#really fun and easy to draw!!! i like em. they’re Soothing

[remxedmoon]

see?

everything’s fine.

(greyscale + extras below!!)

so! this was SUPPOSED to be a bonnie drawing. but for some reason i just Can’t draw bonnie to save my life today. and i needed to draw something simple to make myself less frustrated!! and by simple i mean this took me almost 3 hours and i had to redraw it because i didn’t like how the lineart turned out the first time!! oops!! at least it turned out cute🩶. and i got to play around with my textured brush!

also as a bonus, my terrible first attempt + the sketch!! that i apparently accidentally deleted at some point? so this is a screenshot from the timelapse. i dont know what happened to it…

[meridiansdominoes]

How To Scrap Battledroids

(I have decided to make this its own post entirely, so here it is! Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424678)

Prompt:  Anakin and The Boys make a skillshare about how to scrap battledroids but about halfway through Tup makes a hair routine class, then other troopers post their hobbies and basically thats how they win the public over to support the clones

______________________________________________________________

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first instalment of ‘Reasons Why the 501st is the Best Battalion in the GAR’, subtitled ‘How To Scrap Battledroids’, sponsored by the Hero With No Fear himself, General Anakin Skywalker!”

General Skywalker steps into frame with a cocky smirk. The camera trails from his face down his arm to where he’s holding his lightsaber with a sure grip. 

“Today we’ll be demonstrating some of the most effective ways to absolutely demolish the B1 battle droid,” the narrator continues. The camera turns slowly, revealing several clones all around the Jedi, armed to the teeth and waiting. “The B1 battle droid, also referred to as a standard battle droid or a clanker, is the most widely used battle droid manufactured by Baktoid Combat Automata and Baktoid Armor Workshop. They’re the successor to the OOM-series battle droids. Early versions of the model required the use of a—”

“Holy kriff no one cares, Echo!” one of the clones says loudly. The narrator lets out an offended huff. The camera jerks and spins so that General Skywalker comes back into frame. The Jedi looks amused.

“Some of our viewers might appreciate a little background, Fives, shut up!”

“Force, can we get to it already? All this waiting around is driving me crazy!”

“Hardcase, calm down, exposition is important—”

“So is getting my weekly dose of adrenaline, Jesse—!”

“Okay, alright,” another clone soothes. “General, we’re waiting for your signal.”

“Thank you, Tup,” General Skywalker says, and ignites his lightsaber. “For that, I think you deserve the honor of going first.” This spurs a cacophony of groans from the others, but Tup makes a delighted sound. “Alright, on my signal. Echo, you’re in charge of making sure it all gets on camera, understand?”

“Yessir,” Echo says smartly. He pivots so that the entire group is visible—one Jedi and four clones, tense and waiting behind some sort of structure. 

“Alright, let’s go!” General Skywalker shouts, and they charge around the corner and take the platoon of battle droids that had been approaching by complete surprise. 

It’s possibly the most unfair fight the GAR has ever seen. It’s impossible for Echo to keep up with all the action. Hardcase’s Z-6 whines as it tears the droids apart. Tup and Jesse are dodging enemy blaster bolts and returning fire with fluid ease. General Skywalker is a storm of blue light and sparking clanker parts. At one point the Jedi reaches out his hand and sends Fives and Tup flying through the air with the Force so that they can attack from above. 

The fight is over in less than two minutes. It had been pure chaos, and utter destruction. The clones regroup around Echo, riled up and excited as General Skywalker comes within earshot of the camera again.

“And that,” General Skywalker says, sheathing his lightsaber with a flourish, “is how to take down a battle droid, 501st style. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

______________________________________________________________

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ve constantly been wondering, “Boy, who could possibly be better than those 501st imbeciles that showed up on the holonet a few weeks ago?” like I have recently, look no further! What takes six of the 501st’s best only takes two of the 212th!” 

“Boil, less talking, more not-dying!” someone shouts, and there’s a large explosion. The camera shakes uncontrollably for a moment, and then suddenly it steadies, half of the camera obscured by the rock that the cameraman is crouched behind. Regardless, General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody are visible, back to back in the middle of a courtyard absolutely swarming with droids. 

“Kenobi deflects blasterbolts from every side, and oh there’s the Commander, headshots, every one of ‘em, look at the way they kriffin’ move! So in-sync, they turn together, no hesitation at all—!”

“Boil, quit the commentary and get down!”

There’s another explosion. Boil lets out a grunt of annoyance. The camera whirls. 

“Come on, I’m missing the best part!” There’s a flash of orange and white, and then Boil gets the camera back up. The droids are attempting to close in on the two combatants, but General Kenobi slashes and whirls with ethereal grace. Commander Cody lashes out with powerful kicks that shatter the droids at the joints. They’re absolutely surrounded by sparking droid parts, untouched in their little circle of safety. When there are only a few droids left, General Kenobi slashes his last opponent cleanly in half before tossing his lightsaber oh-so-casually to Commander Cody The Commander catches it out of midair without even glancing at it and beheads the very last droid with a lazy flick of his wrist. 

Boil whistles, long and low. He’s not the only one. 

“And that’s how to destroy a battle droid, 212th style,” Boil whispers gleefully as General Kenobi and Commander Cody motion for their troops to advance. “And it really doesn’t get any better than that. Suck it, 501st!”

______________________________________________________________

Captain Rex looks extremely annoyed. 

“Since the 212th really seems to think the galaxy of themselves, this is Captain Rex of the 501st, and I’m here to show you all what it really means to destroy a battle droid.”

Behind the camera, someone giggles. Commander Tano’s hand appears in the frame as she gives him a thumbs up. He shoves his helmet on and draws both DC-17s, checking them over briefly before stepping out of cover directly in front of the platoon of battle droids, determined and completely alone. He charges, pistols already releasing a steady hailfire at his opponents. 

The battle droids don’t even stand a chance. They scream and cower and attempt to escape, but it doesn’t do them any good. Commander Tano laughs so hard that the camera shakes in her hand. 

______________________________________________________________

“You know, I think that normal B1 battle droids are getting pretty old,” Commander Cody says, smirking at the camera—there’s something a bit dangerous in the expression, almost predatory. Daring their next challenger to try and top them. “So this time we’re upping our game. Super Battle Droids aren’t nearly as easy to take down as B1s, which means we have to get a bit creative.”

By ‘get creative’, Commander Cody means ‘use lots of explosives’. It’s very impressive.

______________________________________________________________

“Oh kriffing—are you serious, General?” Commander Bly makes an unamused face at the camera.

“Of course, Commander. We can’t let the 501st and the 212th have all the fun, can we?” General Secura says in amusement, the tip of one blue lek sliding into frame for an instant. “Besides, we’ve got something much better than battle droids to destroy today, don’t we?”

Bly snorts.

“The Armored Assault Tank does take a significantly larger amount of effort than any battle droid can. So are we skipping droidekas, then? I don’t think anyone’s done them yet. They seem like a more logical next step up from SBDs to me.”

“Someone else can do that,” another clone chimes in, sounding a bit excited. “Go big or go home, right General?”

“Very good,” General Secura praises. She sounds pleased. “Trooper, please explain the weak spots of the tank to our audience as Commander Bly and I take care of those two on the ridge. It shouldn’t take us long. It’s a bit far—you might have to zoom in, but it should still be plenty visible.”

“Yes sir,” a trooper agrees happily as she passes him the camera. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m sure this’ll blow the rest of the videos completely out of the water.”

General Secura grins at her Commander. She shrugs one shoulder at him and pulls her lightsaber from her belt as she turns to face the tanks. Bly’s expression softens into something that definitely isn’t meant to be seen by the camera. Then he shoves on his helmet and raises his weapon to stand at her side.

“Alright, General. Lead the way.”

______________________________________________________________

“You know, these videos aren’t just to show people how easy the Seppie droids are to blow up,” Tup says with a shrug. “You can do other stuff too, you know. Dogma, the comb please!”

Dogma dutifully passes him the comb. Tup releases his hair from the bun. It falls down around his face, far nicer than it should considering the amount of time it spends mashed underneath Tup’s bucket. Tup begins to run the comb through his hair, grimacing slightly as he carefully works out knots.

“Alright, everyone is always asking me how I keep my hair so well-maintained with the GAR’s very limited hair products. Today I’m gonna let everyone in on a couple of my most prized secrets…”

______________________________________________________________

“I absolutely will not.”

“But sir,” Comet says (his voice trembles because he’s trying to keep from laughing), “You’re the best at it! The rest of us don’t even come close!” He moves the camera a little closer to Wolffe’s face.

“I don’t give a kriff,” Wolffe deadpans. He goes back to scrolling through his datapad. Comet swipes it from his hand and passes it to Sinker as Wolffe lunges for it, who passes it back to Boost, who tucks it behind his back. Wolffe levels a ferocious glare at them. All three of them cower for a moment until Comet finds his voice again.

“Siiiirrrrr. Sir, please.”

“No.”

“Then you’re not getting your datapad back,” Boost attempts bravely. Wolffe rolls his eye. 

“What’s stopping me from just taking it from you, Sergeant?” he counters. Boost licks his lips nervously.

“I mean, it would still be just as good of a video if you did,” Sinker says, snickering. “How To Discipline your Unruly Sergeant.”

“Just once, sir!” Comet begs, focused on their original goal. “We’ll stop bothering you if you do!”

“For how long?” Wolffe asks gruffly. Comet considers. 

“Until the next deployment, sir?”

Wolffe sighs.

“Fine. But only once.”

He tips his head back and lets out a long, inhuman howl. It’s wild and fierce and absolutely terrifying. It calls warriors to the hunt, triggers something carnal in the blood of the pack. The sound echoes through the room. In the corner of the frame, Sinker bares his teeth in response. The reaction is seemingly instinctive. 

When it finally ends, Wolffe drops his chin and lifts one eyebrow at his audience. 

“Satisfied?” he huffs. Boost passes him back his datapad with a dazed grin.

“Sithspit, sir. That was… better than usual. Trying to… impress someone, maybe?”

“Get out of my office,” Wolffe growls, on the defensive. “Get that camera out of my face, or I’ll have you running laps in the gym until your brains melt out of your skulls.”

“But sir! Now you have to explain how you did it! That’s what these videos are technically for after all!”

Wolffe loses his patience. He lunges. The camera gets swung around until everything is a blur. There’s a flash of grey, a hint of white, a snarl. Comet lets out an embarrassing shriek. The video cuts to black a moment later.

______________________________________________________________

General Windu is weaponless and surrounded, but that doesn’t stop him from utterly decimating every clone that gets within five feet of him. No one can even touch him. He dodges their attacks like he already knows their every move. He probably does. He flows and shifts like water around their attempts to take him down, even when they team up and pull out all the stops. Commander Ponds, hands steady as he films, chuckles mercilessly whenever General Windu successfully tosses someone aside. 

“There’s not really anything to explain here, we just wanted to demonstrate how cool our Jedi is. Mace can take on half the battalion bare handed and he barely even breaks a sweat.”

“Commander, are you actually going to help us or are you just going to sit there and watch us suffer?” a shiny yelps, two seconds before he gets his feet swept out from under him and goes down with a curse. Ponds laughs again. 

“No thanks, kid. I learned the hard way that what you’re trying to do is impossible.”

“Maybe you just never tried hard enough, sir,” Stak grits out, shoving the staggering shiny towards the edge of the mat. He charges Windu head on. It looks foolish until Ponds spots Razor coming in from behind the Jedi. He’s moving as silently as possible. Ponds shifts the camera accordingly so that all three of them are in frame. 

For half a second, it looks like General Windu won’t be able to block both of them.

Well, it appears that way. General Windu ducks low, twists so that he gets right into Stak’s personal space. Stak tries to grab him, but General Windu just uses his momentum to whirl him around and send him crashing into Razor. Their helmets clunk together with a hollow sound. They go down hard.

The onlookers cheer in excitement. General Windu has the smallest of smirks on his face as he settles back into a fighting stance and waits for the rest of the clones to make a move. 

“And that’s why our Jedi is the best,” Ponds says smugly. The next ten minutes of the video is General Windu successfully incapacitating the rest of his challengers. 

(The video is well-received by the general public but poorly received by the rest of the GAR.)

(“Respectfully, the 212th would like to submit this video to demonstrate why General Kenobi is actually the best—”)

(”The entire 91st can go kriff themselves, watch General Skywalker hijack these STAPs  in midair and you’ll know that the 501st obviously has the best Jedi—”)

(“The 327th resents everything that the 91st’s most recent video claimed and declares that Ponds has no kriffing idea what he’s talking about, General Secura is obviously a better choice, here are ten reasons why—”)

(“General Plo Koon can fight in space. I don’t see General Windu doing that, here are the clips from the 104th’s most recent zero-grav drills—”)

______________________________________________________________

When Commander Fox steps into the room, the men have the decency to look sheepish. Fox takes everything in slowly—the camera in Byte’s hand, the way Thorn and Thire are standing together shoulder to shoulder, hiding the failed project behind them, the scattered nuts and bolts all over the floor. The multitool in Stone’s hand. He drags one hand down his face and takes a deep breath. 

“You told me it was an emergency, Thorn.”

“It is an emergency, Fox! Listen, we even brought you caf because we knew you’d be annoyed,” he holds the steaming cup up as he speaks in a desperate attempt to make peace, “and there’s no way we’re going to figure this out ourselves!”

Fox plucks the caf out of Thorn’s hand and sighs again.

“What is it, then?”

“Well…” Thire drawls slowly. Fox narrows his eyes impatiently. 

“What the kriff is so important and difficult that three of my fellow officers couldn’t figure it out on their own?”

“To be fair, sir,” Stone says good-naturedly, “it’s far more difficult than we thought it would be.”

Thire and Thorn step away to reveal… a piece of furniture. A bench, only halfway assembled, innocent looking enough. Fox stares at it blankly for a few moments. Byte zooms in on his face enthusiastically. 

“We were going to demonstrate how to make it, for the video thing that half the GAR seems to be doing right now,” Thorn explains weakly. “But… it’s confusing. There’s even instructions but they don’t really help.”

Fox drains the cup of caf. He squares his shoulders. 

“Force save me. Are you kidding? Give me the kriffing instructions. This is ridiculous.”

(It takes them two more hours to get the bench set up. Fox misses a meeting. Byte edits the final video to include the bulk of the angry tirades and all of the snark. Public relations improve to an all-time high almost overnight.)

______________________________________________________________

(“The clones are not people. They are soldiers created for a single purpose,” some of the Senate attempt to protest. This argument does not last long, mostly because the civilians who have been eagerly following the videos that the clones have been releasing over the course of several months start to riot in protest. 

Padme Amidala and Bail Organa take great pleasure in bringing the videos before the Senate to prove to them that the clones are indeed soldiers but also individuals who laugh and cry and live just as any other citizen of the Republic does.

In the wake of the unshakable evidence and the rioting, there is little the opposition can do to stop the Clone Rights Bill from being passed, and the entire Republic celebrates.)

[balladeer-angelo]

Pretty pretty please☆ 39, with carlos x reader cuz i have an extreme thirst♡♡♡

this turned out so long and I’m so sorry but I just had too much fun with it lol enjoy!

Carlos x Reader

39: “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

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He wasn't sure what was going on this week, but he swore you were up to something.

It all started Monday morning, the beginning of a busy work week for both you and Carlos. You were in the kitchen cooking breakfast, pancakes with a warm cream cheese frosting, humming and swaying in your pajama shorts and a tank top while you whisked the batter. He shuffled into the kitchen with a 'good morning' yawn, immediately going for the fresh pot of coffee. You greeted him, pouring some batter into the sizzling pan. He was leaning against the counter, sipping his hot cup of Joe when you turned to ask him if he slept well as he'd been having trouble just keeping his eyes closed most nights. Those tired eyes of his zeroed in on your chest, something white and translucent drizzled across your cleavage. He almost choked.

"You've got- um..." His voice rumbles out from behind the ceramic mug, teetering off as he continued to stare like he had fallen into a trance. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. "Your chest. There's... stuff on your-." He points at you and draws in the air with his finger.

You look down and click your tongue. "Ugh, damn it." You whined. "Guess I wasn't paying much attention while I was making the frosting."

You tug down the front of your top just enough to reveal the rest of the sticky mess and, inadvertently, the valley between your breasts. Carlos watches you drag two fingers through one of the many tiny ropes of frosting and place them in your mouth. His cock stirs at the sight and he finds himself completely mesmerized. You pick up as much as you can, casually cleaning off your digits with your tongue like he's not in your company, mumbling to yourself that at least you didn't do a bad job. Carlos wonders if you'd let him rut his cock between your breasts so he could paint your chest and watch you lap all that up as well. Then the two of you would eat the pancakes you'd made right after and he'd give you a lingering kiss and be on his way.

His eyes dart to the tiny clock on Mr. Coffee. He doesn't have time. With a sigh he sets down his cup and lumbers over to you to plant a kiss to your forehead, doing all he can to avoid looking at your chest any longer lest he ends up being late.

"You're not gonna eat?" You pout up at him and he gives an apologetic smile.

"I gotta go in early today. New recruits. 'Lot of ropes to show."

"Fiiine." You groan dramatically, though he knows you're not actually upset. "Don't go too easy on 'em."

He chuckles and gives you one last kiss to the crown of your head. "You got it, boss."

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The next day, he had found a pair of your panties, the thin kind with a lot of lace embroidered on it, in the back pocket of his pants. He wasn't even the one to notice them first. One of the new recruits had openly pointed at something pink poking out of his pocket, nosy as to what it was. He tugged it out and immediately crushed it in his hand before shoving it back into his pants upon realizing that it wasn’t a handkerchief. The other men snickered amongst themselves and Carlos roughly cleared his throat. "Alright, alright. Settle down."

He called you as soon as he was on his lunch break.

"Any idea how your panties ended up in my back pocket, babe?"

"Hm? My panties?" You sounded genuinely confused over the soft tapping of your fingers on a keyboard.

"Well, they're not mine. Pink and lace aren't exactly my style."

"Ohh!

I was wondering where those went! Must've gotten mixed together during laundry day. I usually wash the intimates separately."

He pulls your underwear back out to look at them. The silky fabric felt soothing against the new callouses sprouting on his palm. He's curious how they might feel wrapped around his rousing cock.

"Guess so..." He mutters to himself.

Your voice cuts through the polluted thoughts filling his mind and he's reminded then by the silent ticking coming from the wall that, once again, he doesn't have the time to find out.

"Is there any chance you could swing by the grocery store after work? We're running low on eggs."

"Sure thing."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By Wednesday, his suspicions were steadily mounting to almost headache-inducing levels. You had stopped by his workplace to go over paperwork with one of the higher-ups, something boring. Carlos was tasked with helping you pull down some files in one of the archive rooms. He watched you squat down in front of one of the shelves to pull out one of the many brown boxes on the bottom, sifting through its contents. Carlos finds that he really likes you in formal wear. A blazer, dress pants, and heels were a good look on you.

"Carlos, can you reach up there and start pulling down the boxes at the top for me?" You pull him out of his thoughts yet again and he carefully walks over to you, shins gently nudging against your back as he reaches up and grabs a box with both hands.

He keeps up this uniform pace; taking boxes from the top shelf and placing them in a pile to your right while you search the pile you've made beside your left. He's not even entirely sure what you're looking for and he figures he should probably ask. But your exclamation catches him by surprise, as does the way that your body is slotted up against him when you suddenly rise to your feet.

"Oh! I think that's the one!" You take his arms and lower them so they're caging either side of your waist, removing the flimsy top to the box he's still holding. Carlos swallows hard, staring at your hands from over your shoulder as you rummage through the files. Your ass is perfectly pressed right into his crotch, warm and soft. It rubs against him in such an unassuming manner as you shift your hip to one side. You're not even leaning any of your weight into him but he can feel every inch of you through his clothes, licking at the sweat on his skin like fire on gasoline.

There's no way you can't feel how hard he's getting. Just as he starts imagining just how fucking hot it would be if you let him fuck you right up against these shelves in this cramped dingy space, if you let him stuff his now aching cock into you from behind while he uses his fingers to keep you quiet, you're tilting your head up to peck his chin and slipping out of his arms before he can even muster up a single word.

"Found it! Thanks a bunch, babe. I'll be back to help you clean up in a sec!"

You trot out of the room with the files you were looking for, leaving him with a box that was slowly beginning to slip out of his clammy palms and a throbbing hard-on. His groans fill the stuffy room, frustrated and grumpy. When you had returned to help him like you said, the boxes that had been disturbed were put back in their place, though precariously and not alphabetically, and Carlos was nowhere to be found.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday was the day he was sure he would combust on the spot. You had the day off while he was scrambling to get out of the door on time, somehow managing to snooze through his alarm once sleep had finally found him. While he was in the bathroom briskly scrubbing his teeth, he catches something out of his peripheral vision in the shower, something pale pink and... thick.

He slides the glass door open and nearly spits up all the foaming toothpaste in his mouth. It's one of your toys, a dildo, your favorite one, suctioned to one of the tiles on the shower wall at a particular height. Upon closer inspection, he notices that it's got a glossy wet look to it that he knows isn't water. It looked as if it had just been used.

He could feel his heartbeat in his groin again as he stared at it with his toothbrush dangling between his lips. When did you use it? This morning? You did wake up before he did, and it's not like he could go and ask you about it since you were already gone to take care of errands. He could text or call you, but... He starts to imagine how you must've looked when you decided to play. Hands pressed against the glass, fogged-up with steam, wriggling your pussy back onto the heavy hanging toy while your moans get drowned out by the rushing water crashing down on your dipping back.

Did you think of him while you were fucking yourself? Did you imagine it was his cock instead? Were you breathing his name into the glass so he wouldn't hear you? If you needed to get off so bad, you should've just asked him to take care of you! He would even lay there and let you use him, use his body, his hot cock to chase your pleasure. Ride him all throughout the early morning haze, coming over and over again around him and letting him fill you up with copious amounts of his cum.

He finished brushing his teeth with yet another painful erection that he couldn't take care of because time just wouldn’t allow it. Thoughts of you naked and writhing beneath him, fervently sucking him off, peering over your shoulder at him with that knowing smirk as his hips slam into the plump flesh of your ass are all that flood his head for the rest of what felt like the longest day of the week for Carlos.

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After another tedious and grueling day of work, he was ready to go home and enjoy a nice relaxing weekend with you. Friday could've come sooner but he was too exhausted to complain, too eager to get inside and wash off the sweat and grime of the day. He stumbles through the door and his eyes are scanning the apartment for you almost instantly.

"Babe? You home?" He calls out, toeing off his boots by the door.

"In the bedroom!" Your voice echoes from down the hall, a sound he's quick to follow despite the fatigue setting in his body. When he finds you, the sight is enough to have him quietly groaning to himself, something familiar churning in his lower belly.

"Hey! How was work?" You ask cheerfully, naturally, as if you weren't just laying in bed on your belly reading a magazine, wearing one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled up to your shoulders, and some panties. The very same ones that had found their way into his pocket on Tuesday.

