#long suffering butch

[cartoon-goon02]

kimme

[scarlet-witchery]

toxic old woman yuri cherik nation how are we feeling tonight???

[cerebral-soup]

Sevika was already hot but something about her begrudging aunt vibe this season is just soooooo

[whatudottu]

...So yeah turns out I was lying in the tags butch Bulkhead actually gave me inspiration for t-swag Breakdown??? Inspired entirely by big naturals (not that you can tell) I did this in like... 30 or 40 minutes??? Never doubt the power of a butch I learnt that!

Look at this and tell me he’s not canonically trans I swear to god (projecting)

[titus-androgynous-87]

Bought an outfit to go see the barbie movie with @tacos next weekend! We’re going to a drive-in and I cannot WAIT

[thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls]

turns out the crowd went wild :]

i just woke up from a dream where i thought this was the funniest shit ever and i have to share the joke so: if henry oak was a lesbian he’d be a stone butch. *the crowd goes silent* yeah.

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[ahmedpalestine]

Hello everyone

write to you with a heavy heart, as my family in Gaza is facing unbearable conditions. They are suffering from diseases caused by contaminated water and malnutrition, and their lives are under constant threat from the relentless, indiscriminate bombings. Every day, death seems closer, and I feel powerless to protect them. I experience deep sorrow and helplessness each time I speak with them and hear about their increasing suffering.

Imagine having to walk long distances every day just to get a sip of water, knowing that each trip could be your last due to the ongoing bombings. This is their daily reality. That's why l've decided to launch a fundraising campaign to help them escape this hell they endure every day. Unfortunately, the response to my campaign has been far less than I had hoped.

Please, don't let despair take hold of my heart. Don't let my family face this fate alone. They are not just numbers; they are souls living through unimaginable pain. Every donation, every share of my campaign can make the difference between life and death for them.

I need your help, no matter how small. Please don't just watch and walk away. Help save lives before it's too late.

@halalchampagnesocialist @spooksier@jonahmagnus @artemis-pendragon @lesbian-hannibal

@turtletoria @bulkhummus @smOkebreaks @doubleca5t @wuntrum

@mysharona1987 @fairycosmos @watermotif @vague-humanoid @mavigator

@legallybrunettedotcom@brucespringsteendotcom

@pjharvey @doublism@cigaretteuncle

@odinsblog@chainmail-butch @bestlesbiancave @t4tails @electricpurrs

@mordhiobhail @bOnkcreat @lemon-wedges @holedyke @jerseyclown

@butchfeygela @danijaci @pinayelf @dogesterone @professorllayton

@bakwaas @eastgaysian @tf2yuri@bongjoonheaux

@romanceyourdemons

@valtsv@cryptotheism @coughloop

@cottoncandylesbo @jame7t

@amygdalae @pointnclick @psygull @wolvierinez

@0047 silver

[puc-puggy]

leslie feinberg uses the term "he-she" to describe hirself through this section of the book and discusses taking hormones with the other butches at multiple points throughout. at the time, "butch" included everything from masc lesbians to he/him lesbians to outright trans men.

events quickly progress from calling butches and femmes brainwashed to kicking butches out of meetings and bars for being gender traitors. hir decision to start HRT was so controversial in separatist lesbian circles that it ended zir long-term relationship.

this was the impact of a separatist feminist movement on queer icon leslie feinberg, who suffered immensely from the hostility of the queer community toward zirself and the ensuing isolation and lack of community support. because denying queer people access to their community is a death sentence. zie went on to write stone butch blues about this oft-ignored and maligned branch of the queer family.

we know that transandrophobia exists. one of the most important landmark queer texts discusses it extensively. we know that separatist rhetoric harms every single member of the queer community with a connection to masculinity (A LOT OF US). we have been on this merry-go-round before, and we already know it sucks. let's not go around again. let's get off

[nor-and-family]

Save us, help us for how long, O world, save our children We have drowned 😭🙏🇵🇸💔

Do you know what a tent means? If it is covered with a thousand forbidden things, it will never be warm, nor will it be kind to us, nor will it be pleasant to live in! Now, in a dilapidated tent, rain water seeps in and drowns its bed, and the cold wind blows over it and tears its wall, and your children are around you, clinging to you, unable to sleep, trembling from the severity of the cold and hunger, and you are helpless in front of them, unable to ward off this affliction from them!! How will you feel, when you feel all this helplessness and weakness!! By God, this is what we feel in Gaza now, when the affliction has surrounded us from all sides

How long will we suffer for our children, for their lives, for their health? Please save us.

