#but i figured this was a good halfway point

[firewasabeast]

this is mostly just Eddie and Tommy talking when Eddie comes into town for Bobby's funeral. It's the most pointless fic I think I've ever written. Enjoy!

A knock on the door startled Tommy. He’d been laying down for a couple of hours now, not quite asleep, but not fully conscious either.

He got out of bed quickly, but carefully, and made a beeline for the door before the knocking started up again.

He swung the door open to Eddie on the other side, fist raised and ready to bang on the door again.

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as his arm drops back to his side. “Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, Eddie,” Tommy greeted, moving to the side. “Come in.”

Eddie stepped inside, looking around at how things had changed.

Tommy shut the door, then motioned for Eddie to take a seat on the couch. “Evan said your flight was getting in tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah, it was, but an earlier flight popped up and I just… wanted to be here, with everyone.”

Tommy nodded, pointing toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I’m gonna grab a beer.”

“Sounds good.”

Tommy wasn’t gone long, returning with a beer in each hand. He handed one to Eddie before sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Evan’s asleep,” he informed him. “He hasn’t been resting much lately, but I can wake him if you want.”

“Oh, no. No, I- I know it’s gotta be hell on him right now. Let him sleep.” Eddie twisted the cap off his bottle and took a sip. “What the hell even happened, Man?” he asked, shaking his head. “I heard from Ravi first. He tried telling me what went down, but it sounded like something out of a bad horror movie. Trying to talk to Chim or Hen wasn’t much better, and then Buck’s been… well, I guess you know how Buck’s been.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Tommy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he began. “You know about the virus stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I kinda came in halfway through that emergency. Stole a helicopter-- again. Had a standoff with the FBI and the army. It was all a setup, giving Athena time to find Moira and the anti-viral. We thought…” His voice trailed off. He tapped his finger against the bottle in his hand. “We thought we were trying to save Howie. Thought that we’d, um, that we’d get him and Hen to the hospital and everyone else would be fine. But Bobby...”

“Ravi said he did it to save everyone else; that there would have been four funerals if it weren’t for him.”

Tommy nodded. “A couple minutes,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, “and everything would have been different. Everyone would have been out.”

“Sounds like you’re blaming yourself.”

“Took me too long to get away from the damn FBI.” He shrugged. “It’s not just me though. Everyone trying to stop us, all the obstacles. Two minutes, Eddie. Two minutes and everything would be fine.”

“It’s not fair, Man, but it’s not on you.”

"Mm," Tommy hummed, and Eddie could hear all the words he wasn't saying. “I don’t believe you, but I’m not giving myself time to think about it right now, so let’s let it go.”

There was silence. An awkward lull in the conversation before Eddie broke it.

“So, you’re here,” he noted.

“I’m here.”

“I guess that means you decided to stop being an idiot and get your head out of your ass.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Well, tell me how you really feel.”

“Sorry, I… I shouldn’t have said that like that.” Eddie ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I haven’t gotten much sleep the last couple days.”

“None of us have.” Tommy quickly drank down half of his beer. “And it’s fine. You’re not wrong.”

“But you two, you… you figured everything out? Got it sorted?”

Tommy stared down at his bottle, watching as it started to sweat. “I apologized for the things I said,” he confirmed, “when we were up in the chopper. He did too. A lot of misunderstandings and, well, me being an idiot.”

“So no more insane ideas about me being competition?”

“Really, really love how you two communicate everything with each other.”

“He didn’t tell me, dumbass. Chimney called last week, caught me up.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

Tommy sighed. “Should I apologize to you too then?”

“Eh, I found it kinda funny at the time.”

“Yes, well, Evan did not.”

“Yeah, because he’s in love with you.”

Another sigh. “That’s not-”

“Oh, don’t even start with me. I was there for the baking and moping and the ‘should I call him? I should call him. What if he needs me? What if he’s in trouble? He’s bubbling me, Eddie. Now he stopped. Now he’s bubbling. He stopped. He’s bubbling.’ Over and over again. Thought I’d go insane.”

Tommy squinted. “I don’t know what half of that means."

“It means he loves you, and you clearly love him, and both of you should stop acting like I’m some hurdle standing in your way. I like my ankles the way they are.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t get me wrong, Buck’s a great friend. Love him like a brother, but we would absolutely kill each other if we lived together for a long weekend, let alone a lifetime. I always need a nap after we hang out for a few hours.”

There was a sudden sharpness in Tommy’s chest. A wave of anger he couldn’t quite place. He quickly shoved it away. Now wasn’t the time.

He set his bottle down, then leaned back into the couch. “I’m not even sure I know exactly what we are. We cleared things up in the helicopter, but we were also trying to evade the army and the FBI, so it’s not like we got to clarify where we stand.”

Eddie stared at him. “But you’re here?”

“I don’t want him to be alone right now.”

Well, I’m assuming you’re not just making yourself at home against Buck’s will.”

“What? Of course not. He asked me to stay, and I wanted to stay anyway, so I’m staying.”

“You two are both exhausting.” Eddie shook his head, “And damn near perfect for each other. Don’t screw it up this time.”

“Eddie-”

“Oh, and by the way, Buck may not have told me the whole ‘he thinks you’re competition’ crap, but he did tell me that I was a child for cutting you off when you guys broke up. See, I thought I was doing the right thing by siding with my best friend. Apparently, there were no sides and I’m a moron.”

“I didn’t really expect you to keep hanging out with me, Eddie. It’s no big deal.”

Eddie scoffed. “Not to you, maybe.”

Tommy shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “We don’t need to talk about this stuff right now anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“Really? Because I think it matters more than ever, Tommy. You’re wasting time when you could let yourself be happy instead.”

“Are we fighting right now?” Tommy asked, eyebrows furrowed. “It feels like we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting. I’m just trying to stop you from being stupid. I meant it when I said you two were perfect for each other. You’re here, at this house, for a reason, Tommy. You may not wanna believe it, that he loves you, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. Might as well accept it.”

“I don’t-” A shuffling sound coming from the bedroom had Tommy snapping his mouth shut.

“Tommy?” Buck called as he started down the hall. “Wh- Where’d you- Eddie?”

Buck stood at the end of the hall, confused. His looked exhausted, like no amount of sleep would ever be enough. His eyes were red and puffy, hair a mess, and it looked like he hadn’t changed out of his sweats and hoodie in a couple of days.

“Hey, Man,” Eddie said, getting up and walking over to Buck to give him a hug. “You doin’ okay?”

“I…” Buck sighed. “No, not really.”

“I know.” Eddie gave Buck’s shoulders a squeeze before letting him go. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it for days now. Don’t really want to believe it’s real.”

Eddie opted to move to the chair as Buck walked over to Tommy. Tommy reached his hand out for him, and Buck practically fell into his side. “Thought you’d left when I woke up,” he muttered, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Evan.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his head. “Eddie got an earlier flight, so we were just talking while you slept.”

“Chris didn’t come?”

Eddie shook his head. “Wanted to, but he’s got finals coming up.”

“What… Where’s your stuff?” Buck asked, lifting his head to look around. “Did you forget to bring a suitcase?”

“Already at the hotel. And,” he added quickly, “before you say anything, my mom had a lot of points about to expire on a credit card, so she told me to use them. I’m good at the hotel.”

Buck nodded, leaning in close to Tommy again. “Spare room’s ready, if you change your mind.”

“Appreciate it.” Eddie glanced down at his watch, taking a breath. “Chim said the whole team is going out tonight for drinks. You two are coming, right?”

“Oh, I- I don’t-”

“Come on. You can’t just stay locked away in here forever. It’ll do you both some good to get out.” Eddie pointed to Tommy, “And don’t you dare try and say you’re not part of the team. You are and if Buck’s coming then so are you.”

Buck looked up at Tommy as he thought it over. Tommy shrugged. “Might be good for us,” he said, thumb brushing up and down over Buck’s shoulder, “like Eddie said.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Just for a little bit.”

“Good.” Eddie stood, clapping his hands together. “I’m gonna head to the hotel to shower and change. I’ll meet you guys there.”

“I think I'll go shower too,” Buck replied, slow to move away from Tommy and stand. “Been moving a little slower than normal lately.”

