“All for me, daddy?” Scarlet breathes the words more than speaking them, her pupils so dilated Yvie is dizzy with it.

She reaches for Yvie’s thighs, prying them apart gently but persistently, and Yvie lets her, stepping out of the harness helplessly, captivated by the look on Scarlet’s face and the way she’s touching her, and it’s as if control of Yvie’s body isn’t in her own hands any longer.

“Oh,” Scarlet sighs, and her fingers dig into Yvie’s skin, and Yvie realizes with a jolt that the acrylic nails she’d noticed earlier are nowhere to be found, scrambles to think what could’ve happened to them and finds that she hasn’t the brain power. Scarlet looks up at her, eyes pleading. “Oh, I want to… can I…”

Unsure how she’s managing to stay on her feet despite her shock, Yvie nods wordlessly, unable to fully wrap her head around what’s about to happen but so very desperate for it that she can feel her own cunt throbbing.

Her hands remaining in place, Scarlet leans in slowly, almost like she’s stalking her prey before going in for the kill, leaving Yvie the deer in the headlights, standing stock still and trembling in her grasp. Scarlet wets her lips, and then her nose is running over the trimmed hair, breathing Yvie in again. The first touch of her tongue is electric, the warm tip pressed right against the hood of Yvie’s clit, and the shudder that runs through Yvie’s body is too much, too uncontrollable, the whole situation entirely out of her comfort zone, and she almost grabs Scarlet’s hair to pull her away, but the contact is gone before she can. Yvie gasps in air, unsure whether she’s relieved or upset, shaken at how overwhelmed she is by the barest contact, needing more and hating that she needs anything at all.

Scarlet seems unfazed by Yvie’s responses, encouraged, in fact, her hands moving inwards to spread Yvie’s lips with her thumbs, and then her tongue is tracing across them languidly, a filthy moan vibrating against the flesh, and Yvie’s mind goes blank again, a whimper leaving her before she can stop it.

Scarlet places another long lick along the length of Yvie’s pussy, the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly against the clit when she reaches it and her lips pressing a kiss above it right after, and Yvie feels her own shoulders droop, almost says something, but before the sentence is even fully formulated, Scarlet leans away, craning her neck to gaze at Yvie and resting her head against the side of the bed. Yvie’s stomach drops in disappointment, her first thought being that Scarlet just wanted to try it out, perhaps to have a story to tell, or maybe to see if she likes it and shortly deciding she didn’t. Yvie hates the way the feeling dwells, but it’s nothing compared to the wave of nausea that follows suit immediately. She didn’t like it, realized it’s not worth it, that Yvie is too much work and not enough return, not something she should or would or needs to put any effort in.

Scarlet keeps staring at her, almost perfectly still, and Yvie wants to cover her own mouth with her palm, wants to look away, but can’t bring herself to, too frozen and sick to move at all. She loathes their position, loathes how bare and mortified she feels, rendered defenseless and caught in a vulnerable position just because she let herself be blindsided after avoiding it so successfully for ages.

“God, you taste so good,” Scarlet breathes finally, tongue working its way across her upper lip, and it’s like all of the air rushes back into Yvie’s lungs at once in a soft gasp as the whole earth seems to shift below her, assumptions and insecurities starting to crumble, her mouth falling open as she suddenly identifies the slack expression on Scarlet’s face as heart-stopping, overwhelming arousal. “Daddy…”

The title hangs in the air, exhaled carefully and helplessly, almost like a prayer, by the woman on her knees before her. Scarlet’s head lifts from the bed, and her fingers wander over Yvie’s thighs, lips moving soundlessly as if murmuring devotions as her gaze dances over Yvie’s still body, and when she finally speaks again, the need in her tone makes Yvie dissolve, as if she’s sugar on Scarlet’s tongue.

“Want you, want to…”

Her eyes are hazy and heavy lidded and slow to move, her touch is earnest and careful, and her voice is barely there, raw and raspy, forcing out the words as if they’re the truest thing she’s ever spoken, and Yvie can’t help but believe her. She blinks, hard, nausea replaced with tingling warmth that twists in her gut and slowly starts to spread outwards, filling her whole frame with the dizzying, sunlit sensation of being wanted.

Defenses weakening for the first time in as long as she can remember, Yvie tries to catch her breath, inhale and exhale through the heat under her skin. She reaches out her hand almost tentatively, carding her fingers through Scarlet’s messy hair, and feels the other woman nudge against her, just leaning into her hand for a moment and then tilting her head so she’s looking up at Yvie, the plain, honest desire on her face making Yvie’s stomach swoop.

“Please fuck my face, daddy?” Scarlet says, eyes fixed on Yvie’s as she nuzzles into her hand. Her tone almost sweet, as if she hasn’t just said something unbearably filthy, and Yvie tenses, feels herself leak, knows her pussy will likely drip on the carpet any moment.

She grunts, mostly to hide the way Scarlet has left her speechless, a rare occasion where her silence isn’t conscious rather than collateral. Fist tangling in the coarse hair, she tugs sharply, and then twists her wrist to guide Scarlet’s head closer. The triumphant little sound Scarlet lets out prickles Yvie’s skin, crawls up her spine and tingles the nape of her neck, and she allows herself to suspend her disbelief just like Scarlet had done earlier.

“Filthy,” she spits out the first thing that comes to mind, pushing her hips up and dangling her pussy just an inch or so above Scarlet’s face, her hand forcing Scarlet’s head back slightly.

“That’s right, daddy,” Scarlet purrs, pleased, satisfied, like she couldn’t be prouder of the fact Yvie noticed, and the sensation of her hot breath against Yvie’s folds makes Yvie’s stomach drop and lock up.

