zutara to caitvi: enemies to lovers is the vibe okay?

All of the headcanons, fanfictions, and drabbles written by justkeepshippingg (50 Shades of Honor now included!). This is the place for all things that combine Zutara, smut, and fanfiction. Caitvi now included. If you have any fic recs, inbox me.

[justkeepshippingg]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES, a Caiti roommates-to-lovers smutfic

Caitlyn gasps, her eyes widening. Vi is demanding, and she wants more. Caitlyn wants to give Vi everything she’s ever wanted, and then some. Which is how she finds herself dropping to her knees in the bathroom of a gay bar in Zaun and looking up into gray-blue eyes.

Read AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES on AO3.

[rinthecap]

I'm sick *cough cough*

[justkeepshippingg]

Vi’s voice is different. Sharper. Dripping around the edges. “Oh,” Vi coos. “How’s that, baby?” Caitlyn does two things: she denies herself the urge to rub her thighs together like a little creep and she spins around and grabs her sneakers, promptly knocking over the entire shoe rack. She hears a wash of silence. She knows Vi is coming to see what’s going on. And she doesn’t want to see what she was doing. Or who.  Caitlyn runs, shoeless, out the front door. 

read "and they were roommates" by justkeepshippingg

[broadwaybalogna]

I love college AU Zutara so much

[viorelx]

SEBIAN LEX

@junoisded

[mayskalih]

[justkeepshippingg]

and they were roommates (a Caitvi roommates-to-lovers fanfic)

25-year-old Caitlyn Kiramman is, well, a Kiramman. Everything she does has to sparkle, and it’s been that way since she was a child living in Piltover, attempting to shine beneath her mother’s thumb and her father’s loving but wary gaze. When she gets the chance to flee to the other side of the country in Zaun, all she can see is promise. With a rare jolt of spontaneity, she packs her bags and hops on the plane to ZAX, where she’s sure to find her delightful best friend Jayce and his small but well-designed apartment awaiting her arrival. Except that when she lands on the other side of the country with nearly everything she owns shoved in two oversized suitcases, Jayce has some news: he’s moving out, with his brand new fling, to another city entirely. Oh, and he found her a roommate. Or, Caitlyn finds herself on the other side of the country, alone, with a pink haired roommate with an attitude problem and one hell of a job. Vi does porn. Professionally. And fuck if Cait’s not sucked right into Vi’s aura. Multi-chapter modern AU with lots of smut (I promise) and a side of plot (I’ll try) Inspired by “The Roommate” by Rosie Danan, one of my favorite books of all time (so go read that too). Read on AO3.

“I have a car coming for you,” Jayce says. “It’ll take you right to the place.”

The place. Not our place. 

“Jayce?” 

“I’m halfway across the coast with Viktor and we’re in love and it’s real and I’m so sorry but I promise you’re going to love her and you’ll be totally fine I promise I promise!” 

Caitlyn pauses. She repeats his words in her mind. “Jayce,” she says. “Who the fuck is her? ” 

Read on AO3.

[harrowharksboner]

2014: Korrasami held hands

2020: so Catradora could kiss

2024: so Caitvi could fuck in a prison cell

sapphic nation, rising and thriving

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 6: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

She wants that goodness as deep inside of her as she can get. Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five The final chapter <3

The air is thick, hazy.

Vi grips either side of the small pedestal sink in front of her. She stares forward, her eyes unflinching, and meets Cait’s gaze. It’s just as hard and cool as hers. The only suggestion that she’s about to lose it is the way her crooked teeth sink down on her bottom lip. At the base of her spine, Vi feels Cait tilt her hips just a touch, pressing the strap to her skin. It’s cold, it’s silicone, it’s not Cait and she knows it, but fuck if Vi doesn’t feel like it is Cait, especially since it’s wet from all of Vi’s sucking.

She did a damned good job, if she says so herself.

Cait doesn’t touch Vi’s hips. Instead, she brings one hand to the side of the sink, around Vi’s body, her forearm just barely brushing Vi’s bare skin, and brings her other to Vi’s jaw. She presses, and Vi’s mouth falls open. They stare at each other in the mirror. The jagged cracks – the result of one of her drunken evenings, bite her, she’s not sorry about it, you’d also start punching random shit if your lesbian situationship imploded – reflect their faces right back at them. If Vi tilts her head, one Caitlin becomes a dozen. Sharp blue eyes, sharp glass. A thumb on her chin. A thumb at her lips. Vi opens her mouth and sucks. She hears Cait’s inhale and feels it against her neck: the suck of air. The suck of skin into waiting mouth. The press of Vi’s hips back, like, can we get on with this already?

Cait shakes her head, her dark hair a blue sheet as it falls over Vi’s shoulder. It’s longer than it used to be. How long had it been since their breakup? Vi’s so confused between her regular alcohol-fueled hallucinations of her hottest, cruelest ex and the jabs she’s taken right to the temple that she has no idea if it’s been weeks or months. It’s been enough time for her hair to grow, though. Vi’s own undercut could use a fresh shave.

Cait pops her thumb out of Vi’s mouth and brings it there, to the prickle of pink hair making a break from Vi’s scalp.

“Are you going to give me a shampoo, too, princess? Or are you going to hurry up and fuck me already?” Vi’s words are razor sharp, but it’s just because she’s desperate.

Cait clearly knows it. She just smiles and drops her head to the curve of Vi’s neck. Fuck she’s tall. She’s like this big, lanky, pale-skinned demon, perching on Vi’s shoulder and refusing to fuck her.

If she’s going to hang out with the ghost-demon-girl who broke her heart, the least Vi deserves is a few more orgasms.

“Fine,” Cait says. “But you have to earn it.” Her voice, soft and haughty. 

“What else do I need to do?” Vi goes to turn, but Cait’s hands refuse the motion, pinning her to the sink. Vi moans at the feel of the saliva-damp cock at her back. “Did I not make those long ass legs of yours shake enough already, commander?”

It’s Cait’s turn to moan. She sinks her forehead to Vi’s neck and inhales, exhales, pauses. She’s gathering herself.

And fuck it’s hot.

“Touch yourself,” Cait says, collected. Her chin returns to the crook of Vi’s neck. “Fuck yourself, and then I’ll fuck you.”

Vi feels a blush run hot from her cheeks to her tits. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Cait returns. “You’ve been fucking women all over town. I know there’s no chance you weren’t one of them.” She risks a thrust against Vi’s ass, and Vi groans, the sound guttural and needy and a bit pathetic.

“Fuck. Cait,” she whines.

“After all,” Cait says. “I know they weren’t making you come the way you like. Only you can do that.” She pauses. She licks a thick line up the tattoos marking Vi’s shoulder, and the chill of her spit makes Vi shudder. “And me, of course.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Vi cusses.

“Am I wrong?” Cait offers a faux-offended look in the mirror. A dozen Caitlyns have the gall to look apologetic.

“You…” Vi feels it then: the brush of the head of the dildo at her opening. “Fuck.”

“Tell me the truth,” Cait says. “Were you coming courtesy of the women of the under city while you were really thinking about me?”

Memories: flashes of Cait intermingled with blondes and brunettes and dark haired women who were surely beautiful but impossible for Vi to really see with Cait’s face and body and the swish of her blue hair in that flirty ass ponytail impressed forever into her psyche. 

“Of course I was, Cupcake,” Vi pants. “As if you’ve ever not been in my brain. You’re this evil fucking demon girl I just can’t seem to get rid of.” She laughs, and it’s fake and mean. For some reason their first kiss pops up in her brain and she thinks of how sweet it was and can’t believe they’re the same women. “Maybe I need an exorcism.”

Cait’s eyes turn damp in the mirror. Vi considers turning around to comfort her, but changes her mind. She doesn’t deserve comfort. Neither of them do.

“Are you going to fuck yourself, Vi?” Cait says. “Or should I head back home, now?”

The thought of Cait triggers something harsh inside of Vi. She doesn’t want Cait to leave. She doesn’t want her to ever leave. Vi’s eyes comb over Cait’s body in the mirror, and then they pan around her bedroom. Sad. Empty. Trashy. The room of a trash human. The space of someone who hates themselves. She wants Cait. She wants Cait.

She doesn’t want Cait to go.

“Fuck,” Vi says, her hand lowering down her body, “you.” Her hand passes her abs, the thick happy trail of messy pink hair, and she can’t help the flinch. Cait’s eyes go wide. “I need you,” Vi says, hand pushing through her folds, “to know,” she cusses, three fingers over her clit now, “I hate you,” she says, her eyes locked on Cait’s and Cait’s eyes locked on her cunt. And then she can’t talk anymore, because she’s a little busy, alright? Her hand is a mess tangled in dripping wet pink curls.

She shoves at herself, hard.

