Please elaborate on that making out and dry humping with edward idea 🙏
HE'S JUST SO...
um here take this.
***
He's all over you. Pressing you down into the floor, hips slotted between yours, fitting in the crux of you like a key coming up against it's home-lock. He makes a soft sound against your lips, this desperate little noise in the back of his throat.
His hips flex, rolling into yours, and you gasp—sharp and hot.
Desperately, you cling to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his biceps, scrambling for purchase. The nip of your nails bites into his skin and he hisses a little, inhales through his nose.
When he parts from the kiss long enough, you try and catch your breath. You try and break him out of this—
"Ed—Edward—" you end up keening his name as his hips roll again, right up against where you're hot and aching, soft and desperate. "Ah—s-slow down—"
His face is buried in the crook of your neck, breaths hard and fast against your skin, "can't help it—sorry—'m sorry, baby—" his breath hitches as he rolls his hips against yours and he's so hot. And you can feel him, the hard length of him against your core, through a layer of clothes. He almost whines, raspy voice wrecked, the edge of it laced with this little growl, "just—let me—be good for me? Like this? You can do that for me, right baby?"
"What's g-gotten into you?" You manage to get out instead, as one of his hands travels over your sides, sliding up to your arm where he pins one of your hands beside your head. He laces your fingers together, presses it down into the floor, stretching you out underneath him.
"Ha," He huffs and you feel the crooked smile against your jaw more than you see it, the way he shudders against you, his hair that tickles your collar bones, "me? You started this—I just had to finish it."
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mafia au with bodyguard vi i am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure
anon i’m trying to distract myself on this flight so here take this little drabble bc i can’t get bodyguard!vi out of my mind 😖
***
You laze at your vanity, languid like a cat; taking your time to get ready. Your hair is half undone. You’re still in your sheer, dark tights and bra—some jewelry hanging from your bare skin, some still scattered on the vanity in front of you. Your martini glass gleams alongside the pearls in the lowlight of your bedroom.
You’re powdering your face when someone knocks.
“Come in,” You say, despite your state of undress.
When Vi enters, you catch her eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.
She curses a little, averting her gaze. You smile, slow and mischievous.
“You know, usually when people are undressed, they don’t tell someone to stroll into their bedroom.” Vi remarks.
“Oh, but I knew it was you.” You respond innocently.
She huffs a bit of a laugh. You see a muscle feather in her jaw. She’s still looking away from you, but there’s something in her face—it lurks around the edges of her expression, like she’s trying to keep it hidden.
(Hunger looks good on her.)
“I’m your bodyguard, princess. I should be standing outside your door while you get ready like this.” She says and you’ve found that she likes to tell you about what she should do with you. She likes to tell you what’s proper, as you lure her into something improper.
“Oh, relax. Have a drink, would you?” You retort, lifting your martini glass to her in the mirror as if to demonstrate. You take a sip, lemon twist and flowery gin hit your tongue in a cool burst. “I wanted company while I finish getting ready.”
She lets go of a hard sigh. “You’re trying to get me killed. Your father would have my head.”
“Good thing he’s not around tonight, then.” You hum, finally returning to your preening and powdering.
“Would you at least put on some clothes for me?” Vi asks the ceiling and really it’s almost—funny, how chivalrous she’s trying to be. Gentlemanly. She still hasn’t looked your way.
Well, that won’t do.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” You coo, finally turning from the mirror to face her. “Not with your reputation…”
She barks out a laugh.
“I’m being paid to protect you.” Vi reiterates and you think, at this point, she’s reminding herself more than you.
“So you can’t keep me company while I get ready?” You ask sweetly.
Her eyes cut to you before she can stop herself, a flash of blue lighting. When she takes you in, it’s with a hitched breath. Her eyes skip down the curves of your body. She looks away again.
“You’re not sly, sweetheart. I know your game.” Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, tousling it further.
You let go of an overdramatic sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll dress.”
And with that, you saunter to your wardrobe, where the slinky little dress you’ll be wearing tonight hangs. It’s midnight purple, shimmering like dark water at night. You pull it from the hanger and carefully slip it on. But in the back, it hangs open, zipper undone.
Your eyes cut to Vi—she’s still turned away and you trace the broad lines of her back. The sliver of her tattoo that starts at the nape of her neck.
“Vi,” You say her name so lightly, “will you help me?”