“Gonna show me how filthy you are, aren’t you, baby?” Yvie mutters through gritted teeth.

Scarlet nods eagerly, her movement restricted by Yvie’s grip. It’s followed by a confirming noise as if she’s impatient to let Yvie know how much she desires this, and she struggles to close the distance, bury her face in Yvie’s cunt, but Yvie’s hold stays iron. All of it makes Yvie inhale a little easier, makes her feel like she’s still in the driver’s seat, pulling the strings, collected and composed and not at all vulnerable, and they’re both probably well aware that in reality she’s putty in Scarlet’s hands, but Scarlet is willing to pretend, and that’s enough for now.

Yvie’s still for a few beats, torturing herself with the way her stomach keeps tightening and her heart keeps skipping in anticipation, and then, when it gets a little bit too much, she ruts down against Scarlet’s parted lips.

This time, when Scarlet’s tongue connects with her cunt, she shudders even harder, groaning and wrapping her fist tightly in Scarlet’s hair. She grinds against the contact instinctively, rubbing her clit against the soft warmth, swearing she can feel the shockwaves from the touch all over her body, and Scarlet responds with a needy whimper, her mouth opening wider and her tongue pressing hard right where Yvie wants it. Her blunt nails dig into Yvie’s tensed thighs as Yvie holds her still to rock against her, as if it’s getting hard to breathe, but she only presses closer, and Yvie can feel herself clench and leak in response, Scarlet’s tongue quickly and messily lapping up the wetness.

Needing more, requiring Scarlet even closer, Yvie bends her knee and props it on the bed, spreading her cunt open wider and providing Scarlet with better access. The way Scarlet laps over her clit with the new angle makes her groan so loudly she shocks herself, and when the tip of the other woman’s tongue starts pressing slowly into her opening, Yvie can’t help but force her hips forwards, crushing Scarlet’s head back against the bed and trapping her own hand in the process. Scarlet’s muffled, ecstatic moan sends a thrill down Yvie’s spine, and then her tongue slips inside, licking eagerly as if desperate for the taste. The dirtiness and enthusiasm of her movements makes Yvie’s head spin so badly she nearly blanks out, managing in a moment of coherence to be glad she has the bed for support.

Scarlet eats pussy like she can’t get enough of it, and for a moment, something about her motions and ardency makes Yvie feel like she’s worth it. Scarlet pushes her tongue into Yvie as much as she possibly can, licks inside like she’s thirsty for it, and then withdraws a little and twirls the tip around Yvie’s entrance as if she’s trying to open Yvie up. Yvie mutters a string of profanities, her fingers instinctively flexing in Scarlet’s hair, nails scratching the scalp, and as she frantically nudges forth, Scarlet closes her mouth and rubs her puckered lips against her slit. It’s not even a little bit enough after all the sensation, and Yvie growls, yanks and twists on the locks in her fist, the heat building in her gut when the gesture has no effect, Scarlet’s pout remaining pressed against her folds.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Open — open your mouth, or I’ll fucking do it for you.”

The responding whimper from Scarlet is gorgeous and pathetic, her lips parting in accordance with the command as if she’s helpless to do otherwise. Her fingernails scraping against the back of Yvie’s thighs desperately, she manages to place a filthy lick over Yvie’s entrance before Yvie shifts, getting the contact where she craves it. She can practically feel herself throbbing as she grinds against Scarlet’s tongue, the stimulation so intense, so aching, so good that her eyes start watering.

Scarlet’s a dream, and at the same time, so much better than what Yvie’s imagination is capable of creating, eagerly figuring out Yvie’s tempo and adjusting to it, meeting Yvie halfway, participating rather than just submitting to being used to get off on. As soon as Yvie loses her rhythm, slows down a bit, Scarlet picks up, her mouth dragging over Yvie’s pussy, her teeth grazing the flesh lightly in a manner that makes Yvie gasp and gives her chills, and then, when the rocking of Yvie’s hips becomes completely intermittent, Scarlet closes her lips around the clit and sucks.

There’s a swift flick of Scarlet’s tongue over her clit, and Yvie feels like a live wire, heated as if there’s a current running under her skin, sparks swimming behind her eyes, whole body ready to catch fire at any moment. Scarlet whimpers weakly, and then she’s humming, lips vibrating against Yvie’s cunt, and it’s so much and so intense that Yvie feels her bones melt, a wild cry leaving her lips as her pussy pulses and twitches, her orgasm taking over her body and making her vision go dark for a moment. She’s aware of her hips rocking against Scarlet’s face, of the wetness slippery between them, of her own teeth sinking so hard into her lip it hurts, and there’s heat spreading all through her, radiating all the way to her fingertips, hot enough to burn through something.

It rages for a while, the wildfire inside her, drowning everything in the smoke except Scarlet, solid and sound in front of her, and the rush of adrenaline and ecstasy in every tiny blood vessel of her body. Yvie feels delirious on it, like there’s not enough oxygen in her lungs, like the atmosphere is too cloudy for her to breathe in properly. It isn’t until Yvie manages a greedy intake of air that the flames start dying out, sizzling as they retract inwards and settle somewhere between her hips, leaving her skin a sticky, sweaty mess in their wake.

Finally regaining traces of control over her own muscles, Yvie stops jerking against Scarlet. Her knee sliding off the bed, she stumbles backwards, legs shaky, breathing still ragged, and vision blurry around the edges. Scarlet doesn’t let go of her thighs until Yvie steps out of reach, like she’s set on keeping her close but can’t muster the energy to go through with it, and when Yvie slips through her fingers, she tiredly drops her hands in her lap. She shrinks a little, like she was upholding her posture only because Yvie was trapping her, keeping her spine straightened, and her head falls back against the side of the bed.