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #50 )

My compigen has been verified by @90-ghost

@halalchampagnesocialist @spooksier @jonahmagnus @artemis-pendragon @lesbian-hannibal @90-ghost @omegaversereloaded @postanagramgenerator @ot3 @killyohji

@turtletoria @bulkhummus @smokebreakinterlude @doubleca5t @wuntrum

@mysharona1987 @fairycosm @watermotif @vague-humanoid @mavigator

@legallybrunettedotcom @brucespringsteendotcom

@pjharveyfan @doublism@cigaretteuncle

@odinsblog @chainmail-butch @bestlesbiancave @t4tails @electricpurpose

@mordhiobhail @bOnkcreat @lemon-wedge @holedyke @jerseyclown

@butchfeygela @danijaci @pinayelf @dogesterone @professorllama24-blog

@bakwaaas @eastgaysian @tf2yuri @bongjoonheaux

@romanceyourdemons

@valtsv @cryptotheism @coughloop

@cottoncandylesbo @jame7t

@amygdalae @pointnclick @psygull @wolvierinez

@0047 silver

[yuri-game-tournament]

Yuri VN Tournament Round One

Kindred Spirits on the Roof vs HEATWAVE

Info and propaganda under the cut! Not guaranteed to be spoiler-free

Kindred Spirits on the Roof

Description/Propaganda:

A classic yuri VN from 2012. A quiet, antisocial girl named Yuna gets roped into helping two lesbian ghosts play matchmaker for other sapphic girls in the school, creating their own Yuritopia! This VN is technically an eroge: the ghost girls don't know how to "do it," as they say, and want to watch other girls so they can learn how to consummate their own relationship. But despite the lewd-sounding premise, the game spends hours developing each of the many couples, from first meeting all the way to their intimate moments together, taking you on many heartwarming journeys. After seeing the ups and downs of their relationship, the intimate moments near the end of the game feel like a well-earned payoff for both the reader and the girls.

If you like yuri in a school setting, you'll be in yuritopia here. There are several couples apart from the main ghost girls that each would feel at home in their own slice of life manga. There's an established couple who plan to live together after graduation and are navigating family and societal expectations, a senpai/kouhai relationship where the kouhai is the one pursuing her senior, a group of three girls who navigate their friendship changing once two of the girls become a couple, and much more. Plus, it's really nice to see Yuna open up, confront past social rejection, and find friendship and love herself! If you want a long cozy game with a down to earth and warm feeling, Kindred Spirits on the Roof is for you.

Additional Info/Content Warnings: One of the couples is a teacher/student relationship. The teacher is drawn to look much younger than her student, but there is still an age gap. There's also some realistic homophobia and internalized homophobia that may hit close to home.

HEATWAVE

Description/Propaganda: Catgirl Suffers in Capitalist Hellscape : for those with a the taste for the more mature and erotic themes, aka Real Toxic Yuri™, HEATWAVE shows the story of Angel, a critter so ruined by society she has been stripped of her humanity to the point where she is an it. when a stone cold butch writes up some papers to literally own Angel as a pet, the two go onto traverse through the non euclidean hellhole that is a "HEATWAVE", and during their travel it is hard to tell if its the sweltering permanent sun or all that sexual tension between these two that burns hotter

Additional Info/Content Warnings: ADULTS ONLY, Flashing Lights, Age Gap, Ryona, Self Harm, Piss, Religious Abuse, Dehumanization, Dubcon/Noncon

[saltyprincessblog]

Grump and Pupp

Pairings: Grumpy!Billy Butcher x Sunshine!Reader

Summary: Billy Butcher and the reader with the Shrek and Donkey dynamic. Basically Butcher is a grumpy old man and you are like a cute puppy yapping and following him everywhere and no matter how much he tries to get you off of his ass you just can't seem to get a hint.

(Recently rewatched Shrek and he reminded me of Butcher lol. I thought a dynamic like that would be so funny with him so I gave butch a sweet yapping friend who he cannot get rid of)

------------------‐---------------------------------

Billy Butcher was no stranger to solitude. In fact, he preferred it that way—peace and quiet, no one to answer to, no one to bother him. But that all went out the window the day you stumbled into his life, a young, bright-eyed, relentlessly cheerful force of nature that had somehow decided he was your new best friend.

He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was alone, enjoying a quiet pint at his favorite dingy pub, and the next, there you were, plopping down beside him like you belonged there, chatting away like you’d known him for years.

“You look like someone who could use a friend,” you’d said with a grin, as if that explained everything.Butcher had glared at you, silently willing you to leave. But you didn’t take the hint—in fact, you didn’t seem to notice the hint at all.