Little circles aren’t her jam, sweet little circles have never gotten her there, no, she just needs hot, wet flesh to hump, to grind herself against something unmoving. Vi’s version of fucking herself is more like beating her own cunt up than it is giving herself something gentle and calming and loving. She pushes her cunt at her fist and thrusts, and as white light shoots out of her core, she hears Cait’s words falling at her ear, her lips wet on the curve of her neck, a “you’re so good” and a “fuck, Vi,” and a “you are so beautiful, what a very, very good boy” and other sweet crooning that makes Vi feel like she might cry before she comes, or maybe she’s about to come? Is she sweating or coming? Is she sweating or crying?

Who fucking knows.

All she knows is this: her thighs are aching and on fire and she’s humping the fuck out of her own fist while her evil ex girlfriend teases her asshole with a massive blue strap and she doesn’t want this to end, she doesn’t want Cait to stop, but then she hears “I’ve got you baby, I’m not going to stop,” and she isn’t sure what she’s said out loud and what she hasn’t, but she’s too locked in to care. Vi grunts and groans and feels Cait’s hand on her throat then and she says the word “fuck” probaby thirty times in various pitches and then that white light is hotter and brighter than it’s been in months and she’s coming, she’s coming, she’s coming and Cait is right there at her back, hot, solid flesh to support her and keep her from drowning in all of it, the feeling of opening up and baring it all for a woman she isn’t sure if she’s madly in love with or wants to beat the shit out of.

“Cait,” Vi cries. She is crying, then. Fuck. A sob rips through her throat.

“Violet,” Cait says, and Vi snaps.

“Do not comfort me,” she says. “Just,” she wipes at her eyes with fists. “Fuck me. You came here to fuck me, so fuck me.”

The thing about their love is that it isn’t going anywhere. The thing is, Vi will never forget the first time she saw Cait’s eyes flash at her. She is never going to forget the first time she saw her pull her top over her head and reveal herself. And it wasn’t just her incredible tits or her soft tummy or the way that a single glance at Cait’s naked body made Vi wetter than she’d ever been. It was that this person, Cait as a whole, was being naked, with her. Vi knows she’s not worth anything. There are days she really isn’t sure why she’s still here. There are days where the only touch she feels from another human is the feeling of a stranger’s nails pulling her head closer to their own cunt or a fist decking her in the ribcage. Some days, the only feelings she has are bad ones. Cruel ones. Words so spiteful she isn’t sure where they come from. Maybe inside of Vi there’s just a well of cruelty, a spot that once could have been love or something kind but instead is tarnished with years of violence birthed and blood pilled and bones snapped.

The worst part is that she knows Caitlyn knows it. Vi let someone know it, and then they left. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

But letting Cait fuck her… it feels a little like winning. Like getting something back. Like admitting that, yes, Vi might be a smudged pool of slime, but this woman, this glittering, golden princess from a place filled with people who won’t even look Vi in the eye, wants her. Wants to be deep inside of her. Maybe not emotionally anymore – but physically.

She wants that goodness as deep inside of her as she can get.

Cait meets her eyes in the mirror. Vi can read her mind, and she doesn’t want to. She can almost hear the I love you, I’m sorry in her mind. Vi wants it to go away. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now,” Vi says, “I’m going to scream.”

“If that’s what you need,” Cait says, “Who am I to deny you any longer?”

Vi widens her legs. She bends her knees. She shifts her hips up and back. And she waits, hole open and dripping, to be used, to be taken, to be filled with the shock of utter goodness her body can’t create on its own. 

A tease. A press. An ache. A thrust.

“Fuck,” Vi moans, at the same time Cait says, “Oh my god, Violet,” her words rolling on a cry.

Cait thrusts forward, Vi thrusts back, and they shudder, Vi trembling beneath Caitlyn. 

“You’re taking me so well,” Cait says. She presses kisses all over Vi’s undercut. “You must be so full, baby, are you so full?”

“Fuck, Cait,” Vi whines. She shifts her thick thighs into each other, but can’t get the friction she needs; her legs are too fucking drenched. 

“What do you need, my baby?” Caitlyn croons.

“Please,” Vi says. “Just fucking rail me.”

Cait doesn’t hesitate. She bends Vi over and plants one of her own feet at the edge of the sink. With the leverage, she’s able to pound harder into Vi, each press shoving her further and further inside of Vi. Vi isn’t sure how she even has more space for Cait to conquer, but she does it, carving out her very own home inside of Vi’s soaking entrance. 

“How’s this?” Cait says, and Vi can hear the fucking smile on her perfect princess lips. “How’s this for my handsome girl?” 

“That’s it,” Vi says. “Fuck. Fuck. FUCK, Cait.” 

The air is thick, hazy. Cait moans, pushing forward and pulling Vi back by her tits and her ass and the flesh of her hips. Vi is gone, her orgasm so feverish and unyielding that she thinks she might be dying. And if she is going to die, well, she knows what she wants to see. She opens her eyes, and her gray ones meet blue ones, and that’s all she needs to, finally, fall apart. 

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 5: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

Vi looks Cait right in her soft eyes. If she’s going to suck a cock, it’s going to be Cait’s, and she’s going to do a hell of a job. Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four

Vi follows Cait’s lead and acts cocky as fuck. Two can play this game. She reaches over – and yeah, her shoulder is tugging a bit and it kind of fucking hurts but she is NOT leaving her spot crushed under Cait’s dripping cunt – and she tugs. A magical box appears from under the table.

In it, a harness. Thick and leather. Vi tosses it, and Cait catches it.

A smirk. “Grab the blue one.” 

How had she lived so long without Cait within reach? Without these blue eyes locked on hers? Without the smirk on Cait’s full lips, without blue waves locked in her fists? Every second that passes fills Vi with a sort of mystical gratitude: she is here, and Cait is here, and they are together. A wave of blue.

That, and the simple fact that Cait is pounding the ever-loving shit out of her.

Vi moans when Cait pulls out, the blue dildo slipping through her soaked folds with a motion that releases Vi’s wetness and a sound that, let’s be real, is practically lewd. Cait’s hips roll, dragging the head of her cock against Vi’s clit, and Vi can’t deny the shudder that rips through her. Her hips squeeze and her back arches, trying to force Cait back inside of her.

Just moments ago, she was so full, her body a rush of heat, and now her cunt practically feels lonely. It’s ridiculous and it urges her to yank Cait back inside of her.

She juts out a hand for Cait’s cock.

“I don’t think so,” Cait says, her voice haughty. She drags the cock up and back, a tease.

“You are,” Vi huffs, shuffling on her back to get closer to Cait. “Such a brat.”

“A brat,” Cait says. “A bitch.” She lowers her mouth to Vi’s ear, and Vi groans at the sound of their nipples brushing as their chests meet. “I’ve heard it all.”

“Please,” Vi says.

“Please… what?”

“Please, you fucking princess – fuck me, and don’t stop.” Vi huffs like she’s not about to shatter in a dozen pieces if she doesn’t feel Cait shoving low inside of her belly right this fucking second.

Cait tsks.

That bitch.

“Come on Cait,” Vi whines. Her thighs are already shaking.

“Consider this my revenge,” Cait says, lifting her hips up and away from Vi’s body. “For that blonde you decided to practically fuck right in front of me.”

“Oh Cait,” Vi says, her eyebrows raising as she tries to figure out what the hell this blue haired woman is up to. “You know that was nothing.”

“I do,” Cait says. She lifts higher and higher, her body sliding up Vi’s until she’s practically sitting on her throat. “And yet, I’d still like my penance.”

Cait flicks Vi’s nipples and her eyes slam closed, curses falling from her scarred lips. She feels a press against said lips, and opens her eyes. Her gray eyes widen when she realizes: Cait’s hovering above her and pressing her blue cock right against Vi’s bottom lip.

She raises an eyebrow, a is this alright, and Vi’s surprised by how much she wants Cait’s cock in her mouth. It’s the power in her stance, the heat in her eyes, the unwavering way she stares down at Vi like Vi is the most beautiful thing that Cait has ever seen, naked and sweaty and yearning.

Vi looks Cait right in her soft eyes. If she’s going to suck a cock, it’s going to be Cait’s, and she’s going to do a hell of a job.

Vi’s mouth falls open, and Cait’s eyes fall wide. Vi senses that Cait was not expecting a yes, but Vi’s never been one to back down from a challenge. She slides her tongue along the base of Cait’s pretty blue cock, feeling on the ridges of the silicone. She sinks her nails into Cait’s hips then, hard, and Cait flinches, her hips bucking against Vi. She curses, and Vi grins, her scar popping up – and then she opens her mouth nice and wide and sucks, pulling Cait past her lips and down her tongue and to the back of her throat with the force of the suction.

And, by shoving Cait’s ass right into her face. Man does she love having this creamy dream of an ass right in her hands where it belongs.