When she looks at you, it’s of the open back of your dress, all your bare skin and the silk. The lacy back of your bra—the shadow of your matching panties beneath the tights. You peek over your shoulder demurely.
Vi swallows hard.
But still, she approaches. Her footsteps are slow, heavy. And then she’s behind you and you can almost feel her, feel her warmth. You stay perfectly still for her—waiting, breath held—
The touch of her fingers against the bare skin of your lower back makes your lashes flutter. She takes the zipper in hand. With her other hand, she smoothes the fabric of the dress, palm open against the curve of your waist.
Slowly, she pulls the zipper up along your spine.
When she’s done, she settles that hand on your waist, too. Holds you.
“You’re such trouble.” She murmurs, squeezes a little into the soft give of your hips.
“I just needed your help.” You say, bedroom soft.
This little, frustrated groan works its way out of her throat. Your stomach flips, thinking of what it might sound against your throat, or inner thighs. She hangs her head and for a moment, you think she might close the rest of the distance, might let her lips fall to the nape of your neck, or press her chest all against your back—
Instead, she’s gone. Hands off you, held up like she’s trying to show she’s innocent, as she takes a few steps away from you.
She sinks into one of your loveseats—the one that faces the vanity.
“Finish getting ready, princess.”
And for once, you listen to her. You finish pinning your hair. You finish your makeup and add your jewelry. You drink the rest of your martini, the warmth of alcohol hitting you sweet and hot, somewhere in your chest.
When you’re finished, you nudge your stocking clad foot in her direction.
She knows, instantly and moves to you. She eases to one knee, and takes one of your heels in hand. She pulls your foot into her lap, then she deftly eases the shoe onto your foot. She buckles the strap around your ankle dutifully. She does the other one with the same, methodical devotion.
She looks up at you from her knees, your ankle still held in her rough palm. “Happy?” She asks.
“Endlessly.” Your smile is a cat’s curve, a crescent moon.
“You’re so spoiled.” Vi says, adjusting the strap of your heel, so it sits perfectly.
“I like to be taken care of, that’s all.” You say primly.
She snorts at that, and squeezes your ankle in her strong hand. “Princess?” She says, eyes dark and imploring, looking up at you—
It’s such a good look on her. Like this, on her knees.
“Hm?”
She stands slowly, now towering over you. You slowly tip your head back to look up at her. And she even takes your chin in hand, makes you hold her eyes.
“Don’t run off tonight.” She warns.
Your smile turns sharp—eyes dancing with mischief.
hey i'm back, have you talked about ex gf pit!fighter vi...just curious...you know...for a friend...
jazz i can't tell you the psychic damage i took from this ask. looking at it with mine own two eyes. i thought about it all night. i haven't talked about her yet but I WILL NOW !
ex gf pitfighter!vi who never really moves on from you. and she doesn't expect you to move on from her, either. worse than that, she doesn't let you move on from her. she checks up on you still, hangs around you like a stray dog, always on your heels somehow.
ex gf pitfighter!vi who "accidentally" manages to scare off anyone who may be interested in you at the bars or at the fights. she swears it's not her fault that people are too pussy to approach you (never mind that she's been mean-mugging them for the better part of the night). and if you do try to point out that she's been guarding you all night, she just shrugs and claims that if they were worth it, they'd grow a pair and approach anyways.
ex gf pitfighter!vi who still takes care of everything for you. who is still, unfortunately, the one you call when you need help with anything around your little flat or need someone to come pick you up from a night out of drinking. she always dutifully walks you home, let's you drunkenly chatter to her, and keeps her hands tucked respectfully in her pockets to try and crush the urges she has to reach out and snag you around the waist—or throw you over her shoulder, like she used to when you were dating and you got a little too drunk. regardless, you call for vi whenever you're in trouble, because you know she'll always be there for you.
ex gf pitfighter!vi who has a horrible possessive streak with you. one of her opponents tries to goad her about the fact that you're single now and she just—loses it for a few moments. like a bad dog, she attacks and doesn't let go. they call the round quickly but she doesn't let up, like she doesn't even hear them.
they have to pull her off the guy, still snarling, anger still vicious and hot and thrumming in her veins.
ex gf pitfigher!vi who sees you after the fight, knuckles all split and perhaps still a little wound up. you can tell something's wrong, sense it in the air, in the bunching of her shoulders.