Scarlet’s a wreck, her hair visibly tangled where Yvie’s been gripping it, her lids even heavier, her lips puffy and glistening with Yvie’s wetness, smeared all across her chin, too, and she’s so fucking gorgeous it stings just a little, a sharp stab somewhere between Yvie’s ribs. She’s gulping in air, her still exposed tits heaving, and she’s staring at Yvie all dazed, like taking Yvie apart ruined her more than anything else tonight, and then suddenly her hand shoots up, one finger swiping over her slick lower lip and slipping into her mouth.

Yvie stares at her, an aftershock clenching her pussy as Scarlet sucks lazily. Her legs feel so unsteady she thinks she might collapse, and her brain is sluggish, processing information slowly, consumed with the warm tingling in her gut and between her thighs and distracted by the sex goddess in front of her, trying to puzzle out where her assumptions about Scarlet had gone so wrong. Scarlet pops her finger out of her mouth and inspects it with dark eyes, and Yvie manages to hold onto a thought long enough to try to articulate it.

“You — nails,” she manages, pointing at Scarlet weakly.

“Huh?” Scarlet gazes up at her open-mouthed, pink tongue dragging over her lips. She makes a movement like she wants to stand, hand tugging Yvie’s covers halfway off the bed and her legs tensing, and then pouts, apparently not having the strength to do it herself.

“You had nails, before,” Yvie says, her voice hoarse but more sure now. Instinctively moving forwards on wobbly legs as she sees Scarlet struggle, she offers her hands, pulling the smaller woman to her feet with more effort than should be required, her muscles feeling like they’re made of chewing gum.

“Oh.” Scarlet nods slowly, maintaining her grip on Yvie’s hands, her bare chest bumping against Yvie’s clothed one as they come nearly face to face. “They were — they were press-ons,” she says in a murmur, blinking earnestly. “I um, I took them off in the car. Wasn’t gonna keep ‘em on when I was going home with a woman as hot as you.”

“You’re not straight,” Yvie exhales, unsure if she’s asking or just stating, almost awed, squeezing Scarlet’s hands tighter as the realization washes over her again.

“What?” Scarlet stares at her, seeming utterly baffled, like she doesn’t even understand the question.

“You like women.”

“Of course?” Scarlet says, her brow furrowing. “I’m a lesbian.”

Yvie feels her throat tighten, as if she might choke or gasp or start crying. Scarlet looks so confused, her pretty mouth slightly open and still glossy from Yvie’s wetness, and Yvie is surging forwards to crush their lips together before she can help herself, the kiss a clumsy bumping of mouths for a moment before Scarlet catches up and reciprocates, lets Yvie taste herself on her tongue, the flavor so entirely different than the sticky lipstick she’s grown accustomed to that it makes her heart skip a beat.

The kiss isn’t long, Yvie breaking off to gasp in air, her hands curled around Scarlet’s gently. The woman in front of her looks even more dumbstruck now, chasing Yvie’s lips instinctively as she pulls away, her body leaning in closer as if magnetically drawn towards her, and she’s still so unbelievably responsive to every move and touch that it takes Yvie’s breath away.

“What was that for?” she mumbles, tilting her chin up to peck Yvie’s bottom lip.

“Nothing,” Yvie dismisses, ignoring how the gentle contact makes her dizzy, trying and failing to make her voice emotionless and disinterested.

She lets go of Scarlet’s hands all at once, and turns to grab the strap-on from the floor, hesitant once again to show any of her emotions or vulnerability as she steadily comes back to her senses. Scarlet hums softly behind her, seeming unconcerned, and Yvie sets the toy aside to be cleaned later, turns around to find Scarlet with her thumbs hooked into the top of her dress, pushing it down over her hips and leaving her entirely naked.

Yvie’s first reaction is dumb staring, her gaze drifting over Scarlet’s soft breasts, her slender waist and her tummy, the smooth curve of her hips and the brown curls between her thighs. Her second is confusion, wondering why Scarlet would undress after sex, if she’s planning on staying the night, why she’d plan on that without bothering to ask. Yvie opens her mouth, ready to object, and then closes it again, realizing after a moment that even though the women she brings home never stick around, Scarlet is different, and she doesn’t particularly have an objection, can’t actually believe that for once she won’t be abruptly left behind.

“So,” Scarlet says, drawing out the word, her tone teasing and playful again as she leans back against the bed and tugs on a lock of her hair, every bit the brat Yvie’s known she is since the beginning. “Where’s the weed, daddy?”

Her stomach dropping at Scarlet’s attitude, Yvie swallows hard, pussy suddenly interested again, her fingers practically itching to grab for Scarlet. Ignoring the impulse and arousal, she quirks an eyebrow, watches Scarlet’s responding pout, the bossy tilt of her head. The other woman’s arms cross under her tits, squishing them together, and the sight makes Yvie’s brain go blank for a moment.

“Right,” she grunts through her teeth, set on restoring her front. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“And the dick,” Scarlet says solemnly.

Rolling her eyes, Yvie mostly fails to suppress a chuckle, her composure already cracking again. Scarlet beams at her, her expression a combination of pleased and hopeful, like eliciting the reaction out of Yvie is the greatest thing she’s ever accomplished. Yvie sucks on her lower lip, fighting the twitch of the corners of her mouth before it spills into a full smile and shoulders past Scarlet to pull the comforter and the covers off the bed.

