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GET TO THE FUCKING HORSES ALREADY I'm so sorry i dont know what came over me pookie i should never have spoke to you that way and i understand if u want a divorce
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You come onto MY blog, demand I post about the HORSES .
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I will get to the horses soon, I wanna do ten per post and it's literally the last two things I can't find anything for and it's got me in a chokehold. The horse post will turn up soon, as SOON as I can find two more horses I promise
#asks#berserk#its berking time#berserk meme#meme#mr beast#the eclipse berserk#i promise just bare with me its just two more#đđ
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i know this might be controversial, but enough is enough.
as someone who grew up in the rigidityâand, at times, oppressive natureâof roman catholicism, i am so tired of the religious!reader trope where theyâre portrayed as so innocent theyâre practically a child. we were not innocent. we knew the names of our bodies, the weight of shame, and the crushing complexity of guilt. i knew that my vagina was a vagina.
the sheer amount of extremely innocent!religious!reader fics is unsettling. they turn the reader into this caricatureâwide-eyed, naive, almost infantilized, complete with pigtails and an oversized cross necklace perfect for a porn video thumbnail.
for meâand for a lot of other lesbians iâve bonded with over religious traumaâit was never about innocence. it was about guilt. guilt over pleasure, guilt over sin, and all the ways we punished ourselves for being human.
we werenât these overgrown children teetering around in purity. we were messy, complicated, and burdened by shame in ways that were far more nuanced than these portrayals ever capture. enough, please.
#𦷠; allyâs question for the culture.#like it had to be said#ambessa x reader#ambessa x you#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn x you#caitvi x you#caitvi x reader#vi x you#vi x reader#sevika x you#sevika x reader#abby anderson x you#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie willams x reader#female!reader#fem!reader#lesbian#wlw smut#wlw#arcane fanfic#arcane smut#tlou fanfiction#mine ; đ.#losing my mind i fear.#religious trauma#queer religion
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Bernard Hill said once that he came up with the line, âNo parent should have to bury their child.â And, no, itâs not canonical, but itâs absolutely what the story needed. Itâs what the character needed. Hell, itâs what we needed. Itâs a better and more compelling and more relatable and more moving and more empathetic film for having that emotion expressed. It was such a simple idea, but such an important one. And we needed him to get it. May the simbelmynĂŤ always bloom on your place of rest, Mr. Hill.
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More hannibees
#Iâm in the market for Will Graham hee puns rn#hannibal#nbc hannibal#hannibal shitpost#will Graham#my art đ
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⪠đ¸đ đđđ đđđđ đđ đđ˘ đđđđ - đ¸đ'đ đđđ đđ˘đ đđđđđ.
Snippet from a bigger thing i'm working on - there's more to come :)
#mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#wrong organ#horror art#Mouthwashing is one of these games i would love to play again for the first time.#Dense dialogue; striking visuals...horses đ... so much to go off of for fanart !
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đ new nonnie here
What if the reader discovers an old photograph of ghost!max and she started to touch herself at the photographand ghost!max was watching đ¤
â hi nonnie! Welcome welcome, hope to see you drop more filth in my inbox soon since this idea had me reeling for a while, holy fuckkk đľâđŤ 18+ content below
The attic was almost suffocating, its air thick with dust and the scent of aged wood. You hadnât intended to stay long, just long enough to see if there was anything worth saving among the forgotten relics. Most of it seemed unremarkableâtattered books, dusty bookshelves and old trunks that were filled with items you didnât have the energy to sort through just yet. But then you found it, tucked under a heavy cloth that caught your attention for reasons you couldnât explain.
Your fingers trembled as you pulled the fabric away, uncovering an ornate frame, gilded in a way that spoke of another era. Your breath hitched once you spotted the engraving, your pulse quickening as you read the name etched in bold letters at the base: Max Verstappen.
You hadnât known what to expect beneath the cloth, but it wasnât this. The photograph beneath the glass was still crisp, almost haunting in its clarity. You sucked in a breath as you took him inâstanding beside a sleek Formula 1 car. His race suit was unzipped, resting on his hips while the fireproofs stretched tightly across his body, showcasing his athletic build. His hair was a bit disheveled, as though heâd just pulled off his helmet, and his expression was pure arrogance, the smirk tugging at his lips sharp enough to cut.
But it was his eyes that held you captive. Blue and impossibly vivid. Youâd never pictured them when youâd met him as a ghost; the faint outline of his presence had never given you such details. Yet now, staring into the photograph, they were unforgettable, piercing through time and space as though he was staring directly at you.
Your fingers brushed over the glass, tracing the curve of his jaw, the line of his smirk. A warmth spread through you, pooling low in your belly as you imagined what he must have been like in lifeâcocky, confident, utterly magnetic.
âGuess I always had a feeling youâd be hot, but not this hot,â you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.
Your gaze lingered on the photograph, forgetting about the reason behind your attic visit as you felt the heat of arousal curl through you. The longer you stared, the harder it was to resist the pull of him, the fantasy that began to unfold in your mind. He was beautiful in a way that shouldnât have been fair, and you cannot believe you hadnât gotten a chance to see him, to feel him when he was alive.
Before you could think better of it, your hand slid beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers seeking the ache building between your thighs. You circled your clit slowly, your breaths growing heavier as your gaze remained locked on his image.
âMax,â you whispered, a plea as you slipped a finger inside yourself, imagining it was him. You couldâve called him, couldâve felt his ghostly fingers bring you over the edge just like you wanted. But you didnât. No, this moment was for you and Maxâthe ârealâ photographed Max. You pictured how heâd smirk and how heâd look down at you as he took you apart.
The room grew colder, a chill that prickled your skin, but you didnât notice. You were too far gone, too caught up in the way your body responded to your own touch, your mind lost in the fantasy of Maxâs physical presence.
What you didnât see was the faint outline that formed in the corner of the room, the way the air shifted subtly, charged with energy. He was there, watching. Silent, still, his gaze fixed on you as you writhed on the floor of the attic, your fingers thrusting inside yourself, your breathy moans filling the space.
He didnât speakâhe couldnât. The spirit box you used to communicate with him was downstairs, forgotten. But he didnât need words. His presence was tangible, even if you hadnât noticed him.
Your movements grew frantic, your free hand clutching the frame of the photograph as though grounding yourself in the image of him. Your thumb brushed his engraved name again, a whispered, âMax,â falling from your lips as you teetered on the edge.
He watched as your body arched, as your cries filled the room, your orgasm washing over you in trembling waves. His outline flickered in the corner of the room, the air crackling faintly with unspoken energy, as though he was responding to your pleasure in the only way he could.
When your breathing finally slowed, your hand fell away, trembling with the aftershocks. You glanced at the photograph one last time, searing Maxâs blue eyes into your memory for when you feel his ghostly presence again.