"what the hell happened out there?" you ask her, leaning against the doorway of the med bay they have backstage of the fighting pit.
he said something about you, and i just saw red, she thinks. your name barely formed on his lips, and i just lost it. i hate the idea of anyone even looking at you like that. i hate the idea that i'm not yours anymore.
instead she bites out, "i don't know—adrenaline, or something."
"vi—" you say, "that wasn't just adrenaline. what's going on?"
and like a bad dog, she snaps, "what the hell do you even care?"
you look stricken when she says it, and she immediately regrets it, deflates a little.
"i'm not allowed to care about you anymore?" you ask.
"we're supposed to be broken up, sweetheart." she scoffs, finally moving to find the wrap in order to bandage up her bloody knuckles. you drift further into the room, passing the threshold of the doorway, and into her space. you take the gauze from her hands before she can begin to do it.
(you always used to bandage her up after her fights.)
"you don't really act like it." you retort gently, urging her to sit again and she goes easily. sits and lets you approach her. spreads her legs a little and though you drift nearer, you keep your distance. still, you take one of her hands in yours. palm to palm for a moment. she fights the urge to bear down on your hand, to close her hand around yours and pull you to her. pull you into her lap—
"how am i supposed to act?" she asks, leaning back a little to look up at you and—it's a good view, looking up at you like this. always has been.
carefully, you begin wrapping her hand with the gauze. your fingers are nimble, deft.
"you could stop calling me 'sweetheart', for starters." you say and she feels your fingers over the back of her hand, then back under her palm as you wind and wind the bandage around her. there's a ghost of a sad smile on your lips when she finds your face, when she watches your expression.
"you want me to stop?" she asks.
your face twists up a little; several emotions flicker across your face and you've always been so expressive. so open—her little crybaby, her emotional storm of a girl. in the end, the emotion that settles onto your face is some sort of regret or sadness. raw.
you tie off the gauze on one of her hands. you fiddle with the roll of it.
"no." you finally admit, lifting your eyes from your narrow focus on her hand to find hers.
your gaze clashes with hers.
heat sears through vi. an aching burns inside her chest, heart on fire.
ex gf pitfighter!vi who says fuck everything, and reaches out with her free hand to settle on your waist. who urges you closer to her. tugs a little and suddenly pulls you into her lap, makes room for you there with the flex of her hips.
the gauze slips from your hands and unravels across the floor.
"vi—" you warn, but it sounds just shy of desperate. her heart sings.
here you are, her baby, wanting for her so bad. trying to be so brave and strong and independent.
vi exhales, wrangling you into her arms, quelling your minor fussing with a little coo. she leans in a little, and says;
"tell me to stop."
you go still in her arms. caught. your breath hitches.
"this is a bad idea." you manage to get out.
"you want me to stop?" she murmurs, her now bandaged hand coming up to cradle your jaw, the nape of your neck. her thumb skims your bottom lip, your chin. she dips closer, nose nudging yours.
"tell me to stop, sweetheart."
a heartbeat. a breath later—
you shake your head, just fractionally, and mewl, "don't stop."
and who has vi ever been to deny you?
ex gf pitfighter!vi who doesn't stay your ex for very long ever. who always manages to pull you back in, hands all over you in the middle of the night, at the bars, after bad fights. who makes you furious, but also makes up for it tenfold.
ex gf pitfighter!vi who, like a bad dog, is always on your heels, who can't quite let you go when she's got you.
thinking about mafia!reader going lingerie shopping and vi having to be there; reader obviously is gonna be an insufferable tease, parading around in one of those massive private changing rooms (she's getting free champagne too, bc ofc she is) posing in front of the full length mirrors like "what do you think, vi? do you like this color on me?"
i’m grabbing you by the shoulders. you can’t just put this in my head. i'm so cooked.
brush the sky no. 3: fantasy
minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+
vi x reader || part two || masterlist
tags: mafia au, bodyguard!vi, femme!reader, longing, a little angst.
wc: 2.7k what the hell
cw: alcohol mention/very suggestive. nsfw-ish. not beta read or edited at all lol.
Vi is not known for her patience.
In a spacious, private changing room of a boutique lingerie shop, she scrubs a hand over her face and tries to prepare herself for the next time you come out from behind the plush, velvet curtains.