She gestures for Scarlet to climb in, and belatedly realizes she’s offering her side of the bed, but that stops mattering as soon as she sees Scarlet crawling across the sheets, round, perfect ass flawlessly in the air, the fair flesh oh so tempting. Scarlet flops onto the mattress face first, humming contently and going from a seductress to an adorable little thing in a split second, and Yvie’s rib cage suddenly feels oddly restricted. Shaking her head as if to get rid of the sensation, Yvie follows, readjusting the pillows so they can serve as a backrest. Beside her, Scarlet shuffles and turns, sitting up against the headboard and making a show of getting comfortable just like she had done in the Uber. Yvie lets her fidget in peace and leans over her to reach for her smoking materials, conveniently stored in her bedside drawer.

“Your fingers are so long,” Scarlet observes. “You should finger me next time.”

Yvie stills mid loading the grinder, the little baggie of weed still unsealed in her lap, and snaps around in Scarlet’s direction. The other is clearly examining Yvie’s hands, face thoughtful and the corner of her lip crushed between her teeth.

“I should…what? Wait, next time?”

“D’you finger yourself?” The question is so unexpected, so unabashed, that Yvie’s body locks up again. “You’d moan so pretty with those inside you.”

“Um,” Yvie says, stupefied, and, without looking what she’s doing, grabs another pinch of weed from the baggie and deposits it in the grinder, rubbing her fingertips together to brush the remnants off. “I — yes.”

“Oh, so you do moan pretty?” Scarlet prods her coyly, a little smile on her lips. “You sure did with my tongue in you, daddy.”

“Not half as much as you with my cock in you,” Yvie shoots back, unsure whether she’s teasing or defending. “You’re a screamer,” she adds, and Scarlet’s mouth opens in affront.

“Well, if you had the daddy of your dreams dicking you down after feeling you up outside a shitty bar, you’d be screaming too,” Scarlet returns, wiggling her head sassily.

“Sure, babe,” Yvie chuckles and screws the lid closed, immediately starting to grind the weed, the familiar clicking filling the room.

“Mean,” Scarlet huffs, narrowing her eyes, her pout pronounced and playful.

Looking at Scarlet, Yvie sticks out her tongue in response, mocking her right back. Scarlet’s eyes widen comically, all the traces of flirting disappearing as she freezes, her mouth slightly agape.

“Oh — okay, maybe not fingering next time,” she breathes.

Realizing that Scarlet’s reaction is fluster over seeing her tongue, Yvie quickly presses her lips together, feeling a little unhinged herself. Glancing away, she rotates the grinder a couple more times and then deems the job done well enough to begin rolling. Retrieving a paper and a filter, she starts evenly distributing the weed, moving with a tiny bit more precision and caution than necessary to avoid looking at Scarlet as long as she possibly can.

Scarlet’s words feel as if they’re etched into her brain, and Yvie can’t help the downwards spiral of her thoughts, the way her mouth waters and her gut twists at the idea of getting between Scarlet’s thighs. It’s been so very long since she tasted a woman, so long since she’s let herself indulge in something so up close and personal, never wanting to risk the embarrassment of doing something unwanted and unrequested, always worried the intimacy of the act that she loved so much would make it even more of a slap in the face when the women inevitably left her hanging.

Pinching both ends of the paper between her thumbs and index fingers, Yvie tucks one side over the weed and rotates the filter in a single swift motion. As she brings the blunt up to lick the paper, she hears Scarlet gasp and then honest to God whimper next to her, and her mind is made before she’s even finished rolling.

Tossing the materials aside, Yvie grabs the glass ashtray she keeps on her nightstand along with a cheap plastic lighter and sets it on the bed close to Scarlet. She taps the filter against the back of her hand impulsively before placing the joint between her lips and lighting up. There’s a sound of burning paper and then Yvie tastes the weed, inhales on reflex, and holds the smoke in for a moment. She looks back at Scarlet only when she lets it out, and finds the woman pressing her thighs together tightly, nibbling on her lower lip, her darkening gaze fixed on Yvie’s mouth.

Yvie hands her the blunt, clearing her throat to get her attention and prompt her to move. With a little oh, Scarlet takes it, immediately bringing it to her mouth without shifting her eyes from Yvie’s face, and taking a slow drag. Yvie watches her cheeks hollow and grits her teeth against her arousal, feeling her pussy twitch as she remembers Scarlet sucking on her clit. While Yvie is busy staring, Scarlet offers the blunt back, but instead of taking it, Yvie just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you gonna smoke with me, daddy?” Scarlet purrs after she exhales the cloud of smoke, her voice noticeably thicker now. “Deemed you someone who likes getting high after sex.”

Yvie suppresses a shiver and moves closer to her, utterly entranced by the sight of Scarlet smoking her weed naked in her bed, briefly tempted by the possibility of shotgunning before she dismisses the idea for another time. Laying the tip of her index finger on the bruise she’d left on Scarlet’s throat, Yvie drags it across her chest slowly and lightly, swirling around her nipple before rubbing it to elicit a whimper and moving farther down, over her tummy and finally to the inside of her hip, the rest of her fingers joining the first to slide softly over Scarlet’s curls and between her thighs that open for her so easily, cupping her pussy gently.

“No, baby,” she says lowly, immensely satisfied by the wide-eyed expression on Scarlet’s face and the way she nudges into Yvie’s touch. “I’m gonna eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Scarlet chokes out, her legs immediately moving farther apart. “Please.”