“Understandable, Man. See ya in a bit.”

They gave each other one more hug before Buck headed back for the bathroom.

Once he heard the door close, Eddie glared over at Tommy. “You ‘don’t know what you are?’”

Tommy got up, walking to the door. “I told you, we haven’t fully talked it out yet.”

“So in the meantime you kiss his head and he snuggles you like you’re two bunny rabbits in a burrow?”

“Oh look.” Tommy reached for the doorknob, motioning with his free hand as he opened it with the other. “You were just leaving.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. When he reached the doorway, he turned back to Tommy. “Tell him you love him, Dude. Stop wasting time.” He reached out, giving Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take it from me, life’s too short.”

“I, um, I should go check on him.”

“Mhm. Seven o’clock. Be there.”

“We will.” Tommy closed the door, then made his way to the bedroom.

Buck hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom yet. He had some new clothes laid out on the bed, but he was just standing at the window, staring outside.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, thinking over some of the things Eddie had said. That Buck could be tiring, exhausting, and that he’d never be able to live with him.

Tommy couldn’t understand that. Evan was a lot of things, but Tommy had never found him tiring. He loved Evan’s excitement for life. Loved spending as much time with him as possible. Loved… loved him.

He took a deep breath, pushing himself away from the doorframe and walking over to Buck. “You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist.

Buck shook his head. “No. I… the thought of showering made me tired all of a sudden.”

“Why don’t I get it ready?” Tommy offered. “I can get in with you. I’ll even give your head a massage.”

Buck turned in his arms to face him, his eyes wet with tears. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Evan. But, um, before we do that, I… there’s something I need to tell you.”

[dinodaweeb]

hi can u write for mark from invincible if u write for it? Preferably something fluffy. love ur writing :)

Crash Landing

Mark Grayson x Gn!Reader A/n: I do write for invincible. I haven’t finished the show yet but eh who cares. Not me.

Summary: Mark seems to make it a habit to crash at your house.

<3

You were halfway through your physics homework when the roof shuddered.

Not thunder. Not construction. Definitely not your neighbor’s questionable sound system.

You waited.

Then—CRASH.

Outside, something—or someone—hit the ground with enough force to shake the living room windows. Again.

You sighed, shoved your pencil behind your ear, and peeked out through the front blinds.

There, in the middle of your yard, was Mark Grayson.

Well—technically Invincible, in his blue-and-yellow suit, one leg stuck in a bush, cape tangled in the branches of your dad’s bonsai tree.

You pushed the door open and leaned against the frame.

“You know,” you called, “you have the entire sky. What exactly do you have against my front lawn?”

Mark groaned, yanking his leg out of the bush. Leaves stuck to his face like confetti.

“Sorry—” he winced, brushing himself off, “—the brakes on this thing are terrible.”

“‘This thing?’ You mean your entire body?”

“Yeah, that.”

You fought a smile and stepped down from the porch. “Rough day?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I may or may not have tried to stop a runaway bus with, uh, my face.”

Poorly, you stifled a laugh. “Did it work?”

“It did not.”

You winced in sympathy. “Yikes.”

“I was aiming for heroic entrance. Got dramatic fall instead.”

You gave him a look. “You always get dramatic fall.”

“It's my signature move!”

You laughed, then noticed the little scrape just under his eye, a streak of dried blood by his temple. “Hey—c’mon inside. I’ve got the first-aid kit and leftover cookies.”

Mark perked up. “Wait. Cookies?”

“Yup.”

“You’re my favorite person,” he said immediately, following you like a loyal puppy.

In your kitchen, Mark sat on the counter while you stood between his legs, carefully dabbing the cut on his temple.

He hissed a little, and you shot him a look.

“Oh, please,” you said. “You’ve fought kaiju-level monsters and alien cyborgs. You can handle a cotton pad.”

“This is worse,” he muttered, trying not to flinch. “The monsters don’t use antiseptic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I use lemon juice?”

“Point taken.”

After a moment, your touch gentled, and you stepped back to admire your handiwork. The cut was barely visible now, but the closeness made your heart thump a little harder than usual.

Mark was watching you.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

You shrugged. “You crash-land in my yard enough times, I figured I might as well get certified.”

“I’ll try to make a softer landing next time.”

“I’ll put a mattress out,” you teased.

He laughed, but then his gaze lingered— the gaze heavy and you knew that look, a little more serious. His voice dropped, quiet.

“I… kinda crash-land around you a lot. Emotionally too.”

You blinked. “That supposed to be poetic, or—?”

“No, I just mean…” He ran a hand through his hair, bashful. “You're my safe place. Like—after the chaos, the blood, the saving-the-world stuff… you're what makes me feel normal again.”

Your breath caught a little.

“And I know I’m a mess sometimes,” he added, laughing nervously. “I don’t always have time, or I show up covered in bruises, or I drop from the sky and ruin your landscaping—”

“You make life interesting,” you interrupted gently. “And honestly? I like it. You don’t have to be perfect, Mark.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. Just don’t get yourself killed trying to impress me.”

“Noted,” he said, mock-serious. “I will only be heroic at moderate levels of danger.”

“Good boy.”

He gave you a crooked grin, then tilted his head slightly.

“…Do I still get cookies?”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the container from the counter, holding one out.

But instead of grabbing it, Mark leaned forward—and took a slow bite, directly from your hand.

Your fingers brushed his lips, warm and soft, just for a second.

He didn’t move back.

Neither did you.

Your face was close to his now, and that smile—the one he only gave you when he forgot the world existed—was lighting up his whole face.

“…I’m not just here for the cookies,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

You leaned in. He met you halfway.

Later, he laid on your couch, head in your lap, absolutely obliterating the rest of the cookies while you played with his hair.

“You think I’m gonna mess up the next fight?” he mumbled with a mouthful of chocolate chip.

You shrugged. “If you do, crash here again.”

He smiled, eyes closing.

“Sure."

[jesncin]

"Constantine: Distorted Illusions" Sure Did Distort My Illusions

When it comes to transformative art I always say, "changes are fine, it's what you say and do with those changes that I'm interested in." This is cape media, they're always reimagining things to tell new stories. So any notion of "accuracy" feels like non-starter arguments for me when discussing a text as nebulous as cape comics. That being said, what does cursed YA graphic novel "Constantine: Distorted Illusions" do with the many changes it makes to Hellblazer lore? Because I'm seeing all these surface level illusions (heheh) to Hellblazer but huge changes are made that undermine the radically punk text of the source material.

Bullet point review of thoughts below, sorry for exposing yall to ken doll Johnstantine again lmao, I just want a meta that goes beyond "I hate that he's pretty":

Let's get this out of the way, the writing is bad. I don't want anyone saying "it's because it's YA/for teens!" because there are fantastic YA graphic novels out there, heck even within DC that's the case (Girl Taking Over, read it). I've read middle grade graphic novels with stronger writing than this. The MG Constantine graphic novel is easily better.

The dialogue is generic and the character voices are not indistinct (if Kami Garcia believes that making John say "Bloody" and "brilliant" and "toss" makes him British, she is mistaken), the relationships are superficial and lack depth, the plot arguably doesn't start until over halfway through the story. I'd argue the story only really starts when Mucuous Membrane gets blacklisted from performing and John decides to summon a spirit for revenge. Otherwise the beginning half is such a drag of nothing.

The art. Compliment sandwich: It's a very appealing style that teens especially will really like. Isaac Goodheart's clearly very skilled in drawing fashion and hairstyles- which again, teens will love.

The not good art: it's the part where, in pursuit of making all the characters look model-level attractive, that it disrupts the momentum of the storytelling. John especially is drawn to be so handsome-squidward that he's rendered with these duck lips in every panel, it's haunting.

Like he's threatening to kiss the reader at any second (and I did not consent). But it isn't limited to John- all the characters have a "supermodel stiffness" that gets in the way of their acting. When someone is devastated, they can't ugly cry- they still have to look hot so they can't fully emote. It makes it hard to treat any emotional beat seriously when the characters are posing for a magazine cover every minute. Some pages felt more like pin ups than truly composing a moment for storytelling reasons. In their quest to make these characters hot, it made me incapable of connecting with them- because they're not emoting like people.