Even as the waves of satisfaction ebbed, leaving your body warm and languid, an ache remainedâa deeper, sharper yearning that settled in your chest, because now that you knew what he looked like, you knew you could never truly sate the hollow ache of never having met him, never feeling the heat of his flesh against yours.
want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and itâll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days
#ghost!max#diâs dirty drabbles#đ anon#thef1diary fic#max verstappen blurb#max verstappen x you#max verstappen au#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen smut#max verstappen fic#max verstappen drabble#f1 fanfiction#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 au#f1 x you#f1 rpf
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Poseidon: "DIE!!!"
His dog: *drops down and stops moving*
Poseidon: "good boy" *pets his head and gives him a treat*
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#he's just a horsie girl#horse girly#god of horses đ#let the dogs for hades and birds for zeus#poseidon#epic the musical#epic#epic the musical fanart#funny#wholesome#epic fanart#anon ask#epic poseidon#poseidon epic the musical
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đ¤đbeautyđđ
#smart animals#horse#horses#cute horse#so cute#cute animals#animal#animals#amazing beauty#amazing animals#amazing show#amazing video#horse art#cute#animals video#pet#pets#animal lover#love animals#animals lovers#wow art#wow wow wow#oh my god#fascinating#cuteness#horses đ#đ#tiny đ¤#he's so đ¤#fun
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Wild, Wild West đ
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Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.
Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader
Format: Short fic; 1.4k words
WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.
Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?
REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there was no tomorrow.
You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was familiarâunpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldnât handle.
Why the hell were you out here? Damn you for wanting to tag along, keeping that big oaf company. He couldnât stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasnât too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you a lot.
And speak of the devil. He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. âWhatâs the matter, darlinâ?â he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. âYou donât look too hot.â
Hell, that was an understatement.
He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. âWhatâs the matter?â he asked, placing the hat back on his head.
You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your annoyance to yourself. You werenât even doing any heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.
âItâs hot,â you mumbled, swallowing your pride.
âThen take your shirt off.â He grinned, raising a brow. âItâs just you ân me today, and itâs not like I havenât seen you without it anyhowââ
âStop!â you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, youâd have flushed even redder.
âAlright, suit yourself.â Jamie smirked, planting a kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but youâd soon learn that his world revolved around you.
Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasnât easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugularâyour name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you found yourself popping open a few buttons.
You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.
âWhyâre you sayinâ something like that?â heâd chuckled back then. âItâll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum.â
The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bullâand as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.
âYou wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovinâ, too.â
You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time togetherâmaybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.
âOr I could get Mary Anne to come by. Sheâs always good with âemâknows her way around horses like she was born with âem.â
Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. Youâd seen herâall soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.
Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. âOh, is that so?â you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. âMary Anne this, Mary Anne thatâwhy donât you just go on and ask her, then, since sheâs not a âcity girlâ?â
Jamieâs eyes narrowed. âHey now, whatâs got you so riled up, sugar?â
âWhatâs got me riled up?â you snapped, rising to your feet. âYou know damn well, Jamie. You think I donât notice how you bring her up every time itâs my turn to help?â
You took a deep breath. âI know Iâm not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. Iâve been here for over a year, and you still donât ask me to help.â
He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. âAw, hell, [Name]. You actinâ like this âcause youâre on the rag or somethinâ? Ainât no need to get all hot ân bothered over nothinâ.â
The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. âYou think thatâs what this is about?â you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. âYou think that just because Iâm upset, itâs gotta be because of that?â
Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. âGo on and call her, then!â you shouted over your shoulder. âIâm sure sheâs just itching to help you!â
You didnât wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get awayâsomewhere he wasnât. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you werenât about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.
This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.
The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know youâve had too much, but the nightâs long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.
"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.
Youâve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.
Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.
âNow, darlinâ, looks like your glass is âbout empty,â a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyesâcold, calculating, like a snake. âWhy donât you let me get you another?â
Oh, right. You werenât exactly alone.
âSound good?â he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions youâre too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.
You hum. âThank you.â
For a moment, you try to recall his nameâMichael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide heâs irrelevant.
"You donât want it to get cold now, do ya?"
A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesnât take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.
The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.
The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The strangerâs grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldnât have taken that drink, but itâs too late. The world starts tilting.
You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.
âTakinâ drinks from strangers now, sugar?â His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. âWhyâd you go and do that for? You know better.â
Jamie.
His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The strangerâs hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.
Jamieâs fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. âAinât polite to drink without me, darlinâ.â His tone is calm, but thereâs a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.
You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, thoughâdark and unreadableâpin you in place. Thereâs a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.
He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. Itâs friendly enoughâtoo friendly. Like the way foxes smile when theyâre circling prey.
âMm, youâre drunk.â He says it like itâs a fact heâs already known for hours. âHow much you had tonight, sugarplum?â
You stare at your glass, pretending you donât know. You donât want to admit to your carelessness.
Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. âSo, quite a bit, huh?â
His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. âAnd flirtinâ with some nobody at the bar. Thatâs new.â His eyes narrow. âSo, you gonna tell me who he is?â
The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, âLook, I didnât mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.â
Jamie doesnât even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. âAinât that sweet?â he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like heâs claiming a prize. âBut I think sheâs got all the company she needs.â
The man hesitates, looks like heâs weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.
The world tilts again, and youâre struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.
Jamieâs presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like heâs waiting for something. Like heâs testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesnât just hate you drinkingâhe hates you here, surrounded by people who arenât him.
âLetâs get you home, darlinâ.â His tone is almost gentle, but thereâs an edge beneath it, something possessive and unyielding.
Before you can protestâbefore the room spins againâheâs there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as youâre hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a prize heâs claimed.
The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. Heâs not letting you go.
Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like homeâlike honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.
âMan, youâre gettinâ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?â
âFuck you,â you manage, but itâs weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.
You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isnât so bad.
Maybe this is just how itâs meant to be.
â â đ
â . Ýâ âš . ÝË . Ý
ŠCozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.
#âđ#âjamiemccoyđđ#x reader#yandere x darling#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere scenarios#yandere x y/n#yandere male#male yandere#yandere cowboy#cowboy#yandere male x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere ocs#yandere boy#yandere bf#yandere blog#yancore#yandere content#yandere core#yandere concept#oc x reader#yandere oc#oc
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Self shippers who are comfortable with PDA:
Imagine your protective romantic f/o noticing other people staring at you, or even themself. Not a negative, judgemental stare, but more like an objectifying stare as if they're attracted to you (or your f/o). You don't notice, but your romantic f/o does. Regardless of who they're looking at, the possessive urge takes over your f/o.