Wasting no time, Yvie maneuvers herself on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, snaking her arms around her thighs. Scarlet’s cunt is shining with wetness, her scent strong and prominent again, and Yvie revels at how easy it seems to wind her up into this state. She pulls Scarlet a little closer, a tiny yelp escaping the other woman as she slides on the sheets, but she quickly catches up and settles against the pillows, pushing her hips up for a better angle, her heels digging into the mattress either side of Yvie.

Yvie turns her eyes up, studying the dreamy expression on Scarlet’s face. The blunt she’s holding close to her mouth has gone out, and Yvie thinks she’s starting to recognize the tendency to forget the stuff she’s smoking whenever something mildly more interesting emerges, and it should be infuriating or annoying at best, but for a reason unbeknownst to Yvie, she finds herself endeared instead.

“Want you to smoke while I do this, babe,” she says and it comes out far too tender to be considered a command.

“Okay,” Scarlet says anyway, a perfect picture of obedience. “Okay, daddy.”

She puts the blunt back between her lips and blindly pats around the sheets until she locates the lighter Yvie left next to her. With trembling fingers, she attempts to spark up again, the process taking more than a few tries before she manages to get a proper flame and suck in another cloud of smoke. Scarlet exhales unsteadily, her heavy-lidded eyes blinking at Yvie, rotates her hips just a little as if in invitation. Yvie drops her gaze back down, enjoying the view before her, taking in the gorgeous contrast between Scarlets pink, still swollen pussy and the brown of her damp, unruly hair, considers, for just a second, how she wishes she could capture the colors in an abstract painting, but then Scarlet’s clit spasms visibly as she clenches around nothing, and Yvie’s mind goes foggy.

She presses in closer so her nose is tickled with the hair just above the cleft of Scarlet’s pussy, breathes her in open-mouthed, dragging her lips oh-so-gently over Scarlet’s folds. She laps her tongue tentatively, blindly along Scarlet’s slit, and groans quietly, the taste so strong and distinct, the warmth driving her crazy, her head already swimming even though she’s just barely begun. Scarlet’s mewl is weak and needy and perfect, the light, lingering touch making her hips cant forwards, and this time, Yvie doesn’t make much of an attempt to stop it, doesn’t force Scarlet’s stillness, instead dipping her tongue deeper to flick against her entrance and savoring the feeling of having a woman so responsive, so alive, so wanting under her mouth.

One of her arms slipping farther around Scarlet’s thigh, Yvie strokes her nails through the hair, then spreads Scarlet’s soft folds with her thumb and pointer finger. She teases her tongue up to tap at Scarlet’s clit, coaxing another whine out of the woman beneath her, and then drops back down to get another taste of her wetness.

Scarlet’s leaking so profoundly, and combined with how Yvie herself is salivating, she knows they’re making a mess, can feel it coating her lips, trickling downwards, so untidy and filthy, foreign and intimate in the way Yvie has longed for so bad she’s succeeded to convince herself she’s never needed it anyway. Yvie licks over Scarlet’s entrance to lap up the slick, not wanting to let any go to waste before she twirls her tongue around the opening and starts edging the tip in.

Above, Scarlet moans around the filter, her hips jerking into the contact slightly, and Yvie glances up just in time to witness how she closes her eyes and throws her head back in pleasure, gradually blows out a cloud, the smoke playing at her lips in intricate swirls prior to tracing higher and dissipating. The way this position exposes her neck is exquisite, the blooming mark clearly noticeable, her strong jawline defined, and Yvie feels a little overwhelmed, wishes she could capture this, and, using the only outlet she has right now, works her tongue deeper into Scarlet’s cunt. Scarlet cries quietly, head falling farther back against the headboard, breathing growing heavier, the rise and fall of her tits driving Yvie mad, and as she bites on her lower lip and chokes out something incomprehensible, the blunt goes out once more.

Yvie pulls away and cranes her neck to gently plant her chin on Scarlet’s pelvis right above her pussy instead, still looking up at her in fascination. “C’mon, Scarlet,” she murmurs when there’s no reaction from the other.

Scarlet jolts like she’s only now coming to, previously too lost in her hazy desire to pay attention to her surroundings. Meeting Yvie’s eyes, she blinks stupidly like she’s trying to get rid of blurriness and focus her dilated pupils, and suddenly there’s a tiny, wondering smile on her lips.

“Say that again,” she whispers in a rasp.

“Hmm?” Yvie hums, absentmindedly trailing her fingers on Scarlet’s inner thigh.

“My name. Say it again, please.”

“Oh,” Yvie breathes out. “Scarlet.”

The name is titanium on Yvie’s tongue, full of weight, interlacing with Scarlet’s taste until Yvie can’t tell them apart, and Scarlet’s corresponding beam pulls at Yvie’s heartstrings in a way she isn’t sure she can justify just yet, not this soon.

“C’mon, Scarlet,” Yvie repeats thickly, swallowing in an attempt to clear the dizzying weight of the emotions in her head. “C’mon, baby, try again,” she coaxes. “I want you smoking for me, remember?”

Whimpering, Scarlet squirms, stares down at Yvie pleadingly. Yvie whispers her name one more time, sweetly, and watches as Scarlet weakens and moves to do as she says, fumbling for the lighter again and struggling to make it work. Unable to resist the small smile that nestles into the corner of her own mouth, Yvie lifts her head, hides it with a gentle kiss pressed to the place where her chin had been. She glances up just as Scarlet manages to raise the flame to the end of the blunt, and then presses her lips to the edge of Scarlet’s hair, near the fold of her hip, lingering there as the warmth of her skin sinks into Yvie’s like the first touch of sun in the early springtime.

“There you go,” Yvie hums easily, feeling Scarlet breathe in more than seeing it, hearing her whine on her exhale.