Second end of compliment sandwich for art: The colors are good (props to Ruth Reymond) and some of the layouts are inspired! The painterly pages especially look very cool.

I think Distorted Illusions' biggest sin and what makes it so antithetically Hellblazer (and not in the good way- I'm all for re-imaginings that challenge the source material) is this groveling to authority figures. OG Hellblazer is a punk text- John is a born and raised punk from the 80s to 90s, hates the rich and tricks Gods, Demons, and Devils with his wits. He humiliates beings of authority, proving how their pride gets the better of them. But in Distorted Illusions, John has to apologize and ask for help not just from his dad Thomas (canonically abusive in the og canon text)- but his stepdad and a magician he failed to apprentice under. They all come to help him after he apologizes for being reckless.

In contrast, the Hellblazer middle grade graphic novel "The Mystery of The Meanest Teacher- a Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel" actually understood this! Even for a graphic novel I would consider to be the most safe and commercial way to pitch Hellblazer to kids (it's comedic, plays it safe- sets the story in America, lighthearted), it is still inherently an anti-authority narrative. The plot there was for John and his friend to uncover why their teacher is targeting them as magic-user kids. Johnny uses his smarts to outsmart authority. It's a communal effort with similarly marginalized friends against a bigger threat.

Distorted Illusions on the other hand has John dawdle around in America for a while before he eventually messes up and has to come crying to his dad, stepdad, and teacher for help. A whole coven of magic users of authority just exorcize a demon out of John's hospitalized friend. There wasn't even any smarts involved. No trickery. They just "do powerful magic that John can't do because he doesn't train" and leave. Frankly, with the state of the writing, I don't think Garcia is clever enough to think of a classic Constantine silver tongued solution.

What I do think both the MG and YA graphic novel (and to an extent all of DC!Johnstantine) misunderstand about og Hellblazer is that,,, magic isn't inherently special in the world of Hellblazer. Sure John is from a bloodline of Laughing Magicians but there's plenty of Constantines that don't practice magic. One of the things that surprised me when reading the very first issue of Hellblazer was Gary Lester (John's Mucous Membrane band member and friend) performing an exorcism pretty casually. Tons of characters either dabble in occultish stuff or are experts, but it's framed as something anyone can do.

But then what makes John special then? I thought magic was his power? Well no, it never was. It was his smarts. And I believe that's key to keep in mind. Hellblazer is an anti-genre superhero text- no one person is picked to be exceptional. Anyone in Hellblazer can do magic. John's power is mundane but that's why he's a compelling character. It says anyone, even a working class drunkard can overcome powerful obstacles. When John is "a special birth magic boy" as a means to fit him into some kind of Harry Potter mold, it misses the point for me.

General diversity representation thoughts time. It's apparent that with any adaptation of old source material that "this time it's those characters again but more diverse" and sometimes those changes inform the characters (Girl Taking Over, my beloved) and other times it's diversity paint and the characters are interchangeable with their original counterparts (MAWS, my behated). For Distorted Illusions' case, this means adding more women, characters of color, and John being just a bit more outwardly bi (he just says a guy is hot and ended a relationship with a guy named "Liam" who we never see. It's scraps).

I'm torn here because as a reader of color who loves og Hellblazer but also occasionally finds it a frustrating read from its outdated portrayal of characters of color and general racism/colonialism plots, I turn to the more modern Hellblazer stories like maybe Spirit World or even Distorted Illusions for what I hoped are stories that handled characters of color better. Instead I end up annoyed because while og Hellblazer had outdated writing, those characters of colors' identity mattered to the history and context of the story. Their identities were politicized and therefore not interchangeable with whiteness.

Distorted Illusions wants you to praise it. "Look John has gal pals now! His best friend is a girl! His stepdad is a Black man, his mentor is a Black woman, and his love interest is a brown girl! Also John is definitely bi in this!" But if I changed all these characters to be white or straight people would the story really change that much? Were their identities integral to the narrative or who they are as people? Because they sure would be in og Hellblazer, even if sometimes poorly done- they certainly were trying.

And how diverse were those changes anyway? Distorted Illusions is already a pathetically un-punk text with how it grovels at authority, but we're in an era where there's more queer characters than ever- and yet we're still terrified of having mainline bi characters say the word "bisexual". John doesn't say he's bi in Distorted Illusions. He keeps saying he's punk, but unlike his friend Slaughter, he's not given outfits nearly as punk as him (John still has to look commercially attractive after all). He can't even wear his gay right earring. You're telling me a text from the 80s and 90s isn't afraid to say gay, lesbian, queen, f-g, and AIDS but comics in the modern day think calling a guy "hot" is enough? I'm tired. It's cowardice. Who needs the Don't Say Gay bill if we're already doing the censorship ourselves?

There's other insidious changes too. John's mom is alive (didn't die from childbirth like in canon) because I guess John needs more women in his life. Okay. Where's Cheryl (John's big sister) then? Why are we trying to fit John into a nuclear family structure so much? They live in this aesthetic cozy house because I guess the lower-working class upbringing og Hellblazer John grew up in just isn't aesthetic enough. John's bio dad, Thomas Constantine, isn't an amputee. He has two arms. Oh, but don't worry we have a magic user authority wizard woman in the end who is a wheel chair user. We did our disability rep quota! Because disability rep is only limited to what DC fandom recognizes as Oracle!Barbara.

It's transparent that while these are all more superficially diverse changes, they're all so palatably safe. John has gal pals because his occasional misogynist outbursts in his og Hellblazer run is just too messy. John doesn't have a single parent for most of his life, swapping households in extended family member's homes because that's too messy. What's the point then though? These changes don't challenge or innovate Hellblazer. All they're doing is fitting John into a commercial box.

And that's my general feelings towards Distorted Illusions. It's a continuing trend of superficial aesthetics that try to frame itself as more progressive than the original source material but falls flat on its handsome squidward face. It's easy to make fun of this book, the writing is bad, the yassification of John, and the "inaccuracies to Hellblazer" are all beaten like a dead horse. But there's other insidious stuff in Distorted Illusions' mediocrity. And it's worth examining as much as any other Hellblazer text.

[skyguytoast]

Are requests still open? In case they are I got this idea for one shot in which hayden and y/n watch football match maybe champions league ans he isnt as big fan since its more of european competition while y/n on the other hand is. I just know you will write it fantastically like always. Love, xx

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN X YOU - FOOTBALL TIME

WARNING:  none, just fluff WORDS:  515 A/N: Hi angel ✨ Yes, I always open for request, literally made my day (and night).  Your idea is so cute, fluff Hayden + football + cuddle? It’s giving boyfriend goals and I’m obsessed. Although I know nothing about football, so, if doesn't make much sense, sorry, probably is my inability with this sport. I try google, so I guess I know what a offside means and throw some team and soccer players’ names.⚽ anyway, comments, reblogs are appreciated. kisses and good reading 🥰🤩

The living room was gloomy, the only light coming from the flicker of the TV screen and the gentle glow of the fairy lights strung above the window. You were bundled up in a mountain of throw blankets, nestled into the corner of the couch like a gremlin with a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a fire in your eyes.

Hayden was next to you, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his arms, and wearing the softest look of confusion on his face as he tried to follow the game on screen.

“So wait… that was offside?” he asked, brows furrowing as you groaned dramatically at the ref’s call.

“Yes!” you said, half-laughing as you threw a piece of popcorn at the TV. “It was clearly offside, his foot was over the line—look at the replay!”

Hayden squinted. “Okay, first of all, you’ve got eagle eyes, cause I literally see two guys and a ball, and that’s it.”

You grinned, turning to him with sparkling eyes. “You’re trying. That’s what matters.”

He shrugged, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. “Well, you love it, so I figured I should at least know what you're yelling about every tuesday and wednesday.”

“That’s love,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“That’s something,” he muttered, but he smiled anyway, soft and helpless under your touch.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder as the commentators droned on about goal differentials and aggregate scores. Hayden wrapped his arm around your waist automatically, pulling you closer, like it was second nature. And honestly? At this point, it was.