The moan that falls from Cait’s mouth is practically pornographic, and well worth the slight discomfort in Vi’s jaw as she takes everything Cait's got.

The women find a rhythm in this thing they’ve never done before but are learning together. It feels vulnerable and open and Vi tries not to think too hard about how good it feels to do life alongside Cait. Cait thrusts forward and Vi swallows and sucks and drools, the wetness of her mouth and Cait’s come making the entire moment a slippery mess.

Vi’s surprised by just how wet this whole deal makes her; who knew she wanted to suck Cupcake’s dick so bad?

She rubs her thighs together in search of friction and is surprised when she feels Cait’s thighs start to shake near her ears. Fuck, is she gonna come from this? Vi glances up and is pleased to see Cait’s eyes slammed closed, that little wrinkle between her brow that says, yeah, she’s gonna fucking come. And it’s gonna be hard. Right as Vi preps herself for the rutting to become harder, though, Cait yanks herself out of her mouth. Sounds of panting fills the room.

Vi chokes at the sudden emptiness in her throat. She wasn’t ready. She slaps Cait’s ass in a retaliatory move, and takes it with a yelp before she slips her wet, sweaty bottom down Vi’s body, settling at her hips.

“Why the hell did you stop?” Vi says. Her throat is dry.

And fuck, she’s horny.

“I told you,” Cait snaps, her “you” closer to a “yew” with her prissy accent. “I. Want. To. Fuck. You.” She pauses, pushing her hair back. Her breasts shake with the movement. Something inside of Vi stirs. “Stand up. Go by the sink.”

Vi doesn’t want to play anymore. She wants to get railed again, so instead of being snippy, she does as she’s told, abandoning the wet spot they've created on the thin blanket she thought to toss on the floor before the strapping began. Vi gives the blanket a loving glance and thinks, I'm never washing you again. Sorry blanky.

The women adjust, shoving around all the various shit Vi has in her tiny room – “Would be a bit easier if you’d cleaned up a time or two?” Cait teases, and Vi rolls her eyes – and Vi comes to stand in front of the sink. She feels Cait sidle up behind her, hands on either side of the sink boxing Vi in, and Vi shivers when Cait’s cock kisses the base of her spine.

“Look at you,” Cait says. “You’re so beautiful.”

Vi rolls her eyes. Strong, hot, cool, she'll take. Beautiful just always feels like it's meant for some other girl.

Cait brings her hand to Vi’s jaw, shoving her face upward. She meets Cait’s eyes in the mirror, and then her own. Gray and blue eyes stare back at them both. Vi shivers a little at how Cait’s entire body disappears behind her width. I could just ignore her and fuck her again, she muses, thinking of Cait’s tiny waist in her large, scarred hands, how she’d bend her right over the sink and tongue her ass and fuck her until she was begging for more or less or something, maybe even professing her love for Vi, who’s to say?

But based on the look in Cait’s eyes – scorching, unflinching, hungry – Vi’s pretty sure that if either of them is getting bent over this sink? It’s her. 

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 4: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

“Processing.” The word is way too loud when it bursts from Vi’s lips. “Excuse me?” Cait tilts her head, and her blue hair swishes over her shoulders. How the fuck does she look like she just escaped a shampoo commercial when Vi’s pretty sure she looks like she just got dunked in a gas tank and dragged through the bowels of hell?  “Lesbians love processing,” Vi says, nodding like she has any idea what she’s saying. She grins. A joke, maybe? Cait doesn’t laugh at all. Okay. Not so funny. “If I’m honest,” Cait says. “We can ‘process’ if you’d like. But I have other ideas.” Part one // Part two // Part three

The sun startles Vi awake.

Her back hurts. She shifts and removes a neon green bottle – empty, thank god – from under her low back. Okay. That’s a slight improvement.

Now, if she could only figure out WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

She’s naked. She knows that. She can see her binder flung over there. Her bare ass against the ground. Her mouth tastes like pussy (a blessing). And, christ, her wrists hurt. So she’s been fucking. Okay. Cool. Cool.

She turns her head. A pile of hair pools in her mouth. Wait. What?

Blue. Blue hair. Dark, inky hair. Silky. 

A sigh. A shift. A body next to hers. A long leg thrown across her knee. Baby-soft hairs tickle her calf.

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

Vi’s entire mind is rolling. A memory: she looks down at Cait, who’s still seated in her lap, her entire, perfect body curved down toward the ground beneath them. Her head rests on her forearms, her ass up in Vi’s face. She’s truly and utterly wrecked, her beautiful princess body a disaster.

Vi laughs, out loud, to herself. That can’t be real. She wouldn’t let me do that.

Would she? 

Vi pauses, blue hair still tickling her bottom lip. She reels as she recalls the sting of Cait’s wet, waiting cunt against her palm. No way would Cait let her smack her right in the cunt. 

Or… Wait. Vi’s in shock, and she’s hornier than she’s probably ever been in her life. She begins piecing the evening together. Ghost Cait. Fucking herself sober. Kissing. Shit. She meant not to do that. The kissing.

The fucking, however, she meant.

And, real or not, Ghost Cait is very naked, and very much acting as Vi’s baby spoon.

Aw. Fuck her waist is tiny. The curve of her hip… man. The soft sound of her breath, a happy hum.

Hmmm. So. Okay. Perhaps this is real.

Memories fall into place. Vi’s never taken control at this level. She isn’t sure how many times Cait came last night, but she knows she’s still soaked all over and that the entire place smells like a brothel (in the best possible way, of course). She also didn’t know she could come from humping a girl’s ass — who knew, she thinks, pocketing that fun fact for later — but it’s no surprise that it was Cait’s.

She glances down. If any ass was gonna make her come, it was going to be this one, round and lush and full and newly marked from Vi’s teeth and nails.

She can’t help it: she laughs again. This is nuts.

A shift. Hips press into her front. Vi flinches. A roll, and bright teal eyes lock on hers. A soft tummy settles against her abs. Vi has to hold back a moan. Shit she’s missed Cait’s softness. 

“Hello,” Caitlin says, and fuck if she doesn’t sound every bit like a magical princess.

It makes Vi’s heart pitter-patter and she’s embarrassed but she can’t deny the blush that blooms across her tough-guy cheeks. “Uh,” Vi says. “Hi.” For a moment she wishes she hadn’t smashed her mirror in one of her rage-y fits. She knows there is no way she looks good right now. She can feel the grease in her hair, made greasier by the, well, grease she added last night before she went out. A flicker of blond hair makes its way into her mind and she realizes she maybe fucked.. Two girls last night?

Her stomach turns. But it feels empty. Did she puke last night? Fuck, did she PUKE IN FRONT OF CAIT?

“Are you okay?” Cait’s eyes are searching.

A bush. A stumble. Fuck. “Did I barf in front of you last night?”

“Yes.” A smile.

“And maybe make out with a blond right… in front… of you?”

Goodbye, smile. “That would be affirmative. Lovely experience for me, if you’re wondering.” Cait looks like she kind of wants to fuck her up, and Vi can’t entirely blame her. 

“Fuck, Cait.”

“Yes,” Cait says. The smirk returns. “We did quite a lot of that, too.”

Vi pauses. She closes her eyes as the evening continues to fall into place. It wasn’t like she was just so beyond fucked up; she was definitely sober enough to have consented to every. Single. Thing. That happened between her and Cupcake last night. But she’s been, uh, dealing with some hallucinations lately? So a part of her is kind of still not convinced this lanky, naked woman is actually right here in front of her, staring at her eyes and starting to lower her hand, one finger at a time, to her cheek.

But if she was fake, how would she feel this real?

“Processing.” The word is way too loud when it bursts from Vi’s lips.

“Excuse me?” Cait tilts her head, and her blue hair swishes over her shoulders. How the fuck does she look like she just escaped a shampoo commercial when Vi’s pretty sure she looks like she just got dunked in a gas tank and dragged through the bowels of hell? 

“Lesbians love processing,” Vi says, nodding like she has any idea what she’s saying. She grins. A joke, maybe?

Cait doesn’t laugh at all. Okay. Not so funny.

“If I’m honest,” Cait says. “We can ‘process’ if you’d like. But I have other ideas.”

Vi’s eyebrows raise. What? She wants to yell at her some more? Her thoughts are still rolling, and she feels that sad little pit in her stomach get bigger. They aren’t together, after all. No way does Cait want to be here. Or to stay. She probably only came because she felt bad for Vi. She was worried. Worried about crazy, angry Vi, busy fighting strangers in the under city. And, okay, she’s not wrong. But Vi doesn’t want to be worried about. She doesn’t want to even be thought about.

She’s spiraling.

Cait can tell, and Vi knows it because suddenly two lanky, creamy limbs are on either side of her and she’s being pushed onto her back.