Her glass of champagne sits untouched besides yours, which is nearly halfway empty.
This is only the second set you’re trying on but—to Vi, it might as well be the twentieth. The first set had already sent her spiraling, when you had come out in dainty lilac, some little baby-doll dress that you flounced around in. It had inspired images and fantasies of you the morning after, hair tousled and still sleep warm, the sun streaming in through your bedroom window. Some picture of domesticity that Vi cannot be thinking of you in.
The curtain swings back.
You’re in crushed blue, dark and rich and silky. A slinky little slip dress which allows for a peak of the lace blue panties underneath. Vi's eyes go towards the ceiling and she swears she's gonna keep 'em glued there as you come out to strut around and look at yourself in the large, three panel mirror.
And you do that for a moment, Vi can see it in the blurry peripheral of her vision. You twist and turn, examining yourself, and the lingerie and how it moves.
Then, "Vi?"
Your voice is so sweet and inquiring that she grinds her teeth together so hard she fears she'll chip one.
"Yeah, princess?" She doesn't take her eyes off the ceiling.
"How do you like this one?" You press innocently, like the absolute demon you are.
"Not about how I like it," Vi tries to say evenly, "more about how you like it."
"But I want a second opinion." And she can almost hear the pout in your voice and she really can't look or she'll—
"Are you tryin' to kill me, sweetheart?" Vi finally asks.
And she jolts a little when she suddenly feels the careful press of your fingertips to her chin, her jaw. She hadn't even heard you move and—suddenly you're there—in front of her, gently guiding her face down to your gaze.
She swallows hard as she takes you in, the silk fabric shimmering like a night sky, like the ripple of dark waters. Some siren song, the way it dips to reveal the swell of your—
"Can't you help a girl out?" You ask sweetly, mischief dancing in your eyes, her chin still delicately trapped between your fingers. "I'm having a hard time deciding."
Vi has to drag her eyes back up to your face. And then she tips back, slouching into the plush couch, releasing herself from the hold you have on her. She groans, head tipping back as she desperately searches for some other excuse but—
At the end of the day, she can't deny you.
"Alright," she says and feels like she's signing her soul away, "let's see."
And then she picks herself back up, sits up, and takes a full look at you.
She inhales sharp and small.
You're a vision in midnight blue.
Of course it looks good on you, and she's already thinking about how those little straps look mighty thin and weak—
"What do you think?" You ask, smoothing out the fabric with a quick pass over your torso and hips that Vi watches carefully.
"I mean, you'd look good in a paper bag, princess—"
"But what's it saying, you know? Pretend you're my partner." You say and Vi feels her heart kick up into some unsteady, miserable rhythm. The tips of her ears burn, too. "And you come home from a long day—" Your voice drifts softer and Vi, without thinking, leans towards you like she's hypnotized, caught under your spell, "and walk into the bedroom, looking for me, and I'm in this."
You take a step back and showoff the set.
And Vi, heaven help her, pictures it all. Pictures you on the bed in this little number, waiting for her. Pictures the cat's curl of your lips, the mischief that she'll taste when she kisses you. Mostly, she pictures you as her girlfriend, pictures you waiting for her, singing her name when she comes home to your arms and—
"I mean, if I'm your partner, no lingerie is staying on you for long." She says before she can stop herself.
You laugh, and scold, "Vi!"
And she's smiling because she made you laugh, but she knows what you mean—she knows what you're asking for.
"But—it's classy. You know? It's definitely the lingerie of a mobster's wife. Powerful. A little cold, maybe."
You hum in thought, turning towards the mirror again to examine yourself. You announce, "I agree." And in a flurry of silk, you're back behind the curtain, and you're stripping into the next set.
Vi lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
But when you emerge again, she sucks it right back in—sharp, quick.
Damn.
You're in lacy black. Far less fabric this time around. Swirling pattern, dark panties, and a lacy bralette that clings to you in all the right ways. You look—
Vi whistles.
Dangerous. Sinful. You look—
"Oh, you like this one?" You ask over your shoulder as you turn towards the mirrors to examine yourself.
"This one's—" Vi searches for the right words and simply comes up empty handed, "yeah, I like this one."
You laugh, posing and primping in the mirror, straightening out the fabric resting along your breasts or seeing how it looks to jut your hip out. Vi watches your body, the way it moves beneath the lace, and has to keep her thoughts from spinning away from her.