Maybe your f/o is the silent, intimidating type. They wrap their arm around you protectively, or they give you a kiss on your cheek or forehead, all while maintaining eye contact with the people staring. The sudden affection takes you by surprise a little, but you love it nonetheless.
Maybe they're more subtle, so you feel them intertwine your fingers with theirs. They give your hand a squeeze, turning to you with a soft expression.
Maybe your f/o isn't the physically affectionate type, and instead they choose to say something to the people staring signifying your romantic relationship with them, explicitly claiming you as theirs.
Or maybe, they do all of the above!
Either way, you see how your f/o takes any opportunity to display their love for you, publicly claiming you as theirs, in many verbal and non-verbal ways. They love you so much, and they'll take any opportunity to show that to the world!
Pro/com/darkship DNI!
#imagine your f/o#romantic f/o#fictosexual#ficto community#f/o imagine#f/o imagines#self ship#đđ #f/o community#self shipping#yumeshipping#proship dni#comship dni#darkship dni
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you!!
kiss your f/o's big nose!!!
look at it, just waiting for a smooch!!!
pr0ship + related dni. divider by horangipilled.
#i like big noses#- grimm's beloved: đŽâď¸#- grimm's beloved: đâ#- grimm's beloved: đ§Źđ#- grimm's beloved: đŚđ¤#- grimm's beloved: đŹâď¸#- grimm's beloved: đđśď¸#- grimm's beloved: đ¸đ#- grimm's beloved: đđł#f/o#self ship#self shipping#fictional other#comfort character#f/o community#f/o positivity#f/o x s/i#f/o prompts#f/o imagines#imagine your fictional other#imagine your comfort character#yumeship#yume imagines#yume community#yumeshipping
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#â¤ď¸đ#the 2nd pic so cute#lewis in maranello#lewis ferrari era#lewis hamilton#scuderia ferrari#f1
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â do you love me enough that i may be weak with you?
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caitlyn x morally ambiguous!fem!reader x ambessa. men & minors dni.
synopsis: you are in competition with caitlyn for ambessaâs attention. you will follow her, to whatever end. no one draws you in like ambessa does. or so you tell yourself, even as caitlyn's lingering gaze makes your heart stutter. sheâs almost desperate to be friends, but you donât trust that girl by any means. to entertain her is to enable weakness. but, then again, have you ever truly been strong?
cw: a lot wow. age gap, older woman/younger woman, you're the youngest but in your twenties, canon divergence au, toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, power dynamics, impact play, body worship, dirty talk, bdsm dynamics, sub!reader, brat!reader, dom!caitlyn, dom!ambessa, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tribbing, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, face-riding, slightly dub-con in some parts, kissing, so much kissing, non-sexual intimacy, shower sex, hate sex (but is it really), sexual punishment, implied mental health issues, implied manipulation, you are all up to no good, polyam but is it really we'll see, caitbessa is not in love but they use each other, slight violence (fighting, training, & reader is hurt though not by caitbessa.), enemies to lover, rivals to lovers, slightly dark but not too much, guys i even wrote this properly no lowercase.
wc: 10.03k
soundtrack: give up - fka twigs, careless - fka twigs ft. daniel ceaser, holy terrain - fka twins, your girl - lana del rey (unreleased), & oh my angel - bertha tilman. order is intentional.
notes: this was supposed to be 7k. i need to be locked up. dedicated especially to @megalomaniacz for being the beautiful mind behind the caitbessa note that started it all. definitely one of my favorite things i've ever written.
A COINâS FIRST SIDE. â CAITLYN.
ââYou do not understand her incessant need to look at you.
The day has broken dark and cold. Your body aches with the rigor of being destroyed and depleted timelessly by Ambessa's experienced hands. It is only the three of you in the early morning - you, Caitlyn with her delicate bones wrapped perfectly in binding and sequestered underneath her uniform of buttery, dusky leather, and Ambessa with her arms bare, her face exposed by the careful braiding of her hair that reveals every subtle shift of expression.
It is this, over and over, until your body shudders into collapse. Yetâminute victory or sudden deathâCaitlyn must look at you. Even when it's her turn, with her arched back pressed hard into the textured bamboo of the mat, her face crushed against the hollow of Ambessa's palm, she is looking at you. Those eyes, relentless and searching, track your every movement. It drives you utterly insane.
The weight of her gaze feels like another opponent entirely, separate from Ambessa's ruthless instruction. You tell yourself it's determination that keeps you standing, keeps you coming back day after day to this dance of dominance and submission. But there's something else, something in the way Caitlyn's breath catches when Ambessa's fingers ghost over that perfectly formed bruise on her collarboneâthe one you gave her yesterday. Something in the way Ambessa's eyes darken when she notices you noticing.
You leave it. You cannot think of it.
Yet it follows you from the training grounds, through the winding corridors where shadows pool like old bruises. Back to the quarters you share with her, where even the air feels thick with unspoken things. It follows you.Â
Caitlyn's presence fills every corner of the space you're forced to call home, from the precise way she arranges her rifle components to the lingering scent of gunpowder and leather that clings to her sheets. You are aware of that incessant staring, of the way her eyes rove over your naked chest; your small breasts are cupped dutifully in your hands as you unwrap yourself with a harsh breath.
Teacup tits, she'd called them when sheâd once had you pinned against the wooden floor. It had been a day without mats; a day of endless testing. She had leaned in close, teeth gleaming like jewels as she held your stomach down with her hips. She had been sitting on you, and you had floundered then froze at the comments. You didnât know she could be so brazen, so dirty-mouthed. This follows you too.
You've learned to move around herâaround each otherâin careful orbit. You are like twin moons, two violent girls with cheeks pressed against each other in the night, caught in some larger gravity - Ambessa's gravity - never touching but always aware. Always watching.Â
The way she strips her gloves off finger by finger after training makes your teeth clench. You tell yourself it's irritation, not fascination when she unwinds the bindings from her own chest with methodical precision. Tell yourself you don't notice how the morning's wounds are already blooming across her shoulders, masterpieces in indigo and blue that match the ones Ambessa left on you last weekâit doesnât make it less true.
And Ambessaâsometimes you catch Ambessa watching too. The way her eyes linger on Caitlyn's throat, on the marks her own hands left there. It sparks something warm and dangerous in your gut - not envy, you insist. Never envy. Just hunger, the same hunger that drives you to push harder, to prove yourself worthy of Ambessa's attention, maybe both of your intentions. To prove you're stronger than whatever weakness Caitlyn stirs in you with her endless watching.
But later the envy cannot help but be itself, and you retch into your hands and sink from the vibrations of your anger. You do not trust her. Youâve seen her with that girl, the reckless pink-haired one, and she knows that youâve seen her. But you are keeping this secret for reasons you donât understand.