"Fine." He mutters though he isn't sure if you even heard him.

You toss the magazine onto the end table next to the bed and hop up onto your knees to stretch your arms above your head with a soft sound of exertion. His eyes never leave the sight of the sheer rosy fabric framing your ass.

"I just got off a few hours ago. It was such a slow day. But, T.G.I.F., right?"

You slide off the mattress and saunter towards the door, your arm brushing across his and you swear you feel him tense up at such a passing touch. A quiet current flowing through a tightly wound wick that was ready to ignite at the smallest spark.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

His hand grabs your wrist and holds you in place for the merest of seconds before he whips you around to face him. “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

The look of surprise you give is authentic enough to have him second-guessing himself. Your blinking eyes, tilting head, and questioning hum almost dry up all the grounds for such a snap interrogation.

“I thought that maybe you really weren’t paying attention that morning when you got frosting all over your chest. And maybe you really did get our laundry mixed up cause there’s no way you could’ve slipped your panties into my pants without me knowing. But your little stunt at the office? And leaving your toy out in the bathroom where you knew I would see it? And now this?”

He gestures at his shirt hanging off your body, barely covering the lace culprit he had mentioned. “I’m startin’ to think that these little coincidences aren’t actually so coincidental.”

The look you give him could best be described as cat-like. A cat who rolled her red ball of yarn wherever she went with her tail held high cause she knew a certain someone would inevitably get snagged in her threads. And he was the big cute puppy she had banked on who got all tangled up.

“It took you this long to come to that conclusion, huh?”

The look on his face you would describe as utterly dumbfounded. Whether it was because of your overtly bold confession to his allegations or the fact that you weren’t coyly trying to deny it like he must’ve thought you would, you weren’t really sure.

“It started out as a coincidence that Monday morning, I’ll give you that much. But after I saw how riled up you got because of it -and don’t try to act like you hid it well- I just wanted to see how far I could take this little experiment before you caught on.”

You easily slipped your wrist from his hand, slowly slinking back inch by inch toward the door. “And especially since we were both gonna be too busy and tired through the week to even do anything, I thought it would be fun to keep you all hot and bothered for me until the weekend when we could let loose.”

You pause in the doorway, watching his expression. Heat had flooded his face, all the way to the tips of his ears though his hair did a good job hiding that. He looked like he was still processing all the details, seemingly at a loss for words at the moment. You took the opportunity to pull off his shirt, leaving you completely bare to him sans those damnable panties.

“I really am surprised it took until the end of the week for you to figure me out. And you’re accusing me of being the oblivious one?”

Whatever words he did manage to find come out in a splutter, the flush on his cheeks clouding over. His eyes follow the curve of your spine when you turn your back to him and playfully wiggle your hips.

“C’mon, puppy. You scrub my back and I’ll scrub yours. And maybe I’ll even show you how I used that toy of mine yesterday.”

The look you give him and those tacked on odds is ultimately what propels him forward, scooping you up into his arms and giving your shoulder an impish bite, relishing the taste of your skin and the sounds of your squeals and giggles as he carries you toward the bathroom.

He snarls into your ear, "You’re in for one hell of a weekend, fox."

[unholyplumpprincess]

Let It Go

For someone who wishes to be remain anonymous!!! Went a lil overboard so the drabble turned into a fic.

Summary: Bloodhound loves playing their game with you, you know the rules, always do. You will be chased through the forest, as usual, survive an hour and you can do whatever you want to them. Get caught within the hour? Well, Hound gets to do whatever they want to you. This time is so different, you get caught, you lose, but maybe having so much water before you ran wasn't such a good idea.

Reblogs > Likes. Have you age in your bio (18+ only) before interacting. If you do not, you will be blocked.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is a trans male whose parts are referred to as hole/cock, watersports but just the desperation part and actually Going, Bloodhound’s infamous werewolf strap makes a come back, primal play + chase kink!

Words: 2k

_______________

A game.  

That’s what Bloodhound always called it, eyes raking your form where they sat on the kitchen counter, ankles crossed and their hand tossing their hunting knife. To anyone else, it would appear like motor motions, an absentminded toss. But you knew that gleam in their golden eye, how their pupil narrows needle thin in that predatory little look. A tilt to their head, their curls of crimson pulled up into a ponytail and the ringlets making them look more like a hungry lion by the second.  

“Do...do I get a head start?” You had asked, your voice already shaking as you play with your hands, trying not to make eye contact with them. You hear their boots hit the ground, taking measured steps towards you before that knife they had been tossing taps under your chin. Guiding your gaze up from the floor to meet their hungry one.  

“Of course, my love. Our safe words are still in play- I trust you remember our normal rules?” They’d crooned out softly, tapping your chin once more as your lips quiver. They drew their blade back when you nod furiously. You were only clothed in your comfortable lounge clothing from earlier, your big hoodie and your jeans, sneakers on your feet. You could run in this- better than when they asked you when you were clad in nothing the last time. You had a feeling it was to humiliate you- and boy did it work.  

“Then run, litli kanína. Pray my teeth do not take a bite now.”  

~Rest under the cut~

And you’d ran. You had run straight out the back door of your cottage on your little homestead. Hiatus from the games made this sort of play easy. Bloodhound had always gotten more playful when you two were alone, more free and less that face of stoicism they put on when around others. Including events like this.  

It had to have been twenty minutes later, you think you’ve gotten a pretty good head start by now. They’d always take that time to gather what they wanted to use on you in a bag, you never knew what was inside or what was planned. You pant heavily as you lean against a tree, perking your ears and trying to listen for any of the crunching leaves around you or any sticks. Any indicator that they were close. When you hear nothing, you heave out a sigh, slumping back against the tree.   

Hey, maybe you’d actually win this one! And then if you got the hour completed, that meant Bloodhound would be yours to---  

Your thoughts are cut off when you hear the soft croak of Arthur overhead. Perched on a branch and tilting his head down at you. You slowly tilt your head up to look at him, the blue tinge on his feathers a clear sign of who that was. You swallow thickly. “Uh- hey, baby, uhm. You aren’t just...following me for fun now, are you?” Praying he just followed you to see what you were doing.  

As if understanding you, his head tilts the opposite way, lifting his head up and cawing loud and high. You swear loudly, bolting away from the tree as soon as you hear the crunching of leaves. Arthur doesn’t make it easy on you, swooping to your right so you’re herded to the left, forcing you out of the thicket of trees and into a small clearing. Your only warning is a snarl before arms snatch around your waist, tumbling you both to the ground as you yelp like a wounded dog in surprise.  

When Bloodhound rolls on top of you, they pin your hands under their knees, straddling your waist with their chest heaving and a grin across their full lips to reveal their double canines. Glinting in the moonlight overhead dangerously. “You are getting better at running, little one. You are getting wiser.” They praise honestly, their hand coming to grab your chin, tilting your head this way and that to see your flushed face and how you pant. You don’t miss the hum of appreciation in their throat, and you can’t help but glow in pride at their praise.  

--  

You end up on all fours, already two orgasms in from Bloodhound’s hands and tongue alone. They don’t tie you up like you expect, but you are unclothed from the waist down, allowed to stay in your hoodie and socks like you preferred. Your neck has various bites and bruises, you’re sure you have red scratches down your sides and hips too. Your ass had to be red from their constant smacking too, keeping you in the fuzzy headspace with your face buried into your crossed arms.  

You don’t know their state right now, but you know they have their favorite strap on harnessed around their hips right now. The thick, red, tapered knotted cock slick with lubricant and your hole stretched around it. It was all going great! You’re shaking, whimpering underneath them, their hands squeezing your hips and murmuring filthy and sweet things to you alike as their hips only gently hump to let you adjust to the size. The knot, as thick as their fist, nudging against the rim of your hole but never pressing past what you couldn’t take yet.  

But you uh- well you uh feel a pressure in your lower abdomen. Not from a close orgasm either. It’s making you squirm with each thrust into you, which they take as a good sign with an eager growl and yanking you back hard. The sudden pressure almost breaks and you have to swallow a low whimper, sounding like a pathetic groan before you choke out, “Y-yellow-”  

Immediately Bloodhound’s hips freeze, pulling back and out of you, you nearly thank the gods for the relief of pressure. Their hands ghost over your hips, petting instead of clawing, gently stroking you to soothe whatever must have harmed you. “Are you alright? Is it too much? What is it, beloved?” Their voice concerned as ever. So sweet to you.  

Your face is flushed so red, feeling so ashamed as you bury your face in one arm, mumbling out so quietly against your cloth. “I...I need to pee- ”  

“What was that, my love?” Bloodhound questions you, settling back on their knees and their hand soothingly cupping your ass. Their freezing skin soothing the redness and burning from their prior slaps.  

“I need to go pee—u-uh, really bad...” You murmur out louder, tilting your head so your mouth wasn’t against your arm. You manage to peek at them out of the corner of your eye, feeling how red your face is and hoping they’d take the hint. Give you a moment of peace to maybe relieve yourself behind a tree or you two could head home. Things like this happened all the time! Nothing weird, you weren’t embarrassed to admit you had to go-- or well, you were, actually, but not ashamed of it. And besides, Bloodhound was always so  accommodating , they would probably just let you go around the corner and---  

Your thoughts are paused when you hear a breathy, soft chuckle behind you. That little noise they made when they were aroused.  

Oh???  

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Bloodhound sighs out, leaning close to your ear to nip the burning tip and murmuring just as quiet. “Was that all?”  

You feel their hand slide under you, their other hand steadied against your ass to keep you still. Your entire body trembles, a whimper stabbing from your throat when their hand presses on your lower abdomen, no pressure at first, just holding there. You think they’re waiting for your go ahead, and you quietly give a curt nod, squeaking out a quiet ‘green’.  

Their hand presses and your throat  lets  out a low, whining groan as they croon out to you. “Look at you, you feel so full. And yet, I have not gotten to fill you myself yet.” Bloodhound sighs, the hand that had been cupping your ass moving until three fingers can easily slide into you. It does not help to distract you from the pressure, only aiding in your squirming and your whimpering of their name under your breath as their fingers fuck into you. “Do you want a release?”  

“Ngh - yes! Yes, please, I can’t-- Hound, please-” You’re quick to plead out, trembling with each curl of their fingers searching deep in you. When they pull out, you whimper out, pressing your chest down to the forest floor and curling your fingers against the grass. Forcing your ass up higher where you feel them rub the tapered head across your hole once again, nudging your engorged cock.  

“Then go.”  

Your face burns at the implication they’re making. You’re embarrassed to admit you’d thought of a scenario like this, too embarrassed to tell them. A strained whine eases out past your lips when they ease their cock back into you, pressing deep into you until you feel that pressure and you’re pleading again without thinking. “B-but—I can’t, not here, I-I- I can’t -”  

“You can. And you will.” Bloodhound snarls out, thrusting into you harder, pounding into you as the knot pounds against your hole without penetrating you yet. You scream out as the pressure in you begins to build, clawing at the ground as they fuck into you with long, hard strokes like they do when they intend to breed you. Each thrust drawing a louder and higher pitched moan from you.  

“F-fuck—no, no, n-no-  nononono -  hhh - god- Hound, Hound --” You sob out, feeling halfway through your sobs when heat pierces through you and you hear and feel the wetness coming from you. The pressure slowly being alleviated and making your eyes roll into the back of your head, tears spilling down your cheeks in red hot embarrassment and drool spilling down your chin. Your orgasm follows closely after, followed by Bloodhound slamming their hips into you to  knot  you completely.  

You’re carefully pulled up to their chest. Their arm crossing over you, a hand resting over your pounding hard as your back is flush with their chest. Pulled to your knees to avoid your mess in the dirt and stay attached to them. You’re a mess of tremors as your hands cling to their arm, tilting your head to the side and back to let them press soft kisses over your face, finally meeting your trembling lips to soothe you.  

“Good boy, shhh, you did well, I am here. You are safe.” Bloodhound’s voice lulls you, their other hand stroking over your abdomen, down to your cock and framing it with their middle and index finger. You’re gently stroked, whimpers choking from your throat and your eyes blurry with tears as you contract around the knot. Sensitivity wringing out one more orgasm from you, weak and only causing you to grunt when you feel yourself pulsing with it.  

You slump back against them, earning you a gentle kiss to your temple where you feel their smile against you. You can’t help but smile back, tired and still high from your hot embarrassment. But they just keep praising you. ‘Such a good boy’ ‘My sweet little one’ ‘How you sang for me was beautiful’.  

It lulls you to rest. And you awake however long later clothed, warmed, and in bed with your head in Bloodhound’s lap who reads a book overhead, stroking your hair. Letting you catch the gold band around their left ring finger that makes you tiredly smile, pressing your face back into their thigh with an appreciative hum.  

Maybe you don’t mind losing their games after all.  

[truth-and-lies-drv3-imagines]

How would Himiko, Tenko, Kokichi and Kaito react to finding out that they have a romantic rival than turns out to be a five year old with puppy crush on their s/o? Bonus if Tenko's a rival is little girl.

Why, what a fun & absolutely adorable request! You also picked some of the best characters for this prompt, heh ^^ This was lots of fun to write ♡Also, if you requested from me, I will definitely get to them! I was addressing an older request first. 

~ Mod Nagito

Himiko Yumeno

- She’s walking home slowly when she hears your voice just around the corner! So she peeks around the corner…only to see you walking hand in hand with a little kid. What were you doing, anyway?

- But she’s Himiko. She’s too lazy to speed up her pace of walking to catch up with the two of you, even if she loves you, so she just plods along a good meter or two behind, listening to the conversation. “Let’s get married!” “Maybe in the future,” you laugh. 

- Himiko’s heart stops. She literally runs over and tackles you from behind, and then glares at the kid from a safe distance behind you. “S/O is mine! I’m the one marrying her.” 

- Oops. That was awkward. You’re flustered, burning bright red, and the kid starts to bawl loudly. “What do you mean?!” You look at Himiko, but don’t have the heart to scold her properly for making an innocent kid cry and just sigh. “Okay, well… You both can marry me, I guess?” 

- Himiko gives you an offended look. “You mean… I have to share you with that kid?” Meanwhile, the kid is smirking at Himiko smugly. You just want to walk away from the situation. “Why don’t we talk about this another time?” You say, trying not to show your exasperation, and you send the kid home, Himiko clinging on to you the entire time.

- On the way back to your house, you can feel Himiko shivering as she holds on to your arm tightly. “I’m not going to marry that kid,” you reassure her with a gentle smile. “Really?” “Yes. I was just trying to pacify them. Trust me, they’ll forget all about me when they’re grown up.” 

- Himiko looks somewhat hesitant and almost unbelieving, but in a battle that you can see on her face, she seems to decide to believe in you. “Okay… Then I guess I’m the only one you’re marrying!” she cheers, throwing her hat in the air. 

- You laugh in amusement of her innocence and taking her hat, place a kiss on her exposed forehead as she blushes a deep red matching her hair.

Tenko Chabashira

- The two of you are just talking in your room, sipping tea when you hear a doorbell ring from downstairs. You apologize for the interruption, and Tenko follows you as you go to open the door. 

- Upon opening the door, you see the little girl that lives next door, and she’s holding out a batch of flowers, presumably hand-picked, and bearing a toothy, bright smile. “These are for you!” she almost shouts. You’re startled, but you quickly shape your face into one of gratefulness and love. “Thank you so much, these are beautiful,” you say, reaching out for the flowers.

- But the little girl pulls them back abruptly. “Wait! You can’t have ‘em until we get married, because the bride gets the bouquet.” Meanwhile, Tenko is ready to jump into a fighting stance behind you. “Married? That’s ridiculous, just for a little handful of flowers!” she protests. 

- The little girl starts tearing up, and your eyes dart back and forth between the little girl and Tenko anxiously, wanting to avoid a crying crisis. You crouch down and pull the girl into a hug. “Oh, sweetie… She means that you can’t get married yet because you’re too young. Maybe once you’re old enough.”

- She immediately brightens up while Tenko in the back is fuming silently. “Okay, then let’s go on dates until we can get married!” You’re sweating by this time, feeling murderous energy behind you and equally positive energy in front of you. 

- You hastily agree and tell her to run on home, and Tenko bursts the moment you close the door. “Why’d you agree to go on a date with her?!” You sigh. “Tenko, she’s just a little girl. I’m just going to play with her for a bit, there’s nothing you need to worry about. Go easy on her, she’s only five years old!”

- Tenko harumphs and turns away, but there’s nothing you can do but show up tomorrow at the playground to play with the small girl. To which Tenko insists on chaperoning the two of you, despite your assertations that you’d be just fine in handling one five-year-old. 

- At first, Tenko continuously interferes. She’ll chop a hand down between the two of you when in the sandbox. “Too close!” Or sweep you away when the two of you are playing tag. “Not today!” Eventually, you’re forced to ask her to just watch from at least a couple of meters away.

- You would have forgotten about Tenko’s presence since she only watches silently from a distance, but she emits a bloodlust that fills the air, so it’s kind of impossible to ignore, even as the girl happily swings back and forth on the playground swings. 

- When it’s over and the girl is safely home, Tenko lets out a sigh of relief and picks you up bridal style, running away with you to your house. “Tenko, I can walk on my own!” But she doesn’t respond.

- You end up on your bed, Tenko hovering over you protectively. “What are you doing?” you ask. But she only responds after capturing your lips in a deep kiss. “You spent the whole day with that brat. It’s only fair that you spend the entire night with me,” she replies, looking completely serious. 

What happens next is up to you~ cuddling or smexy times?

Kokichi Ouma

- He’s not happy about this situation at all. He’s holding your hand, yes, but the other one is occupied by a small child. He wants to occupy all your attention and self, but you’re currently engaged in conversation with the kid, too. 

- He tugs on your hand childishly, pouting. “Hey, s/o, pay attention to me, too!” But you are too distracted to answer him, and he lets out a loud sigh, to which you are also unresponsive to. 

- The kid even follows the two of you back to your house, and you persuade him to go back home instead–how you managed it, you weren’t sure. Kokichi finally has you to himself, but he’s not exactly content. This situation can’t continue, so he tells you he’ll be back in ten minutes and stalks the kid down the street where you can’t see him.

- He puts a hand on the shoulder of the little boy, who turns around in surprise. “Hey, you little brat. Touch or talk to s/o again, and I’ll make sure you wish you hadn’t,” he says, offering one of his horrifying smiles that stretches from ear to ear and is sure to communicate exactly what he means.

- The kid is literally shaking in fear. I mean, a grown man would be shaking in his boots if Kokichi was smiling at him like that. But this kid’s got guts. “W-What will you do to me?” he asks, pointing at Kokichi. “I’ll tell on you to s/o!” 

- Kokichi only laughs maniacally. Okay, maybe he was putting it on a little thick for a little kid, but he wasn’t about to leave any loose ends, even if his rival was a little boy. “What makes you think you’ll be able to tell s/o anything after I’m done with you?” 

- The kid almost pees his pants. “You’re crazy!” And hightails it out of there. 

- Kokichi comes back to your house, and you see a triumphant smile on his lips. “What were you doing?” you ask curiously. “Oh, nothing. Just getting rid of some pests,” he replies as he embraces you, planting a firm kiss on your cheek.

Kaito Momota

- He’s excited to go on a date with you today! But when he goes to meet with you outside the school gates, he sees a little kid talking to you, and he comes over and puts an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, whatcha up to?”

- You smile at him after waving goodbye to the child. “Oh, just talking with my neighbor. Shall we go?” And the two of you off.

- At first, he thinks nothing of it. Then he notices that the kid is meeting you after school has ended every single day, even walking you home. So he offers to walk you home to keep an eye on the little rascal, who is deceiving cute but at times gives him the stinkeye. 

- One day, he confronts you about it. “Why does that kid hang around you every day?” he says, gritting his teeth. You shrug. “I think he said he likes me or something like that. I don’t really mind it.”

- His jaw drops comically. “Well, I do! That little monster.” You laugh. “You’re exaggerating. He’s just a sweet little kid, and he’ll forget about me when he’s grown.” Kaito tries to convince you otherwise and have you not meet him as much, but you brush him off carelessly. 

- So he goes to talk to the kid. Not the best idea he’s ever had, because that kid is literally an imp–looks like he’s only sweet when around you. “Hey, can you stop bugging s/o all the time? S/O’s an extremely busy student,” he reasons. “Did s/o say that I’m being a bother? That’s just your conjecture,” the kid retorts, and Kaito has to resist the urge to punch the smartass. 

- Instead, Kaito punches the wall above the kid, denting it slightly as the kid looks on in horror. “I don’t mean you can’t hang out with s/o, but anyone would get sick of another person if they were constantly around them.” 

- The boy seems to take in the advice, and Kaito is pleased to see that the boy’s visits have cut down by over half. 

- Although he’s not thrilled that the kid still sticks to you, he soothes himself by remembering that you’d never date a child, and he makes sure to spend lots of time with you. 

- When the boy hangs onto your legs, Kaito will draw you in for a kiss in response to such provocation. He’s not about to be outdone by a child, after all.

[irndad]

good together- b.b.

a/n: JEALOUS!READER my fave ok- this is a fun one! long too! longest i’ve done in a good bit <3 <3 please enjoy!

summary: bucky and his girlfriend are in secret, and they think they are asbolutely perfect for eachother. literally everyone else in the compound thinks bucky and nat are made for eachother. 

wc: 1.5k

It’s not like he meant it like that. She knows that.

She keeps telling herself that.

Because honestly, she knows that he loves her. Knows it in the way he makes her tea in the morning, in the gazes that linger when she’s doing the most mundane of tasks. He loves her. He doesn’t make it a secret to her- sometimes, when he looks at her and she never has a doubt.

Except.

Except even if she knows that, no one else does and she’d really been okay with the idea of them not being public, and not telling their friends was…not ideal, but she understood the urge for privacy. So she’d wait.

But no one seems to think that they make a good couple. No one seems to think that he looks at her long, or even that they’re building to something. Because everyone thinks that a certain super spy has and a certain super soldier would make a good pair.

And she gets it. They probably have a past- somewhere before and she gets how people would think they’d fit Russian spies with hearts warmer inside than appeared outside. They’re both good people and Bucky-

God, she can’t think his name without thinking of how he’s hers. It’s not necessarily possessive as much as a truth, and Bucky’s her Bucky, and the idea of someone, of Nat, knowing what he looks like in the morning- seeing that lazy smile, people thinking how she’d be better for him, it just. It hurts, is all.

She’s washing dishes, warm water over her bare hands soothing the hurt that radiates her chest. For a second, she craves for them to be at her apartment, because he wouldn’t  be so scared to put his arms around her from behind, fondly laughing as splashing and helping her with the take (and maybe sneaking in kisses here and there).

Instead, he’s sitting by the counter. Far away from her, and next to Nat.

She bites the inside of her cheek as Sam lays out the leftovers for himself and Steve, noting the way they give him a look. She knows that that look means.