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“Stop it,” Cait says, her voice soft. “What do you need? Right now?”

It’s like Cait reached inside of Vi’s head and gave her brain a little shove. The spiral grows quieter.

Now, all she can think about is how hot Cait’s cunt is against her low belly.

“I mean…” Vi pauses. Is she reading the situation correctly? Cait wants to fuck, right?

Cait squeezes her thighs together, and her pouty mouth curves upward.

“You’re fucking with me,” Vi says.

“I’d like to be,” Cait says. She shrugs her shoulders as if this isn’t affecting her at all, but Vi can feel the truth damp against her belly.

She can match her energy. “You’re not satisfied yet?” Vi says.

The fire dies, suddenly, behind them. Their eyes settle on the ashes at the pit. Without the fire, Cait is perfectly basked in sunlight, her delicate features glowing, eyes flashing. “Who said this was about my satisfaction?” Cait says. “I haven’t gotten to fuck you yet, Violet.”

Oh.

OH.

It’s fucking on.

Vi follows Cait’s lead and acts cocky as fuck. Two can play this game. She reaches over – and yeah, her shoulder is tugging a bit and it kind of fucking hurts but she is NOT leaving her spot crushed under Cait’s dripping cunt – and she tugs. A magical box appears from under the table.

In it, a harness. Thick and leather. Vi tosses it, and Cait catches it.

A smirk. “Grab the blue one.” 

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 3: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

Summary: She gives in. She lets Vi top her. Fuck if she hasn’t been waiting for this all night. Part one: Cait’s POV Part two: Vi's POV

Cait lays on her back in the mess of Vi’s room. Her plump ass sinks into unmailed letters and abandoned lids and liquor bottles, red ones and green ones and purple ones that glimmer when they catch the light of the fire. She leans back on her forearms and digs her nails into the earth below her. She looks up at Vi, and she’d swear there’s still love in her eyes even here, even now, with her pupils blown and her need a raging fire warming her cheeks.

Vi, on her knees, between her knees, and her entire expression is wide open: bright-eyed and lips parted with the force of her breath, the way she fucking pants for her, for Cait, and the way Cait knows she’s panting right back.

“Fuck you,” Vi says, the scar on her lip jumping as she speaks, “for looking so good right now.” 

Cait loses all patience and flings her body upward, wrapping her arms around Vi until her elbows lock behind her tattooed neck. Vi grabs her with one hand digging into the curve of her shoulder blade and the other at her face, thumb on her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Open mouths meet and part and lick. Cait loses track of who is kissing who, who is touching who, who forces their mouths nice and wide and spits, who shudders and swallows, who drags nails down and down and down and who’s in charge, here, really?

“You look,” Cait says, “beautiful.”

Vi looks away. “Get on your knees.”

The answer is clear. Cait is being forced onto her hands and knees and her tits spill out of her bra and meet the ground. She wishes they were at her place with their scraped knees and fevered palms on lush carpet with a drawer full of straps nearby. She remembers the one time she came closer to asking Vi to let her wear it and hates herself for not opening her mouth. 

She gives in. She lets Vi top her.

Fuck if she hasn’t been waiting for this all night.

“Is this okay?” Vi grunts into her ear as she tugs her clothes off, treating Cait like she’s a doll, but also like she’s a princess. Sure, Vi’s hands are rough, with callouses that scrape at the wide curve of Caitlyn’s hip, but her lips kiss at Caitlyn’s throat like she might still love her. The balance of it, pleasure and pain, is what gets Caitlyn to answer by sliding her thighs further apart and letting Vi take over. She feels the cool air hit her center and a jolt of wetness follows. Full , she wants to be full. She wants Vi to wear her like a puppet, elbow-deep in her.  

Cait hears, from her position bent right into the ground, as Vi removes her own clothing. She wants to turn around and watch as each muscle is revealed, but that’s not the game. She follows the rules. She feels, with her forehead thrust into the sad wooden floor, Vi grip her hips and sighs into the skin of her back. Vi bites, one side and the other of her fleshy hips, her wet mouth marking Caitlyn. Vi’s entire front comes to rest, heavy and sweaty, on Caitlyn’s back, and she gives her her full weight, a sort of gift. Unspoken communication: You have me . All of me.

They both shiver as heat tears its way through their bodies.

Cait can feel the heat of Vi’s own cunt against her ass, and she feels sweat begin to pour down her cheeks.

Vi rolls two fingers at Cait’s entrance, slipping through her from behind, calloused fingertips against soft, soaked folds, moving easily. How many times have I come? Cait wonders, and then she wonders, much more importantly: how many times will I, now?

Vi answers by shoving her pointer and middle finger inside of Cait’s entrance, spongy and waiting and so far gone it’s not even funny. Any teasing is gone. The sound is obscene. Cait groans, her sounds matched by the ones that tear out of Vi’s throat, her mouth right by Cait’s ear, her breath hot and alcohol-sweet. Vi’s too-long hair sweeps along Caitlyn’s spine, creating a strangely soothing sensation as Vi fucks her in earnest, Vi’s front body rutting against Caitlyn’s back. She grunts and groans, shifting her hips and trying to get closer to the feeling starting to boil low in her cunt.

Each thrust brings their bodies closer, and each thrust brings Caitlyn closer to another orgasm. She bites down on her bottom lip to try and silence the keening that rips past her lips. Vi grips the back of Cait’s throat with her free hand and squeezes slightly. “Oh, Cait,” Vi groans. “You’re being so good for me.” 

Caitlyn feels it: the white heat tearing from her toes and up her ankles, wrapping around her ankles like teasing fingertips before darting up her knees, her thighs, her ass, finding itself at her center, the heat a sprint that rushes her core all at once. Cait shudders, wet pouring from her and soaking her all the way down the front of her thighs. Her entire face is damp with what might be tears and what might be sweat. She feels the heat of Vi behind her, her cunt pulsing at her low back. 

“I need,” Caitlyn pants. “A second.”

“No,” Vi says, but her fingers still.

Alarm flushes through Caitlyn. “No?”

“You don’t really need a break,” Vi whispers, her own hips still rolling at Caitlyn’s ass, “do you, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s surprised to feel something like lust seize her. “I…” She considers. “I suppose I could try,” her voice drops. “For you, Violet.”

“Look at you,” Vi says. Her voice is light, pleased, but Caitlyn knows the use of her full name hits her. “What a very, very good girl.”

Vi begins to move again, and Caitlyn shouts, curses pouring from her lips. Two fingers has become three, quickly becoming four and stretching Caitlyn’s insides. Vi’s fingers thrust hard and fast, no loving curls or attempts to hit her g-spot happening here. Instead, they move with purpose, pushing and pushing and pushing, their ramming speed only softened by Caitlyn’s wet curls at their base.

“Oh my god,” Cait says. “Oh, Vi.” It’s already starting, that build-up, shakier and unsure of itself as it starts right at Caitlyn’s cunt. There is no flutter. It’s a simple burst, an explosion hurtling Caitlyn higher and higher as she groans through her orgasm, squeezing around Vi’s fingers.

“Can you take more?” Vi asks. Her body is soaked with Caitlyn’s come and their sweat and Caitlyn wonders as she feels wetness pouring down her ass if Vi just came from rutting around on top of her.

The thought of it is enough to fuel Caitlyn through her desire to, simply, go to sleep. “ Yes ,” Caitlyn says, her cheek aching where it’s pressed against the floor.

“Come here,” Vi says. Her voice is softer now as she shifts Caitlyn back. She plants one of Caitlyn’s hands on the floor, and then her other. She brings Caitlyn to sit on her front and reaches around, rolling her fingers through Caitlyn’s curls and right to her clit.

Caitlyn flinches. She’s so sensitive that she can’t tell if it hurts, or if she’s closer to god than she’s ever been and ever will be. Her entire being is consumed with that zip of lightning concentrated at her core. Her thighs are shaking, her lips are trembling, and she kind of wants to rear back and slap Vi right in the face when Vi presses down hard on her clit.

Vi must notice the shift in Caitlyn’s energy as she shudders. “Trust me,” Vi whispers, her lips right at Caitlyn’s ears. She drags her tongue along the outer edge of her ear, bringing it lower and lower, through the damp blue hairs curling around her ear and her neck.

She sinks her teeth into Caitlyn’s neck and smacks her, hard, on her cunt.

Something brand new rips through Caitlyn, and, mouth open in a silent scream, she collapses into Vi’s waiting arms. 

More on AO3.

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 2: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

Vi's POV.

Summary: Caitlyn goes to rescue fight-club-always-fucked-up Violet (s2, episode 5) from the bar. Instead, she finds herself led back to her apartment. They realize they have nothing to lose. It gets slutty. Part 2/?? How do you love a woman and fuck her like you don’t? 