And in the dead of night, when sleep eludes you, you hear Caitlyn's breathing change rhythm across the room. You wonder if she lies awake thinking of the way Ambessa's fingers traced that lesion on her hip today, the one that matched the shape of your knuckles perfectly. Wonder if she knows you're awake too, caught in this web of wanting that none of you dare name.Â
đ¸
She is desperate for you, in a way that you do not understand. It is easier when she is quiet about it.Â
There is an evening where she is loudâwhere everything is loudâand it rattles you. There is an incessant buzzing, maybe cicadas, and in the beginning, you are enjoying it because it reminds you of home and the way your feet fall into wet earth in the heart of the warm season. But then slowly, you begin to lose your mind and the buzzing is in your teeth and you now feel slightly detached from the world and your body is nothing but heat and you are almost lapping at the screen between the open dormitory window and the world andâ
You crawl out of bed. You wear nothing but a sleep shirt two sizes too big, the chest open so that your sweat-laden skin gleams like a body of water. It belongs to Ambessa but it was your father's first until she swallowed your homeland and stole you away. You took it back and she said nothing. Maybe she was impressed with the voracity with which you bit and scratched her in the dark, massive cave of her bedroom.
So, yes, you crawl out of bed. You are swamped in ivory fabric and you drag your feet as you roam the halls. There is movement and it scares you, but you muzzle your mouth with your hand so that your scream dies between your teeth. It's only another guard. You keep moving.
Now, you are in the kitchen. You rummage through spaces until your fingers alight on the thick sphere of a pomegranate. You yank and now it is yours; hard and red in your hands. You turn, and she's there.
Caitlyn moves like water in the dark, all fluid grace even in her own sleep clothes. Her eyes catch the moonlight streaming through the high windows, turning them to pale fire. You clutch the pomegranate tighter, your nails breaking the skin. Juice runs down your wrist.
"Let me," she says, and she's closer now, close enough that you can see the light sheen of sweat on her collarbones. It satisfies you that she is warm too, that she is touchable. Her fingers brush yours as she takes the fruit, and you let her only because you're transfixed by the way she reaches for the small cheese knife on the counter, the way she tests its edge with her thumb. You hope for blood but there is none.
You don't remember moving, but suddenly you're against each other, a dance of hands and breath and barely-contained violence. She pushes, you pull. You spin her toward the table, but she turns it, uses your momentum to send you both sprawling across its surface. Your back cracks against the stone like a bone. Her face crumples momentarily at the sound of your pain, but then she is herself again. The pomegranate rolls away, forgotten until it isn't.
You think of another table, a wooden one from when you were younger. You think of hiding beneath the heavy oak with her, your breaths shallow and hushed as you press close to her side. You were younger then, small enough to fit between her knees, your hands gripping hers like a lifeline. Above, Ambessaâs boots thundered across the floor, her sharp commands reverberating through the room.
âWhere are you?â sheâd barked, voice like a stone through a window.
But Caitlyn had only grinned, leaning in to whisper, âDonât breathe."
It's different now. You no longer fit.
She lands on top of you when you hit the floor, pinning you with her hips. The knife glints in her hand, but she just smiles, that same smile from the training mat, the one that makes your stomach clench with disgust and desiâno. She reaches for the pomegranate, and you watch, breathless, as she begins to peel it with delicate precision.
"I'll show you how," she murmurs, and then she's leaning down, pressing her mouth to yours with bruising force. Her teeth catch your lip, and you taste copper, sharp, and sweet like pomegranate juice. When she pulls back, your blood is dark on her mouth, and she licks it away like it's nothing, like this is nothing, continuing to peel the fruit with steady hands.
You buck your hips and she sets the knife down, next to your wrists where your veins gather and bulge like snakes. She holds you down with her core, and you can feel the heat between her legs. There is a moment where you freeze, and she smiles with delight. You buck again and she slams you back down, using a hand around your throat to keep you beneath her like a lamb. Her other hand comes upâthe knife, you think in fearâand loiters against herself. Then it moves down, quick and smooth, to raise her slip of a nightgown and bare her creamy thighs. She shifts so that she is atop your stomach, and pushes the shirt up until itâs beneath your breasts.Â
She isnât wearing undergarments, or maybe she is. Maybe they are just thin. Either way, you can feel her against the skin of your belly, warm and weeping. You still arenât moving, but you are slicking in return. You want to bite her, dig until she releases some sort of sound.Â
Then there is a sound - a sharp intake of breath - and you both turn.Â
Ambessa stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable in the darkness. For a moment, she watches, her head tilted like she's solving a puzzle. You look back at Caitlynâwho seems unrepentant about her half-nakedness. You put it together, the idea that they have seen one another like this before. The envy is riotous. You ache to kiss Caitlyn again if only to vomit in her mouth.Â
Itâs as if she knows and so she leans in, holds the side of your head as she feeds you pomegranate seeds from the cavern of her own mouth. Eventually, she is no longer feeding, only taking. She presses harder and harder until you let out a yelp of discomfort. It feels, if you arenât mistaken, like a claim.Â
Ambessa gazes at the two of you for a moment longer, then she turns away. Her footsteps echo down the hall, leaving you with the taste of blood and fruit and Caitlyn's smile against your mouth.Â
You regain your strength; you throw her off.Â
đ¸
You don't sleep.Â
Your body vibrates with fury, with want, with the phantom press of her against your stomach. The dawn breaks grey and sullen through the window, and when you dress for training, you notice Caitlyn watching you again. But it's different now - you see the tremor in her hands, the way she swallows when you bend to lace your boots.
The training grounds are empty. No Ambessa. The message is as clear as a blade against the skin, and you want to scream. Instead, you strip and step into the shower block, letting scalding water pound against your shoulders. You hear the door open, close. Her footsteps on the tile.
"Don't," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. You're too tired to maintain the walls between you.
"You think she's punishing us." Caitlyn's voice is closer now. You hear fabric hitting the floor. "She's not. She's giving us space."
You turn, ready to snarl, but the sight of her stops you. She's different in daylight - less predator, more girl. There are shadows under her eyes that match your own. Water beads on her collarbone where last night's sweat had gleamed.
âGet away from me.â She doesnât. You try again. âSpace for what?âÂ
The question comes out raw.
She steps under the spray with you, and you don't stop her. You watch the way the water falls over her, the spread of the moisture against her staunch skin. She is so angular, so prismatic. You feel as if the world refracts off of her. The water is running cold, so her breasts are erect and straining toward you. You think of drinking from them, more the effort of it, of the space between them where your mouth would fit.
"For this," she says but doesn't touch you. "For whatever this is. I'm tired of watching you pretend you don't feel it too."
"You don't know what I feel."