“You know,” you murmured, voice muffled against his hoodie, “if we’re still traveling in London, we’d probably be at a pub watching this with fifty other people.”

“Would you rather be doing that?” he asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tilted your head to look up at him. “No way. I’d much rather be right here, in my boyfriend’s hoodie, stealing his popcorn, and forcing him to care about the Champions League.”

He laughed, deep and quiet. “Alright, well then… who am I rooting for again?”

“Real Madrid, obviously,” you said, as if it were a fact of life.

“Got it. The one with the white jerseys and the guy you keep calling a football star?”

“Vini Jr.,” you said dramatically. “And yes.. Look how he's carrying the game on his back”

Hayden smirked, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You know, I think I’m starting to like this. Mostly because you get really passionate, and it’s kind of hot.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you only care about the game because I care?”

“Absolutely,” he said without shame. “I’m here for the kisses, the cuddles, and the half-time snacks. The football is a bonus.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you leaned in to press your lips to his. “Fine. But you better know what offside is by the final.”

He kissed you back, slow and warm. “As long as I’m on your side, I think I’m good.”

[flickeringquip]

Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

A text continuation of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe (shamelessly self-indulgent smut below the cut)

Your lips meet Blythe's a bit more forcefully than you intended, but you don't let that slow you down. You take advantage of his gasp to swipe your tongue against his own, hoping to entice him into responding.

Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on his shirt; you don't have a back-up plan to speak of, and frankly you're not sure you'd ever be able to look him in the eyes again if he shoves you away—

(1) And then he does move, but it's certainly not away.

In what feels like barely a few blinks, you find your positions almost completely reversed. You hear wood crack as it's kicked out of the way and internally thank your trusty crate for its service—

A firm thigh pushes between your own as warm hands slide over your ass with a squeeze, and then you get a taste of your own medicine as it's your gasp that's taken advantage of, this time.

(1) You don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't quite this.

This being how you're pinned firmly to the concrete wall behind you, weight supported by the leg slotted between your own and the hands on your ass as every shift and squirm finds you inadvertently grinding down against Blythe's thigh — and making the most dreadfully embarrassing little noises that are only mostly muffled by the Fighter's own lips against your own.

Already you can feel the desire pulsing in your middle, can feel the heat building between your thighs with each of your little shifts and squirms, each squeeze of Blythe's hands as he kisses you like a man possessed.

(1) It's only when you break the kiss, feeling like you can't quite get enough air, that his attention shifts.

Those same lips trail down to your throat as his hands slide up to take a firmer hold of your hips — and this time there's nothing to muffle the moan that startles out of you when he sucks a bruising mark over your pulse and grinds you down harder against his thighs.

His echoing groan rumbles through you like a physical touch, tension winding hot and fast in your middle as Blythe guides your hips into a rolling rhythm against his leg — and fuck if the easy way he moves you doesn't make you burn all the hotter.

You lose a bit of time, then, losing yourself in the all-consuming onslaught of his affections. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and leaves you utterly unable to focus on anything other than him—

(1) Which leaves you caught entirely off-guard when you suddenly find yourself only scant seconds away from cumming.

"Blythe—" Your fingers fist tighter into his shirt, the only part of your positions that has remained the same, a shivery note to your voice you're unfamiliar with as your thighs squeeze around his own, not even aware of the faint quiver working its way down your spine, "W-wait a sec, I, I'm—"

Blythe, who most certainly did notice your little tremble, the way your breath begins to catch in your throat, the heat he can feel through both of your trousers—

"Cum," The order is as demanding as it is desperate, all but growled into your ear as he presses even closer, tilting your hips until the next roll of them has you loosing a stuttered cry, every inch of you going taut as a bowstring in his grasp, "Aster, cum."

(1) And really, what can you do but listen?

Pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave, and you're only dimly aware of the lips slanting over yours to muffle noises you hadn't even realized you could make. Your body moves of its own volition, hips rocking jerkily against Blythe's thigh as you ride out your orgasm with mindless intent until you're finally spent.

You collapse against the Fighter's chest like a puppet with her strings cut, trembling all over as you try and catch your breath in the wake of such unexpected intensity. Just above you, Blythe makes a noise that nearly sounds pained, and it's jarring enough to have you lifting your cheek from his collar to peer up at him in somewhat bleary concern—

And then you're being moved again, faintly trembling hands no less strong as they hoist your legs up around his waist. You can't help but fidget, and Blythe responds by taking another half-step closer, leaving you pinned flush between him and the wall — and entirely unable to miss the firm bulge that grinds into your still-sensitive sex, hot enough to make you whine even through the layers of cloth between the two of you.

(1) "Again."

Time blurs again. You try to cling to your composure, but it's a battle you lose laughably quick when every rock of Blythe's hips sends frissons of heat shocking through you. The high-pitched little noises - nearly mewls - have you flushing bright enough to rival your hair, but it's blessedly easy to ignore, because—

Blythe seems fixated on wringing another orgasm from you just like this, grinding into you with laser-focused intensity, adapting real time to what pulls the best noises from you. Normally you'd feel a little bad at your lack of participation, but honestly it's all you can do to hang on for the ride, what with how determined the Fighter is on driving pesky little things like thoughts out of your head.

(1) Your next orgasm leaves you twice as breathless and shaky as the last, and you only just catch the muttering coming from above you.

"Not here, not here," Blythe all but chants the words, and the fingers flexing against your hips are your only warning before you find yourself plucked away from the wall, arms slipping instinctively around his neck as Blythe walks with a single-minded focus to. . . Somewhere? You get your answer when you find yourself set gently down upon a leather seat. It's Blythe's motorcycle; you've seen him on it a handful of times, but you've never been on one before. He hands you a helmet, waiting a little impatiently for you to put it on, and you're in enough of a daze from your unexpected - and successive - climaxes that you do so without even really thinking about it. He tightens it for you before getting on himself, reaching back to pull your arms around his waist, guiding you grab your opposite wrists before looking over his shoulder with a look caught somewhere between stern and feverish. "Hang on tight." (1) Why did no one tell you motorcycles vibrated so much?

End of Pt. 1(?)

[meownotgood]

THAT'S 60,000 WORDS LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO!!

[skrunksthatwunk]

ive started a brainstorming doc for the kaiji koi-koi fic and a large large amount of it is just trying to figure out what works about kaiji and how i can innovate without diverging too much from the tone or themes etc. anyway ive been thinking about how the modifications fkmt makes to the games in kaiji function (i.e. minefield mahjong, restricted rps, one poker, etc), and how they each tie into key traits/feelings of playing to original versions. minefield mahjong centers and intensifies the feeling of waiting on a crucial tile while trying not to leave too much of a trail, one poker leans heavily into the bluffing via raising/calling elements of poker, and rrps sort of flips rps' main issue(?) on its head by removing its arbitrariness (while preserving at first the illusion of arbitrariness), and thus making it like.. something you can win via strategy and not just luck. ANYWAY i think ive figured out the key thread to pull for koi-koi and im very excited about that

[jellicle-chants]

was nervous to watch the new cats movie analysis because it was hard to judge the vibes, but now I'm happy to report that not only is it very knowledgeable about the stage show there's some very correct takes about widely accepted fanon in it

[waywardsalt]

highlight of my elden ring play session today; bounced around between the haligtree and farum azula a bunch before sticking with and cutting through farum azula until i saw the godskin duo boss room and waffled around just outside before heading back to the haligtree and rocking loretta’s shit instead

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[yngai]

sad to report i've gotten to that scene in succession & thus have to induct it into the larger ada wong cinematic canon

[milktrician-hell]

just watched millennium actress again and cried so hard (again)

[thalwri]

STUFF ME!

synopsis: your mission to collect intel on an auction seems to be going well until sylus catches an unexpected jealous streak.

warnings: porn no plot, couch sex, creampie, super loud possessive sex

wc: 1,2k

sylus was not a jealous man. he wasn’t.

he knew himself as a well assured person without much that could deter him. he knew you were capable of handling yourself well in any situation and that you were loyal to him just as he was to you.

but for some reason he couldn’t figure out why he felt a small agitating tick in his neck when he watched your flirt with an auctioneer to gather information for him. the way you smiled at him, the fact that his grimy hands touched you on your arm, his mere presence within your vicinity– it was maddening.

and that was why– just a floor above the auction hall in your hotel suite– he was balls deep inside you.

you hadn’t even managed to reach the bedroom before your clothes slipped off, your lips were attached to each other, and your hands wandered all over to places only you two had the privilege of touching.

your nails were deep enough to make sylus’ back bleed for how hard he was ploughing into you. his face was buried in your pretty breasts, swollen with arousal and slick from his tongue sucking harsh love bites onto you, bounced with each slap of your hips snapping together.