And from that moment on, it was like you’d attached yourself to him with some sort of invisible leash, following him everywhere, talking his ear off, and generally driving him up the wall.

“Oi, Butcher! You ever think about getting a pet?” you asked one day as the two of you wandered through the city, your voice as bubbly as ever. “I bet you’d be great with a dog! Or maybe a cat—they’re more independent, like you. But then again, cats can be kinda grumpy, and you’re already grumpy enough…”

Butcher stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face you. “Will you just shut it for five bloody minutes?”You blinked at him, your smile never wavering.

“Sure! But can I just say one more thing?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re gonna say it anyway, aren’t you?” “Yep!” you chirped. “I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be fun if we had a secret handshake? Like, something really complicated with lots of fist bumps and twirls—oh, and maybe a little dance at the end! It’d be our thing, you know?”

Butcher stared at you, wondering how in the hell you’d managed to survive this long. “A secret handshake? You’re serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack!” you replied, nodding eagerly. “Come on, let’s come up with one right now!”

Butcher rubbed his face, feeling the last of his patience slipping away. “Listen, I ain’t got time for handshakes or dances or any of this bollocks. I’ve got a job to do, and you’re just in the way.”

You frowned for the first time, looking genuinely confused. “In the way? But I’m helping, aren’t I? I mean, who else is gonna keep you company while you do… whatever it is you do?”

Butcher opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his tongue. You were right—well, sort of. He didn’t need company, but for some reason, you’d stuck around longer than anyone else ever had. And despite himself, he couldn’t completely hate it. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course.

“Look,” he said, trying to sound as stern as possible. “I’m a dangerous bloke, alright? People who get close to me end up gettin’ hurt. You’d do well to bugger off while you still can.”

You just grinned at him, completely unfazed. “Dangerous, shmangerous! I’m not going anywhere, Best friends stick together, Butcher!”

Butcher let out a long, suffering sigh. “Christ, you’re like a bloody tick…”

But despite his grumbling, he found himself continuing down the street, with you happily tagging along beside him, yapping away about something or other.

And as much as he tried to tune you out, he couldn’t help but catch bits and pieces of your chatter.

“—and then we could get matching jackets! Maybe something with skulls on the back, or flaming swords! Oh, and we definitely need a cool team name. How about ‘Butcher’s Team’? Or maybe ‘The Butcher Bunch’? No, wait! I’ve got it—‘The Grump and The Pup’!”

Butcher shook his head, half-amused despite himself. “You’re a right pain in the arse, you know that?”

“Yep!” you replied cheerfully. “But you love me anyway.”He scoffed, but there was no heat behind it.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sunshine.”

[maybe-boys-do-love]

I think pretty regularly about the claim against the queerness of BL that BL was originally constructed for and by women, especially straight cis women. To begin, the last clause of that statement frankly has no possibility for legitimate measurement. Even without the problems of queer identity formation and identification that might prevent people from identifying themselves as such, publishers and marketing analysts haven't actually been going out surveying sexualities. My bigger issue with the claim, however, lies in the implication that women ought to have no voice in the creation and depiction of queer male characters, when the relationship between women and queer men has been foundational for both at a broad level (and for many queer men like me, personally).

On my bookshelf, I have a collection of personal essays titled "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Girls: true tales of love, lust, and friendship between straight women and gay men." I've had a preoccupation long preceding my engagement with BL with those types of relationships. I looked for it in media to feel represented. The ending of My Best Friend's Wedding where Julia Roberts character ends the movie dancing with her gay best friend was an even happier ending in my mind than romance. Then, there were the women who had their hearts broken by a gay protagonists coming-out narrative like Abby in Love, Simon only to reassemble it with a deep friendship. I had to adjust my ideas of queerness when viewing stories from cultures with gender segregation in schooling or more broadly. For me, gay male identity had a relationship to women (all shapes, sizes, and sexualities) at its core. We all lay distanced from macho masculinity and its orientations.

Queer men had a role in constructing many revolutionary female personas and characters that influenced women's self-perceptions and societal roles, for better and for worse. Think of the Euro-American fashion designers, the hair and make-up artists, the writers and directors who collaborated and/or shaped the great models, divas, and icons of the twentieth century, and likely prior (although the concept of queerness becomes a very different beast beyond Euro-America in the past 100 years). Behind the Screen: How Gays and Lesbians Shaped Hollywood, 1910-1969 by William J. Mann provides a wonderfully intricate and well-researched history about that work. Both women's rights and women's wrongs: queer men created them and queer men celebrated them, ideologically and in the marketplace, in a partnership that had a purpose for mutual freedom from puritanical laws and social expectations.