You turn to face her, to show the set off a bit more. "So this one is better than the previous. What's this one saying?"
Vi gathers her patience. Swallows around it.
"That you want your makeup ruined." Vi says and she's not just trying to be funny, but you laugh anyways. And it's scandalized, a little surprised, but bursts from you in a sweet sound. Vi glows in it, leans into it. "Like you're looking for trouble."
You bite your lip, smile tucked beneath teeth, "I guess I am." You agree, but then you press, "does it look—?"
Vi waits for you to find the word.
"Too slutty?" You ask. "Is that a bad thing?" You then follow up with. And you're seeking, earnest, as you look at her. Something about this flicker of insecurity—or, genuinely seeking her advice, sets Vi off in a new way. God, you're cute.
Vi's fingers curl into a fist.
"I mean, not when it's a surprise for your partner. Nothing's too slutty for that." Vi drawls, "I wouldn't want you wearing this around anyone else—" Her eyes, burning blue like the too-hot part of a flame, sweep up your body to find your eyes, "if I was your partner."
And for once, she sees you audibly fluster. She watches as your lashes flutter a little, at the way you blink at her. Your mouth pops open a little. You clear your throat.
"Right—" You get out, "who else would I wear it in front of?"
"Your bodygaurd, apparently."
You laugh, recovering again.
"Ah—" You wave her off, "that's just because it's you. If I had a different one, they'd be waiting outside."
"You like tormenting me." Vi finally complains, "who knew you were such a little sadist?"
Your smile turns wicked, a little sharp, "Oh yeah, poor you, getting to oggle me in lingerie."
"You know what you're doing, princess." Vi retorts, "Letting me look but not touch."
You linger nearer to her, stepping carefully to stand between her spread legs. Vi holds perfectly still, feels her traitorous heart ratchet up inside her chest.
"You could touch if you wanted, you know?" You say softly, looking down at her. You even reach out, let your fingers skim along her jaw. "You're the only one imposing this rule—who knew you were such a masochist?"
Vi looks up at you, leans into the touch at her jaw, "Yeah, I'm a real glutton for pain, huh?"
Your knee comes up on the outside of her thigh, almost straddling her waist. "It could be you that I'm waiting for—in bed, in this."
Vi curses.
Your lips lift into a smile.
Vi sounds genuinely mournful, "You know I can't be, sweetheart."
You sigh, fingers skimming around the slope of her neck, "It could be our secret."
Vi considers it for a moment; sneaking around with you, slipping into your bed in the middle of the night. She thinks about what it might be like to be yours, even in secret. But she knows—she knows it's too good to be true. In this line of work, secrets are dangerous. Secrets put those you love in danger.
Vi reaches up, hand coming up to your waist for a moment. She let's her thumb trace the lace at your hip, even slips beneath for a moment to feel your skin, unobstructed. She hears your inhale of breath, feels the way your eyes burn through her.
"You got more to show me?" Vi asks.
"Yeah," You breathe, "One more."
She taps your thigh a little, urging you up, urging you away, "Go on then," She says gently, "Show me, sweetheart."
You look at her a moment, fully, with all of your desire and your—feelings for her. It's more than lust, she realizes with a start, the look in your eyes. It's sincere—it's something tender and desperate and—
Reluctantly, you part from her, returning behind the curtain and Vi wonders if you can see the same feeling mirrored back in her own eyes. She wonders if she looks at you that way, too.
When you step out again, Vi doesn't have anything smart to say.
This set is burgundy. It's sheer, with these beautiful, flower details. And the straps are all silk ribbon. Two small bows at your hips, one over the nape of your neck. It's dainty but it's—blush dark and sultry. It's classy, but warm. It's the perfect amount of risque. Vi can only think about how delicately she'd unlace those bows, unwrap you slowly—
(She wants to ruin your makeup in it, yeah, but she also wants to make love to you in this set—wants it slow and dirty and passionate—)
You fix the ribbons in the mirror, you adjust your hair and you turn to her. Stand there, in all your beauty.
"How's this one?" You ask.
"Perfect." Vi says, a little more hushed than she intends. "I mean they all are but—" She let's out a breath, shaking her head, "This one's a knockout, princess."
"Yeah?" You ask, lighting up, and Vi wants to kiss you so bad she almost aches. She wants to take you home.