“sy– wait–“ you hiccuped but your pleas fell to deaf ears. you were overstimulated, overwhelmed and yet so hungry for more.

that relentless goal to drill his cock into you and stuff you until you were only capable of saying his name drove you insane. you didn’t think he’d get this jealous. you didn’t even know it was possible.

“i didn’t like– ah– how he was looking at you.” halfway through the route to painting you with his cum for the second time, sylus’s jealousy had long faded. now he was just relishing in enjoying you– enjoying the process of bringing you to exhaustion just from pleasuring you.

he gave your lips a long sloppy kiss, imagining torturing your clit with his tongue and feeling your walls tighten around his fingers. he knew how much you loved it, and he loved seeing you squirm. your tongues swirled and bumped, leaving you both so wet and hot.

“wanted– fuck, sy– wanted you to–“ you were babbling at that point reaching orgasm number three, all while feeling empty because he decided to punish you by cumming on you instead of deep inside knowing how much you loved it. he was being so, so cruel. leaving you so soaked with your only way of leaking on him is with your own slick and the ring of cream decorating his thick cock.

your back arched just as he bullied his tip consistently at that deliciously vicious pace right on your sweet, sensitive spot. and yet, it felt so tender at the same time. his lips peppered your skin like butterflies tickling your skin, his thumbs massaged your hips while his grip tightened in the gradual slip to lose control. 

“so warm,” his hips pounded into yours at your favourite angle to the point where his heavy sacks were slapping your skin, making that familiar wet plap! plap! plap! noise with the squelches of your soaked pussy being rammed into. “you looked so good tonight, sweetie.”

you couldn’t do anything other than moan out, clawing your nails on his back, fruitlessly sucking on the muscle of his shoulder to not be so loud. the walls weren’t that thick and if room service came by to deliver the meals you had preordered earlier that night, they’d hear the most obscene sounds imaginable. 

the most lewd cries and babbling rambles escaping your pretty lips.

“gonna– gonna cu– god, please sy!” you whined as your walls clenched around his cock for the nth time that night. if your teeth weren’t clamped onto his shoulder you wouldn’t have seen him almost vibrate from the feeling of your pussy almost sucking the cum right out of him. 

“don’t worry– f-fuck–“ he moaned, slowly drawing back to plough his cock back into your weeping cunny. now he was just being mean. his eyes were slowly rolling back as he neared his edge. “ ‘m close too.”

it was just too good to pull out, too good to torture you more and more when he could sink deep in you nice and snug and decorate your walls like a fucking picasso. he just knew that image would beat any form of art. and that was just a loud reminder of how he was completely at your mercy. everything you wanted, he would give.

if his eyes could form heart shapes, he’d be the most love drunk, pussy drunk sucker that would do anything and everything for you. he wanted to spend hours tending to your needs and desires and satiating your insatiable greed for him.

his hand reached down to your aching clit to mercilessly rub circles and pinch at it like his favourite toy. a whimper slipped through your lips from the friction of your wetness between your clit and his fingers. if his relentless pounding wasn’t enough to tip you over the edge you were sure the stimulation to your raw bud would make you pass out.

your babbles turned into complete incomprehensible nonsense mixed with your lewd, slutty moans sounding like a symphony to sylus, just enough to give you one final thrust to bring you to an intense, explosive climax.

a hoarse cry ripped from your throat as your head threw back from the sheer pleasuring force, driving you into a pleasure-fuelled craze. not seconds after, thick hot cum spurted into you like a current washing into a shore.

your fluttering cunny took his seed squeezing around his cock to milk all of it out of him until he shot countless blanks. sylus continued to pound his cum deep into you, fucking you both through your orgasms.

felt so fucking good– so disrespectfully raw and nasty that you felt your stomach tighten and your hips buck against his, squelching the excess cum all over the couch. 

as the thrill began to ebb away, your breathless pants evened out. you moved your hands to stroke sylus’ back in bliss, kissing all the areas you brutally marked and bit him. sylus gently returned the gesture with his massages around your hips, cock still hard, twitching and throbbing, leaking his cum into you.

“i got intel,” you murmured. he groaned into your neck, and indication for you to say more. “the auction’s a dud. the weapons are all rip offs.”

a deep chuckle rumbled into your skin. “knew it.” his grip on your hips tightened as he readjusted his position on the couch to throw your legs onto you before trapping you beneath him with his cock twitching with fervent desire.

“good job, sweetie,” he pecked your lips with satisfaction then kissed you again, swiping your swollen lips with his tongue. “i think i’ll take care of getting intel from now on.”

it was safe to say you weren’t going to go back to that auction. or leave the suite until you were stuffed to the brim.

a/n: lemme feed you guys some good straight up smut

[lxvvie]

By his estimate, Simon was supposed to have left about thirty minutes ago.

That’s what you did after you had sex and got your rocks off. You get dressed, leave with no fuss as soon as it was over, y’know, and make it a little less awkward than it already was. At least, that’s what Simon always did.

And as always, shit gets flipped on its head when it comes to you.

Thirty minutes ago, he would’ve made it home; he’d have showered, smoked, went to bed, slept like shit, and been ready for the next day. Rinse and repeat. Instead he’s here with you, naked as the day he was born, covered in your sweat and his, covered in your cum and his, and Simon would be a lying bastard if he said he wouldn’t feel a certain way if you kicked him out.

You hadn’t thus far and that’s a good thing. He thinks.

It’s you two, side by side, coming down from that high, body humming from your nighttime activities, and you’re basking in the not-so-awkward silence. He’s staring at the ceiling, you’re probably thinking… or, er, probably not, and Simon’s a little curious but not enough to want to ruin the mood. Which a lie from the pits of hell. You hadn’t moved or said a word, and it’s getting to Simon more than he lets on.

But bloody fuckin’ hell, what do you say after something like this? Thanks for the sex, sweetheart, be seein’ you or Felt good, didn’t it, luv? What about I don’t think I can leave you, let’s go another round so I won’t have to? Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin’ mess, Riley.

Not that it matters, though, not really, because “nothing ventured, nothing gained” is Simon Riley’s motto when it comes to you and rather than say anything, he simply grabs your hand to gauge the atmosphere. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across.

After a moment, he figures he miscalculated until you respond in turn, one-upping him and intertwining your fingers together and no, his heart absolutely did not skip a beat. Bloody hell. He turned, glanced down at your hands connected, looked up at you and to his surprise, you met him head on. How long had you been staring at him, sweetheart?

Not that it matters, though, not really, because your face is inching closer and while Simon is many things, ungrateful ain’t one of them, and if you think you’re just gonna leave him with a kiss on the forehead or cheek then you’re sorely mistaken, sweetheart.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

And now it’s Simon’s turn to one-up you this time. He meets you halfway, doesn’t give a damn what happens afterward (he does, more than you’ll ever know), and brushes his lips against yours. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across. And so do you.

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.

[fuckingrecipes]

how does one go about choosing what kind of onion they want to use? i'm at that stage of cooking where i feel comfortable freehanding stuff but i don't have a decision process for white/yellow/red onion beyond what's already in my fridge, lol.

Yellow Onion: Good all-around, general use onion. Good for Caramelizing, and just about any onion need.

Sweet Onions (Vidalia): A particularly mild version of a yellow onion, grown around Vidalia, Georgia. Crunchy and sweet! Walla Walla is another brand of sweet onion, grown in Washington, USA. Can be eaten like an apple tbh. REALLY GOOD for people who are sensitive to the strong flavor of onion.