âI think you are a lonely creature.â
The heat between you evaporates like ash against the wind. Your mouth twists, and she steps toward you. She understands she has misrepresented herself and her intentions. You feel a familiar prickling. Tears.Â
âIs this how you see me? A cowardly animal?â Your voice is flat, and she balks with her hands flexing nervously against her thighs.
âNo. No. I only meantâif anything we are both animals. We have been trained as such at least.â
âYou arenât making this better for yourself,â you say, turning away. âAnd you donât know me in any way.â
"I know you taste like pomegranates."Â
You turn back to look at her, incredulous. âI had just eaten one, you little fool.â
âI know you let me kiss you before you threw me off.â Her smile is small, almost sad. âI know you've been keeping my secret about Vi.â
The name hits like a slap. You rise to the bait.Â
"Why her?"
"Why Ambessa?"
You have no answer for that. The water runs between you, and for once, you let yourself really look at her. At the desperation in her eyes, the way sheâs holding herself like she's afraid you'll bolt. Maybe you've both been hungry for the same thing all along.
Still, it eats at you. This odd way she is pretending to be meek and mild. She is soft in the same ways you are, with the same dips in her hips and calluses along her palm. You think of the panther-like movements of her muscles as she readies a shot.Â
Something gathers underneath your tongue, and suddenly you are wailing. Loud and long. You rush at her, but she is waiting for you. She dips, and rams into your stomach as she flips you onto the tile. Though she is fighting back, sheâs careful with you. Your head is cupped by her limber fingers as she sends you down.Â
You kick and catch your foot on her side. With a gasp, sheâs down too, but a hand still manages to grip at the fine bones of your ankle and yank. It hurts, and you make a terrible noise. She releases you as if youâve burned her, and you twist to get out from underneath her.Â
Youâre on your belly now, flopping like a fish, but she makes you stay. She wrestles you up so that your back is bent as you press against her chest. You feel her fingers crawl like spider legs down your chest. She fondles, gropes, your tits. She is starved and erratic, pinching your nipples until they are standing on their own.Â
Your skin is slippery with soap, so Caitlyn digs her nails in for grip. Then the action stops and her hand descends into the apex of your thighs. You try to jerk, try to send her off but she knows this now. She is understanding. Thatâs even worse.
She holds you, exactly as you need, and gets two fingers inside of your cunt. She curves them, tries to pull you inside out. You let out another noise, but it is less terrible. She works at you until you cannot remember language, only a deep animalistic noise of âuh uh uhâ, a rhythm. Her thumb swipes against your clit and youâre there, the pleasure like a blinding fire.
You still try to leave her; you try to crawl. She rolls you over and bullies herself in between your legs until she can place her cheek along your heaving stomach. You begin to cry. Youâre unsure why, but maybe Caitlyn knows because she only strokes your inner thigh to soothe you. She looks up at you, hair black with water.
âIt can be like this, always. You only need toââ
You shove her and scramble back until youâre sitting on your own. She still watches you, cheek to the tile now.
âNo conditions,â she says, reworking her words. âOnly us.â
You close your eyes and see pink. You open them and think of your general.
âThere will always be her.â
Neither of you knows which woman youâre speaking of.
A COINâS SECOND SIDE. â AMBESSA.
Sleep does not come that night either. You only try because when there is no session to distract it, your body aches for a bed.
You lie awake, counting the beats between Caitlyn's breaths across the room, replaying the way her cheek pressed against your belly, her lips ghosting over skin as she spoke. The way she looked at you like you were something both precious and perilous, desired and dangerous all at once. Your body still aches from her attention.
A sound draws you from your thoughts - the soft click of your dormitory door. Through barely-opened eyes, you watch Caitlyn rise like a phantom, pulling on a robe. She doesn't look back as she slips out.Â
Your feet are moving before your mind catches up.
You follow her through corridors you know by heart, the same path you took for that damned pomegranate. But she goes deeper, down halls you've never dared explore. When she stops at a familiar doorâAmbessa's doorâyour heart clenches.
They speak in whispers you can't quite catch, but you see the way Ambessa's hand cups Caitlyn's face, the way Caitlyn leans into it like a cat being stroked. Your stomach twists violently. But then:
"She's ready," Caitlyn says, just loud enough, still soft. "She just doesn't know it yet."
Ambessa's laugh is low, rich like honey. "Oh, little one. She's been ready since I took her. We're just waiting for her to admit it."
You don't stay to hear more. But in the morning, when the summons comesâdelivered by a guard who won't meet your eyesâyou know they were expecting this too. They've been moving you like a piece on a board, and only now do you see the game.
You go anyway. You always do.
You press your lips together to avoid commenting on the way they stand separately like this will erase what you overheard yesterday. Ambessa stands at the center of the room, her presence devouring the light. It bends around her, as though the universe itself cannot decide whether to confront or flee her. Caitlyn is there too, poised and watchful, her gaze darting toward you and away again.
You look at her with an apathy you designed to get you through burning cities and crumbling countries. You wear your motherâs jewelry today: a septum ring with delicate chains of gold stretching across your cheeks, glinting over your ears. Ambessaâs eyes catch on it, a flicker of distaste passing over her face. Your fingers twitch, but you donât remove it.
Caitlyn moves toward you, her steps tentative. You step back, forcing her to stop and speak first. Always assume power. This is what they have taught you.
âDo you find it fun,â you ask, head tilting, âto be careless with me?â
Caitlyn halts, her expression caught between guilt and something softer. Regret, maybe. This may be your delusion. Ambessa remains impassive, her gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.
âLittle one,â she begins, the shared nickname making you flinch. âYou should be grateful. Iâve only eased you into a better space. This insipid competition for my attention is draining. I need my best soldiers to remain the best, to work with one another fluently.â
âYouâve been awful to me,â you say, your voice directed at Ambessa but your eyes locked on Caitlyn.
The mask you wear shifts, and you let your anger surface.Â
âDo not call me her name. Iâm nothing like her.â
Ambessaâs expression betrays a flicker of disagreement, but she inclines her head, a mockery of deference. âAs you wish, little one. What do you think, Cait? Do you agree?â
The nickname hits like a physical blow. Ambessa smiles wickedly. Cait. You used to call her that, back when you were little girls, not yet twisted. You saw her as some kind of beautiful flower, one that had learned to tremble tall amongst the trees.
âYou could have spoken to me,â you say finally, your voice sharper now. âYou didnât need this...elaborate scheme of seduction.â
âLove is a good enforcer,â Ambessa says, her tone rich with amusement.
âYou wouldnât know love if it spat in your face,â you snap.
The room freezes. Caitlyn stiffens, but Ambessaâs expression darkens, her presence swelling like a storm. You meet her gaze, unflinching.
âGet out,â she says, her voice quiet but deadly.