She moves back down again slowly, her gaze on Scarlet’s features, the need in her eyes, the softness of her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she takes another hit immediately after the first as if desperate to do as she’s told, keep it lit this time. When she’s faced with Scarlet’s core again, Yvie feels like all the air has been knocked out of her, Scarlet seemingly twice as wet as before, folds slippery with it, juices dripping onto the sheet below her and pooling at the source.

Shaking herself out of her staring after a moment, Yvie swipes her tongue over the length of her, collecting the slick and groaning helplessly at the taste and the rise of Scarlet’s hips in response. Not wasting any time, she circles her arms farther around Scarlet’s thighs, slips her hands down to pry her folds apart with her thumbs, and thrusts her tongue inside of Scarlet once more. The heady flavor makes her gut twist, the clench of Scarlet’s channel so unbelievably tight and needy, and Yvie can’t believe she’s kept herself from this for so long. She pushes deeper, eliciting a moan, and realizes that now that she’s had Scarlet on her tongue, she can’t imagine how she’ll be able to do this with anyone else, or go back to not doing it at all.

As if she’s unable to keep still, Scarlet slides down on the sheets, her back arching and her free hand clutching one of the headboard bars, nails clawing at the wood like she’s trying to ground herself. She drops the half-finished blunt in the ashtray, and then her fingers are pressing into the back of Yvie’s neck, not necessarily to pull her in, just to keep her close as her hips repeatedly push up and she grinds her pussy against Yvie’s mouth. She’s probably taking it too far, crossing some sort of line Yvie knows she should and does have, but there’s strings of please and more and oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod tumbling off Scarlet’s lips, and Yvie is drawn in head over heels, wants to indulge her so bad it hurts.

With the new tilt of Scarlet’s hips, it’s even easier to fuck into her, even easier to raise the pitch of her voice and make her breathe in gasps and pants, but its not enough, somehow, and Yvie needs to have her absolutely overwhelmed, no coherency left in the words spilling from her lips. Laying the pad of her thumb against Scarlet’s clit, Yvie starts to rub slow circles, and the reaction is instantaneous. Scarlet cries out, jerking uselessly as if it’s too much when she’s still so sensitive, but Yvie only presses harder, more insistent with her movements now, and it’s only moments before Scarlet surrenders with a sob, her thighs opening wider as if she’s inviting Yvie to have her way with her, and Yvie lets herself get lost in all of it, in the taste and the sensations and the sounds, in Scarlet’s willingness and complete trust in her.

There’s a prominent trembling of Scarlet’s muscles under Yvie’s touch, uncontrollable and steadily increasing, and Yvie can conclude she’s close to coming undone. She almost wishes she could move up Scarlet’s body, trace her lips over her ear and growl a command to come, or maybe just press kisses under the lobe and talk her into it in a murmur, come on, baby, let it go, give it up for me, gorgeous, that’s it baby. But Scarlet is dripping everywhere, covering Yvie’s chin and lips and cheeks with wetness, and she’s fluttering around Yvie’s tongue so addictively as she begins to tense further and further, and Yvie knows she couldn’t move if she tried. She works her tongue harder, as if she can press the words into Scarlet’s walls, and hums instead of speaking, sending vibrations through her folds, coaxing the climax out of her with the merciless movements of her thumb on her clit.

When Scarlet orgasms, she does so with a low moan, her pussy pulsing against Yvie’s face and under her thumb, her thighs spasming and trapping Yvie’s head between them. Her hips jerk into the contact, once, twice, and then she’s falling back onto the mattress, crying out softly, like this is finally too much and she can’t bear to be touched any longer, is trying to escape Yvie. Withdrawing her tongue, Yvie laps softly over her entrance to collect the wetness, as if there’s still remnants of thirst to quench, and removes her thumb from Scarlet’s clit. Her arms tight around the other woman’s thighs, Yvie lays her palms on Scarlet’s lower abdomen instead, pressing her hips solidly into the bed to keep her steady and anchored as she comes down.

Staying where she is, on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, Yvie turns her head slightly and noses Scarlet’s silky inner thigh, litters little kisses everywhere she can reach and listens as the pattern of Scarlet’s breathing pacifies and evens out slowly. Scarlet’s intakes of air are raspy, her exhales long and shattered, and her frame quakes with aftershocks, forcefully at first and then with decreasing intensity and frequency, until she eventually goes completely boneless. They lie there like that, bodies not quite intertwined but still skin on skin, and Yvie tells herself it’s to let Scarlet catch up, pointedly ignoring the way the tightly wound knot in her own gut begins to untangle, leaving her limbs the pleasant kind of heavy and achy.

“Come here, baby,” Scarlet calls in a quiet murmur after a while.

Yvie pushes herself up on her arms, set on just flopping onto the bed next to Scarlet, and hesitates for just one faltering moment, a little disoriented and caught off guard by the sweetness of the pet name. Her pause gives Scarlet enough time to curl her fingers around the base of her skull and grab onto Yvie’s shoulder, tugging her up her body almost urgently instead, as if she needs the weight of Yvie against her, needs her close. Yvie goes willingly, sliding up between Scarlet’s legs, heart in her throat as Scarlet’s hands move to cradle her face so carefully, her gaze wandering over Yvie’s features with an expression Yvie can’t identify.

Yvie opens her mouth, immobilized all over again, wanting to say something but completely lost for words, and Scarlet shakes her head lightly, pulls her in and brings their lips together before she can make an attempt. Yvie gives in to it easily, jaw relaxing as she lets Scarlet take the lead, kissing her slow and thorough, like she’s trying to reassure Yvie of something. She sucks Yvie’s lower lip into her mouth, tongue and teeth pressing into the flesh, and then releases it with a quiet pop.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Scarlet mumbles against her, sounding almost adoring, her thumbs tracing over Yvie’s cheekbones.