Ask her out, Buck. You’ll be so good together.

She can practically hear Steve’s voice in his knowing look, one that Bucky ignored. Nat seems to be ignoring this whole thing, for which she couldn’t be more grateful, that she hasn’t been engaging in the whole affair.

Nat leaves the room, a hint of a smile on her face at the incoming call she gets, and it’s obvious that she’s got someone. Which is saying something, because that women is not obvious about anything.

“Buck-(Y/N), could you talk to him ‘bout this?”

Freezing at her name, she turns around and wipes her hands dry and prays Steve isn’t going to ask her this.

Because she really already fucking knows that Nat would be better for him. She doesn’t need to explain it to him step by step.

Cocking her head in question, Steve explains.

“Nat and Bucky, wouldn’t they be good together?” Steve’s voice is easy, gentle and kind, the same way he speaks to ease Bucky into things he has trouble with.

Sam steals her chance to speak. (Which is good, because if she’d had it, she thinks the shock of hearing someone say that out loud kind of felt like a sucker punch.)

“Dude- don’t get me wrong, you’re an asshole- but you deserve to be happy. And we all know that you two have this crazy chemistry and she’s. She’d be really good for you, man.”

Ah, fuck. That’s a sob in her throat, isn’t it.

She swallows it, because she’s fucking pathetic but she won’t cry about this. She won’t stand in front of the man who loves her and cry about jealousy.

“I don’t think-“ Bucky’s voice is hard, and it’s also her siren call, and she wants to soothe out to him, but well. Would Nat be better at that too? His eyes are trained on hers, something obviously present but she’s blind to.

“Buck, come on.” Steve says.

“No- you should. She’s brilliant with you. God, I’ve seen you spar and on missions and-“ And I’m only a SHEILD agent who has no powers and you’re you and she’s-her.

“Doesn’t matter to me-“ Bucky hears between the lines and reaches out to her and Steve and Sam don’t get why she’s upset but he does, does completely, she can tell by the fierceness of his gaze and conviction in his words, but it doesn’t matter. God. Doesn’t fucking matter.

“You should ask her out.” She says. Smiles bright and brilliant and it fools Sam and Steve but the swallow of distress she hears- he knows. Of course he does.

She ruffles all three’s hair before running to her space in the compound and well. The tears don’t really seem like a choice, and neither do the wracking sobs that run through her body.

Bucky was fucked.

Because he loves her. He loves her like he breathes, feels it in every inhale, loves her like every time he touches her is a blessing. He loves her so much it’s part of him. She’s part of him.

The idea of being with anyone else is so foreign and frankly unpleasant at this point. No one else would fit him so perfectly, or draw lines in the metal arm like it was made of gold and diamonds, and even if they did- they wouldn’t be her.

He has everything he needs and more, and Nat- Nat was a friend, Nat was a friend who had a goddamn boyfriend. A friend who was talking to him a lot to help him go public with his relationship.

Because he never meant for it to be secret, the request had tumbled out in some form of misguided attempt at protecting her, so she could pull away anytime she wanted and her name wouldn’t be marred by his reputation.

She never treated him like he was something to avoid. Something she was ashamed of. He could do it for her.

But it had spectacularly backfired, because Sam and Steve, assholes looking out for him, helping him find love when he already has it and he’s going to scream because he wants that look off of his pretty girl’s face forever. That fucking heartbroken look.

If someone had told her sincerely how she should be with someone else, asked him to convince her, he’d be fucking heartbroken. And no one had even considered they’d be together. No one. God, that stung.

“Stevie, I’m gonna need you to stop.” He said, trying to keep his voice level, panic rising at the image of her alone and crying in her bedroom, and he wants to fix this.

“Buck-“

Pinching his nose, frustration evident in his face, breath kind of ragged, Bucky interrupted.

“No-no, Me and (Y/N). We’re together. Us. Have been for a few months now.” Saying it out loud to someone felt amazing, because good lord is he proud of her.

Realization blooms over his face and a certain “oh shit” factor reaches their face.

“Yeah.”

“Shit, man.” Sam says, regret in his face.

“Wait-god, that’s so fucking awful, Buck.” Steve says, guilt in his face and Bucky almost pities him because he’d never mean to hurt her, not like that. He just didn’t see it.

“I knew you were in love with her, I thought Nat might distract you enough. Maybe you could- it was so stupid. Tell her I’m sorry as hell, Buck.”

Bucky nods. Races to her room and prays she’s okay.

Light spills in from outside, her exhausted form shaking and she hears a cooing noise of sympathy before she’s wrapped up in the arms she knows all too well. Are they still hers to love?

“Told ‘em.” Bucky whispers, tone gruff and regretful but firm. “Told them you’re my girl.”

“I thought you didn’t want to?” She wanted to say a million things, but that’s what came out.

“Always want to. Always wanted to. Should’ve before. Thought I was protecting you, ‘case you decided to leave- no one would know we were together. Your slate would be clean.”

She smiled a watery smile up at him, noticing his eyes are the same, they really are emotional people, aren’t they?

“You got me wrapped around your metal finger. Don’t see me going anywhere any time soon.”

Bucky bumps their noses, then a butterfly kiss.

“By the way, Nat- I was spending time with her so I could- we could tell people. She was talking me up.”

“Scandalous.” She spoke into the crook of his neck. She trusted him. Knew nothing was going on. This was about who was better for him. Not who he was with.

“For the record, love,” he kisses her temple, then moving his knuckle to her chin to tip it up so he can see her eyes. She loves him so much. “I’d rather you than anyone in the world.”

Lately, she kisses him with eye rolls. This time is no exception.

@delicatecapnerd  @a-hecking-mistake @httpmcrvel @bucky-stan-031017

@winters-beauty @sergeant-32557038

@notimetoblog @missmrene 

@who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan

@httpmcrvel  @frecklesholland @heckin-good-holland@afoxwonderland @radicalstars @once-upon-a-walking-wolf-demigod @thecreativeangel @barnesvogue @nedthegay @the-girl-with-no-wifi @macfullyloaded17@dianileesawsomeness@blangbantan @emgrace728@nedslaptop @dangerouslovefanfic @midtownsparker@loverboy-holland @princeofsassgard@rareunicorntris912 @sammy-holland@livingoffsavvyillusions @painterwithhope@spiderboytotherescue@yoitsnotkim @pandartist@vampireloveandfun @gracethegeek99022   @spectacularspiderman58 @not-reptilian@thehollandcommittee@holtzmannnd @tmrhollandkay

[dillydallyings]

i did that style challenge that was popular like... a year ago? haha! i admire a lot of artists and i thought this might help me escape this art block, and it worked! 10/10, I recommend to all artists looking for something new to draw ^^ some notes on each thing below the cut!

My style – funny enough, this was probably one of the hardest drawings for me, and it’s one of my least favourites of the bunch! It’s actually really hard to try and mimic your own style if you change as often as I do. So, instead, I decided to go with THOA’s style for the first few chapters, as it’s (somewhat) consistent! (Also, didn’t mean for him to look so small but my wrist was killing me too much to fix this by the end of it!)

@lavendertowne – Haley is probably my fav artist on youtube because her videos are so soothing and helpful! Honestly, sometimes I look forward to just listening to her voice… and her art style is so bouncy and unique, so I was really excited to try it out! One of my favourite things to recreate were the eyes; I realized halfway through that they’re not circle shaped, but more angular instead? It’s interesting how copying a seemingly simple art style makes all the little details pop out at you. And it’s not as easy as it looks! It took me so many attempts to draw the eyes and the mouth, which look like they’d be the easiest... Honestly though, this one was my favourite to draw and my fav outcome. Haley’s style is just so different from mine that it was a super refreshing change!

Pokemon Sun/Moon – Pokemon is what got me drawing in the first place, and has been in my life since I was around 8 years old... so of course I had to draw in its style! I decided to choose the more recent games for reference as I thought it’d be easier, but NOPE. It was so hard;;; My shaky hands really struggle at crisp lines, but it was a fun challenge!

Nozmo – Nozmo has been a major influence on my art since the beginning of highschool, particularly because of her comic “todd and the petunia violet”. Even though it’s been cancelled, it still takes all my willpower not to try and recommend this story to everyone, since it had such a major effect on my life... it was my first real comic influence tbh! So, I really tried my best to do her justice! Although I was really unskilled back then, this was rather shockin for me because Luke used to look like a rougher (uglier) version of this... this took me on a blast to the past X_X

Animal Crossing – LMAO I mostly wanted to do this for a challenge, and it really was one… omf. I gave up on perfecting it hahaah. Even though it’s nowhere near as polished as animal crossing art is, I actually think this Luke is really cute~

The Moonrise During the Day / The Moon That Rises During the Day – I’m really happy with how this one turned out! Though I think I made Luke look a little bit too similar to Joon oh, it was so fun recreating my favourite webtoon’s style. It was actually pretty easy as there’s a lot of similarities between it and my general art style, EXCEPT for the hair. Holy hell. I honestly couldn’t get the shading right for the hair at all, but I tried my best T__T’’

Fruits Basket – I had to draw my introduction to shoujo or I’d feel like I was betraying my childhood self! I feel like little me would be so happy with this. I ended up following the anime’s style because the manga is pretty inconsistent art wise, though I don’t think I captured the pointiness of the Shoujo style as much as I could have. I have certain gripes with aspects of the FB art style, so I think I unconsciously modified some of them here – which sucks! I might go back and edit it later haha

Super Secret – One of my more recent favourite webtoons! I really like how fluffy and – delicate? – this art style is. I’m not used to such simple styles, making it another challenge! I find the simple styles to be the most difficult to recreate ^^;

Omyo – Omyo is another great webtoon artist, this time of two of my faves (the stories of those around me, and salty studio! Check em out on webtoon)! I went with the Salty Studio style for this, sorta. Instead of copying the actual comic’s artwork, I mimicked the end cards instead, since they’re always so colourful and pastel!

Anyways!! If you read this far, wowie, I’m honoured! Thanks a bunch <3 I think everyone should try this if they’re bored tbh, it was so fun!!

[artificialqueens]

gonna make em scream some day, gonna make it big 1/3 (shalaska) - rosetintedworld

AN: this was originally on ao3 (under the same name!) but ive decided to put it on here also because i love feedback and attention. some sugar mama sharon and sugar baby alaska tinder realness. 

It wasn’t something she ever saw herself doing. Or even thought about doing until Violet mentioned it as a joke while scrolling through her Tinder and Alaska got a text from her manager saying she was booked for significantly fewer hours than before. She’d used dating apps before, yes, she was a Pisces. Alaska was a gentle lover. She was passionate and caring because love was fulfilling and completing. The second half of the circle that was her life. She’d been on Tinder and Bumble and any other “lesbian” dating app that had caught her eye. She’d even been on some dates, some successful, some not. None of them led to the romantic fantasy she dreamed of though, given her settings were to girls her age who most of the times were experimenting in their college days and didn’t want anything more than to drink and fuck and not talk again. Alaska was 21. She was a junior in college, she could go to bars and order booze herself, she could pay her bills (barely) in her run down apartment, and if she wanted to change up her online dating profile a little to target a slightly different audience, she damn well could.

So, that’s how her Tinder was back up and running, bio set to Alaska, 21, my names yours, whats alaska? performance major at pittsburgh u, starbucks barista extraordinaire, pisces (but im more of a snake than a fish), and yes i am naturally a platinum blonde and preferences set to woman ages 30-50. Her manager was left on delivered but her landlord was texted and asked about rent being a few days late. She sent a silent prayer to anyone who was listening before settling into bed on her stomach and opening the aforementioned app.

The glow of her iPhone screen illuminated her face in the now dark room. Pittsburgh was busy outside, which was typical for a Thursday night when you lived in the middle of the city. Not what some would say was the good middle of the city, but middle of the city nonetheless. Middle of the city enough that Alaska was living paycheck to paycheck trying to make rent while her building simultaneously was falling apart. What was good though, was the handful of woman Alaska was willing to swipe right on. Katya, 35, former Russian gymnast and now a hot blonde yoga instructor.  Bianca, 43, a seamstress with dimples for days. Raja, 45, a makeup artist who happened to be drop dead gorgeous too, which wasn’t quite fair in Alaska’s books.

Sharon, 42, writer of indie horror films. Busty, blonde with hints of silver, permanent bedroom eyes and velvet lips. Her Tinder pictures were her with a raggedy looking cat, her with her head thrown back in laughter and a bottle Pabst, her in a silk robe with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose and a glass of champagne in her hand. Alaska hovered on the profile for a moment. She tried to take in the tattoos and the dimple in her chin. The high cheekbones and her sultry glare and the way her clothes hung to her curves. Her thumbs hovered and she sucked in a deep breath before super liking and clicking her phone shut. From under her pillow, her phone buzzed but she ignored it and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

—

The first thing Alaska does after she wakes up is check her phone and have a minor heart attack over the messages on her screen. Well, that’s a lie. The first thing she does is de-tangle her hair from the elastic it was in, push herself up from her mattress on the floor and stretch until she can hear her back crack, make herself a coffee, and then almost spill the scalding liquid on herself when she clicks her phone open.

Sharon: Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?

Sharon: What are you up to doll?

The hot horror babe double her age had super-liked her back and messaged her first.

Alaska: oh shit sorry, i fell asleep last night !

Sharon responds in nearly a minute and they fall into easy conversation. Alaska mentions she’s up to nothing, really, as she’s not booked for work and there was still a good two weeks before she had to start classes again. The other woman mentions just writing and sketching, working on concepts but other than that doing “fuck all”. The conversation turns shallow, as online dating conversations usually do, and Sharon mentions how Alaska’s gorgeous, how her smile could kill and how her hips are mesmerizing. She asks for a picture and Alaska doesn’t know why she’s blushing all the way up her chest. Or why she spends 5 minutes trying to fix herself up to send a photo to impress a woman she doesn’t know.

—

It was only two nights later when Alaska had agreed to meet Sharon for dinner.

She had scoured her closet for something to wear on a date. Going to bars and clubs, sure. She had clothes for that. Clothes for a date with a woman 21 years her senior who showered her in compliments, was extremely blunt, and had a charmingly crude sense of humour? Yeah, can’t say she’s had to dress for that before. But there’s always a first time for everything. She settles eventually on a sparkly black bralette that dips in slightly to show her cleavage and a black pencil skirt. The length of the pencil skirt cancels out the sexuality of the bralette and the way the skirt hugs her hips, obviously. For good measure, she pairs it with a floral blue kimono and what she hopes are her best pair of black fuck me heels.

The restaurant Sharon had picked out was a couple of blocks away. It was some fancy vegetarian place that Alaska had never heard of, but from a quick Google search she concluded that it was definitely out of her price range and somewhere she could never imagine herself stepping into. It’d be like a bull in a china shop, out of the ordinary and a very bad idea. She wasn’tfancy. Sure, one day, when she was a performer making millions maybe she would’ve returned to the city and ate at some fancy vegetarian restaurant. But now, a simple Starbucks barista who had a mattress in the corner of her room and wallpaper made of sketches and drawings? Nope.

It’s only when she got to the restaurant that she realized she was shaking. Why was she so nervous? She had thanked her Uber driver with a nervous smile and rated five stars, watching as he drove away while wringing her hands together nervously.

The inside was beautiful. All velvet upholstery. There was soft music playing and the walls were lined with paintings. It was classy and chic. And it smelt expensive. There was even a maître d who eyed her as she stood, nearly trembling in her heels like a deer caught in the headlights. It was embarrassing and she thought for a moment of just leaving. She was here to have a good night and hopefully get laid by an extremely hot woman and she was in it to win it but right now she wasn’t feeling like a winner.

“Alaska!” A woman called from a booth in the right corner, almost completely out of view and Alaska dipped away from the maître d with a shy smile and scurried over.

She was more gorgeous in person, somehow. Her blonde hair was clipped back from her face and the dim lighting didn’t reveal much, but Alaska could see the glimpses of silver where stray locks of hair fell around her face. Her cheekbones were high and her face was contoured and hollowed out. Her lips were pouty and plush. They’d be nice to kiss. Probably. Hopefully. Her tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her nose and Alaska could see from behind them where Sharon’s eyeshadow was creasing slightly where it fell into her crows feet. She wanted to brush it away, feel Sharon’s soft looking skin under her fingers.

Strong arms were hugging Alaska before she was able to process what was happening. Sharon was warm around her, rubbing her back and squeezing her waist. Her short sleeved blazer and pencil skirt was clinging to her body, the burnt orange contrasting with the black of Sharon’s bra that was spilling from where the buttons didn’t go quite high enough. Alaska trailed her eyes up the long leather gloves she was wearing and over the tattoo of a phone number just where the gloves ended above her elbow.

“Sit, sit! Hi darling, how are you?” Sharon’s eyes twinkled as she sat back down, pouring out two glasses of wine from the bottle already sitting on the table.

“I’m, uh, really well! Thank you! How about yourself?” Alaska smiled, graciously taking the wine. Maybe the alcohol would soothe her nerves. “Also sorry for running a bit late. Traffic. You know.”

“Don’t even worry about it!” Sharon shrugs and smiles before reaching out and resting her hand over Alaska’s on the table.

Sharon is touchy. Her heel clad foot is hooked around Alaska’s ankle and trailing up and down her calf slowly. Goosebumps raise on Alaska’s skin and she wonders if Sharon can feel them, or if she can sense when her breath catches in her throat and her cheeks flush. She’s always reaching across the table and taking Alaska’s hand in her own, bumping hands when passing a menu over or leaning across to grasp at her arm when Alaska says something funny enough to make Sharon throw her head back in laughter.

They talk and eat and drink. Sharon leans forward to feed Alaska bites of her risotto, claiming that her soup simply can’t be enough and she doesn’t care about the price. The waitress comes and goes with another bottle of wine and Alaska pours herself another glass, stains it with her lipstick and Sharon makes her laugh so hard red wine comes out of her nose much to her embarrassment.

Her eyes are bright and intense. Sharon’s asking Alaska about where she works, what she does. Alaska’s cheeks are pink from the attention but she doesn’t mind, really. Sharon listens when she talks about being a performance major, how she loves plays (especially musicals) and how she writes songs (but they’re mostly parodies, because they’re more fun) and how she really wants to make it big some day. She listens as Alaska talks about her brothers, who are either doctors or in the military and the wine talks about how sometimes she feels a little bit ashamed of herself for not being as successful as them. Sharon is intelligent yet ditzy, listening when it’s important, sniping in with comments and questions when necessary, sometimes distracting herself with a related story from her past or a pop-culture reference Alaska raises her eyebrow at. It’s nice.

Sharon’s gloved hands are on her arm and then in her purse to pay the bill and leave a very generous tip. Alaska’s eyes widen at the price but Sharon is already pulling her away and outside with an arm around her waist. Her grip is strong and steadies Alaska where she’s feeling tipsy and clumsy on her feet, heels clacking on the sidewalk. The flick of a lighter brings her back to her senses and she watches, hypnotized, as Sharon lights a cigarette and breathes deeply. Smoking has never been a turn on her for, really. But the way the smoke leaves Sharon’s soft lips and the way her eyes go hazy is enough for Alaska to press a kiss to her jaw so Sharon will hail a cab for the both of them.

The back of the cab is stuffy and hot. Sharon’s hands are on Alaska’s thighs and in her hair and Alaska’s eyes are dark. She shifts to wrap a hand around the back of Sharon’s neck and pull her in for a kiss. Their lips press together in a rush, teeth clinking. It feels so cliche and wrong, making out in the back of a taxi. Sharon’s hand is resting on her thigh and she’s nipping at Alaska’s lip so softly she has to hold back her moans. It’s dirty and wrong how much Alaska wants Sharon to take her right then and there, so luckily Sharon’s building is only a few blocks away and it’s not long until Sharon’s paying and tipping and pulling Alaska out of the vehicle.

They stumble past the doorman with a nod and Alaska forces herself not to think about how often Sharon must do this, stumble in drunkenly with a girl on her arm late at night. They press into the elevator and Sharon corners her as they go up the twenty-six flights to her apartment, peppering kisses on her skin and tugging at the hems of her clothes.

From the elevator down the hall to Sharon’s apartment is a blur. Inside, it’s all minimal decor and chandeliers and art on the walls. The floor is hardwood and the furniture is neat and tidy. In her drunken haze, Sharon manages to give a quick tour. Quick tour meaning pointing out the different rooms in the large apartment while stripping herself of her gloves and heels and Alaska following suit as Sharon drags her forward by the hand.

The master bedroom, somehow, exceeds Alaska’s expectations. But then again this woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and she wasn’t sure what to expect in the first place. The far wall is all window and she can see all the lights from the city flickering. A chandelier in front of the window from an apartment across the ways twinkles and Alaska can feel the wine in her bloodstream. The floors are dark, the walls are cream and the furniture is matte black. It’s elegant and chic. Alaska can feel Sharon’s eyes on her and wants the floor to swallow her whole. Against the wall is a king sized bed and the headboard is tall, the bars thin and simple and Alaska needs to be fucked and grasping onto them right now. There’s art on the walls and vintage movie posters and Alaska can spot an open sketchbook on the nightstand. Her eyes flicker back to the window when she hears a plane fly overhead.

“You like the view?” It’s more of a statement than a question. Alaska nods anyways. She can feel Sharon’s smile and flushes all up her chest.

Sharon presses her body up along Alaska’s back. She can feel the fabric of her dress and the softness of her breasts against her spine. Her hair brushes Alaska’s shoulders when it’s released from the clip and she has the urge to touch it. She wants to feel it through her fingers and sort out the greys from the blonds, hear Sharon sigh when she massages her scalp. Sharon’s warm against her and presses her forward softly until they’re standing in front of the window and Alaska can see people on the sidewalk. She wonders if they know what’s going on stories above them.

There’s a tug on the zipper of Alaska’s skirt then the cool air is hitting her thighs and Sharon’s helping her step out of it. The older woman hums. It’s low and soft and she can feel it against her shoulder when Sharon tucks her chin over it. She presses a kiss to Alaska’s neck and watches goosebumps rise where her lipstick leaves a mark.

Any other hook-ups Sharon would get the other girl to strip. Make her put on a show for her and work for it. Or it’d be fast and there’d be a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Like some X-rated drunken Hansel and Gretel. At least it served its purpose when Sharon pretended to be asleep and willed the other person to find their way out in the morning. But Alaska was different. Sharon undresses her slowly in attempt to take her all in. Her thighs were milky and soft. There were the slightest of pink stretch marks where her hips had filled out and the older woman took her time tracing them if only to feel Alaska shiver under her. The things she would do to keep the younger girl shivering under her hands. She slid her kimono off, followed by her bralette so she could cup her breasts and squeeze before pulling her underwear down her hips.