Caitlyn hesitates, her body angling toward you as though to shield you. Her hands twitch, almost childlike in their uncertainty. âSheâs only angry. Let meââ
âGet out,â Ambessa repeats, her tone slicing through the air.
Caitlyn turns to you, desperation softening her features. âListen to me,â she murmurs, stepping closer. âI meant it. All of it. With you. I onlyââ
You think of the evening before. Your throat works until you have something to say; your hand moves before you can think, shoving her back. The memory of her warmth lingers on your palm like a curse. You try to lose it.Â
âGet out,â you whisper.Â
She stumbles, her expression crumpling into something fragile. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay cold, and distant. Caitlyn hesitates for a heartbeat longer, but then she turns to leave.Â
âYou always try so hard to be good,â you push out.Â
She pauses, remains facing away from you.
âI meant it,â she says again. âWith you.â
She goes, the door clicking shut behind her.
Ambessa doesnât speak. She doesnât need to. The silence between you is a battlefield, and you know you are primed to lose.
âDo you want to have me to yourself, or do you only wish to be my favorite?â
The question surprises you. However, you shouldnât be surprised by anything Ambessa does. Her voice is calm, and measured, but it holds a challenge. There waits a quiet dare for you to step into the space sheâs carved out for you. Â
Your throat tightens, words lodging there like a trap. You hate the way your body reacts to herâthe warmth that spreads under your skin, the treacherous pull of her presence. It disgusts you. It thrills you. You feel weak.
âI donât want either,â you say, though the answer feels thin. A lie. Â
Ambessaâs mouth curves into something sharp, more predator than a smile. âLiar.â Â
Your hands clench at your sides. âI refuse to play this game, least of all with you.â Â
âOh, but you are, little one.â She takes a step closer, the sound of her boots deliberate, echoing in the cavernous space between you. âYouâve been playing since the day you first looked at me with that fire in your eyes. When I took you away.â
She clarifies as if you canât quite recall. It grates at your nerves.
âYou hate me, and yet you canât help but ache for me. Do you think I havenât noticed?â Â
Your pulse quickens, the air between you crackling with tension. You hold her gaze, refusing to look away, even as heat rises in your cheeks. Â
âDonât flatter yourself,â you say, but the words lack conviction. Â
Ambessa tilts her head, her gaze dragging over you in a way that feels invasive, consuming. âI donât need to flatter myself. I see you. At first, I thought you might take after me in a way meant to replace your mother.â
She reaches forward, fingers the cold along the ridge of your cheekbones.Â
âI see the way you tremble when Iâm near, the way your apathy tastes so much like desire,â she continues.
She steps closer, and you step back instinctively, your spine meeting the cold stone wall behind you. You hate how small you feel under her gaze, how she makes the air around you feel heavier, suffocating. Â
âYouâve used me,â you bite out, your voice shaking but firm. âYouâve used Caitlyn, too. You pit us against each other like weâre pawns on your board. Is that all we are to you?â Â
Ambessaâs expression doesnât falter, but something flickers in her eyes, something unreadable. âYouâre more than that, but useful as pawns when itâs needed. Both of you. But youâre still mine.â Â
Her hand moves, slow and deliberate, until her fingers brush your jaw. The touch is barely there, a whisper against your skin, but it sets every nerve alight. Â
âYou hate it so much when we touch you,â she says softly, her voice a low rumble. âBut itâs that hate that keeps you sharp. Thatâs why I keep you close. Why weâIâ canât let you go.â Â
You want to pull away, to spit something venomous, to remind her that youâre not some plaything for her amusement. But you donât move. You donât speak. You canât. Â
âCaitlyn wants your approval,â Ambessa continues, her thumb grazing the corner of your mouth now. âShe craves it. But you... you want something deeper, donât you? Something darker.â Â
You flinch.
âI want nothing from you.â Â
Ambessa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. âThen why are you still here?â Â
âBecause you summoned me.â Â
âBecause you wanted to come,â she counters, her voice soft but unyielding. Â
You try to defend yourself, but sheâs moved past this now. Instead, her hands come to the bend of your hips and lift you with an easy effort that makes your legs widen around the bulk of her body. With quick steps she moves you to the chaise just off to the side of the room, sitting you on top of it. The world is blurring; she is moving too quickly for you to dispute.
Ambessaâs hands are firm as she strips you bare and traces the shape of you. Like Caitlynâor maybe Caitlyn, like herâshe cups a tit in her large hand and squeezes. This version of it is more painful, different from its softer sister movement in the shower.Â
She leans forward, opens her mouth, and swallows that loose circle of fat. You arch into the heat of her lips, moan low and reedy as she suckles at your nipple. Her teeth trap bits of skin between them, marking you purposefully. She pulls off and takes your other breast inside of her again to be teased and tainted by her bruises.
You rock gently, chasing the feeling. This time when Ambessaâs mouth leaves you, she presses your tits together and appraises them.Â
âShe said this was one of her favorite parts of you.â When she finds your confused gaze, Ambessa smiles. âCait.â
You tense at that, and she chuckles. The sound infuriates you. Still, you do nothing as she sinks lower, her breath approaching the swollen pearl of your clit. Without a word she latches on to you, lapping idly at you as if you arenât already dripping down her chin. She holds you as your body stutters, pleasure arcing through you like thousands of arrows.Â
Ambessa is measured in this too. She sucks your folds into her mouth, laps at you carefully as she grips your ass. She makes you ride her, clit bumping against her strong nose as you follow her instruction. She draws back from you once, only to spread you apart and spit crudely into your cunt. She watches it travel down your slit, slicking you with her saliva, then she spits again and pushes it in with a finger.
Before she continues she glances at you and gives you another order.
âSay her name.â
You say nothing, mind racing. She slaps your ass, hard.
âSay her name. As you used to.â
You understand now. Again, you ride her tongue but when your mouth opens it is not her name that you say.
âCait,â you moan, legs falling open even wider.
Ambessa adjusts you, slings your legs over her wide shoulders as she consumes you. She shakes her head, burying herself in your cunt as she leads you over the edge. Over and over, she laps at you until youâre panting hard like you would when sparring. This is sparring in another form.
âOh, fuck,â you whisper. âOh, fuck. Fuuuuck, Cait. Please.â
âMmhmm,â Ambessa hums over your clit, and thatâs the end of it for you.
You let out a sharp, shrill scream and attempt to bow over yourself with the strength of your orgasms. Ambessa refuses to let you, forcing you back and keeping your legs spread so that she can watch your cunt flutter wildly as you cum.Â
âThere you go,â she murmurs.
âYeah,â you answer, dazed and nonsensical.
Your pussy spasms, pink and oozing juices like a wound. Your thighs strain with the stretch of remaining open. You think of the shower floor.