"Yeah." She agrees, knowing she's not the one who'll be seeing you in this.
(And you're smiling, but thinking, you'll buy it—and no one'll see you in it. Who else are you going to wear it for, except her? Who else, except Vi?
After this, it'll sit in your closet, untouched, until she wants you.)
"Now go change, before I do something I shouldn't." Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, scrubbing it down her face. "You've tormented me enough for one day, sweetheart."
"Maybe I should tempt you a little further, then." You say, "kept hoping you would suddenly join me behind the curtain, step into there while I was changing and—"
Vi says your name, short and sharp and desperate to get you to stop because she can't take the thought of it. Her face flushes with warmth.
"Go put your clothes back on." Vi commands, trying to scrub the thought from her head desperately.
"Sure you don't wanna join me?"
"No—!" Vi says, rubbing at her eyes, "I mean—fuck. Of course I want to. I can't. Go change!"
Your laugh retreats, back behind the curtain, and Vi blows out a breath of air. A huff of a laugh. When you emerge, you're dressed again, back in your blouse and your skirt and your little heels and frilly socks. You head to the front of the store to check out. The price is too high and at least, that might stop Vi from ripping them, if she knew—
While you're walking home, you tuck into her side. Vi can't deny you, so she let's herself have this; her arm falls around your shoulders. It feels natural, easy, to have you like this.
"You know, I got both sets." You say, impish smile tugging at your lips, "the black and the burgundy one."
Vi's brows raise.
"So, if you ever wanna see them again..." You trail off, "You can pick."
"God, you're such a brat."
You laugh, bright and wonderful and filling the air—Vi aches, happy and longing and so full of you she could burst.
You duck out from her arm, wander further ahead. The city gleams from fresh rain, and you seem to as well. The sun has just returned and fuck, it must favor you—with the way you look, golden and lovely.
You turn over your shoulder to look at her, smile sharp and brilliant, "I'll get you yet, Vi."
"Gotta work a little harder, sweetheart. I'm stubborn." Vi says, but even then, she doesn't mean it.
#need to read vi w silco’s older daughter omfg i love that idea sm
here is a drabble for you bc i can't get this idea out of my head!!!
***
"look whose back from the dead."
in the lowlight, your voice could be anywhere; everywhere. vi can't quite make out where you are in the space—and even when you were young, you were lightfooted. vander used to say that you walked like a cat. that you needed a bell.
"miss me?" vi drawls, shoulders tense as she tries to sense you.
"more than anything, tiger." you purr, suddenly behind her. she whirls around, swings on you recklessly, but connects with nothing. you duck, dart out of the way, suddenly in front of her—she barely catches a glimpse of you.
vi turns and you're there. all grown up. in all your glory; sly and serpentine. you've got this little smile tucked in the corner of your mouth, a secret in the curve of your cheek where it almost dimples.
"where's my sister?" vi snarls.
"the one you abandoned?"
vi swings for you again in her anger and you dodge easily, slippery like an eel. she tries to catch you off guard with another swing, lower and to the stomach, but you easily side step her and suddenly jab her in the crook of her neck—along her shoulder. several more jabs down the slope of her bicep.
"agh!" vi cries out, a sudden painful tingling racing through her arm, before it goes somewhat numb. when she tries to lift it, the muscle spasms and tenses wildly, painfully, and leaves her arm limp. useless. faintly, she realizes you may have hit some sort of nerve or pressure points. "what the hell?!"
you shove her forward, away from you, and vi stumbles to her knees—off balance with her arm now out of commission. she hears the slow click of your heels against the floor before your feet come into view. you stroll around her casually, standing in front of her.
vi's eyes travel up the length of your body.
"i didn't abandon her." she finally snaps, hugging her arm to her body.
"that's not what jinx told me." you muse.
"her name's powder." vi grinds out, feels her rage gnash and snarl inside of her, behind the gates of her ribs. if she was capable, she'd lunge for you again.