Sharon’s still humming. Completely nonchalant. Alaska has to wonder how many girls she takes home. How many of them she strips in front of the window. If she presses the pads of her thumbs into the underside of their breasts and pinches their nipples and hips just to hear them squeak. Sharon’s still fully dressed, save for her glasses, heels, and gloves that were shed earlier. She debated on keeping the gloves on, too. If only to see the way Alaska would shiver and blush when a cool leather finger would run through Alaska’s folds only to come out shiny and wet. Next time.

“Sharon…” Alaska’s voice is whiny and Sharon shushes her, tapping her finger on her lips until Alaska takes it into her mouth.

“What do you want, baby?” Sharon’s calm and collected. The opposite of Alaska, whose heart is beating against her ribcage so hard it may break. She groans in reply.

Sharon pinches at her nipple with on hand, slipping another finger from her other hand in Alaska’s mouth when she gasps in response. She stumbles forward slightly and presses her palms against the glass as Sharon wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. There’s people below bustling on the sidewalk and she can see the people in apartments over. Her breath comes out hot and the window fogs where it hits.

“I got you, it’s okay. Such a pretty baby.” Sharon pets her hair, it’s long and soft in her palm, “I bet everyone outside loves the view just as much as you do.”

Alaska’s thighs shake as Sharon removes her fingers from her mouth. They’re slick with spit and Alaska watches the trail of saliva between her lips and Sharon’s fingers, dips her tongue forward to lick it up. Suddenly, Sharon’s fingers press up against her clit and she groans. Her head falls back against Sharon’s shoulder and her fingers curl against the glass searching to find purchase. The window feels like ice against her skin. But it may just be from the way her skin is radiating heat and the sweat is sticking to her. Sharon rubs slow circles and watches how Alaska’s hip shakes. Her left thigh twitches when Sharon trails a single finger back and forth over the nerves and her hips jerk forward when she presses the heel of her hand against it in order to rub against her hole with her fingers.

“Tell me what you want. I just want to make you feel good.” Sharon’s voice is warm and she can feel the pout against her ear. She’s teasing. Her fingers skate past Alaska’s clit again and she presses the tip of a finger inside of her. It slips just past the muscle until the younger girl gasps and then it’s gone.

“Fuck me, please. Please mama. God.” Alaska’s whining high in her throat. Her throat catches on the mama and she flushes from embarrassment, all up her chest to her cheeks. Sharon kisses and smiles against her shoulder.

Alaska nearly cries when Sharon slips a finger inside her. Her pussy is warm and wet and Sharon fucks her slow. The sound echoes in the otherwise silent room and Alaska whimpers. Her centre is pink and swollen and Sharon relishes in the sound, slips another finger in without problem and scissors them just to hear Alaska’s embarrassed cry when she comments on how wet she is. Her fingers work slow and Alaska is squirming enough that Sharon has to wrap her arm back around her waist, pressing her naked form against Sharon’s clothed one to keep her still. Alaska’s trailing her hands backwards. Up into Sharon’s hair and down her side, around to her ass and thighs, then back down to try and intertwine their fingers and press Sharon deeper into her.

“Alaska baby, no. You’ll get there. I’ll take care of you.” Sharon tsked, her tone stern.

Alaska whines and curls her fingers into Sharon’s arm. Sharon digs her fingers deeper and crooks them. Alaska’s bowlegged knees buckle and she reaches out again to steady herself against the window and lean back against Sharon. Her eyes are glued shut and her lips are parted and Sharon works her so sweetly, pumping two fingers and swiping her thumb in soft circles around Alaska’s clit.

“You gonna cum? So beautiful. Cum for me baby girl.” Sharon murmurs. Her eyes are dark and downcast, shaded by her eyelashes.

Alaska finishes with a cry and her legs give out. Her small frame is shaking and Sharon holds her close, shifts them until they’re back onto the bed and Alaska is panting. The city light reflects on the sweat on Alaska’s chest. Her breasts are illuminated and Sharon leans down to nip at a nipple and Alaska gasps from the overstimulation.

Quickly, Sharon sheds her clothing, nearly ripping a button from her dress in the process. She shifts Alaska onto her back and moves to straddle her chest. Alaska’s panting. Her breasts fall when she exhales and Sharon watches how they shake, reaches out to pinch the skin around her nipple. Her thumb trails against Alaska’s lips and she opens her mouth for it, suckling it and groaning around the digit. A whine escapes her when Sharon pulls her thumb away and trails spit across her bottom lip to see how they glisten.

Sharon’s hips move of their own accord, shifting upwards until she’s against Alaska’s mouth. Her tongue laps out immediately. She presses the flat of her tongue against Sharon’s clit and hears her groan closed mouth. She prods more then, circling around the nub until Sharon is circling her hips above her and grinding against her mouth. Alaska moves her hands to Sharon’s thighs, gives them a squeeze and presses her nose against the groomed hairs. Her breath is cut off and she can feel herself flushing from the effort but she can’t find it in her to stop. The older woman is shaking above her and Alaska sucks hard on her clit. Wetness covers the bottom of Alaska’s face and Sharon whimpers before lifting herself off.

“So good. So, so good doll.” Sharon shifts until they’re both under the sheets and presses a kiss to Alaska’s lips, chin, jaw, cheek. She sighs out through her nose and pulls the girl close to her, nudging her knee between the other’s thighs and holding her head to her chest until Alaska’s breathing matches the beating of her heart.

—

When Alaska wakes, the spot in bed beside her is cold and there’s a dull ache deep in her skull. Sunlight filters in through the large window and Alaska has to squint to look around the room. The cream sheets are glowing pale yellow in the light. They’re soft against her skin where she feels sweaty and gross, and it takes a moment for Alaska to remember where she is. The framed poster for a campy 80s slasher films jerks her memory. Sharon.

She pads out of bed slowly, shifting over to the dresser where she finds last night’s clothes folded up neatly along with a pair of shorts and shirt that Sharon must’ve left out. It’s weird, almost domestic. Most hook ups don’t do this. But then again, most hook ups weren’t older goth women who spend over $100 at dinner without a blink of an eye then fuck Alaska in front of their gigantic window up on the 26th floor of a high class apartment. Alaska squeezes back into her pencil skirt and slips her bralette over her head while making her way out to the rest of the apartment.

There’s a note on the island in the kitchen, atop the granite.

I’m so sorry, I had to run before you woke up! You look gorgeous even in your sleep .. Is that weird to say?

Feel free to shower and help yourself to breakfast and coffee.

I would love to see you again, doll. <3

Sharon Needles

There’s a mug with little ghosts on it beside the note and it’s all too weird and too much. Alaska orders an Uber with the last of her phone battery, adds the number scribbled at the bottom of the paper into her contacts, then tucks the note into the back of her phone case. The doorman downstairs gives her a nod of acknowledgement when she eaves the building and as she got into her Uber she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. Alaska took a cold, cold shower and puttered around her apartment making shitty coffee and a bowl of cereal before going to work. Her afternoon shift was full of fake smiles and frappuccinos and she spilled hot coffee on herself in a distracted haze and cursed, her co-workers giving her concerned glances. It wasn’t her fault. It was purely coincidence how she kept getting distracted whenever she noticed the crows feet on a lady sitting in the corner or the grey-blue eyes of the young girl she was taking an order from.

She texted Sharon when she got home.  

—

The next time they meet up it’s during the day in a nice area downtown. It’s a very Liberal area. Rainbow crosswalk and all. It’s chalked full of vegan restaurants and nice little expensive shops and it’s another area that Alaska would love to be able to walk down on a random afternoon and not feel intimidated, but that’s not quite the case right now.

Alaska’s in a white shirt tucked into a black skater skirt with a flannel, and half her hair is pulled up into two buns. She feels cute. And gay. And she hopes Sharon thinks the same enough to like, hold her hand or something, or finger her in the washroom of some mom-and-pop restaurant. Maybe both. She tries not to think too much about it as her Uber parks just down the road from the diner Sharon told her to meet her at.

The restaurant is small and cute, not to mention far less intimidating from the last place. There’re plants hanging from the ceiling and a large fish tank. It’s earthy and warm. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Sharon but before she goes and sits down to wait she hears a soft ‘boo!’ from behind her. Alaska flushes at how she jumped in response and Sharon laughs, pulling her into a hug. The booths are made of worn down leather and the floor creaks slightly as they make their way to a seat. She feels far more “in her element” here, yet her chest still feels tight as Sharon sits across from her.

Her hair is soft and curled, but her eyes are dark and blown out and her lips are plump and red. It’s a dramatic look for one o’clock on a Tuesday, but Alaska doesn’t mind. Her black mock neck shirt hugs her body and her pants are tight and match her lips. It’s modern and chic and Alaska feels underdressed. But Sharon’s gaze is smouldering and trails down her body with a smile. It feels oddly familiar. Oddly comforting.

Sharon asks the waiter if they have Pabst in bottles, not on tap, (they do), and Alaska orders a lemonade. The menu is handwritten and cute, with tacky pun names and illustrations. A foot brushes up against Alaska’s and Sharon’s hand is on her arm. She’s humming as she reads, her lips pursed. Her cool eyes are squinted slightly from her lack of glasses and her crows feet crease slightly. It’s endearing, really. Her fingers are tracing the blue veins under the skin and Alaska wonders if she can feel the goosebumps raising, or if she even realizes she’s doing it in the first place. She imagines Sharon can feel the blood pulsing under her skin. A steady rhythm. By the time the waiter comes back to take their order Alaska had barely read the menu and stumbles slightly, ordering a salad. Sharon shoots her a knowing smile, curling her fingers around Alaska’s small wrist.

“So what do you do, exactly?” Sharon raises her eyebrows at the question, letting her thumb rub at Alaska’s arm.

“Well…” She pauses to take a sip of her beer, “To put it simply I work on short films. They’re just independent projects, mostly horror. I’ve always loved the genre and I love creating and I had the money so I said fuck it, got a group together and we’ve been working together since. We have a pretty strong fan base too, fucked up if you ask me.” Sharon laughs, big and booming in the otherwise calm restaurant.

Alaska smiles and asks about her projects. Her eyes light up when she talks and Alaska can see how her cheekbones protrude when she smiles that wide. The older woman talks about horror movies she admires, how growing up the weird goth dyke made her truly admire the villains in films who got revenge on the preps and the jocks. Most other people would be terrified to hear how their date relates to the killers in these films, but with Sharon it makes sense. She throws herself entirely into her work. Throws herself into the scripts and the storyboards and all the inspirations. She’s always hovering around people on set and fucking with lighting and costumes then marathoning films she’s seen before and can probably quote word for word. This woman is intelligent and intense but spooky and stupid and Alaska doesn’t quite know what to make of her.  

They eat, and talk, and Sharon drinks a few more PBR. Alaska steals a fry from Sharon’s plate and dips it in the surprisingly good vegan milkshake Sharon had guilted her into ordering, just because she refused a lemonade refill and that just wasn’t happening in Sharon’s books. The older woman threw another fry at her for Alaska’s amusement. She was like a baby. A cute one, not an annoying crying one. She was one that you just wanted to keep cooing and giggling and happy. They ordered cheesecake to share and Sharon fed it to her across the table, watching as Alaska’s lips pursed around the fork.

When they go to pay, Alaska pulls her wallet out of her purse. Sharon tsks and gives her a warning look to put her wallet away, and Alaska tries to ignore the way heat pools in her stomach.

As they leave, Sharon snakes an arm around Alaska’s waist. It fits there, and Alaska doesn’t mind. Her hand dips into the curve of her small waist and settles on her hip. It’s a warm heaviness and Alaska has to walk a little closer to Sharon due to it.

“Y’know, I didn’t realize I was gay until my senior year of high school maybe.” Alaska looks down at the small ceramic ghost in her hand, thinks that Sharon might like it. Her voice startles Sharon from where she’s standing a few feet away looking at a similar ceramic cat.

“Really? You come across as the loud and proud type. Like head cheerleader that all the bi-curious girls go to behind the bleachers to get their lesbian cherry popped.”

“Okay fair enough. Let me guess, little goth bitch who punched out anyone who tried to cuss you out for being a dyke?” Alaska fires back, putting down the small ghost and patting its head.

“I’ve had my fair share of physical encounters . I’ll admit to that. No shame in punching someone’s teeth in when they disrespect you.” Sharon raises her eyebrows in question to Alaska, “Although it did take half of freshman year before I started fighting back. I don’t eat meat but I’ll use ‘em to nurse a black eye if I have to.”

The older woman laughs but Alaska can’t help but imagine her younger, smaller. 14 year old Sharon nursing her wounds because some asshole thought she was a good target. 14 year old Sharon reapplying black lipstick in an abandoned girls’ washroom. 14 year old Sharon being unapologetically herself despite her entire school seemingly working against her because she was a bit eccentric and queer. 14 year old Sharon going home and watching shitty horror movies as a distraction from the shit she had to deal with. It tugged on Alaska’s heart strings.

From antique shops to run down clubs to vintage boho chic clothing stores, they check them all out. Alaska tries on a dress that looks like it’s made of trash bags and spins, laughing as it floats up around her. Sharon hides behind a shelf in a costume store, popping out with fake teeth and a witch hat on to startle Alaska. Alaska tries on a horse mask at the back of the store, recalling how people in school used to call her horse face . It doesn’t bother her anymore though, and she neighs in the mask before ripping it off and laughing.

“If we ever get into a fight I’ll just buy us animal masks. You can’t be pissed off at someone when you’re a fucking horse and they’re a frog” Sharon shifts through the masks, laughing before pulling on Alaska’s arm back to the front of the store.

The next store they go into is pastel and airy. They sell lingerie and chiffon peignoirs, lace slip dresses and thigh high stockings with matching garters. It’s all out of Alaska’s price range. This isn’t just a store that you go to when going out with friends shopping. She knows this. And she knows Sharon knows this. Sharon walks in like she owns the place, one arm still wrapped around Alaska’s waist like she owns her and the other weaving through fabrics.

“What’s your size, baby?” Sharon presses a kiss to her cheek and Alaska can feel her throat close in.

Her fingers clench into a fist. She’s sweating. Why is she sweating?

“Uh, I’m a 36C. Medium for everything else, I guess.”

Sharon hums and shifts through the isles. The bags on her arm dig into the skin, making it pink and white. Alaska wants to kiss it. Sharon purchased some tacky looking Halloween knick-knacks, and anything Alaska looked at for over ten seconds and seemed interested in. It made her blush when Sharon insisted on buying it. They both drift around the store for a while, brushing off the sleepy looking girl who asked if they needed any help.

Eventually, they end up near the back by the empty changing rooms. Sharon pulls Alaska into one, pulling the pale pink door shut behind her and clicking the lock shut. It’s a roomy area, with a large mirror on the back wall. The two walls are lined with benches and there’s a small circle stool in the corner. Alaska can feel the air heating up. Or maybe it’s just her. Sharon’s hanging things up on the hooks and looking back at Alaska expectantly when minutes pass and she’s still fully dressed.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Sharon’s voice is soft. Her thighs spill outwards from where she’s sitting on the stool and she crosses her legs, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

Alaska sucks in a breath before stripping, gauging her actions based on Sharon’s face. She tries on all the pieces Sharon picked out, ranging from sheer bras and thongs to intricate high wasted panties with matching garters and stockings. She tries on all the robes and slips, lets Sharon run her hands over the silk dawning her thighs. She spins her finger and Alaska turns in each outfit to show how her ass peeks out of the underwear and how her hair runs soft down her back. Sharon’s making soft sounds.

When Alaska gets to the last set, black high waisted fucking crotchless panties with the bra and stockings to match, she feels her face go red hot. It was before, definitely, but this ensemble (if you will) was truly the cherry on top of this fucked up sexually frustrating sundae. She changes slowly, folding the last pieces and putting them back on their hangers on the wall.

“Can you be good for me?” Sharon’s voice comes as a surprise and Alaska nods, spinning around to face the woman.  “Sit down pumpkin. Spread your legs.”

Alaska’s head was spinning. She lowered herself onto the bench slowly and pulled at her knees to spread her legs. Sharon’s gaze was red hot and Alaska squirmed.

“You’re so wet.” Alaska could hear Sharon laugh and she twitched, moving her legs back together slightly. “No baby, you’re being so good. I wanna see you.”

Alaska’s lungs were collapsing. Her insides were burning and she felt so dirty and flustered and they were in a damn changing room . Sharon was fully dressed, legs crossed and lighting a cigarette even though it was against the rules because she just didn’t care. Smoke plumed upwards and she took a long drag, ashing her cigarette against the edge of the stool and turning back to where Alaska was squirming, the air conditioned air hitting her cunt.

“Can you touch yourself for me? I want you to fuck yourself with one finger baby, don’t want you to make too much of a mess.”

Sharon’s voice was so soft yet stern and Alaska wanted to cry. She grazed her index finger over her clit and jerked before tracing around her whole. She was wet. Just from trying on the lingerie and modelling for Sharon. Just being around Sharon. Sharon who had such a domineering energy. Sharon with her hand on the small of her back pressing her forward. Sharon feeding her cheesecake even when she thought she was full. Alaska pressed one finger in and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment of making eye contact with the other woman.

“Nice and slow, or else the whole store will hear how wet you are right now. Or would you like that? If someone walked back right now and could hear how wet you are, how you’re trying to hold back all your pretty little noises as you put on a show for me.” Sharon to try and relieve the pressure between her own thighs, “Touch your clit for me hun, with your other hand. You’re so good. So pretty”

Alaska gasped with the intensity of it all. Her thumb on her clit and her middle finger pressing up inside of her, shooting stars behind her eyelids. She could feel Sharon watching her, how her eyes were raking up and down her body as she thrust her hips into her own hands. The bench underneath her was probably wet but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dozy girl working up front could walk in on them, unlock the door from the outside and ask what was taking them so long and Alaska wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to care as long as Sharon wanted her to keep going.

“Sharon, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me baby.” Alaska’s hips shook and she clenched her jaw to try and keep her noises in as she thrust, panting as she came down from her high.

Sharon stood then and sucked Alaska’s wet fingers into her mouth. They left with a pop! and Sharon smiled, letting Alaska change in silence before purchasing everything she picked out and pulling Alaska into an Uber back to her apartment building.

—

School starts up again. Alaska’s in her final year of university. Soon, she’ll have her Bachelor’s Degree in Performing Arts. She’ll be able to move out to LA like she wanted and be successful. She can star in films and put out an album and make it big. She can make her parents proud along with her medical and military brother because she can be successful too! They all thought she wouldn’t make anything of herself. Sure, maybe she’d move out to LA like she’d always dreamed of, but make it big? Nah. Her mom was convinced she was just going to become some drug addicted deviant, but hey, isn’t that the superstar lifestyle anyways?

Alaska’s plans may have changed drastically. As the weeks turned into months, she spent less and less time at her own run down apartment. It wasn’t that she moved in with Sharon, per se, it was just that over time she had ended up moving out of her apartment. Not to mention Sharon had seen one text from her landlord saying that her rent was far overdo and got so worried, telling Alaska to not worry about it because she had it covered. (Which was embarrassing on Alaska’s part, considering any time not spent in a lecture hall was probably spent working, but inflation was a bitch, y’know?). So it’s not like it was some big ordeal when two and a half months into whatever they had, Alaska was staying there most of the time. She just needed a place to stay until she could find somewhere she could actually afford, and Sharon was willing to give her a helping hand! It also helped that Sharon had a tongue that made her see God.

The move in was gradual. Alaska had a healthy collection of clothes and lingerie at Sharon’s apartment, just from previous dates where Sharon insisted she buy everything for Alaska because it just looked so cute on her and she had her own bills to pay, so Sharon would buy. Eventually, a toothbrush showed up in the holder beside Sharon’s. And Alaska’s fancy purple shampoo she splurged on to keep her hair platinum. And a collection of socks and pajamas and other clothes that Alaska would just happen to leave there but never return to her apartment. Of course, since so much of her wardrobe and electronics and chargers and, well, everything, somehow ended up at Sharon’s flat, Alaska spent more and more time there. It was just convenient, that was all.

Alaska’s life was good. Different from where she thought she would be at this point in her life, but good. Violet was hounding her about the “friend” she was staying with, and about how she seemed to have that “post-sex glow” (as she liked to call it) 24-fucking-7, but Violet was a bitch and too nosy for her own good.

She spent her afternoons in the living room of the apartment, practicing lines from a production that was worth quite a hefty amount of her grade. Cerrone was her only spectator. He didn’t throw rotten tomatoes or boo her off of the coffee table stage though, so she takes what she can get. Sometimes Sharon would come home early and watch her, give her pointers and then tell her to stop repeating the same damn lines for the 50th time and put her mouth to good use. It was a good break. Sharon brought up the idea a few times, putting Alaska in some of her short films. It’d be fun! The gorgeous ditzy blonde in a gore-y horror short film? Instant blockbuster! People love cliche shit like that. Plus, Sharon would love to have Alaska on set with her all day.

It was nice, truly. Sharon took them out for dinner or made fancy vegetarian meals. She’d wake Alaska up with her head between her thighs, leaving Alaska to shudder awake in a cool sweat and groaning. There’d be small notes with hearts on them when Sharon would disappear before Alaska got up. Sharon would have an Uber waiting outside Alaska’s Starbuckslocation when she was done work, and sometimes Sharon would even pop in herself to visit even though Alaska knows she’d rather support local businesses than the industry coffee shop she worked at. Sharon bought her fancy clothes and shoes and lingerie just to see Alaska blush and squirm. Alaska would get all quiet and call Sharon mommy and curl up on the couch beside her, pressing kisses to her neck to distract her from the movie she was watching. Or, she’d get bratty and call her mama , call Sharon on set when she was in the apartment alone touching herself. Life was good.

—

Alaska more or less moving in only proved to show how needy she was. She was worse than a pet, but Sharon only had Cerrone to compare her to so maybe it wasn’t the fairest comparison. They both bit Sharon, though. Alaska would text Sharon while she was on set, something along the lines of noodles i miss you :( when are you going to be hoooome? sharonnnn i need you. mama please with an image attached of Alaska leaning up against the pillows wearing one of Sharon’s old shirts, with the tip of one thumb in her mouth and two fingers from her other hand knuckle deep in her cunt. Sharon would have to call it a day early and rush home, finger fuck Alaska into the couch cushions until she saw stars and called Sharon mommy despite how embarrassed she got after.

Sharon loved it, how open Alaska was becoming with her. She stopped hiding her phone calls with her brother, instead she would saunter around the kitchen and sit herself upon Sharon’s lap while she listened to Cory talk about the girl he met at the gym. Sharon would tickle her thigh, slip a finger into her panties just to feel how wet she already was and circle her clit until Alaska hung up the phone. Alaska would come back from her lectures and talk about her professors and how her auditions went. She’d write her essays on the leather couch while Sharon painted her toenails baby pink, ate her out while they dried and let Alaska drop her notes and pen onto the hardwood. Sharon liked how Alaska was becoming less shy, how she would pout when she didn’t get her way and call Sharon mama in public just to be a brat and start a scene. Alaska would press kisses to her cheek unprompted, would stop shying away when Sharon payed their dinner bill and bought her fancy lingerie and shoes, would let Sharon give her glasses of wine all day and press on her bladder while fingering her until she cried.