Part one: Cait's POV

Caitlyn rolls her eyes, a giggle spilling forward that turns into a grunt when Vi unceremoniously shoves both fingers deep inside of her. Caitlyn aches with need, and she wraps her arms around Violet’s broad back, her shoulders hunching forward as she tries to get as close to Vi as possible. She squeezes her cunt against Violet’s fingers and it’s Vi’s turn to cuss. Push and pull; Caitlyn ruts her hips forward and Vi digs her black-painted fingers into Cailtyn’s hot, pallid hip, squeezing the flesh and holding her in place. Vi shifts tactics, turning her fingers over inside of Caitlyn – and making her laugh with the shock of it – and rubbing that spongey, wet patch right inside of her aching cunt. Caitlyn’s head falls forward, her breath coming hot and heavy in Vi’s ear.

“You sound incredible,” Vi says. “I could listen to you for..”

Forever, Caitlyn hears.

Vi must realize, because she drops to her knees, her fingers sliding out of Caitlyn with a wet sound so simultaneously sexy and disgusting that Caityn flushes from her cheeks all the way down the tops of her tits.

Vi drops her cheek to Caitlyn’s thigh, staring straight at her cunt as she asks,

“Are you ready for more?”

Vi is biting down hard on her own lip as she stares into the deepest part of Caitlyn, and it’s not just because her cunt is this perfect layered blossom of delicious purples and cherry pinks and blood-reds. It’s because of that, obviously, this is Cait we’re talking about, her Cait, but not her Cait anymore, and fuck she’s still kind of drunk but fuck if she isn’t locked in and fuck did she really almost say FOREVER TO THIS FANCY MOTHERFUCKER.

Vi still hasn’t kissed Cait on the mouth. They both know it. Her come is a sticky web all over Vi’s fingers, but her mouth is in the clear. Something about it feels too intimate, which is stupid since they’ve kissed, oh, a zillion times? But Vi is still so angry and she doesn’t want to give apparently-not-Ghost-Cait everything she wants. She wants to keep something for herself.

She wants to give Cait something to want after this is over.

When Cait ruined them… when she left Vi, she broke something irreparable. Vi can’t think about it. She can’t think about any of it. So she crashes out. She goes out on nights like this. She drinks something shitty and probably killing her and she doesn’t kill herself but she doesn’t not kill herself either. She scrapes away at herself bit by bit. Yeah, it’s probably like self harm, okay? Vi isn’t dumb. She knows what she’s doing to herself. She just doesn’t know how to exist in a world where this ridiculously tall woman with a dumb-beautiful face and even better heart (yeah, she hears it, gag her) isn’t hers. She doesn’t know how to get through the next day or week or month without Cait's happy-horny giggle pouring down her wet throat. She doesn’t know where to find warmth without this person that is clearly her person but who doesn’t want her.

But, right now, she does. Cait wants Vi. Vi doesn’t even have to ask. For once, she doesn’t have to wonder. She’s stared enough pussies in the face to know that this one – dripping, throbbing, practically inhaling and exhaling right in her mouth – wants her.

So does the woman attached to it.

“Vi,” Cait whines.

“What?” Vi plays with her. She matches the energy of her words with her movements and drags one finger, just her pointer finger, not the one Cait likes the most – that bitch likes her thumb, weirdo, and Vi loves her for it – across her entrance.

Cait throws her head back and moans. It’s all dark hair spilling down her back, too short to reach the table beneath her. Her narrow shoulders round and she arches. Cait’s cunt even has the nerve to shudder. Bottles jingle behind her and she swears the fire gets brighter. 

Vi smiles. She might not always get along with its owner, but Cait’s pussy lives for her.

Her and her alone.

Yeah, Vi’s been fucking a lot of women, okay? But none of them are Cait. None of them quiver like this. None of them whisper that low, guttural “fuck” quite like Cait does, her fancy ass accent going strong as she aches for her. Vi likes women. She likes to make them come. She likes to let them ride her face until their thighs are quaking and bruised. She likes to let them suck her strap until their jaws are sore and their eyes are glowing with (happy, she’s not a monster) tears. She likes the way they look when they fall undone. Even the prissiest girl becomes a mess in the right situation.

Vi likes to find said situation.

But, fuck if Vi doesn’t like to undo this girl the best of them all.

Her finger still teases at Cait’s entrance, rubbing less than an inch, back and forth, a gentle prod that doesn’t at all give Cait what she’s shivering for. Vi looks up and Cait’s eyes are locked on hers.

“You have the prettiest pussy in the city,” Vi says without meaning to.

Cait’s eyes go wide and she groans Vi’s name. “Please,” she whines. “Please.”

Vi’s face flushes. She didn’t want Cait to know how badly she wants her. Fuck. She thinks quickly, and spits right in the face of that pretty pussy.

It might be the alcohol still burning through her veins, but Vi is pretty sure Cait’s cunt opens up wide and swallows.

“Stop fucking with me,” Cait demands, but the force of her words are undermined by the gentle undercurrent in her tone of voice.

Baby blue eyes on soft gray. Memories flooding both. Touches and kisses and brushes of skin against skin. Love, most of all, love, new love that felt so… impossibly forever. That word again. Fuck.

How do you love a woman and fuck her like you don’t? 

Vi ducks her head and shoves her tongue against Cait’s clit to shut her mind off. Cait’s thighs immediately lock on Vi’s ears, and she feels more than hears the moans run down Cait’s throat, tearing through her chest and making their way down her lanky frame to meet Vi’s eardrums. Vi gives in just a bit, and moans right into Cait’s clit. She digs her short, blackened nails into Cait’s bare hips and tries to hurt the flesh there. Her own knees ache. She’s probably on those dumbass letters she kept writing to Cait because, well, she is a desperate idiot in love with a woman that she was allegedly never going to see again? But not desperate enough to mail them. Or maybe too busy fighting strangers and making them bleed and pounding shots with hotter strangers to make it to a mailbox and ruin her own life.

She hardens her tongue and begins to lick, slow and targeted, from the base of Cait’s clit above her opening to just under the head. She coaxes it forward, whispering tipsy nonsense about how pretty and lovely and sexy it is, inviting it to grow bolder, to stretch beyond its hood. She can be sweet to it because it’s not Cait, not really. This is between her and this clit, Cait be damned. And there it is, glistening and ready for her.

Vi wraps her lips around Cait’s newly visible clit and rolls her tongue over it, around it, beating it up until she knows Cait’s going to be bruised and maybe even in a little pain. Vi can feel her mouth filling with salt and wet and she drowns in it. She kneads Cait’s fleshy hips to hold her in place and keep her thrusting from ruining her and the clit’s moment. She rubs her face all over Cait, all too eagerly becoming a mess of black ink and bar sweat and Cait's precious come.

Vi'll admit it: she's pleased. She slides her face down Cait’s thigh and lays her cheek upon it, pausing until Cait looks down.

And, fuck. Cait. That face. Her high cheekbones are painted with her flush. Her pouty, girlish mouth hangs open. A flurry of curses escape from it. Her hair is trashed, sweat gluing blue baby hairs to her heart-shaped forehead.

I love you, Vi thinks. She turns and sinks her teeth into the soft belly of Cait’s inner thigh, and Cait screams out in a mixture of pain and pleasure and, even more pleased, Vi returns to Cait’s cunt. She wants to eat her. Sadly, she is neither cannibal nor vampire. But she wants a new angle.

She pivots, lifting Cait off of the table. Cait immediately wraps her legs around her, and, FUCK, they’re kissing, when did they start kissing? How did this happen? Who moved first? How did her tongue get in Cait’s mouth?

And, fuck, has Cait always tasted this good? Her sweet saliva guided into Vi’s mouth via her pink tongue, the way it blends into something that could probably just kill Vi right on the spot as it mixes with Cait’s own come in Vi’s mouth, the push and pull of lips on lips, the way they’re both grunting like they’ve lost their damn minds, Cait crawling inside of Vi with sharp nails and needy hips that buck and grind and do not apologize.

Cait’s tongue swirls along Vi’s top lip and Vi gives up on her original plans. Fuck it. She wants everything Cait has to give. Vi gives as good as she gets and lowers swiftly, letting her body hit the ground hard and hurting her own back – ever the gentleman, she thinks to herself, and then has to try to not laugh at her own quip – before she spins and shoves Cait onto the messy floor. She wants more mess.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Vi barks.

[justkeepshippingg]

Cherry bomb Part 1: a Caitvi Hate fuck fanfic

Cait's POV.

Summary: Caitlyn goes to rescue fight-club-always-fucked-up Violet (s2, episode 5) from the bar. Instead, she finds herself led back to her apartment. They realize they have nothing to lose. It gets slutty. Now, complete! <3 Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six

It’s her face that shocks her. Dark makeup smeared down her cheeks, black smeared in her hair like oil, her broad shoulders awash with ebony body paint; Vi has become little more than a smear, and Caitlyn can’t take her eyes off of her, and not in the way she’s used to. Vi’s usual glow – the one that she can never stop staring at, the one that leaves her flushed from her cheeks to her chest, the one that leaves her eyes sparkling even in the most dire situations – is completely dimmed. Vi is flat. Vi is empty.