"i haven't called her that in a long time." you drawl and as you circle her, there's a certain swing to your hips. you're toying with her; and you have all the confidence and grace in the world. the sort of ease that she only knows one kingpin of the lanes to have. vi's teeth grind together.
when you're behind her, you suddenly fist a hand in her hair at the back of her head and pull. vi groans, head tipping back to meet your waist, where you keep her in place. a dagger suddenly gleams, pressed cold and brutal to the sensitive, soft place of her throat. she looks down at it, heaving a little, and furious.
in it's reflection, she catches the wicked gleam of your eyes;
"don't worry, though. i took good care of her while you were gone."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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tao telling you you’re making a mess during all that…cielo I’m shaking
jazz………..
what if i.
cw: um uh. tao topping reader with a strap on. afab!reader. smoking. finger sucking. goodbye goodnight
***
tobacco sits heavy in the back of your mouth, warm and spiced, as it fills the room. your eyes are a little bleary with it. the window’s open at least, night air sweeping in to make you shiver against the sheets, to cut some of the heat building. to try and dispel the haze.
you squirm, hips twisting a little to—
tao’s hand, one around your waist, squeezes to keep you in place.
“patience, baby.” she sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke. her other hand is too busy with her cigarette, held between two fingers. “thought you wanted it slow tonight?”
“tao—“ you whine, beginning to fuss.
but she cuts off your complaints with a deep, slow thrust inside you. languid and enough to rip the breath from your throat.
her strap is thick and just shy of being too long, and now it’s buried inside you to the hilt. whatever you were going to say dies on your tongue. her hips move, slow and easy, grinding deep inside you.
when you can uncross your eyes, you take her in above you, on her knees, your thighs open and thrown around her hips. she’s looking down, watching as you stretch around her strap, suck her in slowly. you’re slick and slippery and soft—clinging to her strap, and the quiet, wet sound coming from you and her is enough to make heat flush through your face deeply.
she brings the cigarette back to her lips. takes a slow pull, hips faltering only slightly—enough for you to mewl at her, before she buries herself back inside you as deeply as she can.
you go quiet again with a little, strangled gasp. her hand on your waist travels up the length of your body, over your breasts, to hook her thumb in your mouth. her fingers curl around your jaw possessively.
you hum, going slack as she continues to fuck you, slow and deep.
tao smirks, “boy, you sure are easy to pacify.” she looks down again, watches the way she fucks you through the haze of smoke, her eyes violet dark. she tsks;
oh cielo!! happy new year!! i'm so glad we've met in this vast internet space and i'm sending you so much love for the coming year as well 💕 if you're still playing, how about fake dating with vi?
FUJI BELOVEDDD!!!! i am also so glad that we've met on this strange internet space and i am sending you so much love and joy and success this 2025!! 💗
i am still playing and i have been waiting all day to sit down and write this one. was SO EXCITED to see this ask...thank u for giving me the opportunity to write about vi 💗
fake dating au + vi
Someone's following you. Their footsteps echo behind you, reverberating around inside your head. You're keen, ears pricked, as you glance half behind your shoulder.
Their shadow in the fog is a ghost that's been haunting you.
Your heart ticks up, your steps lurch; you move a little faster.
Vi should be close—
The footsteps quicken. So do you.
You round the corner and yelp when you crash into a solid form.
Hands on you, wide and warm, steadying you. Eyes like a crystal sky finding yours. "You alright?" Vi asks and your heart swells, relief floods you.
You glance behind you and perceptive and sharp as always, Vi peers into the city smog, too. She sees the shape of someone and knows. Knows danger. Knows who it might be. Her body tenses, hackles rising.
Then her demeanor shifts.
"Been lookin' for you everywhere, princess." And suddenly her arm is around you, pulling you into her. She's warm and solid and you can feel the press of your bodies together, the way you fit together. You try not to startle or pull away.
Your cheeks warm. Vi is your bodyguard assigned to you after this stalking started, not—
You swallow hard, uncertain. "Um—Vi?"
Under her breath, she says, "just play along."
And with that, she sweeps you away, tucked under her arm. The night is brisk and damp, but Vi's body, shrouding yours, keeps out the chill. You walk in step. Your follower perseveres.
As you near your safe house, you watch Vi's mind work.
Between one breath and the next, you're pressed up a back alley wall. And Vi's pressing you there, against you, her hands on your waist.
"We need to ditch him before we reach the safe house." She says lowly, lowering her face towards you. "Just—follow my lead."
As the footsteps approach, Vi dips her face to the crook of your neck. Warmth floods your system and instinctively, you grab for her, fisting one hand in the front of her shirt, the other looping around her shoulders.
You must look like lovers. It strikes you like lightning.
And when the footsteps round the corner, Vi suddenly grabs your chin in hand, and kisses you soundly on the mouth.