Today was no different. Alaska knew Sharon was out talking to some of her “creative partners” about an idea she had, an idea that she had been sketching and writing for hours after Alaska had fallen asleep on the couch beside her, toes tucked between Sharon’s thighs. She knew Sharon was having some sort of creative breakthrough and was busy. But Alaska was in the apartment alone, and Sharon had left before she woke up. So now she was just lonely and sad and her underwear shifted coldly against her.

lasky <3: noodles when will you be home?

noodles <333: I don’t know baby .. The girl I’m at lunch with is a really talented costume and prop designer. Even if she is a bit stand-offish.

lasky <3: but i neeeeeed you :(

Alaska sent a photo. She was in a sheer pink robe Sharon had bought for her. It was flowy and elegant and trailed behind Alaska on the floor when she walked. It made her feel like an old housewife. She wanted a spiral staircase, wanted to stand at the top of it with a glass of champagne in her hand. Underneath it she wore nothing. She was pouty and annoyed and leaning back on the couch pillows, lips parted and pinching a nipple between two fingers.

noodles <333: I’ll be home in an hour .. Picking up some things. Hope you know how spoiled you are. Brat.

lasky <3: :) :) :) <3

When Sharon gets home, her heart nearly beats out of her chest. She’s had her fair number of romances. Mostly with woman her own age, sometimes younger. Some of them even made it past the six month mark in their relationship. There was something about Alaska though that had Sharon’s head spinning. It was like her entire world had shifted by this girl and was spinning backwards on its axis. Backwards and upside-down. And double time. Whatever. Alaska was curled up on the couch, nude except for the robe, with Cerrone in her lap. She was humming softly to herself and her toes were curled into the couch cushions where her legs were folded underneath her. The natural light made her hair and skin glow and it was so soft and right. Long term didn’t usually work with Sharon. The only long term relationships she had were with cocaine and whiskey and fucking Cerrone the cat, who she didn’t even want in the first place. So why did coming back to her apartment daily to Alaska make it feel more like a home than ever before?

“You’re such a brat, you know that, right?” At the sound of Sharon’s voice Cerrone hops off of Alaska, allowing her to get up to greet Sharon.

“Lies, mama. You’re full of lies.” Alaska laughs and presses a kiss to the dimple in Sharon’s chin. “What’d you get me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Go lie down, pumpkin.” Sharon kisses the side of her hair and gives her ass a tap before Alaska nods and heads to the bedroom.

Alaska’s long and full on the bed. Her hips and breasts filled out more after being with Sharon. Sharon took her out for lunch and dinner, fed her cheesecake and other expensive desserts. She always made sure her baby was cared for. Alaska’s hips were soft and propped up with a long pillow, and her breasts were full and heavy against her chest as she breathed deeply, waiting for Sharon.

The rabbit vibrator Sharon comes into the room with is black. It’s not overly long, but the girth makes up for it. Alaska knows Sharon will have to stretch her, start with two fingers just so Alaska can feel the burn then stuff her with three.

“Mommy please…” Alaska draws it out, flutters her eyelashes.

She’s pouty and wet and Sharon kneels beside her on the bed, pulls one of Alaska’s legs up and out to spread her open.

“So wet already baby? Greedy girl.” Alaska screws her eyes shut at the words. “Open your eyes for me sweetheart. Watch mama.”

Sharon slips two fingers inside of the younger girl and Alaska cries, twisting her hips. Her fingers are thick and strong and they fuck Alaska almost mechanically, avoiding her g-spot but scissoring to stretch her open. It burns slightly and Alaska gasps, heat curling in her stomach. She can hear Sharon’s fingers moving in and out of her, can hear when a third one enters. Alaska tries to clench her thighs together but with Sharon between them she’s stuck spread open. She wants to move and squirm, clamp around Sharon’s hand, but Sharon’s got her hip pinned down and is kneeling above Alaska with so much dominance she’s stuck in position with nowhere else to go.

When Alaska’s stretched and dripping, Sharon presses the vibrator inside until it’s snug against both her g-spot and clit. Alaska’s whining high and nasally. Her eyes are dark and her fingers are tugging at the sheets and she’s watching Sharon desperately. It clicks on and she gasps and cries, her hip twitching at the sudden stimulation.

“I should buy you another one of these. A small one that slips into your panties.” Alaska whines and moves her thumb to her mouth, partly to have something to bite and partly to have something to stifle her pathetic cries. “Could turn it on while you’re out picking up dry cleaning. Or while you’re out with mommy’s credit card. Bet you’d love how everyone would watch you as you whined, unable to stop it.”

Alaska gasped as Sharon started moving the vibrator, slowly pressing it in and out of her slightly. It pressed so tightly against where she was the most sensitive and she cried out, thrusting her hips up into the pressure. Heat was curling in her stomach and she could feel her peak building. Her breasts were shaking above her in time with her panting.

“It’s pathetic, really,” Sharon stopped the vibrator, leaving it still and full in Alaska, “how desperate you are for me. Texting me while I’m out, expecting me to drop everything and come get you off like the greedy little slut you are.”

The twitch of Alaska’s thigh and how her eyes almost roll back remind Sharon of just how much she loves it. Being humiliated like that. She loves when Sharon makes fun of how wet she is, how open and soft she is and how she fucks herself on Sharon’s single finger wanting more, how turned on she gets when Sharon buys her expensive lingerie only to rip it off of her later because money isn’t an issue.

She wonders if Alaska could get off on it alone. Just Sharon’s fingers pinching her nipples, fingering her slowly and avoiding the areas she needed the attention so badly. Sharon would comment on how swollen she was, how it was cute that she thrust up and squirmed as if Sharon was actually going to give her what she wanted. She’d bite on Alaska’s nipple, laughing as she flicked the sensitive bud while leaning over the younger girl, still fully clothed. Sharon thinks she could do it. She’d cum untouched and almost instantly recoil, heat exploding in her lower stomach and her cheeks flushing. Sharon would laugh and watch Alaska’s cunt clench and shake before pressing a kiss to her pubic mound.

But for now Alaska was spread and shaking in front of her, thrusting to try and get the toy to touch her and push her over the edge.

“No, no, no, no mama please. That’s not fair.” Alaska’s voice is whiny and pouty, drawing every syllable out, and Sharon can hear her puffing out air through her nose. Tears gather in the corner of Alaska’s eyes.

“Nothing’s ever fair, baby. And you’re gonna take what I give so maybe I’ll let you cum.” Sharon gives Alaska’s thigh a pat once she’s come down from the edge, then turns the vibrator on low.

This time around Alaska yells out brokenly, hips chasing the feeling so hard Sharon has to pin her down with both hands. Her eyes are screwed shut and Sharon can see where tears start leaking from them. Alaska’s mumbling something incoherent and thrashing her head back and forth, digging her fingertips into the pillow under her head. The cycle repeats itself a few more times, bringing Alaska up to the edge and then ripping it from her. She’s become unable to form any words other than please, no, and mommy and it’s like some sick power move on Sharon’s part. How Alaska’s whole world right now revolves around Sharon, and whether or not Sharon’s going to let her cum.

When Sharon turns the vibrator up instead of off and presses it tight up against Alaska, the younger girl cries and pushes off the bed, thighs trying to close around the toy. Her whines are high pitched and she’s gasping. The wet sounds her pussy is making is obscene and Sharon watches her twitch and clench, all wet and shiny.

Sharon pets Alaska’s hair as she comes down, slips the toy out of her and puts it on the nightstand. She kisses around Alaska’s face and tells her she’s beautiful, that she did so good, mommy’s so proud. The bed dips when she leaves for only a second. She gets a glass of water and a cloth to wipe Alaska off, and grabs her sketchbook from where it sits in her purse. She fingers herself hard as Alaska comes back to her senses and licks around her nipple, trailing her airy hands across Sharon’s body.

Softly, Sharon kisses Alaska’s forehead when she’s sure she’s asleep, and pulls out her sketchbook.

tags - alaska thunderfuck, sharon needles, shalaska, smut, lesbian au, sugar mama au, mommy kink

It wasn’t something she ever saw herself doing. Or even thought about doing until Violet mentioned it as a joke while scrolling through her Tinder and Alaska got a text from her manager saying she was booked for significantly fewer hours than before. She’d used dating apps before, yes, she was a Pisces. Alaska was a gentle lover. She was passionate and caring because love was fulfilling and completing. The second half of the circle that was her life. She’d been on Tinder and Bumble and any other “lesbian” dating app that had caught her eye. She’d even been on some dates, some successful, some not. None of them led to the romantic fantasy she dreamed of though, given her settings were to girls her age who most of the times were experimenting in their college days and didn’t want anything more than to drink and fuck and not talk again. Alaska was 21. She was a junior in college, she could go to bars and order booze herself, she could pay her bills (barely) in her run down apartment, and if she wanted to change up her online dating profile a little to target a slightly different audience, she damn well could.

So, that’s how her Tinder was back up and running, bio set to Alaska, 21, my names yours, whats alaska? performance major at pittsburgh u, starbucks barista extraordinaire, pisces (but im more of a snake than a fish), and yes i am naturally a platinum blonde and preferences set to woman ages 30-50. Her manager was left on delivered but her landlord was texted and asked about rent being a few days late. She sent a silent prayer to anyone who was listening before settling into bed on her stomach and opening the aforementioned app.

The glow of her iPhone screen illuminated her face in the now dark room. Pittsburgh was busy outside, which was typical for a Thursday night when you lived in the middle of the city. Not what some would say was the good middle of the city, but middle of the city nonetheless. Middle of the city enough that Alaska was living paycheck to paycheck trying to make rent while her building simultaneously was falling apart. What was good though, was the handful of woman Alaska was willing to swipe right on. Katya, 35, former Russian gymnast and now a hot blonde yoga instructor.  Bianca, 43, a seamstress with dimples for days. Raja, 45, a makeup artist who happened to be drop dead gorgeous too, which wasn’t quite fair in Alaska’s books.

Sharon, 42, writer of indie horror films. Busty, blonde with hints of silver, permanent bedroom eyes and velvet lips. Her Tinder pictures were her with a raggedy looking cat, her with her head thrown back in laughter and a bottle Pabst, her in a silk robe with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose and a glass of champagne in her hand. Alaska hovered on the profile for a moment. She tried to take in the tattoos and the dimple in her chin. The high cheekbones and her sultry glare and the way her clothes hung to her curves. Her thumbs hovered and she sucked in a deep breath before super liking and clicking her phone shut. From under her pillow, her phone buzzed but she ignored it and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

—

The first thing Alaska does after she wakes up is check her phone and have a minor heart attack over the messages on her screen. Well, that’s a lie. The first thing she does is de-tangle her hair from the elastic it was in, push herself up from her mattress on the floor and stretch until she can hear her back crack, make herself a coffee, and then almost spill the scalding liquid on herself when she clicks her phone open.

Sharon: Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?

Sharon: What are you up to doll?

The hot horror babe double her age had super-liked her back and messaged her first.

Alaska: oh shit sorry, i fell asleep last night !

Sharon responds in nearly a minute and they fall into easy conversation. Alaska mentions she’s up to nothing, really, as she’s not booked for work and there was still a good two weeks before she had to start classes again. The other woman mentions just writing and sketching, working on concepts but other than that doing “fuck all”. The conversation turns shallow, as online dating conversations usually do, and Sharon mentions how Alaska’s gorgeous, how her smile could kill and how her hips are mesmerizing. She asks for a picture and Alaska doesn’t know why she’s blushing all the way up her chest. Or why she spends 5 minutes trying to fix herself up to send a photo to impress a woman she doesn’t know.

—

It was only two nights later when Alaska had agreed to meet Sharon for dinner.

She had scoured her closet for something to wear on a date. Going to bars and clubs, sure. She had clothes for that. Clothes for a date with a woman 21 years her senior who showered her in compliments, was extremely blunt, and had a charmingly crude sense of humour? Yeah, can’t say she’s had to dress for that before. But there’s always a first time for everything. She settles eventually on a sparkly black bralette that dips in slightly to show her cleavage and a black pencil skirt. The length of the pencil skirt cancels out the sexuality of the bralette and the way the skirt hugs her hips, obviously. For good measure, she pairs it with a floral blue kimono and what she hopes are her best pair of black fuck me heels.

The restaurant Sharon had picked out was a couple of blocks away. It was some fancy vegetarian place that Alaska had never heard of, but from a quick Google search she concluded that it was definitely out of her price range and somewhere she could never imagine herself stepping into. It’d be like a bull in a china shop, out of the ordinary and a very bad idea. She wasn’t fancy. Sure, one day, when she was a performer making millions maybe she would’ve returned to the city and ate at some fancy vegetarian restaurant. But now, a simple Starbucks barista who had a mattress in the corner of her room and wallpaper made of sketches and drawings? Nope.

It’s only when she got to the restaurant that she realized she was shaking. Why was she so nervous? She had thanked her Uber driver with a nervous smile and rated five stars, watching as he drove away while wringing her hands together nervously.

The inside was beautiful. All velvet upholstery. There was soft music playing and the walls were lined with paintings. It was classy and chic. And it smelt expensive. There was even a maître d who eyed her as she stood, nearly trembling in her heels like a deer caught in the headlights. It was embarrassing and she thought for a moment of just leaving. She was here to have a good night and hopefully get laid by an extremely hot woman and she was in it to win it but right now she wasn’t feeling like a winner.

“Alaska!” A woman called from a booth in the right corner, almost completely out of view and Alaska dipped away from the maître d with a shy smile and scurried over.

She was more gorgeous in person, somehow. Her blonde hair was clipped back from her face and the dim lighting didn’t reveal much, but Alaska could see the glimpses of silver where stray locks of hair fell around her face. Her cheekbones were high and her face was contoured and hollowed out. Her lips were pouty and plush. They’d be nice to kiss. Probably. Hopefully. Her tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her nose and Alaska could see from behind them where Sharon’s eyeshadow was creasing slightly where it fell into her crows feet. She wanted to brush it away, feel Sharon’s soft looking skin under her fingers.

Strong arms were hugging Alaska before she was able to process what was happening. Sharon was warm around her, rubbing her back and squeezing her waist. Her short sleeved blazer and pencil skirt was clinging to her body, the burnt orange contrasting with the black of Sharon’s bra that was spilling from where the buttons didn’t go quite high enough. Alaska trailed her eyes up the long leather gloves she was wearing and over the tattoo of a phone number just where the gloves ended above her elbow.

“Sit, sit! Hi darling, how are you?” Sharon’s eyes twinkled as she sat back down, pouring out two glasses of wine from the bottle already sitting on the table.

“I’m, uh, really well! Thank you! How about yourself?” Alaska smiled, graciously taking the wine. Maybe the alcohol would soothe her nerves. “Also sorry for running a bit late. Traffic. You know.”

“Don’t even worry about it!” Sharon shrugs and smiles before reaching out and resting her hand over Alaska’s on the table.

Sharon is touchy. Her heel clad foot is hooked around Alaska’s ankle and trailing up and down her calf slowly. Goosebumps raise on Alaska’s skin and she wonders if Sharon can feel them, or if she can sense when her breath catches in her throat and her cheeks flush. She’s always reaching across the table and taking Alaska’s hand in her own, bumping hands when passing a menu over or leaning across to grasp at her arm when Alaska says something funny enough to make Sharon throw her head back in laughter.

They talk and eat and drink. Sharon leans forward to feed Alaska bites of her risotto, claiming that her soup simply can’t be enough and she doesn’t care about the price. The waitress comes and goes with another bottle of wine and Alaska pours herself another glass, stains it with her lipstick and Sharon makes her laugh so hard red wine comes out of her nose much to her embarrassment.

Her eyes are bright and intense. Sharon’s asking Alaska about where she works, what she does. Alaska’s cheeks are pink from the attention but she doesn’t mind, really. Sharon listens when she talks about being a performance major, how she loves plays (especially musicals) and how she writes songs (but they’re mostly parodies, because they’re more fun) and how she really wants to make it big some day. She listens as Alaska talks about her brothers, who are either doctors or in the military and the wine talks about how sometimes she feels a little bit ashamed of herself for not being as successful as them. Sharon is intelligent yet ditzy, listening when it’s important, sniping in with comments and questions when necessary, sometimes distracting herself with a related story from her past or a pop-culture reference Alaska raises her eyebrow at. It’s nice.

Sharon’s gloved hands are on her arm and then in her purse to pay the bill and leave a very generous tip. Alaska’s eyes widen at the price but Sharon is already pulling her away and outside with an arm around her waist. Her grip is strong and steadies Alaska where she’s feeling tipsy and clumsy on her feet, heels clacking on the sidewalk. The flick of a lighter brings her back to her senses and she watches, hypnotized, as Sharon lights a cigarette and breathes deeply. Smoking has never been a turn on her for, really. But the way the smoke leaves Sharon’s soft lips and the way her eyes go hazy is enough for Alaska to press a kiss to her jaw so Sharon will hail a cab for the both of them.

The back of the cab is stuffy and hot. Sharon’s hands are on Alaska’s thighs and in her hair and Alaska’s eyes are dark. She shifts to wrap a hand around the back of Sharon’s neck and pull her in for a kiss. Their lips press together in a rush, teeth clinking. It feels so cliche and wrong, making out in the back of a taxi. Sharon’s hand is resting on her thigh and she’s nipping at Alaska’s lip so softly she has to hold back her moans. It’s dirty and wrong how much Alaska wants Sharon to take her right then and there, so luckily Sharon’s building is only a few blocks away and it’s not long until Sharon’s paying and tipping and pulling Alaska out of the vehicle.

They stumble past the doorman with a nod and Alaska forces herself not to think about how often Sharon must do this, stumble in drunkenly with a girl on her arm late at night. They press into the elevator and Sharon corners her as they go up the twenty-six flights to her apartment, peppering kisses on her skin and tugging at the hems of her clothes.

From the elevator down the hall to Sharon’s apartment is a blur. Inside, it’s all minimal decor and chandeliers and art on the walls. The floor is hardwood and the furniture is neat and tidy. In her drunken haze, Sharon manages to give a quick tour. Quick tour meaning pointing out the different rooms in the large apartment while stripping herself of her gloves and heels and Alaska following suit as Sharon drags her forward by the hand.

The master bedroom, somehow, exceeds Alaska’s expectations. But then again this woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and she wasn’t sure what to expect in the first place. The far wall is all window and she can see all the lights from the city flickering. A chandelier in front of the window from an apartment across the ways twinkles and Alaska can feel the wine in her bloodstream. The floors are dark, the walls are cream and the furniture is matte black. It’s elegant and chic. Alaska can feel Sharon’s eyes on her and wants the floor to swallow her whole. Against the wall is a king sized bed and the headboard is tall, the bars thin and simple and Alaska needs to be fucked and grasping onto them right now. There’s art on the walls and vintage movie posters and Alaska can spot an open sketchbook on the nightstand. Her eyes flicker back to the window when she hears a plane fly overhead.

“You like the view?” It’s more of a statement than a question. Alaska nods anyways. She can feel Sharon’s smile and flushes all up her chest.

Sharon presses her body up along Alaska’s back. She can feel the fabric of her dress and the softness of her breasts against her spine. Her hair brushes Alaska’s shoulders when it’s released from the clip and she has the urge to touch it. She wants to feel it through her fingers and sort out the greys from the blonds, hear Sharon sigh when she massages her scalp. Sharon’s warm against her and presses her forward softly until they’re standing in front of the window and Alaska can see people on the sidewalk. She wonders if they know what’s going on stories above them.

There’s a tug on the zipper of Alaska’s skirt then the cool air is hitting her thighs and Sharon’s helping her step out of it. The older woman hums. It’s low and soft and she can feel it against her shoulder when Sharon tucks her chin over it. She presses a kiss to Alaska’s neck and watches goosebumps rise where her lipstick leaves a mark.

Any other hook-ups Sharon would get the other girl to strip. Make her put on a show for her and work for it. Or it’d be fast and there’d be a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Like some X-rated drunken Hansel and Gretel. At least it served its purpose when Sharon pretended to be asleep and willed the other person to find their way out in the morning. But Alaska was different. Sharon undresses her slowly in attempt to take her all in. Her thighs were milky and soft. There were the slightest of pink stretch marks where her hips had filled out and the older woman took her time tracing them if only to feel Alaska shiver under her. The things she would do to keep the younger girl shivering under her hands. She slid her kimono off, followed by her bralette so she could cup her breasts and squeeze before pulling her underwear down her hips.

Sharon’s still humming. Completely nonchalant. Alaska has to wonder how many girls she takes home. How many of them she strips in front of the window. If she presses the pads of her thumbs into the underside of their breasts and pinches their nipples and hips just to hear them squeak. Sharon’s still fully dressed, save for her glasses, heels, and gloves that were shed earlier. She debated on keeping the gloves on, too. If only to see the way Alaska would shiver and blush when a cool leather finger would run through Alaska’s folds only to come out shiny and wet. Next time.

“Sharon…” Alaska’s voice is whiny and Sharon shushes her, tapping her finger on her lips until Alaska takes it into her mouth.

“What do you want, baby?” Sharon’s calm and collected. The opposite of Alaska, whose heart is beating against her ribcage so hard it may break. She groans in reply.

Sharon pinches at her nipple with on hand, slipping another finger from her other hand in Alaska’s mouth when she gasps in response. She stumbles forward slightly and presses her palms against the glass as Sharon wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. There’s people below bustling on the sidewalk and she can see the people in apartments over. Her breath comes out hot and the window fogs where it hits.

“I got you, it’s okay. Such a pretty baby.” Sharon pets her hair, it’s long and soft in her palm, “I bet everyone outside loves the view just as much as you do.”

Alaska’s thighs shake as Sharon removes her fingers from her mouth. They’re slick with spit and Alaska watches the trail of saliva between her lips and Sharon’s fingers, dips her tongue forward to lick it up. Suddenly, Sharon’s fingers press up against her clit and she groans. Her head falls back against Sharon’s shoulder and her fingers curl against the glass searching to find purchase. The window feels like ice against her skin. But it may just be from the way her skin is radiating heat and the sweat is sticking to her. Sharon rubs slow circles and watches how Alaska’s hip shakes. Her left thigh twitches when Sharon trails a single finger back and forth over the nerves and her hips jerk forward when she presses the heel of her hand against it in order to rub against her hole with her fingers.

“Tell me what you want. I just want to make you feel good.” Sharon’s voice is warm and she can feel the pout against her ear. She’s teasing. Her fingers skate past Alaska’s clit again and she presses the tip of a finger inside of her. It slips just past the muscle until the younger girl gasps and then it’s gone.

“Fuck me, please. Please mama. God.” Alaska’s whining high in her throat. Her throat catches on the mama and she flushes from embarrassment, all up her chest to her cheeks. Sharon kisses and smiles against her shoulder.