Did they always hone in on the realities of women's experience? Certainly not. Realism, as we know it, was neither in-line with the genre expectations at the time nor a fully-realizable possibility for men who only bore passing witness to their female allies. Witness always comes with its limits on perspective, but those limits are the forges of storytelling. Instead, these men, despite the areas of ignorance, designed complex and empathetic portraits of power, faltering, suffering, and striving, across the spectrum of feminine to butch.

I will forever kick myself for forgetting the book or article or post I read where a gay-identified man discusses how women might not have insight into all the aspects of every day gay life, but they see and create a version of gay men that's devoid of the self-pity and self-effacing irony gay men have portrayed themselves with historically, which somehow arrives at an emotional reality that feels more honest to his experience. That's the essence of BL for me. The queerness lies not in the accuracy of anal sex depictions or relationship dynamics--some reflect reality and some don't, so what? The creators of BL as a genre develop queer male characters that are soft, sensitive, and often without the artifices gay men have had to put on to endure. To quote a Carly Rae song, they 'Cut to the Feeling.'

Women's fictional prowess in writing queer men isn't novel to BL. One of the most notable examples is Mary Renault, a prominent queer English author in the mid-twentieth century of especially historical fiction, like The Charioteer, The Last of the Wine, and her Alexander the Great trilogy, among others. Enjoy here a elder gay man's engagement with her fiction for The Guardian. It's not simply that her books struck a chord with some gay men, they influenced their self-perceptions, influenced the genre of gay fiction, and garnered an even broader audience of support for queer characters, holding bestseller status prior to the legalization of homosexuality.

What's so noxious and ignorant about the criticism with which I started, even as some people bring it up with good intent, is the idea that an identity is created in isolation. Our experiences are not ours alone. We impact other people, and other people are watching us with care. Women have long had an outsized role in producing influential fiction and circulating it with joy over its observations about people and their social dynamics. Why set a boundary for them around queer men, when in fact we have a whole history of reasons to understand one another? Not all women will get it because they're not a monolith, and not all queer men will vibe with each or even any of the stories because neither are they. Still, BLs' observations might hold truths about queerness for some that other genres don't offer.

We actually have a few scholars offering evidence of BLs' influence, if so far limited, in queer self-concepts. In "Faen of Gay Faen: Realizing Boys Love in Thailand betwixt Imagination and Existence" by Kang-Nguyen Byung'chu Dredge, the author describes how in Thailand "gay couples recreate Japanese bishonen (beautiful boy) and BL imagery in their own photos." That essay's alongside many others that detail the relationship of BL to fan identities across East and South Asian nations in a collection, Queer Transfigurations: Boys Love Media, edited by James Welker, with the input of many Asian scholars (2022). I'd recommend it to people interested with the caveat that there's been massive political and cultural shifts regarding these topics in those regions since even 2022. Thailand's marriage equality law wasn't initially submitted until 2023! And the BL industry has grown dramatically.

Women and queer men and, in fact, plenty of people with gender identities outside of the western binary have built up these stories and this industry together. Women's contributions or exclusions of certain gay male practices don't necessarily make a work less gay. I probably sound like a broken record at this point trying to widen the breadth of queer inclusion on my blog.

Is there even a possibility for something not to be queer in my book? Well, yes. Boys kissing boys won't fall into that category, though, unless its played to disgust the audience and discourage queer relationships. And there are instances in many queer works, Western and BL alike, including media by queer-identified individuals, that disparage specific queer relational dynamics or behaviors or simply fail to evoke the full-force of queer desire. Of course, we all fail on these fronts sometimes, allies and queers alike.

What I will say is that many women were and continue to be as much as a part of my queer development as queer men, if not more than. I value their insights. I value how they have listened to me. I value their observations about what they see in me. I value their vision for my feelings and future even if it's not always what I have in mind for myself. They have an important place in my life and have every right to have an important place in queerly crafting BL. If we have an issue, let's do our best to name the actual issue rather than revert to over-generalizations about someone's identity.