You make a noise of surprise, which she swallows. And you think she's only going to stay like this, unmoving and kissing you for appearances, but she suddenly deepens it.
Her tongue presses along your bottom lip and you part for her, almost out of surprise, which she takes advantage of eagerly. With your alarm, mingles a strange glow and flutter of desire. You feel it, tender and terrified, in the pit of your stomach. It spreads it's wings.
Your hand disappears into the hair at the nape of her neck and she gets a thigh between your legs. You gasp.
When she hears your follower near, she pulls away—lips spit slick and chest heaving a little, hair tousled, eyes fever bright—and rounds on him.
The man startles.
And Vi plays sleazy well when she swipes at her bottom lip with her thumb. Gone is your dedicated bodyguard, replaced with a heated fling you may have.
She asks, "You got a problem?" And now she sizes him up. Squares her shoulders. "Can't we get a little privacy?"
He falters, uncertain, eyes bouncing to you and then Vi.
"Fuck off," Vi snaps, "and get lost before I do something I regret."
He scurries away and the moment he's far enough away, Vi is reaching for your hand, engulfing it with hers. "Come on, we gotta go—" and she pulls you along, as if she hadn't just kissed you senseless moments ago, and you disappear down the maze of alleyways with her.
"Nice acting," she smirks, "who knew you had it in you?"
Send me a trope/gennre + a character and I'll write a drabble for it!
For your drabble thing! Edward Elric + intimately touching/licking/kissing the scars around his automail
anon!!! thank you for this!!
edward elric + kissing/touching/licking scars
cw: suggestive. just imagine he still has his automail arm as an adult. also hint of winry x reader/some sort of poly dynamic.
***
a peach evening, sweet and glowing, the sun a burst of gold and cream in its last fight against the dark. in the bathroom, the light is orange and fiery, hazy and soft. you're both crowded in, in various states of undress.
his shirt is off, pants unbuttoned. your pants are off, shirt slipping down the slope of your shoulder.
a day of hard work, the promise of a shower. food to follow.
edward is trying to fix something in his automail arm on his own, using the mirror to see better. he said he twinged something and it's still ticking, still hurting.
you watch him twist a screw, then hiss a little.
"should i call win?" you ask, curling around his shoulder to see. "ask her to come home early?"
she's been in the shop all day. she'll be hungry and exhausted when she comes home—you and ed had planned to make dinner for the three of you.
"nah—i've fixed it on my own before. should be easy." he mumbles, brow furrowed. he tries again with the screw and makes a small noise of pain, this little yelp. heat flashes through you.
"want me to help?" you ask.
he sighs, straightening up. he then hands you the screwdriver, instead of being stubborn. small victories.
"yeah—go ahead." he says, letting you slip between the counter and him. your back to the mirror, but you see ed's eyes dart to take in both your shapes in the reflection. his eyes darken a little, molten hot. "this screw just shook loose, need to tighten it up and make sure the plate is sitting right underneath it. see how it's crooked now?" you nod, "just—be gentle."
you coo softly and he rolls his eyes. but when you bring the screwdriver to his arms, you are exceedingly careful.
he hisses, sharp and hot, when you fix the plate—nudge it back into place beneath the loose screw. then, as delicately as you can, you begin to tighten up the screw. his breathing has gone ragged. your heads are close together, both of you trying to watch, temples touching. edward's other hand has boxed you in, holding onto the countertop. knuckles white.
when the screw sits nice and neat in his arm again, you pick your eyes up to find his. your stomach swoops. "good?"
"yeah—thank you." and he leans down to kiss you but you turn your face, let him catch your cheek. your jaw. you duck your own mouth to his collarbone. he crowds you in against the counter, other hand moving to your waist. your mouth draws downward, along the slope of his shoulder to—
he inhales. he shudders.
your mouth opens against the line of his scars that connect his automail to his flesh. you can feel him, hard against your stomach, and breath faltering.
open mouthed, warm, wet kisses along his skin. so sensitive. a whimper. a sigh.
when he takes your chin in hand and kisses you, it's with all the ferocity of the sun in it's last, brilliant flare. it's desperate. wet and messy.
you gasp, "shouldn't we wait for winry?"
he huffs out a laugh, "what? can't go another round later?"
you nip at his throat. your smile is a cat's curl.