Yvie nearly gasps, her chest constricting, and then Scarlet’s kissing her again, needier now, letting out an almost inaudible whine as she nuzzles closer. Her tongue is pressing eagerly into Yvie’s mouth, and Yvie thinks she’s searching for leftover hints of her own taste, or maybe just trying to suffocate Yvie with the nearness of her, to draw all the oxygen out of her lungs so that when she lets go, Yvie will fall weakly onto Scarlet’s chest with every last defense broken down to useless pieces, nothing left between her cheek and the gentleness of Scarlet’s touch, the warmth of her skin.

When they finally break apart, Scarlet holds Yvie in place still, pressing lazy, close-mouthed pecks on her lips, and Yvie keeps her eyes shut, tries to will her head to stop spinning and loses that fight miserably, feels like Scarlet could draw any confession from her breath right now if she wanted. Her grip on Yvie starts to loosen slowly as she lets out a sigh and tilts her chin up to place one more kiss on Yvie’s mouth. Yvie opens her eyes, watches as Scarlet settles back against the pillows again with a satisfied, sleepy smile on her face and her puffy lips shiny with saliva.

“Want my blunt back,” she announces in a purr, blinking up at Yvie.

Yvie almost chuckles at the demand, props herself up a little farther. “Oh, do you?” she husks, lifting an eyebrow, smiling right back at Scarlet and tilting her head towards the ashtray. “It’s still right over there, technically. You could just grab it.”

Scarlet lifts one of her hands, makes a weak and uninspired effort to reach for it, and then sighs dramatically, shakes her head with a pronounced pout. “Nah-uh. Can’t.”

This time, Yvie doesn’t even attempt to hold off the wave of endearment that washes over her, Scarlet’s blatant attitude so very charming to her. She feels herself soften in response, the tension in her shoulders and neck weakening as both her body and mind relax. Barely stopping herself from kissing the pout off Scarlet’s mouth, she rolls her eyes instead, opting for sarcasm, but, as she deducts from Scarlet’s smug little face, ending up looking quite fond instead.

“Brat,” she says, unable to shake the sensation it comes out praising more than anything else.

Scarlet just hums like Yvie’s making a fair point that she can’t really argue with, and Yvie rolls her eyes again, grabbing the blunt from the ashtray and tapping it against the edge before she gently brings it up to Scarlet. The other takes it between her lips, still no move to indicate she’s going to do anything herself, and Yvie scoffs, pulls back a little to allow herself space to click the lighter, and then snatches her rolling materials off the bedside table and sits back against the pillows.

“Are you at least gonna smoke it yourself, or do you need help with that too?” she quips, fingers quickly working on a new blunt.

“Ha-ha,” Scarlet says dryly and blows some smoke in Yvie’s general direction.

“Try not to let it go out this time,” Yvie comments lowly, and Scarlet shrugs, seeming unbothered.

“Hurry up and finish, I wanna cuddle.”

Yvie doesn’t try to stop the smile that plays at her lips, eyes narrowing as she finishes up with her rolling and sets the materials aside again, bringing the blunt up to light it. The smoke is satin, smooth and rich, and it fills Yvie’s lungs in a way that oxygen never could, satisfying the craving she didn’t realize was there until it was already being eased.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, as if something has just occurred to her, and Yvie glances over at her quizzically. “You never told me your name.”

“Yvie.” She replies before even thinking it through, instinctively giving Scarlet what she wants, and is shocked when it doesn’t feel like a mistake, instead feels like something she should’ve done far sooner. “It’s Yvie.”

“Yvie,” Scarlet repeats, and it’s soft on her lips, her tone wondering, as if she’s exploring how it feels. “Yvie, Yvie, Yvie.”

Her heart beating noticeably quicker, Yvie holds the next puff of smoke in as long as she can, willing it to slow down, trying to regain her composure as Scarlet mumbles her name a few more times and stares up at her so searchingly.

“You gonna stop calling me daddy now?” Yvie asks once she’s sure her voice won’t shake.

“I will literally never stop calling you daddy,” Scarlet says, her voice level and completely serious, looking Yvie dead in the eyes. Yvie lets out a laugh before she can help it, and Scarlet grins all at once. “But Yvie suits you,” she adds, and pats the bed next to her. “C’mere and lay down with me, Yvie.”

Refusing to let herself overthink it, she scoots downwards so that she’s reclining, and waves her hand at Scarlet, indicating that the other woman should move closer instead.

“Hm?” Scarlet hums, squinting at Yvie. “No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Baby,” Yvie says after blowing out a cloud of smoke, amusement audible in her voice. “We’re not laying in your wet spot.”

“Oh.” Scarlet blushes, a cheeky little smile on her face, and Yvie’s ribs feel suddenly too tight, affection swelling in her chest at the sight.

Scarlet finishes her blunt and stumps it out against the darkened, ashy glass, making sure the cherry is out properly before leaving the stub in the ashtray and handing it to Yvie. Yvie turns her attention elsewhere for just a split second to set it down on the mattress next to her thigh and flick her own blunt against the rim. That’s enough time for Scarlet to slide closer on the sheets and plaster herself to Yvie’s side, one leg immediately tangling with Yvie’s and a palm being flattened against Yvie’s abs right below the hem of her crop top.