And Caitlyn… she’s… worried.

Especially when she realizes that Vi doesn’t see her at all.

Here in this shithole of a bar, coins are loudly thrown down in exchange for pints of god knows what as music blares from tinny speakers. Caitlyn creeps her way through the crowd, a hood thrown over her head, though she doubts anyone would recognize her here. There is the darkness, of course, but then there is the sheer amount of bodies. This entire place is packed, a vibration of desperate, sexual energy mixing with the explosive taste of drugs and drink and Shimmer. Caitlyn puts one foot in front of the other and tries to look confident. She doesn’t want to look like someone you’d fuck with. But right now, her eyes on Vi as Vi throws back yet another shot of a bright green liquid, she feels anything but strong.

She feels guilt. Shame. Weakness.

She pushes through throngs of dancing bodies and tries not to flinch when someone shoulder-checks her. She sees a group of men consider her, but lose interest when they realize she’s covered from head to toe, her cape wrapped around her like a safety net. She wants, desperately, to approach Vi, to shake her, to remind her that this isn’t her. But then she sees Vi reach for someone, a woman.

The woman has long, thick, white-blond hair that curls at the ends. Her waist is small, her hips narrow. She is dressed from head to toe in what appears to be some sort of plasticky, purple leather. She has a shit-eating grin on her face and lifts a shot to Vi’s lips.

Caitlyn shouldn’t feel a stab of envy. She shouldn’t feel jealousy ping from one side of her heart to the other. She shouldn’t feel anything at all. You’re here to help Violet, she tells herself. But then she sees Vi wrap her tongue around the woman’s fingers and suck, hard, before swallowing down the liquid from the shot glass. And even from her position, hunched in this dark corner of this horrid bar, she can see Vi’s gaze rake itself over her face. Caitlyn comforts herself with the knowledge that, again, her eyes are entirely devoid of that glow of hers; but it’s hard to feel comfort when the woman reaches for Vi, and Vi reaches back.

Just like that, they’re attached, a tangle of hot tongues and groping limbs that makes Caitlyn’s stomach spin. She hears her gasp before she realizes it came from her. She turns around, and when the bartender waves her over, she gives in. Just one drink.

But when she turns around and Vi and the woman are still kissing, the movements slow and languid, Caitlyn remembers the way that Vi kissed her, way back when. The way she reached for her like she was starving. The way her lips molded around her own. The soft moan in the back of Vi’s throat, something quiet and needy that only she could hear, like a secret.

Another won’t hurt.

Caitlyn realizes she’s becoming quite drunk when the music actually sound not so bad. She catches her foot tapping. She freezes and shakes her head, and her blue-black hair swishes around her ears. It’s grown quite long. She notices Vi’s has too. She notices that the woman she’s currently practically fucking against the bar also appreciates the length of Vi’s new, oil-dark hair.

She also notices that her feet are moving. When did she stand up? She isn’t sure. But she knows her lips taste like something close to poison and that Vi is getting bigger and bigger. No, she isn’t growing. She’s just closer. She’s right there. She’s inches away.

What am I doing?

But Caitlyn can’t stop herself. Her body is in control. And all her body knows is that despite it all – their history and their present, the swirling emotions that linger between them, the heat of their hatred for each other and their love that just won’t fucking die, even the crowd, the dancers and the lovers and the drunkards around them – Vi is everything that Caitlyn has ever wanted, needed, craved.

Her body isn’t ready to give up yet.

A voice. “Can I fucking help you?”

The woman. Her voice is deeper than Caitlyn would have expected. Her eyes narrow and she doesn’t let up on her grip on the back of Vi’s head.

Up close, Caitlyn realizes that Vi is even worse off than she thought. Yes, there are the bandages, and the scars and the scratches that mar her beautiful face. But there is also the way her eyes won’t focus. Does she even know she’s kissing this woman?

“It’s time to go, Vi,” Caitlyn says.

Vi’s eyes try to settle on Caitlyn. Instead, they sort of jump from one of Caitlyn’s eyes to the other, settling on the bridge of her nose. She inhales sharply, as if she realizes Caitlyn is really there. And then she laughs out loud.

The noise comes as the song switches, and Vi’s laugh is explosive. It grows louder and louder, and the crowd seems to become annoyed. Caitlyn watches people noticing Vi, and she gets the sense that this isn’t Vi’s usual crowd. She also gets the sense that Vi would not be pleased at the effect she’s currently having on this group of strangers that look like they would all too happily eat her for lunch.

“Vi,” Caitlyn says. She forces a laugh and feels her lip stick to her teeth. Her mouth is dry. She’s nervous, on the cusp of afraid. The music chooses that moment to burst back into sound, providing distraction.

“Who are you, exactly?” The woman spits.

“Ah,” Caitlyn says, wagging her finger like she’s talking to an old friend and not a woman she’d like to shoot right in the chest. “Matilda. Old friend of this one’s. I’m meant to take her home,” she offers.

The woman looks at her for a second. The plastic of her outfit turns blue under the flashing lights overhead. “Whatever,” she says. She rolls her eyes and wanders off.

Caitlyn exhales. And then she turns to Vi.

And, god. It’s Vi.

Here, in the flesh. Bookmarked by her arms, because Caitlyn is afraid that Vi is going to topple over any second now. Her eyes have left Caitlyn’s nose. Instead, she waves down the bartender.

“That’s enough of that,” Caitlyn says. She shoos the bartender away. He grunts. Vi cusses under her breath.

“You’re not even real,” she says, sighing. “Can I at least have one more drink if you’re going to keep torturing me like this?”

“Not even real?” Caitlyn huffs. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Clearly not enough, Cupcake.”

The word of affection is cutting, though Caitlyn can tell Vi didn’t mean it to be. For her, it’s just a word she’s tossing to a ghost. For Caitlyn, it’s a reminder of that heat that rolls right up and into her heart every time she thinks about Vi. The heat of shame. The heat of want.

“We need to get you home,” Caitlyn whispers. She wishes it was their home. She wishes they could share a life. She wishes Vi weren’t in such bad shape. She eyes her hair. An oil slick.

“Home,” Vi says wistfully. “Why go home? You won’t be there when I wake up. You aren’t even here now.” Her words are slurring.

Caitlyn cusses. If Vi passes out, there’s no way she’s going to be able to get her out of here alone. She takes the risk. She leans in. “Violet,” she whispers. Her thumb, just her thumb, rubs along the bottom of Vi’s jaw.

Vi’s face is damp with sweat, and her eyes flicker, finally locking onto Caitlyn’s. “It can’t be you,” she says. For a moment, worry spills across her features, blush coloring her pale face.

“Let me help,” Caitlyn pleads. “Real or not. Let me help.”

“Fuck, Cupcake,” Vi says. “This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.”

Vi sounds stressed, maybe even angry, but she begins to move. She walks through the bar without turning back and Caitlyn hurries after her, protected by the forcefield that comes from following a ripped butch covered in tattoos and black body paint through a crowd. Caitlyn has a moment of weakness: her eyes scroll the muscle in Vi’s back and the space between her thighs heats. She hasn’t been touched in such a long time. She takes the safety of the darkness to comb her eyes over the rest of Vi, and it only makes that burning worse. She swallows, hard.

And she follows Vi into the outdoors.

The air is sickly sweet with Shimmer and humid with the sweat that spills from the bar and into the open air. Caitlyn shrugs her cape higher on her shoulders and tries to look menacing. Vi seems to notice nothing around her at all and takes slow, heavy steps into the alleyway. Luckily for them both, Vi’s place isn’t far from the bar at all. Caitlyn lets her guide them in silence around the corner and up the staircase. When Vi doubles over, barfing into a bush, Caitlyn freezes, standing just close enough to make sure she doesn’t pass out.

Vi dares a look at Caitlyn as if to make sure she’s still real, and is still there. When their eyes meet, her pale face goes red. “We’re almost there,” she offers, quietly, like she’s maybe still speaking to a ghost.

Caitlyn follows.

A narrow path. A filthy staircase. Vi slams her fist into the top corner of a door and steps aside. “After you, my lady,” she jokes, her voice too soft to match the levity of her words. Caitlyn does as she asks.

Vi’s apartment is less of a living space and more like a desperate box, the sort of place someone who doesn’t really need a space to live, but a space just to crash, inhabits. Her bed is less a bed and more a smattering of cardboard and a single, flat cushion. The two wooden tables that line the far wall and window are home to stacks of empty bottles, long abandoned and still dripping foul fluid onto the rotten wood floor. The sink has never seen a scrub; the walls smell like smoke, the history of previous inhabitants baked in and irremovable. A fire blazes in the corner, doing a poor job at keeping even such a small space warm.