Alaska nearly cries when Sharon slips a finger inside her. Her pussy is warm and wet and Sharon fucks her slow. The sound echoes in the otherwise silent room and Alaska whimpers. Her centre is pink and swollen and Sharon relishes in the sound, slips another finger in without problem and scissors them just to hear Alaska’s embarrassed cry when she comments on how wet she is. Her fingers work slow and Alaska is squirming enough that Sharon has to wrap her arm back around her waist, pressing her naked form against Sharon’s clothed one to keep her still. Alaska’s trailing her hands backwards. Up into Sharon’s hair and down her side, around to her ass and thighs, then back down to try and intertwine their fingers and press Sharon deeper into her.

“Alaska baby, no. You’ll get there. I’ll take care of you.” Sharon tsked, her tone stern.

Alaska whines and curls her fingers into Sharon’s arm. Sharon digs her fingers deeper and crooks them. Alaska’s bowlegged knees buckle and she reaches out again to steady herself against the window and lean back against Sharon. Her eyes are glued shut and her lips are parted and Sharon works her so sweetly, pumping two fingers and swiping her thumb in soft circles around Alaska’s clit.

“You gonna cum? So beautiful. Cum for me baby girl.” Sharon murmurs. Her eyes are dark and downcast, shaded by her eyelashes.

Alaska finishes with a cry and her legs give out. Her small frame is shaking and Sharon holds her close, shifts them until they’re back onto the bed and Alaska is panting. The city light reflects on the sweat on Alaska’s chest. Her breasts are illuminated and Sharon leans down to nip at a nipple and Alaska gasps from the overstimulation.

Quickly, Sharon sheds her clothing, nearly ripping a button from her dress in the process. She shifts Alaska onto her back and moves to straddle her chest. Alaska’s panting. Her breasts fall when she exhales and Sharon watches how they shake, reaches out to pinch the skin around her nipple. Her thumb trails against Alaska’s lips and she opens her mouth for it, suckling it and groaning around the digit. A whine escapes her when Sharon pulls her thumb away and trails spit across her bottom lip to see how they glisten.

Sharon’s hips move of their own accord, shifting upwards until she’s against Alaska’s mouth. Her tongue laps out immediately. She presses the flat of her tongue against Sharon’s clit and hears her groan closed mouth. She prods more then, circling around the nub until Sharon is circling her hips above her and grinding against her mouth. Alaska moves her hands to Sharon’s thighs, gives them a squeeze and presses her nose against the groomed hairs. Her breath is cut off and she can feel herself flushing from the effort but she can’t find it in her to stop. The older woman is shaking above her and Alaska sucks hard on her clit. Wetness covers the bottom of Alaska’s face and Sharon whimpers before lifting herself off.

“So good. So, so good doll.” Sharon shifts until they’re both under the sheets and presses a kiss to Alaska’s lips, chin, jaw, cheek. She sighs out through her nose and pulls the girl close to her, nudging her knee between the other’s thighs and holding her head to her chest until Alaska’s breathing matches the beating of her heart.

—

When Alaska wakes, the spot in bed beside her is cold and there’s a dull ache deep in her skull. Sunlight filters in through the large window and Alaska has to squint to look around the room. The cream sheets are glowing pale yellow in the light. They’re soft against her skin where she feels sweaty and gross, and it takes a moment for Alaska to remember where she is. The framed poster for a campy 80s slasher films jerks her memory. Sharon.

She pads out of bed slowly, shifting over to the dresser where she finds last night’s clothes folded up neatly along with a pair of shorts and shirt that Sharon must’ve left out. It’s weird, almost domestic. Most hook ups don’t do this. But then again, most hook ups weren’t older goth women who spend over $100 at dinner without a blink of an eye then fuck Alaska in front of their gigantic window up on the 26th floor of a high class apartment. Alaska squeezes back into her pencil skirt and slips her bralette over her head while making her way out to the rest of the apartment.

There’s a note on the island in the kitchen, atop the granite.

I’m so sorry, I had to run before you woke up! You look gorgeous even in your sleep .. Is that weird to say?

Feel free to shower and help yourself to breakfast and coffee.

I would love to see you again, doll. <3

Sharon Needles

There’s a mug with little ghosts on it beside the note and it’s all too weird and too much. Alaska orders an Uber with the last of her phone battery, adds the number scribbled at the bottom of the paper into her contacts, then tucks the note into the back of her phone case. The doorman downstairs gives her a nod of acknowledgement when she eaves the building and as she got into her Uber she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. Alaska took a cold, cold shower and puttered around her apartment making shitty coffee and a bowl of cereal before going to work. Her afternoon shift was full of fake smiles and frappuccinos and she spilled hot coffee on herself in a distracted haze and cursed, her co-workers giving her concerned glances. It wasn’t her fault. It was purely coincidence how she kept getting distracted whenever she noticed the crows feet on a lady sitting in the corner or the grey-blue eyes of the young girl she was taking an order from.

She texted Sharon when she got home.  

—

The next time they meet up it’s during the day in a nice area downtown. It’s a very Liberal area. Rainbow crosswalk and all. It’s chalked full of vegan restaurants and nice little expensive shops and it’s another area that Alaska would love to be able to walk down on a random afternoon and not feel intimidated, but that’s not quite the case right now.

Alaska’s in a white shirt tucked into a black skater skirt with a flannel, and half her hair is pulled up into two buns. She feels cute. And gay. And she hopes Sharon thinks the same enough to like, hold her hand or something, or finger her in the washroom of some mom-and-pop restaurant. Maybe both. She tries not to think too much about it as her Uber parks just down the road from the diner Sharon told her to meet her at.

The restaurant is small and cute, not to mention far less intimidating from the last place. There’re plants hanging from the ceiling and a large fish tank. It’s earthy and warm. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Sharon but before she goes and sits down to wait she hears a soft ‘boo!’ from behind her. Alaska flushes at how she jumped in response and Sharon laughs, pulling her into a hug. The booths are made of worn down leather and the floor creaks slightly as they make their way to a seat. She feels far more “in her element” here, yet her chest still feels tight as Sharon sits across from her.

Her hair is soft and curled, but her eyes are dark and blown out and her lips are plump and red. It’s a dramatic look for one o’clock on a Tuesday, but Alaska doesn’t mind. Her black mock neck shirt hugs her body and her pants are tight and match her lips. It’s modern and chic and Alaska feels underdressed. But Sharon’s gaze is smouldering and trails down her body with a smile. It feels oddly familiar. Oddly comforting.

Sharon asks the waiter if they have Pabst in bottles, not on tap, (they do), and Alaska orders a lemonade. The menu is handwritten and cute, with tacky pun names and illustrations. A foot brushes up against Alaska’s and Sharon’s hand is on her arm. She’s humming as she reads, her lips pursed. Her cool eyes are squinted slightly from her lack of glasses and her crows feet crease slightly. It’s endearing, really. Her fingers are tracing the blue veins under the skin and Alaska wonders if she can feel the goosebumps raising, or if she even realizes she’s doing it in the first place. She imagines Sharon can feel the blood pulsing under her skin. A steady rhythm. By the time the waiter comes back to take their order Alaska had barely read the menu and stumbles slightly, ordering a salad. Sharon shoots her a knowing smile, curling her fingers around Alaska’s small wrist.

“So what do you do, exactly?” Sharon raises her eyebrows at the question, letting her thumb rub at Alaska’s arm.

“Well…” She pauses to take a sip of her beer, “To put it simply I work on short films. They’re just independent projects, mostly horror. I’ve always loved the genre and I love creating and I had the money so I said fuck it, got a group together and we’ve been working together since. We have a pretty strong fan base too, fucked up if you ask me.” Sharon laughs, big and booming in the otherwise calm restaurant.

Alaska smiles and asks about her projects. Her eyes light up when she talks and Alaska can see how her cheekbones protrude when she smiles that wide. The older woman talks about horror movies she admires, how growing up the weird goth dyke made her truly admire the villains in films who got revenge on the preps and the jocks. Most other people would be terrified to hear how their date relates to the killers in these films, but with Sharon it makes sense. She throws herself entirely into her work. Throws herself into the scripts and the storyboards and all the inspirations. She’s always hovering around people on set and fucking with lighting and costumes then marathoning films she’s seen before and can probably quote word for word. This woman is intelligent and intense but spooky and stupid and Alaska doesn’t quite know what to make of her.  

They eat, and talk, and Sharon drinks a few more PBR. Alaska steals a fry from Sharon’s plate and dips it in the surprisingly good vegan milkshake Sharon had guilted her into ordering, just because she refused a lemonade refill and that just wasn’t happening in Sharon’s books. The older woman threw another fry at her for Alaska’s amusement. She was like a baby. A cute one, not an annoying crying one. She was one that you just wanted to keep cooing and giggling and happy. They ordered cheesecake to share and Sharon fed it to her across the table, watching as Alaska’s lips pursed around the fork.

When they go to pay, Alaska pulls her wallet out of her purse. Sharon tsks and gives her a warning look to put her wallet away, and Alaska tries to ignore the way heat pools in her stomach.

As they leave, Sharon snakes an arm around Alaska’s waist. It fits there, and Alaska doesn’t mind. Her hand dips into the curve of her small waist and settles on her hip. It’s a warm heaviness and Alaska has to walk a little closer to Sharon due to it.

“Y’know, I didn’t realize I was gay until my senior year of high school maybe.” Alaska looks down at the small ceramic ghost in her hand, thinks that Sharon might like it. Her voice startles Sharon from where she’s standing a few feet away looking at a similar ceramic cat.

“Really? You come across as the loud and proud type. Like head cheerleader that all the bi-curious girls go to behind the bleachers to get their lesbian cherry popped.”

“Okay fair enough. Let me guess, little goth bitch who punched out anyone who tried to cuss you out for being a dyke?” Alaska fires back, putting down the small ghost and patting its head.

“I’ve had my fair share of physical encounters . I’ll admit to that. No shame in punching someone’s teeth in when they disrespect you.” Sharon raises her eyebrows in question to Alaska, “Although it did take half of freshman year before I started fighting back. I don’t eat meat but I’ll use ‘em to nurse a black eye if I have to.”

The older woman laughs but Alaska can’t help but imagine her younger, smaller. 14 year old Sharon nursing her wounds because some asshole thought she was a good target. 14 year old Sharon reapplying black lipstick in an abandoned girls’ washroom. 14 year old Sharon being unapologetically herself despite her entire school seemingly working against her because she was a bit eccentric and queer. 14 year old Sharon going home and watching shitty horror movies as a distraction from the shit she had to deal with. It tugged on Alaska’s heart strings.

From antique shops to run down clubs to vintage boho chic clothing stores, they check them all out. Alaska tries on a dress that looks like it’s made of trash bags and spins, laughing as it floats up around her. Sharon hides behind a shelf in a costume store, popping out with fake teeth and a witch hat on to startle Alaska. Alaska tries on a horse mask at the back of the store, recalling how people in school used to call her horse face . It doesn’t bother her anymore though, and she neighs in the mask before ripping it off and laughing.

“If we ever get into a fight I’ll just buy us animal masks. You can’t be pissed off at someone when you’re a fucking horse and they’re a frog” Sharon shifts through the masks, laughing before pulling on Alaska’s arm back to the front of the store.

The next store they go into is pastel and airy. They sell lingerie and chiffon peignoirs, lace slip dresses and thigh high stockings with matching garters. It’s all out of Alaska’s price range. This isn’t just a store that you go to when going out with friends shopping. She knows this. And she knows Sharon knows this. Sharon walks in like she owns the place, one arm still wrapped around Alaska’s waist like she owns her and the other weaving through fabrics.

“What’s your size, baby?” Sharon presses a kiss to her cheek and Alaska can feel her throat close in.

Her fingers clench into a fist. She’s sweating. Why is she sweating?

“Uh, I’m a 36C. Medium for everything else, I guess.”

Sharon hums and shifts through the isles. The bags on her arm dig into the skin, making it pink and white. Alaska wants to kiss it. Sharon purchased some tacky looking Halloween knick-knacks, and anything Alaska looked at for over ten seconds and seemed interested in. It made her blush when Sharon insisted on buying it. They both drift around the store for a while, brushing off the sleepy looking girl who asked if they needed any help.

Eventually, they end up near the back by the empty changing rooms. Sharon pulls Alaska into one, pulling the pale pink door shut behind her and clicking the lock shut. It’s a roomy area, with a large mirror on the back wall. The two walls are lined with benches and there’s a small circle stool in the corner. Alaska can feel the air heating up. Or maybe it’s just her. Sharon’s hanging things up on the hooks and looking back at Alaska expectantly when minutes pass and she’s still fully dressed.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Sharon’s voice is soft. Her thighs spill outwards from where she’s sitting on the stool and she crosses her legs, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

Alaska sucks in a breath before stripping, gauging her actions based on Sharon’s face. She tries on all the pieces Sharon picked out, ranging from sheer bras and thongs to intricate high wasted panties with matching garters and stockings. She tries on all the robes and slips, lets Sharon run her hands over the silk dawning her thighs. She spins her finger and Alaska turns in each outfit to show how her ass peeks out of the underwear and how her hair runs soft down her back. Sharon’s making soft sounds.

When Alaska gets to the last set, black high waisted fucking crotchless panties with the bra and stockings to match, she feels her face go red hot. It was before, definitely, but this ensemble (if you will) was truly the cherry on top of this fucked up sexually frustrating sundae. She changes slowly, folding the last pieces and putting them back on their hangers on the wall.

“Can you be good for me?” Sharon’s voice comes as a surprise and Alaska nods, spinning around to face the woman.  “Sit down pumpkin. Spread your legs.”

Alaska’s head was spinning. She lowered herself onto the bench slowly and pulled at her knees to spread her legs. Sharon’s gaze was red hot and Alaska squirmed.

“You’re so wet.” Alaska could hear Sharon laugh and she twitched, moving her legs back together slightly. “No baby, you’re being so good. I wanna see you.”

Alaska’s lungs were collapsing. Her insides were burning and she felt so dirty and flustered and they were in a damn changing room . Sharon was fully dressed, legs crossed and lighting a cigarette even though it was against the rules because she just didn’t care. Smoke plumed upwards and she took a long drag, ashing her cigarette against the edge of the stool and turning back to where Alaska was squirming, the air conditioned air hitting her cunt.

“Can you touch yourself for me? I want you to fuck yourself with one finger baby, don’t want you to make too much of a mess.”

Sharon’s voice was so soft yet stern and Alaska wanted to cry. She grazed her index finger over her clit and jerked before tracing around her whole. She was wet. Just from trying on the lingerie and modelling for Sharon. Just being around Sharon. Sharon who had such a domineering energy. Sharon with her hand on the small of her back pressing her forward. Sharon feeding her cheesecake even when she thought she was full. Alaska pressed one finger in and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment of making eye contact with the other woman.

“Nice and slow, or else the whole store will hear how wet you are right now. Or would you like that? If someone walked back right now and could hear how wet you are, how you’re trying to hold back all your pretty little noises as you put on a show for me.” Sharon to try and relieve the pressure between her own thighs, “Touch your clit for me hun, with your other hand. You’re so good. So pretty”

Alaska gasped with the intensity of it all. Her thumb on her clit and her middle finger pressing up inside of her, shooting stars behind her eyelids. She could feel Sharon watching her, how her eyes were raking up and down her body as she thrust her hips into her own hands. The bench underneath her was probably wet but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dozy girl working up front could walk in on them, unlock the door from the outside and ask what was taking them so long and Alaska wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to care as long as Sharon wanted her to keep going.

“Sharon, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me baby.” Alaska’s hips shook and she clenched her jaw to try and keep her noises in as she thrust, panting as she came down from her high.

Sharon stood then and sucked Alaska’s wet fingers into her mouth. They left with a pop! and Sharon smiled, letting Alaska change in silence before purchasing everything she picked out and pulling Alaska into an Uber back to her apartment building.

—

School starts up again. Alaska’s in her final year of university. Soon, she’ll have her Bachelor’s Degree in Performing Arts. She’ll be able to move out to LA like she wanted and be successful. She can star in films and put out an album and make it big. She can make her parents proud along with her medical and military brother because she can be successful too! They all thought she wouldn’t make anything of herself. Sure, maybe she’d move out to LA like she’d always dreamed of, but make it big? Nah. Her mom was convinced she was just going to become some drug addicted deviant, but hey, isn’t that the superstar lifestyle anyways?

Alaska’s plans may have changed drastically. As the weeks turned into months, she spent less and less time at her own run down apartment. It wasn’t that she moved in with Sharon, per se, it was just that over time she had ended up moving out of her apartment. Not to mention Sharon had seen one text from her landlord saying that her rent was far overdo and got so worried, telling Alaska to not worry about it because she had it covered. (Which was embarrassing on Alaska’s part, considering any time not spent in a lecture hall was probably spent working, but inflation was a bitch, y’know?). So it’s not like it was some big ordeal when two and a half months into whatever they had, Alaska was staying there most of the time. She just needed a place to stay until she could find somewhere she could actually afford, and Sharon was willing to give her a helping hand! It also helped that Sharon had a tongue that made her see God.

The move in was gradual. Alaska had a healthy collection of clothes and lingerie at Sharon’s apartment, just from previous dates where Sharon insisted she buy everything for Alaska because it just looked so cute on her and she had her own bills to pay, so Sharon would buy. Eventually, a toothbrush showed up in the holder beside Sharon’s. And Alaska’s fancy purple shampoo she splurged on to keep her hair platinum. And a collection of socks and pajamas and other clothes that Alaska would just happen to leave there but never return to her apartment. Of course, since so much of her wardrobe and electronics and chargers and, well, everything, somehow ended up at Sharon’s flat, Alaska spent more and more time there. It was just convenient, that was all.

Alaska’s life was good. Different from where she thought she would be at this point in her life, but good. Violet was hounding her about the “friend” she was staying with, and about how she seemed to have that “post-sex glow” (as she liked to call it) 24-fucking-7, but Violet was a bitch and too nosy for her own good.

She spent her afternoons in the living room of the apartment, practicing lines from a production that was worth quite a hefty amount of her grade. Cerrone was her only spectator. He didn’t throw rotten tomatoes or boo her off of the coffee table stage though, so she takes what she can get. Sometimes Sharon would come home early and watch her, give her pointers and then tell her to stop repeating the same damn lines for the 50th time and put her mouth to good use. It was a good break. Sharon brought up the idea a few times, putting Alaska in some of her short films. It’d be fun! The gorgeous ditzy blonde in a gore-y horror short film? Instant blockbuster! People love cliche shit like that. Plus, Sharon would love to have Alaska on set with her all day.

It was nice, truly. Sharon took them out for dinner or made fancy vegetarian meals. She’d wake Alaska up with her head between her thighs, leaving Alaska to shudder awake in a cool sweat and groaning. There’d be small notes with hearts on them when Sharon would disappear before Alaska got up. Sharon would have an Uber waiting outside Alaska’s Starbucks location when she was done work, and sometimes Sharon would even pop in herself to visit even though Alaska knows she’d rather support local businesses than the industry coffee shop she worked at. Sharon bought her fancy clothes and shoes and lingerie just to see Alaska blush and squirm. Alaska would get all quiet and call Sharon mommy and curl up on the couch beside her, pressing kisses to her neck to distract her from the movie she was watching. Or, she’d get bratty and call her mama , call Sharon on set when she was in the apartment alone touching herself. Life was good.

—

Alaska more or less moving in only proved to show how needy she was. She was worse than a pet, but Sharon only had Cerrone to compare her to so maybe it wasn’t the fairest comparison. They both bit Sharon, though. Alaska would text Sharon while she was on set, something along the lines of noodles i miss you :( when are you going to be hoooome? sharonnnn i need you. mama please with an image attached of Alaska leaning up against the pillows wearing one of Sharon’s old shirts, with the tip of one thumb in her mouth and two fingers from her other hand knuckle deep in her cunt. Sharon would have to call it a day early and rush home, finger fuck Alaska into the couch cushions until she saw stars and called Sharon mommy despite how embarrassed she got after.

Sharon loved it, how open Alaska was becoming with her. She stopped hiding her phone calls with her brother, instead she would saunter around the kitchen and sit herself upon Sharon’s lap while she listened to Cory talk about the girl he met at the gym. Sharon would tickle her thigh, slip a finger into her panties just to feel how wet she already was and circle her clit until Alaska hung up the phone. Alaska would come back from her lectures and talk about her professors and how her auditions went. She’d write her essays on the leather couch while Sharon painted her toenails baby pink, ate her out while they dried and let Alaska drop her notes and pen onto the hardwood. Sharon liked how Alaska was becoming less shy, how she would pout when she didn’t get her way and call Sharon mama in public just to be a brat and start a scene. Alaska would press kisses to her cheek unprompted, would stop shying away when Sharon payed their dinner bill and bought her fancy lingerie and shoes, would let Sharon give her glasses of wine all day and press on her bladder while fingering her until she cried.

Today was no different. Alaska knew Sharon was out talking to some of her “creative partners” about an idea she had, an idea that she had been sketching and writing for hours after Alaska had fallen asleep on the couch beside her, toes tucked between Sharon’s thighs. She knew Sharon was having some sort of creative breakthrough and was busy. But Alaska was in the apartment alone, and Sharon had left before she woke up. So now she was just lonely and sad and her underwear shifted coldly against her.

lasky <3: noodles when will you be home?

noodles <333: I don’t know baby .. The girl I’m at lunch with is a really talented costume and prop designer. Even if she is a bit stand-offish.

lasky <3: but i neeeeeed you :(

Alaska sent a photo. She was in a sheer pink robe Sharon had bought for her. It was flowy and elegant and trailed behind Alaska on the floor when she walked. It made her feel like an old housewife. She wanted a spiral staircase, wanted to stand at the top of it with a glass of champagne in her hand. Underneath it she wore nothing. She was pouty and annoyed and leaning back on the couch pillows, lips parted and pinching a nipple between two fingers.

noodles <333: I’ll be home in an hour .. Picking up some things. Hope you know how spoiled you are. Brat.

lasky <3: :) :) :) <3

When Sharon gets home, her heart nearly beats out of her chest. She’s had her fair number of romances. Mostly with woman her own age, sometimes younger. Some of them even made it past the six month mark in their relationship. There was something about Alaska though that had Sharon’s head spinning. It was like her entire world had shifted by this girl and was spinning backwards on its axis. Backwards and upside-down. And double time. Whatever. Alaska was curled up on the couch, nude except for the robe, with Cerrone in her lap. She was humming softly to herself and her toes were curled into the couch cushions where her legs were folded underneath her. The natural light made her hair and skin glow and it was so soft and right. Long term didn’t usually work with Sharon. The only long term relationships she had were with cocaine and whiskey and fucking Cerrone the cat, who she didn’t even want in the first place. So why did coming back to her apartment daily to Alaska make it feel more like a home than ever before?