âCaitlyn,â you gaps. You canât stop pulsing. âYes. Fuck, Cait.â
Thereâs a thud outside, against the door as if someone has fallen.
Ambessa removes her hands. The silence stretches between you, taut and electric. Finally, you find your voice, though itâs hoarse and trembling.Â
âIf you think Iâll ever belong to you, youâre wrong.â Â
Ambessaâs smile returns, wicked and knowing.Â
âYou are brave, but you already do, little one. You just havenât admitted it yet. What do you think we speak of waiting for?â
The absence of her touch feels colder than it should. She steps back, giving you space, but her gaze remains heavy on you, a reminder that you are never truly free of her. Â
âGo,â she says, her tone dismissive. âThink about what you want. And when youâre ready to admit it, you know where to find me.â Â
You donât wait for her to say more. You rise and make to leave, hands grappling over your clothes. You feel discombobulated like a puppet with its strings cut. You only manage to slide your shirt back over your head and it dusts the tops of your thighs.
Ambessa only watches your struggle. You hate her. You want her. You donât know where one feeling ends and the other begins. Â
You tug the door open and step back as Caitlyn spills back against the floor, hand still between her thighs and shining with her own pleasure. Her chest is heaving, her skin pink with the rush of lust and physical exertion. Her legs splay beneath her like a dollâs.Â
She pulls her fingers out with a wet âschleckâ and tucks them into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she looks up at youâunashamed. You say nothing, only bend down and tug her fingers from her mouth. You put them in your own.
THE COIN, FACE DOWN. â CAITBESSA.
The dormitory is devoid of you. Caitlyn is unsurprised. Â
You are unused to being touched. You donât know how to be wanted.Â
Still, she worries. More accurately, she spirals. The ache of your absence gnaws at her in the quiet moments, like a phantom limb she canât stop reaching for. She doesnât know where youâve gone.Â
Ambessa is losing herself too, albeit in a different way. Caitlyn wonders if she has ever truly lost something before. Â
The world continues to turn. They train, a familiar ritual that feels increasingly hollow. Their strikes are sharper now, their parries more reckless. Ambessaâs movements carry an edge Caitlyn hasnât seen before, a fury barely leashed. She fights like sheâs trying to exorcise something, and Caitlyn is often the target of that rage. Â
A blow to her stomach knocks the wind out of her. A strike to her face nearly cracks her jaw. Caitlyn knows better than to show weakness, so she grits her teeth and pushes back, delivering her own brutality in return. She delivers as well as she receives.Â
She kicks Ambessa in the mouth once, the impact jarring up the toned meat of her leg. The older womanâs lip splits, blood dripping down her chin, but she doesnât flinch. In response, Ambessa hurls Caitlyn into the corner of the room. She skids across the mat, hitting the wall with enough force to rattle her bones.
Ambessa isnât looking at her, stays crouched on the mat with her hand pressed to her mouth. Caitlyn struggles upward, sliding to rest against the wall. The fight had been nothing more than an outlet, and Caitlyn, nothing more than a tool. Caitlyn struggles to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall. The guards in the room avoid looking at them, the air too charged, too dangerous.Â
Something simmers in Caitlynâs stomach, a volatile mixture of anger, frustration, and something softer she doesnât want to name. She refuses to puncture it, afraid of what might spill out. She is already suffering enough, diseased with the spores of her affection for you.Â
And Ambessa. Â
The thought churns in her mind, dark and poisonous. Ambessa has become an obsession she doesnât want to admit to, a shadow that looms too large since that moment in the room. Caitlyn hates her, resents her, envies her. She knows what you taste like, what youâd like. She too has been inside you. Caitlyn now has nothing; they are disgustingly equal.
 But beneath it all, she respects her. And thatâs what makes it worse. Â
When Caitlyn finally speaks, her voice is strained, biting. âDo you always break your toys this quickly, or am I just special?â Â
Ambessaâs gaze finally lifts, sharp and cutting. She wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles, a malignant curve that doesnât reach her eyes. Â
âSpecial?â she echoes, rising to her full height. âYou think too highly of yourself, Cait. Youâre simply better than most.â Â
The nickname grates, a reminder of the intimacy they share nowâunwanted, unavoidable, tangled in you. Caitlyn clenches her fists. âDonât call me that.â Â
Ambessa takes a step closer, her presence suffocating, magnetic. âYouâve been insufferable since she left,â she says, voice low and dangerous. âDo you think I donât see it? You miss her like a dog misses its master.â Â
âAnd you donât?â Caitlyn fires back, the words cutting deeper than she intended. Â
Ambessaâs expression darkens, and for a moment, Caitlyn wonders if sheâs gone too far. But then the older woman smirks, cruel and knowing.Â
âI miss her,â Ambessa admits, her tone a blade. âBut not like you do. You ache for her because she is a twin to your pain, a foil to my approval. I ache for her because she belongs to me.â Â
The words twist in Caitlynâs chest, sharp and unbearable. âShe doesnât belong to anyone,â she snaps. Â
Ambessa chuckles a low, bitter sound. âYouâre wrong. [Name] belongs to both of us, and thatâs why you hate me.â
Caitlynâs breath catches, and she doesnât deny it. Â
Without you, they writhe like snakes, their weight pulling them into collision after collision. The mouth of the snake swallows the tail. The hatred between them is palpable, a toxic undercurrent that fuels their every interaction. And yet, when the nights grow long and the ache of your absence becomes unbearable, they find themselves drawn together. Â
Itâs not love, not even close. Itâs desperation, a way to drown the pit youâve left behind. Their intimacy is suffocating, a visceral reminder of everything they canât have.Â
When Caitlynâs nails dig into Ambessaâs back, itâs not out of affection but frustration. When Ambessaâs teeth scrape Caitlynâs collarbone, itâs not passion but punishment. They use each other because they canât have you. After all, the emptiness you left is too much to bear alone. Â
Itâs never enough, no matter how fierce. Because they donât want each other.
They want you.
Still, they try.
đ¸
Again, the shower.Â
Theyâre slightly cruel to one another. It fuels the high.Â
Caitlyn snaps back to the moment as Ambessa needles a nail into the mottled skin beneath her shoulder blade, where a bruise sits thick and spreading. She hisses in pain, tits pressing further against Ambessaâs own. There are three thick fingers in her pussy and they fuck her in the way she needs.Â
Despite the embarrassment, she lets her head fall onto Ambessaâs wide shoulders as she chases her orgasm. Her cunt is like water, dribbling down Ambessaâs wrist as she carves Caitlyn out. Again, a nail presses into the bruise.Â
The motion is harsher this time around and Caitlyn cries out, throwing her head back so that her hair brushes the middle of her spine. Ambessa continues to toy with this patch of marred skin, teeth clamping on the wide skin of Caitlynâs neck as the younger woman twists and shudders around her.Â
âGood fucking girl,â Ambessa mutters, fucking her faster.