Caitlyn can’t help the sad “Violet” that falls from her lips.

“What?” Vi snarks. “We can’t all live in palaces.”

Caitlyn flinches at the words and pulls the door closed behind Vi. She looks for a lock, but finds nothing. “Are you safe here?” she asks.

“Look, Ghost Cupcake,” Vi says. “If you’re going to be here, I’m really going to need you to cut out the judgment.”

Ghost Cupcake. Caitlyn’s lip twitches. Funny, even when drunk out of her damn mind. “I can respect that,” she promises.

Vi runs her fingers through her hair, and black smears on her fingers, darkening her nails. “I wish I could tell if you’re real,” she says, grimacing. She shakes her head and walks to the sink, where she rinses out her mouth and begins aggressively brushing her teeth. “If you are real, I’m sorry you saw me barf my guts out.”

“I just hope you’re alright,” Caitlyn says. She isn’t sure what to do with herself, so she stands in the middle of the room, trying to keep herself small and out of the way of the, well, masses of trash and glass liquor bottles abandoned around the space and nearly every surface.

“Remember what I said. No judgment.” Vi speaks with her toothbrush hanging out of her open mouth. “Move some shit. Have a seat.” She shrugs and goes back to cleaning herself.

Caitlyn brushes a few bottles away from the corner of the table, letting them crowd the narrow windowsill. She sits atop the table and crosses her legs, and then feels too formal and lets them splay.

“So, Ghost Cupcake,” Vi says, spitting into the sink. She whirls around. “If you are real, why the fuck are you in my lovely abode?”

Caitlyn recoils. “I was worried.”

Vi shakes her head. “Ah,” she says. “Wrong answer.”

“I know I hurt you,” Caitlyn says the words quickly, like Vi might shut her up. “And I wanted to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Vi says.

“O-oh,” Caitlyn says. Her eyes fall to the earth. She takes in stacks of ragged papers, abandoned documents, letters started and unfinished. She sees her name. Her eyes flick upward. Oh. “What is it you want, then?” She says, emboldened.

“If you really are real,” Vi says, walking closer to Caitlyn. A shock runs from the bottom of Caitlyn’s spine to the very top. “I really only want one thing from you.”

Caitlyn’s mouth falls open. She raises her fingertips to her mouth. “Vi,” she says. “You don’t… we don’t have to do anything. I was worried. I wanted to check on you.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Vi says. “What don’t you understand, Ghost Girl?”

“Why do you think I’m a ghost?”

“Why do you think?” Her eyes flash. “You don’t think I’ve thought about you ever single day since our last… conversation? You don’t think I think about you with every other woman I fuck? Every punch I throw? Every single day when my eyes have the nerve to open and force me to live another twenty-four hours where I have to know you’re just…” she throws her hands up, and Caitlyn notices the dark red blood on her bandaged wrists. “Out there! Being a… I don’t know, vampire enforcer?” She points at Caitlyn’s cloak, and Caitlyn’s face heats. “And here I am, a waste of fucking space, doing the only thing I know to do.”

Caitlyn drops her gaze. She can’t look at her like this anymore. Vi is so… angry. And Caitlyn understands why she is. She should be. But it hurts in a way she didn’t expect.

“What did you think this was going to be?” Vi says, as if hearing her thoughts.

“I…” She thought she could apologize. She thought she could make it right. She thought Vi would be much more okay than she is. She thought that she was the only one struggling to make it through the day, spiraling without her… her… her soul mate, being ripped to shreds with the knowledge that the woman she needs most of all to understand the point of existing in the world is just out there, without her. “I need you, Violet.” It’s the simplest way to say what she came here to say.

Vi’s eyes jump from one of Caitlyn’s to the other. Her mouth opens, and closes.

There it is. The glow.

Vi looks alive. “I can leave,” Caitlyn says. She’s done what she needed to do. She needed to know Violet was okay. “If you want me to leave.”

A pause. Vi drops her head, and her chest heaves with the force of her inhale. Caitlyn swallows so hard it hurts. She digs her nails into the table on either side of her. And she waits for the next few seconds to decide it all.

Vi stands still, working her jaw as she thinks. Her thick thighs threaten to rip through the worn fabric of her pants, and her abs flex as her breathing deepens. Caitlyn walks her gaze from the very bottom of Vi’s feet to the curve of her calves and the strength of those thighs, the soft shape of her hips and the dip of her hip bones above them, that jut of her abs that makes her mouth dampen and the slope of her chest, growing wider and wider until her broad shoulders force Caitlyn to swallow back the saliva that fills her mouth. When she reaches Violet’s face, she freezes. She is caught.

And Vi fucking smiles.

When they come together, it’s a snap, an instant, a burst. Vi latches onto Caitlyn and Caitlyn wraps her legs around Violet’s waist as hard as she can, shoving her between her own thighs and wanting to strangle out any bit of her that can still feel the touch of another woman. Vi breathes in like she’s on the brink of asphyxiation, taking in the scent of Caitlyn’s raw skin, dampened with the sweat of her need for Vi and the stickiness of the night.

It’s so quick it should hurt. There should be a violence to their reunion.

But it comes as naturally as breathing. Violet answers every scramble of Caitlyn’s with grace: she knows that the blue-haired girl wants to crawl into her skin and root out every single thing that has ever hurt and replace it with her love. Caitlyn answers Violet’s desire to become a single being with adoration: she knows that the red-haired girl has so rarely had a way to connect, skin to skin, without pain being a part of the deal.

“You’re so pretty,” Caitlyn whispers in Vi’s ear, and Vi laughs like she can’t believe the words.

“I didn’t know if you’d like me like this,” she says, holding the girl in her arms.

“What? An oil slick?” She voices her earlier thought.

Vi laughs now, harder, and they giggle together. But it isn’t so funny when Caitlyn reaches for Violet’s belt and tugs. “Like before?” she asks, meaning the rules of the game, and she sees Vi’s eyes soften when she realizes Caitlyn remembers that she doesn’t like to be touched in all the ways. Caitlyn remembers the first time Violet curled against her and told her about her body and what she knew it didn’t like. She remembers the way Violet’s entire body sagged when she realized Caitlyn wasn’t going to be a dick about it. And she remembers the way they fucked after, Caitlyn taking what she needed and giving Violet what she needed most of all. “Mostly,” Vi says. “But right now,” she pauses, eyes searching. “I really just need to fuck you.”

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. Here on Vi’s terms is where she is most comfortable, even if her preference is to do the fucking. She knows this is going to kill her when it ends, but in this single second, she just needs Vi inside of her and grunting in her ear as she fucks her in earnest.

A yank. A slide. Caitlyn’s pants are gone, her underwear removed with it, black cotton next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey. A slip, and Vi drags two fingers through Caitlyn’s heat. Caitlyn moans, long and low. Vi pauses and lifts her fingers to her face, eyes taking in the glimmer of Caitlyn on her skin, a spider web of want. “I guess it’s official,” she says, half to Caitlyn’s cunt and half to her face.

“What?” Caitlyn raises an eyebrow.

“You aren’t a ghost after all, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn rolls her eyes, a giggle spilling forward that turns into a grunt when Vi unceremoniously shoves both fingers deep inside of her. Caitlyn aches with need, and she wraps her arms around Violet’s broad back, her shoulders hunching forward as she tries to get as close to Vi as possible. She squeezes her cunt against Violet’s fingers and it’s Vi’s turn to cuss. Push and pull; Caitlyn ruts her hips forward and Vi digs her black-painted fingers into Cailtyn’s hot, pallid hip, squeezing the flesh and holding her in place. Vi shifts tactics, turning her fingers over inside of Caitlyn – and making her laugh with the shock of it – and rubbing that spongey, wet patch right inside of her aching cunt. Caitlyn’s head falls forward, her breath coming hot and heavy in Vi’s ear.

“You sound incredible,” Vi says. “I could listen to you for..”

Forever, Caitlyn hears.

Vi must realize, because she drops to her knees, her fingers sliding out of Caitlyn with a wet sound so simultaneously sexy and disgusting that Caityn flushes from her cheeks all the way down the tops of her tits.

Vi drops her cheek to Caitlyn’s thigh, staring straight at her cunt as she asks,

“Are you ready for more?”

More on AO3.

[arctik-fox]

[crimsonbluesoul]

Union ❤️‍🔥

[justkeepshippingg]

50 Shades of Honor: Chapter 21

50 Shades of Honor: A Zutara Smutfic

Rated: M

Pairing: Zutara Length: 1929

AU

Author’s note: In which Zuko is sick of pretending and Katara rips the truth into their reality. Or, they don't fuck in an alley, but DO find an abandoned tea shop instead... Chapter 20 for ref.