White Onion: A little sweeter and milder than the yellow onion, but not as sweet as a sweet onion. Good for dicing and serving raw if you don't have red onion. Yellow and White onions are pretty much interchangeable.

Red Onion: Great Raw! Have a bit of spice to them, and make a very interesting savory flavor when cooked. (Red onion skins can be made into a dye!)

Green Onions/Scallions: Immature onions with white bottoms and green tops. Usually diced/sliced and used raw as a garnish or a mild raw onion flavor. Can be used to replace raw onion in bulk for a milder alternative.

Chives: Tinier, punchier alternative to green onions/scallions. While in the same Allium family as the rest of these, they never get bigger than their little grassy figure. Teeeeny tiny! Great for adorable garnishes and just a hint of onion in a salad. Not good for cooking with, they get bitter fast.

Shallots: Garlicky! Kinda a halfway point between 'onion' and 'garlic'. They stay small when fully matured, and have quite a bite when used raw. Cooked, they become mellow and have a less-intense garlic-onion flavor. Often used in sauces where you want a little onion and garlic flavor, but subtly. They're REALLY good roasted.

Leek: Basically like a giant green onion, except they're always like that. Can be used in place of Onion in nearly any recipe that doesn't require caramelization. Fun slice shape! Gentle onion flavor without a lot of bite. Best when cooked, not raw imo.

Kurrat (Egyptian Leek): Like a stronger, punchier version of the leek. Excellent roasted, sauteed, used in soups - very strong flavor and KEEPS its flavor, so its usually used in smaller quantities than other alliums.

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER SIX: SIX

violet; 4,984 words, fluff and SMUT!!!, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, college parties, hurt/comfort (kinda), wlw, SESBIAN LEX!!!, thigh riding (both), fingering, oral (r!receiving), gays being bad at feelings, mel is Mother, jayce is the bestest wingbro ever, no "y/n"

summary: in which vi, actually, does not fuck this up.

a/n: and.... here it is!!! the grande finale :) thank you guys so much for reading and for showing this lil miniseries so much support <3 i hope the payoff was good, and #trust that this won't be the last you see of hockey!vi and figure skater!reader ! they're so dear to me and i'm already thinking of cute lil drabbles i could write in this universe but anyway -- i'm getting ahead of myself. enjoy the last chapter!!!!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ THIS IS, VI REFLECTS as she steps into the booming base-threaded room of the sorority house, probably not the best idea. But it’s the only one she’s got, so she might as well lean in, right? Right.

Jayce cranes up to look over the sea of people before jerking his head towards the punch table with a shrug. Vi follows him, running a hand through her freshly washed hair. She thanks whatever gods are up there that she’d remembered to bring a change of clothes to the game.

“Here,” Jayce says, pressing a red solo cup into her hands.

Vi stares at it for a second before gulping it back, grimacing around the clash of liquors and half-blended mixer as it burns its way down her throat. Almost immediately, a warmth starts to buzz behind her ears and she remembers, somewhat belatedly, that she’s had nothing to eat since having two bananas and an ancient granola bar before the game.

She shakes her limbs loose and reaches out to refill her cup, but Jayce catches her hand.

She’s about to argue when he points towards a sofa halfway across the room and Vi’s eyes follow it only to find you, sitting there with a cup of your own, laughing at something someone’s saying, and it takes Vi another second to realize that the person next to you is Margot, her bleached blond hair fading into acid green tips, her snakebite piercings glinting in the dim neon lights.

Vi’s pushing through the throng of people towards you before she can stop herself, careless of the hands that thump her on the back, the congratulatory sentences, cut off by the way she pulls way, till she’s standing feet from you, and your eyes twist up to meet hers.

The smile on your lips only falters slightly, but she doesn’t miss the way your gaze flicks down the length of her body, ticking back up to her lips, where it lingers for a beat too long before she finds your eyes with her own again.

There’s a dull, pleasant ache somewhere behind her navel as she notices how much darker your eyes are the second time around.

“Hey six,” Margot drawls, shifting back and stretching out her legs, “we were wondering when you were gonna get here. But don’t worry — I was keeping your little ice minx here company for you.”

Vi purses her lips, tries not to think too hard on the fact that your knee is so close to Margot’s leg it’s almost touching.

“Uh thanks but — can I — can I get a minute?” Vi asks, jerking her head towards the kitchen, praying to the heavens that it’s empty.

You bite down on your bottom lip, but you nod and push yourself up from the couch, glancing back at Margot with tiny smile.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say.

She smirks, “Anytime, dollface.” She wiggles her fingers and winks as she catches Vi’s eyes, and Vi makes a mental note to send her a thank you text later.

Vi leads you through the party with her hand around your wrist, but by the time you reach the door leading into the kitchen, her grip’s loosened just enough for you to slip your fingers between hers. But when she tries to open the door, she finds it locked.

“What the —”

She wiggles the door knob, wondering who on earth would want to lock the door to a sorority house kitchen, and then, a melodious voice says from the other side —

“What’s the magic word?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Mel, it’s us.”

A beat of silence later, the doorknob twists and the door slips open just a silver. Mel’s bright hazel eyes appear in the crack, her lashes limned in gold as she looks at you and then at Vi, then back at you again.

“Those aren’t the magic words,” she says, though she does open the door a few inches wider, her expression smug.

You groan, crinkling your nose before you lick your lips.

“Fine, please.”

Mel’s smile widens as the door opens and Vi steps through, pulling you along after her.

Mel’s eyebrows hitch up as she catches your free arm in her delicate hand.

You give her a soft squeeze and mouth thank you. She gives the pair of you a satisfied nod before letting you go and pressing a small key into Vi’s chest.

“Do not —”

Vi nods, “Fuck this up. Yeah… I know.”

Mel gives you both a final look before slipping from the kitchen and bringing the door closed behind her. Vi stares at it for a beat, digging her thumb into the jagged teeth of the tiny key before reaching over to lock the door behind her.

You let out a soft breath, folding your arms across your chest, your shoulder shrugging up as you suddenly remember that you’re still wearing Vi’s varsity jacket.

Vi turns around and you both speak at the same time —

“Look, I’m sorry about the —”

“I shouldn’t have walked out —”

Vi purses her lips around a burgeoning smile even as you let out a tiny laugh, shaking your head.

She waves an awkward hand as you lean back against the kitchen island. Distantly, Vi remembers the way you’d sunk down on the other side just about a month ago, how later that same night she’d hoisted you up onto the countertop and kissed you till there was no more breath in her lungs left to give.

“I… I’m sorry I freaked out like that in the locker rooms…” you say, twisting your arms tighter around yourself as Vi nods, leaning back against the closed door.

“I just saw that text come in and I thought…” you swallow.

“I know, princess… it was my fault for —” she heaves a sigh, motioning haphazardly at the air, “not cutting her off sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. Mel told me that she reminded Jayce to —”

“— tell me to block her. Yeah. And he did… I just…” Vi shrugs, sheepish, “… forgot.”

Your lashes flutter as your gaze cuts away from her face.

“Wow —” you say a second later, your voice threaded through with mirth, and when Vi looks back at you, it’s to find you smiling, “we’re really kinda shit at this, aren’t we?”

Vi puffs out a laugh, letting her head knock back against the door.

“Yeah… you can say that again.”

“So…” you say, fingers worrying at the hem of your little black dress.

Vi cocks her head, her eyes caught on the movement, and suddenly, heat plumes up the back of her neck at the memory of you, with your thighs slotted on either side of hers, the feel of your soft skin beneath her palms as she’d slowly worked up the hem of that very same dress.

She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“So?” she echoes.

You’re watching her with pink lips and damson cheeks.

“So… what now?”

Vi pulls an exaggerated sort of thinking-face before pushing off the door, taking the few steps forward to put herself in your personal space. She relishes in the way you gasp, lashes fluttering as your palms come up to rest against her chest, but you don’t make to push her away.

“Well, I’m not one for a lot of foreplanning but right now… I think I’d just like a do-over from the last time we were in this position.”

“Y-yeah?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as she settles her hands on your hips and digs her fingers into the plush of of your ass.

“Mhm… what’dyou think, pretty girl? That a good place to start for us?”