As if on autopilot, Yvie immediately lifts her arm to accommodate Scarlet better, and Scarlet slips under it easily, allowing Yvie to wrap it around her and feeling so comfortable and warm and just the right size for snuggling. Yvie clears her throat like she’s ashamed of the thought, and while she takes another hit, Scarlet’s hand starts climbing higher unhurriedly, up and up, under the top and slightly to the left and suddenly she’s cupping Yvie’s breast.

“Um,” Yvie lets out with smoke. “What are you doing?”

Scarlet swipes a firm thumb over the nipple, pressing down a little harder when she’s right in the middle, the rest of her fingers digging into the flesh adamantly, and nuzzles her face into the side of Yvie’s neck, pecking the jaw.

“Feelin’ you up, daddy,” she murmurs sweetly, dropping another kiss just beneath the first. “I love your tits.”

“Shut up,” Yvie chuckles lowly.

“Mmm,” Scarlet muses, kissing Yvie’s neck once more and squeezing the breast. “Why don’t you make me.”

“I am so not falling for that,” Yvie informs her and side-eyes Scarlet who produces a meek whine in response. “But I like your tits, too.”

“Aw, thank you, daddy,” Scarlet says through a yawn. “They like you too, especially when you made them bounce when you fucked me. You should definitely do that again soon.”

Puffing on her blunt, Yvie lets the smoke fill her lungs and seep into the very fibers of her being before releasing it and replying to Scarlet, a lazy smile on her lips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Uh huh,” Scarlet hums, snuggling closer, forehead pressed to Yvie’s neck and her cheek resting against her collarbone.

The thought that Scarlet fits perfectly beside her reemerges, and Yvie mulls it over, contemplating the weight of Scarlet’s head against her shoulder, the dizzyingly soft press of her breasts to her side, the way her leg curls around Yvie’s as if she’s a vine climbing a pole. Yvie continues smoking as Scarlet yawns again, mumbling something incomprehensible, and wonders why the feeling of interlocking with her like a puzzle piece doesn’t make her stomach sick with fear. Putting it down to the weed and the orgasm, Yvie lets go of both thoughts and sinks into Scarlet’s warmth, her lids lowering.

Scarlet’s breathing starts gradually growing deeper and heavier, as if she’s seconds from falling asleep, and the idea of keeping her on her chest like this while she drifts makes the back of Yvie’s throat prickle. She tries to swallow against the lump of emotions forming there, still almost unable to believe that Scarlet wants to be close to her like this, even after everything that’s happened. She stubs out her blunt, placing the ashtray on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

“Babe,” she whispers, bouncing her shoulder lightly to attract Scarlet’s attention, worrying for a moment that Scarlet will roll over or go away, like a cat who’s settled in her lap and will only stay in place if she refrains from moving a single muscle.

But Scarlet only produces a little wincing noise and clings to Yvie even harder, and Yvie catches her breath, her head tilting back as she processes that Scarlet is holding onto her like this, loathing the prospect of stirring her right now or ever doing anything to disturb her comfort in any way, even temporarily.

“Baby, I need to move us,” she tries again. “Come on.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet whines. “‘M comfy.”

“You’ll be even comfier once I lie down with you, I just need to adjust us real quick.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet repeats, her voice fading toward the end like she can’t stay awake long enough to finish her half-hearted protest.

Tightly hugging Scarlet close to herself, Yvie cautiously sits up, the calming effects of both weed and her orgasm as well as the desire to maintain the peace of the now quietly snoring woman on her chest preventing her from making any quick movements, Scarlet mutters something, but it’s muffled and feeble and barely audible, and Yvie twists her arm to blindly reach behind her back and reposition the pillows the best she can without fidgeting too much or letting go of Scarlet.

As she lies down and pulls Scarlet farther onto her chest, the other unconsciously moves her hand from Yvie’s breast to circle her arm around Yvie’s middle, and hides her face in the fabric of Yvie’s top. Yvie pushes her own spare arm behind her head and settles, lets her eyes flutter shut.

In an hour or so, she’ll wake up to Adore bringing Violet home, swinging the front door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and falling into the apartment. They’ll both be far drunker than they were when Yvie last saw them at the bar, and Violet will be giggling loudly while Adore will be whispering dirty promises to her in a voice that isn’t nearly as hushed as she apparently imagines it to be. One of them will walk into a piece of furniture, and their ensuing laughter will finally make Scarlet stir and slur out something in her sleep right before she’ll cuddle a little bit closer to Yvie, and that’ll force Yvie to give up her plan to get up and go shout at Adore in lieu of holding Scarlet tighter and allowing herself to doze off again, a weird, unfamiliar feeling dwelling in her chest at the realization Scarlet hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

The next time Yvie will wake up after that, it’ll be morning already, the bright light of the low November sun shining through the curtains she forgot to close. Scarlet will be gently tugging her legs open, looking up at Yvie wonderingly and asking if she please may, daddy in a sugary little tone. Yvie will nod and close her eyes again, let Scarlet’s warm tongue take her apart until she’s unable to hold back moans, and then she’ll bask in the afterglow and watch as Scarlet throws one of her flannels over her naked form and informs Yvie she’s going to get something to drink.

All of that will happen, but right now Yvie doesn’t think ahead, doesn’t ponder the future at all. She just lets contentment wash over her in tides and enjoys the lightness of marijuana in her fingertips and the weight of a body on her own, pulled safely down to earth by the limbs draped over her and the feeling that this time around, maybe no one will leave or be left, curled so sweet and secure in her chest.

#rpdr fanfiction #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #scyvie #adore delano #violet chachki #viadore #smut #fluff #lesbian au #cisgirl au #this time around #rbcch #miss bianca #tw daddy kink #tw heterophobia #brooklyn babies #s11

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