Twenty-One: Burning

“Take me,” she said. “Anywhere you want.”

Now his gaze dragged from her eyes to her mouth to the whole of her body, pupils dilating, distracted, before his good eye locked on something in the distance and widened.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“I trust you,” she said, and the words were true, even as her thoughts were marred by the needing heat that needled at her core. Just the thought of him pressing inside of her, his hands holding her thighs far and wide, his body shaking with the urge to just rail her, made her want to just do it here, passersby be damned. But he still had his wits about him.

“Come with me,” he said.

Zuko held out his palm, and there in the rain and the cold and the dark, she took it. 

The only sign that the small, dark shop was abandoned was a sign out front that read, “For sale,” in poorly written red script. It was made of dark wood and had a stone facade that was probably once beautiful but was now, simply, sad. It could have been something wonderful, but it sat here alone and waiting for someone to make something of it. Zuko tried not to think that hard about that and tore at the lock on the door and it knocked to the ground, the lock plunk plunk plunking and rolling into a puddle.

Katara peaked around the corner, but no one seemed to notice – or care – that the lovers were so visibly breaking into a would-be shop. For a moment she felt bad, guilt spiraling down her spine, but then Zuko reached for her hand, his palms warm and soft and stepped into the building.

What, was she not going to follow?

Guilt gave way to need and she held his hand in hers, letting herself be led inside.

Here, a few tables scattered about the place, ratty tablecloths atop them. Empty shelves. Large windows covered in dusty drapes. Somehow, the space smelled spicy, like cardamom and ginger and something similar. Tea shop. Katara watched Zuko as he entered the space, his hand still in hers, long fingers tangled in her smaller ones. He paused, his back to her, and leaned his palms on either side of the table at the center of the room. She took him in: his long, lean body, draped in black; the way his shoulders formed a near-perfect pyramid, wide at the top and narrow near his waist; the curve of his spine as his head dropped forward, his dark hair longer than it had been the last time she saw him. She could see his body moving with the fierceness of his breath. He seemed nervous, or maybe even afraid.

Frozen, and waiting. He was waiting for her.

Katara took one step, and another, and another, her footsteps hushed against the soft floor beneath her feet. In another world, visitors and locals alike would be sipping tea in the space, laughing over steaming cups and blowing away the heat.

Now, here, they would build their own heat instead.

He didn’t move. Just stood in silence, hair draping over his sharp jaw, masking the features she once memorized with her fingertips. She wanted to memorize them, now. To get to know this Zuko.

Who would he be, now?

She paused at his back, and let her hands settle on his back. She could feel his shoulder blades draw down his spine, tightening at her touch. She focused in on the musculature at his back. One hand drew down, nearer his hip. Her other, up toward his shoulder, his neck, his throat. She drew her palms opposite each other, feeling the fabric of his cloak bunch in her fingertips. His body was scorching beneath her fingertips. When she flexed her fingertips against his throat, she felt the tender skin rumble as she ripped a moan from his lips.

Katara snapped.

She pressed her entire body against his back, keeping one hand at his throat as she pulled him back against her, his body arching against hers. Her other drifted down, down, down, past the sash at his waist and where she craved him most. He shuddered as he hardened in her palm, and she wrapped her fingertips more tightly against him. He was just so… solid. Heavy in her hand. Keeping him close, unable to move lest her fingernails dig into the thick column of his throat, she jacked him off in earnest, each moan, each grunt, each pant against her ears spurring her on. She wanted, in this moment, to own him. To force his pleasure upon him. To remind him that he deserved to feel this good, to have her entirely focused on him.

“Katara,” he moaned, his voice desperate, and she sank her teeth into his neck, tightening her grip on him further still. He thrusted into her palm, giving himself over to her, to her touch, to her hot breath against the scarred flesh of his neck, the cold and rain outside a distant memory, each drop absorbed now by the heat they spilled over each other like a heady glaze. 

“I want it all, Zuko,” she whispered in his ear, her lips wet on the skin.

Her words struck him in a flash, and Zuko yanked her hand away, grabbing her by the wrists and spinning her around, shoving her hips against the table.

She stared up at him. He stood between her hips, his stance far from afraid, now.

“Zuko, wha-”

“I want it all, Katara,” he murmured, his teeth skimming her neck. He pushed his hands into her knees, spreading her wide for him until it almost hurt.

“Spirits,” she sighed, leaning back on her elbows. You can have whatever you want.

Somewhere, thunder rolled. Katara felt deep in her body that it was raining harder still, the water speaking to her, calling to her. The only thing that could keep her away from the power that reached out in search of her soul was this man and his palms and his devotion to her body. Zuko’s eyes raked over her, his gold eyes pausing on hers, and his lip curved up in a smirk. Still, he didn’t look cocky; if anything, gratitude graced his lips as he continued to drink her in with his gaze, roaming from her wide, blue eyes to her high, round forehead to her soft cheeks and her mouth, open in a pout as she waited, patiently, for his kiss. Her heart skipped a beat.

When it came, it was like a slap. His lips pressed against hers, hard, his tongue restrained but his power undeniable, the heat of his mouth overwhelming the cool of hers. Her hips jerked, but he held her back, hands against her knees maintaining her seat on the table in front of him. His palms slid up the crux of her hip, squeezing there, the flesh of her hips, bunching her skirts, and made their way up to her waist, thumbs sweeping her breasts and leaving her shuddering as she kissed him, growing more and more needy as he had his way with her wanting mouth.

Her patience pulled thin, she began to tug at her own clothes, stripping layer by layer until only her bindings remained, drenched at her center. “Zuko,” she said. “I need…”

Zuko’s good eye widened at the new skin available to his stare. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. He looked like he wanted to dig his teeth into her flesh and take a bite. He leaned in. “What do you need?” he whispered against her lips, the words shaping against the sensitive skin of her mouth. His tongue lapped at her bottom lip, once, twice, until she sucked it into her mouth. He grunted, his hips jutting forward.

“Do I even need to say it?” she huffed, reaching behind her back to unwind her bindings. The moment was too serious. She needed something light. She was choking on her feelings for him. They rose up in her mouth like something inky and heavy and dangerous. I love him. Spirits, I love him. It repeated and repeated and she nearly finished removing her bindings, needing their fuck to distract from her adoration of the dark haired, lanky, soft-hearted man between her thighs.

He caught the move and grabbed both of her hands in one of his. “Don’t play coy,” he grinned, now.

“I’m too…” She began. Finally, she admitted it. “I don’t care to play coy anymore, Zuko. So hurry up. And fuck me.”

His mouth dropped open, and she took advantage, tossing herself forward and catching his lips in hers. She wanted to bask in this moment: his hot, warm mouth shaping around hers, pushing and pulling, light scrapes of his teeth against her bottom lip. He held steady on her wrists, forcing her back to arch as she sought him. “And do it well,” she whispered.

Zuko began to unwind her chest, her waist, her hips, eyes locked on each new inch of skin like he couldn’t decide what to sink his teeth into first. She felt fleshy and strong and powerful. She felt wild in her need.  Katara reached for him, feeling as if she might burst if they didn’t get on with it, but he shook his head. His eyes hardened. And he tugged her wrists even further back, shoving her onto her forearms.

She locked her thighs around his hips and squeezed. His eyes fluttered closed and he took a deep breath before parting her thighs again.

He dropped to his knees.

His eyes locked on her cunt, hot and waiting.

“Show me,” he said, more to it than to her.

“What?” she whispered.

“Show me,” he said. “How you fucked yourself while we were apart.”

“Zuko,” she whined.

“I know you did,” he said, his voice almost clipped with how close he was to the edge. “I want to see it. I want to know every single thing you did for every single stupid second I let you be away from me. I never want to be apart from you again,” he promised. “I want to know. I want to know for myself how you made yourself feel good while you were away.”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice quiet, shy.

“Was there someone else?” he asked now, as if it just occurred to him. Gold eyes locked on hers, still gentle in their curiosity.

“No,” she said.

“So you did,” he confirmed. “Touch yourself. I know you, Katara,” he said, and chuckled. “You haven’t spent all this time just sitting there, waiting. Someone has fucked you. And if it wasn’t some other man, I know it must have been you.”

On his last word, he released her palms, allowing her to lift back onto her hands. She shivered as he guided her right hand down her body, her own nails passing over her nipple. She pinched it automatically and he jolted, nodding. “Good,” he said. “Good girl, Katara.” 

She was too needing to hold out anymore. She let him guide her hand between her thighs. “Show me,” he begged, his words coated with his desperation. She gazed at the thick bulge between his thighs where he knelt in front of her. She could give him this.

She would.

She shifted her hips to let her bindings fall entirely to the tea shop floor.