“You’re such a brat, you know that, right?” At the sound of Sharon’s voice Cerrone hops off of Alaska, allowing her to get up to greet Sharon.

“Lies, mama. You’re full of lies.” Alaska laughs and presses a kiss to the dimple in Sharon’s chin. “What’d you get me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Go lie down, pumpkin.” Sharon kisses the side of her hair and gives her ass a tap before Alaska nods and heads to the bedroom.

Alaska’s long and full on the bed. Her hips and breasts filled out more after being with Sharon. Sharon took her out for lunch and dinner, fed her cheesecake and other expensive desserts. She always made sure her baby was cared for. Alaska’s hips were soft and propped up with a long pillow, and her breasts were full and heavy against her chest as she breathed deeply, waiting for Sharon.

The rabbit vibrator Sharon comes into the room with is black. It’s not overly long, but the girth makes up for it. Alaska knows Sharon will have to stretch her, start with two fingers just so Alaska can feel the burn then stuff her with three.

“Mommy please…” Alaska draws it out, flutters her eyelashes.

She’s pouty and wet and Sharon kneels beside her on the bed, pulls one of Alaska’s legs up and out to spread her open.

“So wet already baby? Greedy girl.” Alaska screws her eyes shut at the words. “Open your eyes for me sweetheart. Watch mama.”

Sharon slips two fingers inside of the younger girl and Alaska cries, twisting her hips. Her fingers are thick and strong and they fuck Alaska almost mechanically, avoiding her g-spot but scissoring to stretch her open. It burns slightly and Alaska gasps, heat curling in her stomach. She can hear Sharon’s fingers moving in and out of her, can hear when a third one enters. Alaska tries to clench her thighs together but with Sharon between them she’s stuck spread open. She wants to move and squirm, clamp around Sharon’s hand, but Sharon’s got her hip pinned down and is kneeling above Alaska with so much dominance she’s stuck in position with nowhere else to go.

When Alaska’s stretched and dripping, Sharon presses the vibrator inside until it’s snug against both her g-spot and clit. Alaska’s whining high and nasally. Her eyes are dark and her fingers are tugging at the sheets and she’s watching Sharon desperately. It clicks on and she gasps and cries, her hip twitching at the sudden stimulation.

“I should buy you another one of these. A small one that slips into your panties.” Alaska whines and moves her thumb to her mouth, partly to have something to bite and partly to have something to stifle her pathetic cries. “Could turn it on while you’re out picking up dry cleaning. Or while you’re out with mommy’s credit card. Bet you’d love how everyone would watch you as you whined, unable to stop it.”

Alaska gasped as Sharon started moving the vibrator, slowly pressing it in and out of her slightly. It pressed so tightly against where she was the most sensitive and she cried out, thrusting her hips up into the pressure. Heat was curling in her stomach and she could feel her peak building. Her breasts were shaking above her in time with her panting.

“It’s pathetic, really,” Sharon stopped the vibrator, leaving it still and full in Alaska, “how desperate you are for me. Texting me while I’m out, expecting me to drop everything and come get you off like the greedy little slut you are.”

The twitch of Alaska’s thigh and how her eyes almost roll back remind Sharon of just how much she loves it. Being humiliated like that. She loves when Sharon makes fun of how wet she is, how open and soft she is and how she fucks herself on Sharon’s single finger wanting more, how turned on she gets when Sharon buys her expensive lingerie only to rip it off of her later because money isn’t an issue.

She wonders if Alaska could get off on it alone. Just Sharon’s fingers pinching her nipples, fingering her slowly and avoiding the areas she needed the attention so badly. Sharon would comment on how swollen she was, how it was cute that she thrust up and squirmed as if Sharon was actually going to give her what she wanted. She’d bite on Alaska’s nipple, laughing as she flicked the sensitive bud while leaning over the younger girl, still fully clothed. Sharon thinks she could do it. She’d cum untouched and almost instantly recoil, heat exploding in her lower stomach and her cheeks flushing. Sharon would laugh and watch Alaska’s cunt clench and shake before pressing a kiss to her pubic mound.

But for now Alaska was spread and shaking in front of her, thrusting to try and get the toy to touch her and push her over the edge.

“No, no, no, no mama please. That’s not fair.” Alaska’s voice is whiny and pouty, drawing every syllable out, and Sharon can hear her puffing out air through her nose. Tears gather in the corner of Alaska’s eyes.

“Nothing’s ever fair, baby. And you’re gonna take what I give so maybe I’ll let you cum.” Sharon gives Alaska’s thigh a pat once she’s come down from the edge, then turns the vibrator on low.

This time around Alaska yells out brokenly, hips chasing the feeling so hard Sharon has to pin her down with both hands. Her eyes are screwed shut and Sharon can see where tears start leaking from them. Alaska’s mumbling something incoherent and thrashing her head back and forth, digging her fingertips into the pillow under her head. The cycle repeats itself a few more times, bringing Alaska up to the edge and then ripping it from her. She’s become unable to form any words other than please, no, and mommy and it’s like some sick power move on Sharon’s part. How Alaska’s whole world right now revolves around Sharon, and whether or not Sharon’s going to let her cum.

When Sharon turns the vibrator up instead of off and presses it tight up against Alaska, the younger girl cries and pushes off the bed, thighs trying to close around the toy. Her whines are high pitched and she’s gasping. The wet sounds her pussy is making is obscene and Sharon watches her twitch and clench, all wet and shiny.

Sharon pets Alaska’s hair as she comes down, slips the toy out of her and puts it on the nightstand. She kisses around Alaska’s face and tells her she’s beautiful, that she did so good, mommy’s so proud. The bed dips when she leaves for only a second. She gets a glass of water and a cloth to wipe Alaska off, and grabs her sketchbook from where it sits in her purse. She fingers herself hard as Alaska comes back to her senses and licks around her nipple, trailing her airy hands across Sharon’s body.

Softly, Sharon kisses Alaska’s forehead when she’s sure she’s asleep, and pulls out her sketchbook.

[laschatzi]

A Favor Returned

Just a stupid little New Year’s Eve ficlet, almost 2 months late, but who cares?

summary: modern AU. Emma is scelebrating New Year’s Eve with her girls, and they are having fortune cookies of a special kind. A handsome, but infuriating stranger doesn’t help to lift the mood...

rating: k for kissing ;)

also on: ff.net and ao3

Like every year, Ruby Lucas makes a big show giving out the small tulle packets with the homemade fortune cookies she brought back to Boston from her Christmas visit to her grandmother. It's tradition that she and her bunch of friends each get one to open at midnight on New Year's Eve.

Like every year, she reminds them, “Granny says not to open them before midnight!”

Like every year, her girlfriend Mulan jokes, “Wait, those are Chinese, shouldn't I be the one giving them to you?”

Ruby rolls her eyes, “Don't be so cliché. It's getting old.”

Emma Swan frowns suspiciously at the cookie in her hand. “Wait, this is a trick? There's some stupid message inside just to...”

To be fair, it wouldn't be the first time. Granny Lucas, at whose house Emma spent a lot of time in her youth, has tried more than once to send encouraging messages especially to her. Over the last years, however, it has become more and more annoying, and Emma started to feel the pain of every only single among a bunch of friends who are all happily taken. Endearing as it is that they all care so much for her, it's still unnerving when even your youth's friend's grandmother tries to get you to finally find a boyfriend – or a girlfriend, whatever floats your boat, as Granny put it so eloquently.

Mary Margaret Nolan – the fourth in their round, happily married to Emma's adoptive brother David who is currently at home babysitting their six months old son, having insisted girls' New Year's Eve is sacrosanct – giggles, “Oh, come on, Emma...”

Ruby huffs, “You and your goddamn suspicions, Ems. Here, let's put them all back on the counter, and you can choose whichever damn cookie you fucking want.”

And, with a big gesture, she tosses her own tulle package on the counter of the bar they're spending every New Year's Eve at. Mulan and Mary Margaret follow her example, and after a short hesitation, Emma puts hers down, too. Ruby waves her hands at her. “Now, come on, get it over with. Pick the cookie that looks the most harmless to you, and then I'm not hearing any of your complaints any more.”

“Fine.” Emma snatches one of the three others. The rest is distributed quickly, and the women resume their chitchat and catching up on how they have spent the past festive days; nothing spectacular, really.

Nothing sensational has happened in either of their lives lately – no drama, no new job, no new relationship. Or, in Emma's case, no relationship at all. Fifteen minutes before midnight, Ruby starts to toy nervously with her tulle package and finally unties the tiny ribbon that's holding it together.

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret scolds, “What are you doing? I thought we weren't supposed to open them before midnight?”

“Oh come on,” her friend waves her off, “we're almost there anyway. And I'm bored.”

“Doesn't that mean bad luck?” Mulan asks with an indulgent smile.

“I won't tell if you don't, babe,” Ruby replies and presses a quick kiss to her lips before she unfolds her tulle.

“Why the hell not,” Emma comments and starts to open hers, too, and mere seconds later Mary Margaret and Mulan follow their example.

Ruby's the first to crack her cookie open; she throws one half into her mouth and unfolds the tiny slip of paper, reading it out loud: “Kindness matters. Tell each of your friends at least one thing you love about them.”

“Well, that should be easy, as we're all fantastic,” Emma comments dryly.

“Most of the time,” Ruby replies with a wink and takes a swig of her beer. “Hmmm, lemme see.” She turns to her girlfriend, the easiest choice to start with. “Okay. I love how you take my crap so gracefully that eventually I always recognize by myself when I'm wrong,” she says, and Mulan averts her eyes with a smile.

“Aww come on, you're not that terrible,” she replies and quickly reaches for Ruby's hand to squeeze her fingers.

“That's debatable,” Emma throws in.

“Revenge is sweet,” Ruby merely grumbles and turns to Mary Margaret. “You...” She smiles fondly and points her index finger at the petite woman in a teasing move, “You're able to find beauty and something positive even in the smallest, ugliest, darkest thing.” She shrugs. “Annoying as fuck, but can also save a life.” Even though she tries to keep it nonchalant, her voice is unexpectedly serious – unexpected, because normally Ruby Lucas isn't the one for the deep and meaningful words.

Everyone looks at Mary Margaret, who waves them off, clearly a little embarrassed by Ruby's honest praise. It's true though: everyone's already made fun of Mary Margaret's hope speeches, as they call them, but whenever things get really desperate for any of them, they all instinctively turn to her for encouragement and inspiration.

“Well, Emma,” Ruby turns to her after a moment, “you may be prickly as hell, but you always have your friends' back.” Emma gasps in exasperation, and the others chuckle while she continues, “When it comes to defend someone you love, you shoot first and ask second.”

Emma crosses her arms in a defensive gesture. “I'm not prickly!” she points out grumpily.

Ruby points both index fingers at her like guns. “Annnnd that's the incomparable Emma Swan!” she announces dramatically, and everyone (including Emma) laughs. “Wanna go next, babe?” she turns to Mulan, and her petite girlfriend nods.

She cracks her cookie open, unfolds the paper slip and grins when she reads it. “Well, I daresay that's much easier for me than it would have been for you,” she remarks and winks at Ruby before she reads out aloud, “Just take a step back and listen: be silent for the next 30 minutes.”

“Funny,” Ruby replies dryly, a benevolent smile on her face, and Mulan makes a zipping move with her fingers along the seam of her lips and points at Mary Margaret.

She shrugs and runs her fingers through her dark pixie cut. “I still think we should have waited, but I won't play the spoilsport,” she declares and opens her cookie.

“Gotta be a first,” Emma murmurs and raises her hand to Ruby who high fives her without looking.

“Good thing you're not prickly,” Mary Margaret retorts and mimics Emma's gesture, a giggling Ruby slapping her palm this time. Emma just presses her lips into a smile and tilts her head in defeat; her sister-in-law seldom serves sarcasm, but when she fires an arrow, it always hits the bull's eye. Mary Margaret clears her throat and reads out loud, “Show your friends that you trust them: tell them a secret you've told no one before.”

“Ooooh!” Ruby claps her hands. “Storytime! Reveal your darkest secret, come on!”

“As if,” Emma snorts, “Mary Margaret's way too good to have an actual dark secret.”

“Still waters run deep and dirty,” Ruby waves her off and gives a stern-looking Mary Margaret an encouraging nod. “Go ahead and hit us with your worst!”

“I'm not that boring, you know,” Mary Margaret comments and scoffs at Emma.

“Not boring!” Emma replies quickly, in a soothing tone. “Just a pure cinnamon roll.”

“Well then,” her sister-in-law grumbles and draws a deep breath, and for a tiny moment it looks like she's hesitating, but then she blurts out, directed at no one in particular, “Before David and I officially met, I've... stalked him for a few weeks.”

Emma frowns in confusion. “What?”

Mary Margaret shrugs almost defiantly. “I saw him two or three times in the coffee shop where I get my coffee to go in the morning. Always at the same time.”

“That's how my bro rolls,” Emma agrees with a slow nod. “And?” she prompts.

“And... I came back there every day at the same time for the next three weeks,” Mary Margaret goes on, “drank my coffee there instead of taking it to go, just to be able to watch him.”

“Watch him what?” Ruby wants to know.

Mary Margaret shrugs again. “Just watch. What he was doing. Whether he was meeting someone, reading a book or the paper, making a call, whatever.”

“Does he know?” Emma asks curiously.

“He never found out.”

“Wow...” Emma folds her arms and scrutinizes her sister-in-law with an incredulous, yet impressed expression.

“Girl!” Ruby exclaims in a gleeful voice, “You're a creep!”

“Please!” Mary Margaret huffs. “You've done far worse!”

“Yeah, but I'm me,” Ruby replies dryly and gestures towards Emma with a solid amount of impatience in her movements. “Your turn, Ems,” she demands and adds, “you fought so hard for this – it better be good!”

Emma rolls her eyes and unfolds her own mysterious slip of paper that could be very well a tiny rolled parchment with some spell scribbled on it in ancient runes. “Okay,” she announces and wets her lips, “here we go.” Her green eyes scan the paper superficially, and she looks pretty annoyed already. “Seriously?!” she blurts out. “Whoa.”

Mary Margaret and the silent Mulan frown while Ruby literally starts to hop up and down like a child at Christmas before getting to open the gifts. “Come on!” she urges. “What does it say?!”

Emma sighs and wrinkles her nose in contempt. “Carpe diem,” she reads out aloud, “Kiss the first person who pays you a compliment.” The other three break out in laughter almost immediately, and she sighs in an exaggerated manner. “Okay, let's get it over with. Ruby, say something nice.”

The brunette narrows her eyes. “What?”

Emma waves her hand impatiently. “Say something nice,” she repeats, “and I'll give you a smooch.”

Ruby raises her hands. “No way, Ems! I'm not gonna cheat! The fortune cookie has to be paid respect!”

“Are you kidding me?!” Emma snaps. “You didn't even wait until midnight to open it.”

Ruby shrugs. “Well, but now that they're open, I'm not gonna mess with it.”

“But how is that cheating?” Emma crosses her arms in a gesture of annoyance. “Are you saying I don't deserve a compliment?”

Ruby smirks. “You know what I mean. You're not supposed to kiss one of us.”

Emma grins, but it looks a tiny bit forced. “The cookie doesn't say it has to be a stranger!” she insists and secretly shakes her head at her friend's stubbornness. Really, sometimes she's impossible – and she calls her the prickly one? Some nerve.

Ruby shakes her head in a final move. “Sorry, babe. Not gonna happen.”

Emma huffs. “Fine, be a bitch,” she dismisses Ruby and turns to her sister-in-law. “Then you do it, sis o'mine.”

Mary Margaret squirms a little. “Emma...”

“Mary Margaret?” Only a little threat sneaks into Emma's voice.

“I... I'm sorry.” She shakes her dark head.

“What?!”

The shrillness in Emma's voice makes Mary Margaret raise her chin in defiance, a very typical move she's not even aware of. “Ruby is right,” she declares firmly, much to her friend's amusement. “That would be cheating.”

Emma can't believe her ears. “You are honestly telling me...” but her voice trails off when she realizes none of her friends is going to change their mind. “Okay, forget it.” She turns to Mulan with a determined look on her face, but before she can say anything, the petite woman holds up her own paper slip and points to it, pointing at her mouth afterwards, lips pressed closed together. Of fucking course. Be silent for the next 30 minutes. Emma clenches her fists. “And you're supposed to be friends? Well, this is great.” Really angry now, she combs her hair behind her ears with both hands and takes a step back. “I need a moment.”

She turns around on her heels in an abrupt move with the intention to head to the bathroom – and bumps into a solid obstacle at full tilt. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, for a moment her vision is actually blurred, and she feels the front of her blouse get soaked when the guy she's bumped into almost drops his bottle of beer.

“Whoa, careful there!” She stumbles a little and feels a firm grip at her elbow, steadying her. The guy's taller than her – she has to tilt back her head a little to look at him – well-built (at least judging from what she felt when she bumped into the hard planes of his chest) and, there's only one word to describe it accurately, annoyingly handsome. “You alright, lass?” he asks in a low voice with a ridiculous accent, and there's a hint of amusement lurking in the corners of his way-too-blue eyes that's downright infuriating.

Finally, she finds her voice again. “What the hell!” she snaps and wriggles her elbow roughly from his grip. “You spilled beer all over me!”

He has the nerve to actually raise an eyebrow. “Apologies, love,” he replies, and now the seemingly genuine concern is completely replaced by an insufferably insolent, smug sort of amusement, “but actually, you bumped into me.” As his full lips pull into a smirk, the fine skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle and draws her attention to the color of his eyes again. A line she's read somewhere shoots through her mind (not that she'd be able to place it anywhere): his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and that's so terribly cheesy that she's furious at herself for thinking it.  

That riles her up even more. “I'm not your love!” She snatches a paper napkin from the counter and dabs at her blouse as furiously as uselessly. “Don't you have eyes to watch where you're walking?!” she snarls.

“I do,” he replies in an indulgent tone, “but alas, you were too fast. Can I do anything to–”

“Just get lost!” she cuts him off rudely and waves her hand. “You've done enough already!”

“As the lady wishes,” he replies, low his voice and a provocative glint in his eyes as he tilts his head in the sarcastic imitation of a bow. “Congratulations on your incomparably fiery temperament,” he adds with another insolent smirk and turns away to follow his friend to the other end of the bar.

“Asshole,” she growls and continue to rub at her blouse. “Great! Now I reek like a boozer!”

Ruby chuckles. “Excellent!”

Emma's head snaps up, and she glares daggers at her friend. “What?!”

“Problem solved!” the brunette exclaims gleefully.

Mary Margaret giggles. “Oh Ruby, you're so mean!”

“Not my rules!” Ruby replies, throwing her hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of innocence.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Emma snaps, directed at both.

Ruby motions her head vaguely in the direction of the end of the counter. “There's your target, Ems!” she declares.

Emma frowns. “I don't understand...”

Ruby smirks. “Didn't Mr. Blue Eyes just praise your fiery temperament? Yay for a guy who doesn't just appreciate your exterior.”

“What?!” Emma sputters. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Ruby shakes her head slowly. “Not even remotely.”

Emma's jaw drops. “Seriously? That wasn't a compliment!”

Mary Margaret sways her head from side to side. “Well, technically–”

“He was just being sarcastic!” Emma hisses under her breath, because she really doesn't need to draw any attention to them and their petty little discussion.

“And you are being a chicken,” Ruby comments gleefully.

Emma puts her hands to her hips aggressively. “Listen, I'm not–”

Ruby tilts her head. “So are you or are you not gonna obey the fortune cookie?” she challenges, her eyes glittering with mischief.

Emma grimaces. “God, fine,” she presses through clenched teeth, because Emma Swan never backs off from a challenge, as stupid as it may be. “You're being completely ridiculous, but – fine.”

Ruby is unimpressed and waves her hand nonchalantly in the direction of the other end of the bar where the guy swaggered off to with his friend. “I can live with that.”

Emma slams her fortune cookie on the desk, pulverizing it, and glares one last time at Ruby and the other two – less than helpful – girls, before she heads for her doom. Mr. forget-me-not is casually leaning against the counter, his back to her, and talking to his friend, another tall guy with lighter hair but similar eyes. She sighs, angry at herself, because she knows this is all her own fault. If she hadn't been that goddamn stubborn about that fucking cookie. She stops, trying to gather her wits, and in that very moment, he arches his spine a little, throws back his head and laughs. The sound is warm and smokey, rumbling up from deep within, and she's surprised to feel the corners of her own mouth twitch briefly, almost in a reflex. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it from some cobwebs and takes the last few steps.

The guy standing opposite from him notices her when she's standing right behind him and eyes her curiously. Before he can say anything, she clears her throat and taps her target on the shoulder. He turns around, and she's immediately annoyed again, because fuck – he must be wearing contacts, this blue can't be real. He stares at her, baffled for a moment, before he raises his eyebrows and his hands. “Listen, lass, I already apologized for my mishap,” he tells her, only the slightest indignation in his voice, “What else do you want?”

Hastily, she shakes her head. “Nothing, I want nothing,” she assures, and he narrows his eyes and tilts his head in question, obviously terribly confused. Adorable, is the word that shoots through her mind, and angrily, she pushes it aside. “Don't take this the wrong way,” she says quickly, “it's nothing personal.”

He looks even more confused and like he's about to reply something, but he never gets to do so, because she grabs him by the lapels of the waistcoat he's wearing and presses her lips to his. His eyes widen, but he's too shocked to react, and after three seconds it's over. She smiles – flustered? Relieved? – and pats him on the chest. “Happy New Year,” she says a bit more smugly than she feels, because her stomach thrums a little. She doesn't dare to enjoy his reaction a little longer, because she can't take the risk to lose the upper hand she clearly has at the moment.

Emma turns around on her heel and returns to her girls in triumph, not looking back. But somehow it's like she can feel his eyes following her. Straightening her back, she shakes off the feeling.

Mary Margaret is obviously the most impatient one of the girls; she's almost jumping up and down a little. “How was it?” she inquires, and Mulan who keeps stoically quiet, obeying her own fortune cookie, nods and waves urgently.

Emma plays it cool; serves them right. “What do you mean?” she asks nonchalantly.

“Come on, spill!” Ruby demands to know and smacks her upper arm unceremoniously with the back of her hand. “You know exactly what she means. He surely looks like he's a good kisser, with those juicy smackers!” She nods her head in the direction Emma came from.

“Well, I wouldn't know,” Emma replies, and she's not lying. The guy's lips felt good, that's true – they were warm and soft, yet firm underneath her own, but that says nothing about his abilities to use them. She shrugs. “He did nothing,” she goes on and emphasizes, “Thank God.”

“Aw Emma!” Ruby huffs and throws her hands in the air. “What the fuck? You completely missed the point of that fortune cookie!”

“To amuse you, or what?” Emma shoots back hotly.

“That too,” Ruby admits without the slightest hint of guilt, “but above all you were supposed to have a little fun with that.”