Your answering yes is cut short by the squeak you make as Vi hoists you up to place you on the kitchen island, her nose digging into the soft spot just beneath your jaw, breathing you in till her head spins, her thumb trailing up the soft of your thigh till you’re trembling.

“V-Vi?”

Vi pulls back just far enough to catch your eyes, and from up this close, she can see the thin trails of glitter running down your cheeks, the slight redness to your lashes that tells her you’d been crying. Guilt twists like a stitch in her side, and she bites back a sigh.

“What is it?” she asks. She watches you watching her, your eyes searching hers as if you were looking for something — a question, or an answer, or perhaps just the answering truth to the lies that both of you have been trying so desperately to tell yourselves.

You swallow, tracing a thumb across the small tattoo on her cheek; and then, you smile a smile that might just rhyme with forgiveness.

“Kiss me.”

So Vi does, the kiss itself shredding the air between you until there’s nothing left but the gut-clenching friction of her lips on yours. You gasp open for her, so beautifully that Vi almost stumbles back, but instead, she tips herself forward and pours herself into your pliant mouth. You taste like honeyed bourbon and stolen midnights, like the first breath of air on a winter’s morning or maybe just the next few decades of her entire life.

She pulls away breathless, moaning thick into the skin of your neck, hissing at the sting of your fingers curled into her hair, at the sound of your hitching gasps as she inches a hand between your thighs and swears when her fingers find you slick and wanting.

“F-fuck — Vi —”

“Holy shit —” Vi presses her face into your neck, letting her fingers slip through the folds of your wet heat, desire sparking through her veins like lightning in a gathering storm. She drops to her knees, nudging yours apart with her palm, yanking you till you’re nearly slipping off the edge of the counter, but you tug at her hair with a soft whine.

“W-wait, Vi —”

“Mm, don’t wanna wait anymore, princess — wanna taste you so bad — fuck —”

“No — Vi, please —”

She pauses then, looking up to find your eyes blown dark, your lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings as you watch her with your bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“It’s just — I don’t want our first time to be —” you motion weakly at the sorority house kitchen, your cheeks going blotchy, “and the counter’s… kinda cold and…” you drop your hand to grip the edge of the counter “… uncomfy,” you finish, rather lamely, your voice trailing off as Vi puffs out a laugh against your inner thigh, pushing herself back up with a crooked smile.

“Mm… you really are a princess, aren’t you?” Vi teases, even as she helps you off the counter and tugs down your dress for you. You pout up at her, but she rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Right, c’mon then —” she links your fingers and unlocks the kitchen door, tugging you once more into the disorienting throng of the party.

Halfway to the door though, your limbs go cold as the pair of you run smack into Caitlyn, this time sans her new ginger girlfriend.

“Vi — good, I was hoping to run into you —” she says, her eyes flickering over you for a second before it settles back on Vi.

You swallow, wondering if you should pull away, but Vi tugs you into her side and slips a possessive arm around your waist.

“Sorry, Cait — can’t really talk right now. I’ve gotta go fuck the brains outta my girlfriend — nice seeing you though — enjoy the party, go Enforcers!” she says, grinning wide as she pulls you through the rest of the way to the door, leaving Caitlyn slack-jawed and speechless behind you.

You let out an incredulous laugh as both of you stumble out of the door and onto the front porch. Vi chuckles as the door slams shut behind her, a little self-conscious even as you turn to stare at her.

“Wow… that was…” you purse your lips as Vi shrugs, tugging you back into her chest for a soft kiss.

“Impressed?”

You giggle, nodding, moaning soft against her lips as the pair of you fumble towards Vi’s car.

“I was gonna say impulsive,” you say, slipping into the passenger’s seat. Vi starts the engine and rips out of the parking space and down the street before you even have the time to properly buckle in your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Wonder who I learned that from.”

She shoots you a cheeky grin, reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your thigh, squeezing just hard enough to make you groan.

The car’s not even properly parked before the pair of you are stumbling into her apartment building, her pressing you up against the elevator wall, lips caught on the junction of your neck, her teeth sinking into your delicate skin. She takes a savage satisfaction in the knowledge that you’ll be sporting that mark for the next five to seven business days, at least.

You’re barely through her door before she’s walking the pair of you towards her room, kicking open the door and almost toppling through. You giggle as she trips over something on her floor and fumbles for the light switch, flicking it on as light spills into her messy bedroom, the walls papered in posters — everything from bands to hockey stars to what looks like an outdated bikini-model calendar.

Your eyebrows kick up as you take in the scene, an amused grin playing at your lips

“Oh wow…” and there’s a lilt in your voice that makes Vi’s face go hot. She regrets not at least cleaning up the laundry on her bed as she shoves it off onto the floor with an arm.

“What? Not up to your standards, princess?”

You purse your lips, delicately picking your way across the room to plop down on her unmade bed.

“Y’know, I think that first frat house room might’ve been cleaner.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Your grin goes slanted as you toe off your heels and inch back onto the bed, your legs spreading just a bit wider. Vi’s breath goes still in her chest as you lean back slightly on your arms, your head cocking slowly to one side.

“Is that a promise, six?”

Vi groans, yanking her shirt from her back with a single hand, tossing it somewhere behind her, her fingers fumbling with her belt, kicking off her pants as she crawls onto the bed towards you.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, princess —”

Your lashes flicker as she pushes up the hem of your dress, letting out a low breath as she finally sets eyes on you, a curse puffing out of her as she reaches down to slick two fingers between the puffy lips of your sodden pussy.

You let out a soft whimper, your head lolling back, but when she lifts her head to look at you, it’s to find you watching her with dark, lidded eyes.

“I-I’ve always wondered… how’d you pick your number? Is it like… a ranking system o-or — ah — like — on a ten-point scale o-or — mmngh —”

Vi hums, watching your lashes feather across your cheek as she flicks her thumb around your throbbing clit, her blood a spring-water rush behind her ears as she feels you jerk beneath her.

“We really gotta do something about that mouth of yours, princess…” she murmurs before tugging her hand from between your legs and pressing her slick fingers to your lips. You mouth falls open just as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow down another thick groan as you suck her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them to collect the taste of your own juices from her skin.

Your eyes flash open to meet hers, and the contact jolts right through her to her own aching cunt.

“Sweet fuck, pretty girl — I — I thought you said you’d never done this shit before?”

A tiny frown flickers across your forehead before you roll your eyes, giving her fingers a good hard suck before pulling back to lick your lips, sitting up slightly to tug her forward.

“I said I’d never really been on a date before — not that I’ve never had sex before.”

A startled breath stitches from Vi’s chest as you flip the pair of you till you’re straddling one of her muscular thighs, your own thigh pressing up between her legs to rub deliciously against her aching pussy.

She hisses out a breath as you roll your hips down over her leg, moaning low in your chest, your head falling back, the dress you’re wearing still rucked up at your waist.

“Those post-Gala parties can get… a little wild…” you say distractedly, picking up a slow rhythm, grinding down against her, your wetness slicking along her skin, making the most toe-curling noises every time you rock your hips forward and back.

Vi groans, reaching up to help you pull the dress off, her mind going fuzzy at the sight of your perfect tits, bouncing out of the tight black dress, your nipples hard and pebbling in the cool air of her room.

“F-fu-fuck that’s hot —” she says, leaning up to suck a nipple into her mouth, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, grinning at the way it makes your hips stutter. She can’t help the quick little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, slotted along her clothed cunt, her boxers now well and soaked through.

“Vi — Vi —” you whine, the sound going straight to her clit as you rock down against her, your fingers reaching down to tug her closer.

“Y-yeah? Tell me, princess — wh-what do you want?”

She groans as you shift and your thigh presses harder against her, your own cunt squelching messily over her leg.

“Want — wanna ride your fingers —”

“Oh shit, yeah?” she swallows, adjusting back as you lift your hips up, “want my fingers inside you? How many d’you think you can take, princess? Hm?”

She pauses when she feels you scrabbling at the waistband of her boxers, a tiny laugh puffing from her at the pout on your face.

“Off,” you say, almost petulantly, as Vi shifts her own hips to jerk them off her legs, tossing the to one side.

“There, happy?”