[genderkoolaid]

Especially in the poisonous era of Trump, masculinity in all forms is suspect, often labeled as toxic within queer communities, even when it is attached to a body assigned female at birth. As my patient Ash has discovered, you only have to declare a masculine identity to be seen as a potential violator. Testosterone is not even required; the simple appellation will do. Suspicion and rejection of female/AFAB masculinity within the queer communities is not entirely new. Butch phobia has long been an issue in the lesbian community, and masculine females, including masculine heterosexual, cisgender women, are sometimes treated as if they possess male privilege. Such treatment misses the point that female masculinity is not tantamount to male masculinity but, being neither “proper” femininity nor “genuine” masculinity, condenses two gender transgressions in one. “Butches also suffer sexism,” Jack Halberstam reminds us, “butches also experience misogyny; butches may not be strictly women, but they are not exempt from female trouble.” Butches may be doubly targeted—as women and as women who are “failing” feminine gender. Transmasculine people can fall into misogynistic and femme-phobic thinking (like all of us living under patriarchy), and cis-assumed trans men, especially, may possess some aspects of male privilege (e.g., they are “straightforwardly” read as male and thus may enjoy the prizing extended to cis men). However, while they may not identify as women, they, too, are not exempt from female (or male!) trouble since they are themselves acutely aware of how quickly those privileges can be stripped away if their trans status should become known.

— Don’t Take Up Space: How the Patriarchy Works to Undermine Trans Communities from Within by Griffin Hansbury (emphasis by me)

[quitealotofsodapop]

Sun Wukong is such a cool character across the board since if you genderbent the character - very little would change other than the reactions of those around them.

LMK: Same character. Only difference is brief confusion from MK and Tang, who adjust their pronouns when speaking of Dawn accordingly. Relationship with Macaque unchanged.

Hero is Back: Short red hair, chewing on hay, tall af? Thats half the butch farmers in my county. Liuer has a brief moment of "The Great Sage is a woman?" before going straight back to fanboying about how cool Dasheng is. Zhu Bajie is likely shocked and appalled that he was defeated by a woman - tho still shoots his shot. Attract does not work on Dasheng. Story accidentally becomes a tale of a mother sacrificing her life to protect her son, and ends with the son sacrificing himself to protect his new mother.

Reborn: Still a chaotic hissing gremlin of a monkey. Brief moment of funny where the very feminine Taoist acolytes misgender Smokey as male since she still looks the same. Zhu Bajie hesistates to hit on Smokey (despite her very convincingly diguising herself as his wife during his recruitment), since she terrifies him. Smokey still arises from their false death cloaked in blue flame and lava. And still mourns the loss of Fruitie.

NewGods: Bigger plot twist of Ace's identity. No one has figured out her identity for so long (including Ao Guang) cus they all assumed SWK was a guy. Still a giggling, gambling lush. Yunxiang: "Hey whos this drunken, half-dressed old lady offerring to train me in exchange for a motorbike- oh sweet Buddha she's the Monkey King."

1999/2000 Cartoon: Sugar is already femme af. No change.

Netflix: Little character change, though Cherry's story would indirectly become a glass ceiling situation with the Immortals. Men can become immortal by killing lots of evil demons (source: Erlang & Hou Yi), but women gotta suffer (source: Guanyin). Bonus girl bonding with Lin.

Smash Legends: Starfruit leans into gender stereotypes for the views. Goes full tiktok e-girl with her asethetic. Would form punk girl band with Goldie.

And lets not forget how many live-action Sun Wukongs are played by women actors and/or stuntwomen.

Gender bending their Macaques also do not change much. Basically these monkeys could be any gender indentity and still be themselves

[duskier]

Long-suffering fem Price who is your doting butch roommate- helplessly in love with you and you're the only person in the world who can't seem to notice that fact.

She listens to you after every single situationship sends you home teary-eyed with your tail tucked between your legs. She's always on the couch watching something when you enter, big arm slung over the backrest, as if her natural position just so happens to have a space always available for you to slink into. She turns down the TV and listens patiently while you cry over girl of the month #3, her heart pounding at the feeling of your head on her chest. She's so insanely warm against you. Price stifles the feeling of pride at how quickly you melt into her side, still worried about the tears rolling down your face.

You talk so long you shift positions, she ends up rubbing your feet with her strong hands while you continue to vent. Price is as good with words as she is with foot rubs, she knows just what to say at the perfect time.

'Of course it's ex #3's deal and not you, no there's nothing wrong with you', on and on. She holds back from telling you that you're the most hands-down gorgeous creature she's ever seen- that she'd break her back to give you the world given the chance- Price was too afraid that you'd laugh at her.

Rolls you a cigarette and you move outside, glaring into the night as you take the lit cigarette she offers you. She wraps you in a blanket when she sees you shiver slightly.

Has to bite her tongue so hard it stings when you bitterly joke, "That's it, I have to move. There are obviously no lesbians left in this city for me."