“Oh, I had so much fun when that idiot spilled beer all over me,” Emma hisses.

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Prickly,” is all she says.

Emma opens her mouth for a fiery reply, but Mary Margaret interrupts them by shoving glasses of champagne into their hands. “It's only a minute to midnight!” she scolds. “Celebrating time!”

They go through their annual New Year's Eve routine – counting down the last seconds, clinking their glasses with loud cheers, hugging and kissing each other – but Emma finds she's lacking her usual enthusiasm. She hasn't had the best year, but then she always feels like that, every year. It wasn't terrible either, she's had it far worse, but... it just seems so pointless sometimes. Then she scolds herself, like every year, tells herself she's lucky, because she is – compared to where she was ten years ago, she's very lucky. This bunch of friends, even if they annoy the hell out of her sometimes, is the living proof of it. Sometimes she just wished...

Her thoughts are interrupted by a crushing hug Mary Margaret pulls her into, and the four of them clink their glasses once more. Suddenly, though, Emma notices that the three others fall silent and stare at her – no, actually they stare past her. She frowns in confusion and slowly turns around to see what it is that has thrown her girls off track.

She doesn't know what she expected, but what she sees throws her off track even more. Much to her horror – or confusion? And did her stomach just jump? – she sees the guy from before standing behind her, very closely. He smiles, looking a lot less shocked and a lot more mischievous now than he did before, and after the initial shock she rolls her eyes. Oh great.

Emma puts her glass down on the counter and crosses her arms, raising her chin when she addresses him, “Listen buddy, I–“

The guy raises his hand, and oddly enough, she falls silent, trying thought not to stare into his eyes. Her glance falls on his lips, but that's not a good idea either, because it's very distracting. “Just one thing,” he says, “Where I come from, we return a favor.” Briefly, a devilish glint illuminates his eyes when he adds, “In kind.”

She shakes her head. “Wait, I didn't do you a–“

But he interrupts her again by taking her face in both hands and kissing her. It's not like he's grabbing her, he's more gently cupping her jaw on either side, his thumbs on her cheeks and his warm fingertips lightly resting below her ears. She doesn't know why her instincts haven't made her push him away in a reflex or simply kneeing him, but somehow she can't seem to process any coherent thought that makes any sense. All she knows is she should panic, but she doesn't. As if it's stronger than her, her eyes flutter shut and she remains still and pliant while this infuriating stranger kisses her. And unlike her own action before, this is a kiss, not just a sterile pressing of lips on lips, and it lasts longer than just three seconds. How long, she wouldn't be able to tell; it could have been ten seconds, a minute or twenty. It's fierce and firm, but not aggressive as his lips move across hers in a tantalizing rhythm. His tongue brushes along the seam of her lips, and instinctively, she parts them slightly, but he doesn't try to push in. Sparks prickle along her hairline at the back of her neck.

After what seems an eternity, he releases her, and it's not an abrupt letting go of her, it's slow and gentle, and she could have sworn she feels his thumbs brush lightly across her cheek before his mouth pulls back, his hands still at her jaw. She needs a second before her eyes can focus again, and only when she does, he lets go of her face, smiles and pats her shoulder, mimicking her own gesture from before. “Happy New Year, love.”

And with that, he brushes past her, his friend (actually, he looks more like his brother) with him, and Emma can't do anything but stare while her girls start to make strange noises. She seems to have a tunnel view and perceives her friends' excited chatter as a mishmash of words.

There's Ruby's voice: “Did you see that, holy shit!”

“What was that even–” That sounds like Mary Margaret.

And Ruby again: “Earth to Emma? Oh my God.” This time she uses her elbow on Emma's ribcage, and that's what finally makes her snap out of it.

“What?” she snaps and focuses on Ruby.

Mary Margaret gets Ruby's elbow now while the latter points her finger at Emma. “I know that look!”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You know nothing,” she dismisses her friend.

“Ah, don't you Jon Snow me, Ems,” Ruby scolds, “You look like you're under a spell. You know, that kind of Harry Potter shit where they yell a Latin word at you, and then you're unable to move.”

Mary Margaret, the nerd, offers, “Petrificus totalus.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ruby waves her off impatiently and continues to inquire Emma. “Who the hell was that guy?!”

Emma snorts. “No one. Just an ordinary jackass like all the others.”

Ruby raises a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Oh, come on. Just ordinary? You look like he just kissed the living daylights out of you.”

“Yeah, well, and so?” Emma throws her hands in the air dramatically. “Do you see him anywhere? Cause I don't. The classic hit and run guy.” Damn, she didn't want to sound like she's upset about that. Because – why the hell would she be upset?

Her sister-in-law speaks up quietly, “Emma?”

She whirls around to Mary Margaret. “What?” she presses through clenched teeth.

An incredulous smile tugs at Mary Margaret's lips. “Look.” She reaches out and pulls something from the pocket of Emma's leather jacket. It's a slip of paper. Emma frowns and snatches the thing from her fingers, trying to rein in her curiosity. It's neatly folded, and when she unfolds it, she sees a line of numbers along with some letters, probably a name. For a moment, she's taken aback; he must have slipped it into her pocket while he was kissing her. Somehow, it angers her even more that she didn't notice him doing it. She doesn't take more than just a very brief glance.

“What do you say now?” Ruby asks almost triumphantly, and Emma shrugs.

“That he's a pretentious idiot,” she replies. “As if I'd call him.” In a determined move, she crumples the paper and tosses it angrily onto the counter. “Can we order another round of drinks now to celebrate the New Year, or what?” she suggests grumpily. She really feels like she needs a drink now.

The fortune cookie/kissing incident isn't mentioned any further among them, and they spend the rest of the night aggressively pretending nothing of it ever happened, but when they leave later, around 1 am, Ruby slips something into her prickly friend's purse without her noticing – a crumpled paper slip she rescued from the beer- and champagne-stained counter.

Over the following weeks, Emma sometimes frowns and/or shakes her head and her friends' sometimes weird behavior. They seem to be observing her a lot when they think she's not noticing, exchanging suspicious glances, asking her if there's anything new, no, nothing in particular, just anything? and seem somehow disappointed when she tells them that absolutely everything is the same as always.

It takes her four weeks until she finds the phone number.

Emma has never been the girly type who needs to carry a matching purse for every outfit, and while she can appreciate that on someone else, she doesn't give a damn when it comes to herself. She owns exactly two purses – a fancy one and a sportive one, and she goes without carrying any of them whenever she can avoid it. So, she doesn't clean out her purse regularly, and she has been known to discover hidden treasures in the depths of it on more than one occasion, like a movies ticket for Guardians Of The Galaxy. So, most of the time her spacious purse sits on its place, a crammed shelf in her entrance hall.

Until the day she can't find her driving license anymore. After searching her car, a battered old yellow bug she often gets ridiculed for, her first thought is the purse (she will find the license a few days later in the pocket of one of her other leather jackets, and she'll always ask herself if that was destiny, maybe).

Just to be sure the driving license isn't there, she empties the sheer endless contents of the purse on her kitchen table. She finds a minglemangle of things like ear plugs, a spare key to her apartment she thought long lost... no driving license though. The crumpled slip of paper catches her attention immediately, and instead of just throwing it into the dustbin, she uncrumples it – that's something she has learned back in her darker days, when she was all but living on the street, from hand to mouth. Always unfold the paper – there could be something of value wrapped inside, or it could just look like a slip of paper and be a dollar bill instead.  

The moment she starts unfolding it, she knows what it is. The note stupid fortune cookie guy stuffed into her pocket after he... before he left. His number. She takes a thorough look at it this time, studies the bold, sweeping handwriting, and suddenly the face (that she has seen in weird, unsettling dreams in more than just one night) has a name.

Killian Jones.

Sounds as pompous as the handwriting looks, she thinks and huffs disdainfully. Must have been Ruby, that sneaky bitch with her twisted sense of humor, to rescue the stupid slip of paper from wherever she'd thrown it and to smuggle it into her purse then. Should've burned the damn thing.

Yet, she doesn't burn it or throw it away now. But she should.

She smooths it out, the paper feels supple under her fingertips after being well crumpled at the bottom of her purse for weeks and studies the numbers, the letters, with some sort of odd fascination. Killian Jones.

She shakes her head almost angrily and turns away, but leaves it alone, sitting there on the crammed shelf next to her purse. Every morning when she leaves for work and every evening when she returns home for the next week she tries not to look at it. Every time she fails.

The thing is haunting her, and she doesn't even know why. She only knows that if she gets rid of it, it will be even worse.

“Screw it,” she murmurs angrily one evening and snatches the paper before going to bed. Snuggled against her pillows, she places the paper slip on her knees and dials the number before typing out a message.

Do you really think it gets you anywhere to sneak your number into the pocket of someone you randomly kissed?

Her thumb is hovering over the “send” button for a full minute, but then she draws a deep breath and hits it. Just to get it out of my system, she assures herself and puts her phone on the nightstand, not expecting an answer anyway. After all, it's been weeks. Probably he doesn't even remember...

With a rattling sound, the phone vibrates, making her jump. Emma stares at it incredulously for a second or two before she grabs is so hastily she almost drops it.

The reply is short but on point: 1. you kissed me first 2. you just did text me, so... 3. what took you so long?

“Really?” she snorts and types without hesitation: Just so you know: I threw your number away. And that wasn't a kiss.

The answer comes immediately: Bloody right it wasn't. And obviously, you do have my number.

She rolls her eyes and clarifies: I have no idea how it ended up in my purse. Probably one of my meddlesome friends.

Suddenly, an images flashes her mind, and even though it's been only briefest moments that she saw the guy – Killian Jones – but she remembers it vividly, him raising his eyebrows in that amused way. Which is surely what he's doing now, his sarcastic reply proves it: I see. And I assume she forced your hand now?

This time, she needs a short pause before she retorts: You're pretty smug.

My sincere apologies if I came over that way. It wasn't my intention.

She can't help but smile at his somehow pompous vocabulary. Are you always that wordy?

He doesn't seem to take offense: Well, I always found a decent vocabulary makes for an interesting conversation.

She doesn't even know why she's keeping up this exchange, but her fingers just can't seem to stop typing: Only if you use it right. After a short pause, she adds: And I texted you because I was curious.

The reply comes promptly: All you have to do is ask.

Emma hesitates for a moment, because honestly, she doesn't even know what she's doing here. Curious? About what even? Why did you leave your number? Why not hit on me? Or just disappear?

His answer is almost indignant: Hit on a tipsy lass in a reckless mood? Bad form. And too easy. I love a challenge.

He has a point, she thinks. But that doesn't explain why he didn't just let it be. And about that, she gets more and more curious by the minute. So she types: And why bother at all?

This time, there's a long pause before the three dots start blinking. Emma gets nervous and is pissed at herself for it. Then the text comes through: There was something in your eyes that spoke to me.

She shakes her head to herself, annoyed and disappointed at the same time. For a moment, she thought... Srsly? We barely had eye contact. That sounds like a really bad pick up line.

And yet, it is true.

She should just turn off her phone and go to sleep. This is pointless. OK, so what did that something in my eyes say to you?

After barely an instant, to quick for it being other than a spontaneous reply, two words appear on her screen: Find me.

Emma feels like hit in the guts. It could still be one of the worst pick up lines of all times, but... what if it isn't? And if he wanted just a hit and run, he would have hit on her right then, wouldn't he? This is the weirdest thing she's ever experienced – her well-trained, usually infallible instincts fail her miserably this time: they scream danger! and take the chance! at the same time. She drops her phone on her knees, staring at it like a rabbit would stare at a snake. A few minutes pass before it vibrates again, and this time there's only one word on the screen.

Love?

She waits for another minute, her fingertips so sweaty that the phone almost slips out of her grip before she types: Swan.

Excuse me?

She draws a deep breath, asking herself what the fuck she's doing here, but then she shakes it off and types: My name is Emma Swan.

And then it happens: No reply. Emma is mortified. So has he been playing with her all the time? And the moment she got serious he chickened out? Well, she called it, didn't she? When he walked out the bar right after the kiss on New Year's Eve. Yes, he left his number behind, but now, the moment she lets her guard down the tiniest bit and tells him her name, a sign that maybe, just maybe she could get serious, he...

The phone rings. Horrified, she stares at the display: it's not a name from her contact list, but a number. Quickly, she scans the crumpled slip of paper in her hand, and her heart beats faster when she realizes there's no doubt. He's calling her. That stranger is calling her. What now? Was this whole text exchange something of a surreal back and forth, suddenly it becomes terrifyingly fucking real. How did this even happen? In a moment of complete and utter panic, her thumb hovers over the red “reject” button; but then she tells herself how ridiculous that would be, and she draws a deep breath and swipes it over the green one.

“Yeah?” she croaks.

A voice so low and warm it immediately engulfs her in comfort replies, “Swan. Pleased to meet you.”

She swallows her nervous chuckle. “Killian?” It sounds weird to say his name aloud.

“Aye. That's me.” She can see the amused twinkle in his eyes in her imagination, and suddenly the memory hits her of how blue his eyes actually are.

“You... you called,” she states unnecessarily and wants to bite her tongue the very same moment. Damn, why is she acting like an embarrassed, tongue-tied awkward teenager talking to their first crush?

But instead of the teasing quip she expected, he asks in a sincere voice, “Too forward?” Unlike what she expected, given his somewhat smug I'm-irresistible-and-I-know-it-attitude, he seems to be actually considerate about her feelings which strikes a nerve in her. She has barely met any man who ever was.

She snorts a coy little laugh. “Given how we started out... hardly.”

There's a fractions of a second of pause before he asks quietly, “Would it be too forward if I asked you to... meet again?”

Whoa. Emma almost gasps. “Why?” she wants to know. “Because... because of what my eyes told you?” Mainly to calm her own nerves, she tries to play it light and ironic.

“That,” he replies immediately and without any hesitation, “and because I want to see you again.”

Is he really asking her for a date? Nervously she chews on her lower lip. “But you don't know me,” she points out.

This time, there's a longer pause, and she already thinks she's scared him away, but then his answer comes, low and warm and reassuring.

“I know how you kiss.”

[darylwillfightnatureforcarol]

Imprisoned Chapter 11

Description: Daryl and Carol prepare to leave the Kingdom but first stop to let Daryl's date know that she needs to get another ride home. They also see how the wild party has continued to devolve. 

Imprisoned

Emerging into the cool air soothed Carol’s skin instantly. She had been full of fire and rage only moments ago. The accusations and hypocrisy that her ‘husband’ has spewed had driven her mad.

Seeing him start towards Daryl in a threatening way caused her instincts to take over. The punch had been painful but satisfying.

She glanced to her left, where Daryl stood. He was watching her carefully whilst chewing on his lip. The habit was familiar to her and she knew he mainly did it when he was deep in thought.

“What?” she blurted, disrupting the calm atmosphere of the night. He released his lip, still watching her strangely.

“You alright?” he asked in a gentle voice.

Now she was able to place the look he was giving her. Worry. He was worried like she might break down.

“I didn’t hit him that hard. The skin’ll heal in a few days,” she muttered, choosing to avoid the depth of his question.

He huffed and there was a hint of frustration in his gaze now.

“Wasn’t talking about that.”

Carol sighed and faced him.

“I know what you meant. I don’t think I have an answer.”

Daryl frowned, but inclined his head.

“Alright.”

“Honestly, the only thing I want right now is to get the hell out of here,” she confessed in a tired voice.

Daryl didn’t answer for a little while, but then his eyes softened. He approached her slowly, and she didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms.

Her cheek was pressed into his sternum and she burrowed closer, enjoying his warmth. She didn’t know how he did it, but whenever she was in his arms, the world felt right. Nothing mattered other than the safe, cocoon he provided. Already, her heart began to feel lighter.

“It’ll be okay,” she heard him whisper into the top of her head. She sighed, nuzzling her head into him.

“I know.”

--

Upon re-entering the party, Daryl couldn’t help rolling his eyes. The craziness that had begun before all the recent drama had, decidedly, not stopped. In fact, it seemed to have gotten worse, as impossible as it seemed.

The lack of limit on the booze had taken its toll. The once competently dancing couples had devolved into drunken stumbling and hanging off each other. There were plastic cups littering almost every surface.

He spied Alden across the way assisting a barely conscious Enid towards the other exit. Thankfully, he seemed to be in a more sober condition than his girlfriend. Similarly, he noticed Jerry and Nabila snuggled in a corner, looking to be half-way to the wind.

As much as he wanted to get the hell out this place, as Carol did, he couldn’t just abandon his reluctant date. He needed to at least find Jenny and let her know that she would need to find another ride back to Alexandria. He had no doubt there would be someone that could take her back. He knew there had been discussions among the others over designated drivers. Technically, she could have come back with them, but he didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire that was Carol’s insecurities.

Carol stuck close to him as they manoeuvred through the rowdy crowd. Her hand rested lightly on his left arm and he couldn’t help the joy he felt at her touch.

She was just touching his arm for Christ’s sake, he scolded himself.

He shook his head at his own berating. It wasn’t just that she was touching him. Things had changed between them. He didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself, but it seemed like she wanted to be with him. Not just in location.

His inner musings were cut off abruptly. Ahead of them was a shocking sight. No one should have to witness this, was all he could think.

He stared for god knew how long before he noticed the giggles coming from his side. He turned to Carol, and she was covering her mouth, trying to smother the laugh that had erupted from her.

She turned to him, mirth in her slightly unfocussed eyes. She reached her hand over and pressed it to the bottom of his chin, closing his gaping mouth. He hadn’t realised it had been open, but he wasn’t surprised.

“You’ll catch flies,” she teased before turning to look at the spectacle in front of them once more.

He reluctantly turned back to look too.

On top of the table that had once housed the beer pong games, were Aaron, and Jesus. Aaron wasn’t doing anything that scandalous. He was just standing and watching Jesus. Jesus, on the other hand, was using his apparent lover as a pole in a strip club. His shirt was even off and his hair was hanging loose, no longer in the bun he had sported earlier.

There was a crowd gathered at the edges of the table. Many women, who looked to be fawning over the long-haired man. At the forefront of their group was, of course, Tara.

She was screaming her approval and egging Jesus on. He squinted to see better and he confirmed that, yes, she was tossing cash at the man. Where the hell she got the cash, he did not know? He hadn’t seen actual money in years.

She caught hold of the belt loops of Jesus’ jeans and tugged him over to her. He went with a drunken grin and she shoved a bunch of bills down the front of his jeans. Daryl blushed red and looked away.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s hurry up and find her so we can leave.”

Carol looked at him with amusement clear on her face.

He knew he must be red as a tomato right now and Carol knew him well enough to know that he was uncomfortable. It wasn’t that Aaron and Jesus were men, and gay that was making him uncomfortable. He wasn’t Merle. He didn’t share his late brother’s bigoted ideals. It was just the overt lust that was in both the men’s eyes and the fact that that shit belonged in the bedroom. Their bedroom.

“They’re just having fun,” Carol admonished him with a smirk.

He scoffed and gently nudged her forwards, away from the scene of the crime against his eyes.

“Yeah, I think everyone’s had a little too much fun tonight.”

As he said it, they passed a sleeping Eugene on a couch in the corner. Daryl couldn’t help snorting in amusement. All over the man’s face was various drawings and writing. Most notably being; a picture of a dick on his cheek, and on his forehead were the words ‘Lightweight’.

Carol frowned at the passed-out man and shook her head.

“Thank god I didn’t decide to take a nap out here,” she said.

“Nah, I wouldn’t let ‘em draw on ya,” he said sincerely. She gave him a small smile and he blushed, realising that it had sounded kind of mushy.

“My hero,” she praised with a smirk.

He ducked his head and was relieved when he spotted their target over by the stage.

He pushed her gently in that direction and didn’t miss the way her jaw ticked as her gaze settled on the woman in question.

He frowned. She didn’t still think he was into Jenny, did she? If she did, he’d have to shut that shit down quickly. He didn’t want her getting all upset over something that wasn’t anything. There was only one woman he was interested in and it was Carol.

--

“Hey,” Daryl greeted as they approached Jenny.

She had been dancing with some Kingdom resident. Daryl didn’t know the man’s name. Honestly, he didn’t know many of the dwellers of the Kingdom.

“Hey,” she said brightly with a glance to his right, where Carol stood.

“Your majesty,” the Kingdom man murmured with a nod.

He watched Carol suppress an eye roll as she gave the man a tight smile.

“George,” she greeted simply.

“So, we’re gonna be heading out now. I just wanted to let you know so you could arrange with someone else to get home,” he explained, hoping she didn’t press to come with them.

Jenny looked over them both and there was a little smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, no problem. I’ll probably hitch a ride back with Aaron,” she said, and she leaned closer with a conspiratorial look. “I think he might need me to help with Jesus.”

Daryl shuddered as the name brought his mind back to the embarrassing scene that they had witnessed only moments ago. It was not going to be easy to talk to Jesus for a while.

“That’s nice of you,” Carol offered with another tight smile.

Oh, please don’t start something, he prayed.

Jenny smiled widely and turned to Carol. There was no veiled animosity in her expression, luckily. She produced her hand to Carol, who looked at it sceptically for a beat before taking it.

“Hi, I’m Jenny, we haven’t met but Daryl has told me so much about you!” she gushed, and Daryl sent her a warning look. What happened to ‘what stays at the damn bar’?

“He has, has he?” Carol gave him a suspicious look.

He blushed and avoided her gaze. Why did he always get embarrassed so easily? It was so inconvenient.

“Oh yes, only good things, I promise!” Jenny reassured with a giggle. “You’re really lucky to have him.”

Carol’s expression cleared and she smiled more genuinely.

“Yes, I am.”

She turned her smile to him, and it was softer than a moment ago. He gave her a tiny smile in return, still feeling his cheeks flame.

“Right, well, like I said, we’re gonna go,” Daryl reminded, trying to hurry this along.

Jenny smiled again and there was an understanding look about her.

“Of course. You guys get out of here.”

With that, Daryl was able to direct Carol to the exit doors, avoiding drunken party goers. There were going to be a lot of hung-over people in the morning.

Finally, they re-emerged into the cool night. They both paused a moment to enjoy the breeze.

Daryl led her to where he had parked the little cart. The horses huffed at them in greeting, having been chewing on hay. He petted them both on the nose.

Carol hefted her bag onto the back of the cart. She hadn’t taken all that much, so it wasn’t too strenuous a task.

She made to step up onto the cart and Daryl instinctively held out his hand to assist her. She smiled at him, fluttering her lashes teasingly and took his offered hand. She used her grip on him to hoist herself up and into the seat at the front of the cart. Daryl blushed at her antics and followed her up, settled beside her and grabbing up the reins.

“Let’s get out of here,” Carol urged with a last look at the party. There was a tinge of sadness still lingering in her eyes.

Daryl didn’t need to be told twice as he flicked the reins and the horses started moving. The guard at the gate nodded them through and then they were free of the Kingdom and on their way to Alexandria.