You grin, sinking back over her thigh, looping your arms around her shoulders as she shifts her right hand beneath your sopping cunt and teases two fingers around your entrance.

“You never answered my question, sweet girl — how many fingers, hm?” she asks, even as you whine.

“Don’t — dunno — just — just wanna feel you inside me — please —”

Vi hums, watching your face as pleasure twists across your features.

“Then count for me — yeah? Can you do that?”

You nod, eager and desperate, and Vi chuckles, because she’s not sure if you even know what you’re agreeing to anymore. She pushes a finger passed your soaked folds and immediately feels you clench around her, the pressure making her own cunt squeeze. She hisses out a breath, rocking you down over her, shifting her hips to rut up against your leg.

“O-one —” you gasp, lifting your hips up to drop them back down again, your fingers digging into her skin of her back.

“More?” she asks, as you bounce a couple more times, and you nod, just as fervent as the first time, if not more so. She chuckles, “alright then —”

“T-two — oh — oh.”

She sinks another finger into you and revels in the way you keen, loud and high in the back of your throat, your head tossing back as you start to ride her fingers proper, your hair tumbling down around your shoulders. She reaches up with her free hand to fist a handful into her palm, yanking back slightly to bare your throat to her, groaning when she leans forward to suck another hard bruise into the skin of your collarbone.

“M-more — more Vi — want — want you to stretch me out — fuck — mm —”

“Fuck — shit — yeah? Want me to fuck you loose? That it?”

Vi’s head spins and she feels nearly delirious with want as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth falls open around a silent moan, your whole body shuddering around her. You’re so wet, so tight, and the growing ache between her own legs is starting to reach a fever pitch as she shamelessly rucks against your thigh, still slotted between her own.

“Yes, yes — fuck — Vi wanna — want you to stuff me full — fuck, fuck, fuck —”

“Shit, princess — so fuckin’ nasty — so needy —”

You nod, bouncing yourself so hard and fast that Vi has to take a second to marvel at how strong your legs are. She thanks the heavens for the innate athleticism required for figure skating before her thoughts smear into a crackling mess of pleasure as you inch your hand into the space between her cunt and your legs — your fingers pressing messily between her folds.

“Vi, Violet — can I — wanna feel you — want y-you to feel good too —”

Vi nearly loses it then, nodding, spreading her own legs wider to give you more access as you work three fingers into her sloppy cunt with no warning.

“F-fuck!”

You curl your fingers and Vi swears she starts to see stars.

“Y-yeah? Feel good?”

Vi nearly whimpers as she feels you pump your fingers up into the tender bundle of nerves inside her, her own fingers squelching noisily as you fuck yourself down on them. It’s all too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her stomach is snapping like a thread, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white pops of pleasure sparking behind her eyes.

“Mm — holy shit — oh my god… fuck —” she gulps down air, blinking her eyes as the shape of you comes back into focus above her, the buzzing inside her head still ringing with the aftermath of her high. She notes, vaguely, that you’re smiling down at her, a second before you lean down to press your lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

Vi hums into the kiss, her breath hitching slightly as she feels you pull your fingers from her. And when you pull back to pop them into your mouth, she feels another shudder work through her. Somewhere in the back of her head, there’s a small voice chanting holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck how did I get so lucky? over and over again till it becomes the baseline thrum that drives her to lean up, pushing you down onto your back with a hazy, indulgent smile.

“C’mere, princess — as much as I love watching you ride me —” she inches her way down your body, trailing a few kisses down your chest, pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples just to make you arch up into her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your abs, before puffing a hot breath over your throbbing clit, her fingers spreading your dripping cunt lips open.

She swallows, groaning to herself.

“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you for weeks.”

You let out a soft whine above her, and she feels your fingers sinking into her hair. She glances up and marvels at the sight of your body, laid bare like this above her mess of sheets, writhing for her as she finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long strip along your slit, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.

“A-ah! Vi!”

It doesn’t take long after that, a few good, hard sucks on your clit, and her pushing three fingers back into you, and you’re coming apart for her, your thighs shaking as you whine and jerk and gasp your way through your orgasm, Vi fucking you through it slow, leaning up to press a kiss to your shoulder as your breaths start to even out and your lashes flicker open again.

“Hey there, princess,” she grins.

You’re still a little breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.

“Hey,” you answer, pulling away.

Vi chuckles, slumping down on to the bed next to you to stare at the pebbled ceiling. The warmth of her old Christmas lights casting everything in a soft, diffused glow. She feels you shift and tuns to find you looking at her, your cheek pillowed on your arm.

She shifts to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You catch her hand with a smile, wrapping your fingers around hers as you say —

“Six. I get it now.”

Vi frowns. “What?”

You splay your palm over hers, touching the tip of her pointer finger with yours as you start to count.

“One, two, three —” you say, a mischievous grin twisting your lips as you point to her middle and ring finger, before pointing to your own hand, “four, five, six,” you finish, wiggling the three fingers that had so recently been shoved into her throbbing cunt.

Vi stares at you for a solid few seconds before she shoves her face into her pillow and screams.

“Oh my god — get the fuck outta here!” but she surfaces laughing, and you’re laughing too, and the sound is so intoxicating, so mind-numbingly lovely that she thinks if she could, she’d grind your laughter into powder and get high on the lines of your smile.

She inches forward to pull you closer, tucking you into her chest.

“You’re insane, you know that?” she asks, pressing her lips to your forehead as you giggle. You wiggle your arms around her middle till your bodies are pressed curve for curve, skin to skin. And you settle against her as if you were always made to be there to begin with.

“Mm, been told a few times…” you murmur, your voice soft.

A tiny clink jars both of you from your post-orgasmic stupor, and you both pull back, only to find your necklaces linked — the pendants stuck together with a pair of tiny magnets set at the point of each teardrop, so small that Vi hadn’t noticed when you’d first given it to her.

“Oh, I didn’t get to show you this back in the locker rooms but…” you reach up to tug the two pendants apart before letting them snap back together.

“The necklaces come as a pair and they link together like this —” you show her the two pendants, the shape something like an hourglass or the two rabbit ears of a perfectly tied bow.

“That’s cute, but… what’s it supposed to be? A time-turner thing?” Vi pushes herself up on an elbow to try and get a better look.

You shake your head, pouting slightly.

“Nope! Well, I mean, it’s sold as an infinity symbol cause —” you roll your eyes, “forever and all that crap —”

Vi smirks, “Oh yeah. That crap.”

You shoot her a look before continuing, your cheeks burning, “But… it reminded me of a figure eight. You do those in hockey too, right?”

Vi nods, “Yeah, they’re drills that we run. Pretty basic.”

You nod, “And in figure skating, we used to have these mandatory figures we’d have to skate to demonstrate our edge control — hence the name figure skating. Amara still makes us do them, because she’s old fashioned as all hell, but I just thought… it was kinda nice… for the two of us…” your voice trails off as you drop your hand and the two pendants hang, suspended between the pair of you with nothing but their own magnetism.

Vi licks her lips, “Yeah… it is nice.”

She leans in, tilts your head up for a kiss, but you tug back just an inch.

“Vi…?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You blink up at her, a flash of uncertainty flickering behind your eyes as you glance down at her lips.

“We’re… we’re dating now… right?”

Vi stares. And stares. And then, she pulls back with a dramatic groan.

“Oh my god, you did not just seriously hit me with the what are we after we’ve just fucked each other into another dimension, after I’ve been wearing the necklace that you gave me, the one that matches your necklace —”

You scramble forward to push Vi down, yelping.

“Okay! Okay — I’m sorry! It’s just —”

Vi raises her eyebrows, pinning you with a look even though you’re perched above her, your hands clamped over her wrists.

“Neither of us ever properly asked the other one out, and — and I know you said girlfriend in front of Caitlyn back at the party but —”

“Hey princess?”

You break off, blinking as she pushes up and settles you over her lap.

Vi smiles, tugging your chin towards her.

“Will you go out with me?”

The smile that breaks across your lips is so pretty, so tooth-achingly sweet that Vi thinks she just has to lean forward and taste it.

So, she does.

You nod, breathless even as she chases your lips, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

“Yes — yes… I will.”

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