Caitlyn bounces to meet her, slamming herself down until her belly tightens and roars. Ambessa lifts her further, suctions her mouth around one of her perky tits, and digs deeper into the pink tight nature of her. Caitlyn roots a hand in her hair and slides the other down her body to collect pieces of that foamy, white ring gathering around Ambessaâs hand.
Slick with herself, she rubs tight, quick circles around Ambessaâs clit. The older womanâs cunt is large, folds heavy and leaking. Caitlyn feels her tremble and she moves faster, breath coming fast as the spray of the water slides down the crack of her ass.
With a muffled grunt, Ambessa cums. As she does, she bites deeply into the meager flesh of Caitlynâs collarbone. Caitlyn whites out, eyes rolling back briefly so that sheâs swaying and focusing on a blurred ceiling. Their orgasms warp and connect; they refuse to stop touching one another as if it will keep reality at bay.
The comedown is almost irritating, and in a frenzy, Caitlyn clutches Ambessa to her chest. This does nothing.Â
She kisses Ambessa feverishly, practically mauling her, because the echo of your cunt is on her lips. Ambessa holds her, returns the kiss, then breaks it.Â
âNo matter how hard we try, she is not here.â
Caitlyn closes her eyes and her face pinches in pain.
âAnd where is she? Gone, and you are doing nothing to find her.âÂ
This close, Caitlyn can see Ambessaâs face twitch and melt into something revealing. Something rocks through her at the sight and she detangles their bodies.
âYou cannot find her.â
The statement is accusatory, so much so that Ambessa surrenders and turns away. She shuts off the water; Caitlyn remains shivering.Â
THE COIN, POCKETED. â YOU.
Your mouth tastes like metal and smoke. The streets of Zaun pulse beneath your feet, virulent and alive, and you can barely remember how many days it's been since you left them. Since you left her. Them.
You've gotten yourself into trouble - the kind Ambessa would have prevented, the kind Caitlyn would have shot through. Blood trickles down your side from where the knife caught you, and your vision swims with chemical fumes and exhaustion. You don't know where you're going anymore, just that you're going.
The world tilts sideways. You stumble and catch yourself against a wall slick with condensation. A familiar laugh echoes from somewhere above - it stops your heart, then starts it again too fast. You know that laugh.
When you look up, they're there on one of the suspended walkways - Caitlyn and that pink-haired girl, Vi. They haven't seen you yet. Vi has her hand on Caitlyn's waist, casual, proprietary. Something in you breaks and mends and breaks again.
Then Caitlyn turns her head, and her eyes find yours like they always have. The world stops. You try to runâyou always try to runâbut your legs give out. You thud to the ground. Mind heavy. Heart heavy.Â
You hate her more than anything else in the world. You wish that was true.
You hear the clatter of boots on metal as she descends, and then she's there, gathering you up as if she hadnât been entangled a moment before. She hooks a hand into your hair, and claws you into looking at her as she squeezes your face hard. Something inside of you understands that the action isnât intentional, not this time.
She bends, hair falling from her hurried bun, and swallows youâgrime and all. Her kiss tastes devastating and strains with relief, and you're too weak to fight it anymore. You push back, this time into her, and force her to hold you. She squeezes you tighter, moaning almost obscenely as she relapses and languishes in your feel, in your taste.Â
Here is her sweet girl. Her sweet fucking girl.Â
âCait,â you moan.
She pulls away and strokes your baby hairs away from your forehead as you let out a feeble, wounded noise.
"Vi," she says, not looking away from your face, "help me. I need to get her back to Ambessa."
"This is your runaway?" Vi's voice is rough, knowing. "The one you've been tearing yourself up over?"
Caitlyn's hands tighten on your arms. "It's important for the mission that we-"
"Save it, Cupcake." Vi's laugh is different now, sadder. "I know what love looks like on you."
That training, that beloved animal comes back in full force, and Caitlyn looks up from beneath her lashes. Her face contorts and itâs the strangest sheâs ever seemed to Vi. She reaches up, hooks a hand around Viâs jaw, and drags her down.Â
âGet it together, Violet. This is not your moment.â
Vi blinks at her, equal parts disturbed and titulated. Caitlyn lets her go, places that same hand on the peek of skin between the hem of your shirt and your linen pants. Why would you ever wear linen when running away? She looks back up again, traces Viâs expressionâanalyzes it.
âI can love you both. Iâve done it before.â
Vi's laugh catches in her throat. You watch through half-lidded eyes as something passes between themâ understanding, maybe. Or resignation. Your blood is making patterns on the ground.
"Fine," Vi says, and then she's lifting you like you weigh nothing, careful of your wound. "But if this gets me killed, I'm haunting you both."
âIf she dies because of our procrastinating, Iâll do something worse than haunting,â Caitlyn snaps.
Caitlyn's hand doesn't leave your skin as you move through the undercity. You drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments: Vi muttering about shortcuts, Caitlyn's fingers pressing against your pulse, the way they work together like they've done this before. They probably have.
"Stay with me," Caitlyn keeps saying, and you're not sure if she means now or forever. Maybe both.Â
You think of Ambessa waiting, of how her hands will feel on your skin again, of how she'll look at you like you're something wild she's finally caught. You think of Caitlyn's desperation in the shower, that fucking shower and itâs cold waterâof her mouth against your stomach. Of how they both break you apart and put you back together wrong.
"She's burning up," Vi says somewhere above you. Her voice sounds almost gentle.
"We're close." Caitlyn's voice shakes. "The extraction point is-"
"I know where it is." A pause. "You really love her that much?"
"More than is safe."
You want to tell her that nothing about any of you has ever been safe. Instead, you let the darkness drag you into its arms.
When you wake, you're in Ambessa's chambers. The sheets smell like her - lime and mango and earth. Caitlyn is curled against your side, her breath evening out against your neck. And there, in the doorway, Ambessa stands watching you both with hunger in her eyes.
"Welcome home, little one," she says, and steps inside.
THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD â CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.
Ambessa moves like smoke in the water.Â
The room holds its breath as she approaches, and you feel Caitlyn's arm tighten across your middleânot protective, possessive. They don't look at each other. They never do. Their hunger is only for you.
"Did you think you could run from us?" Ambessa's voice is silk over steel, very careful in the moment. She sits on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips with her weight. Her hand finds your ankle, thumb pressing into the hollow where your pulse beats rabbit-quick. "From me?"
You try to answer, but Caitlyn's mouth is suddenly on your neck, wet and wanting. She bites down, marking you, claiming you and Ambessa's grip tightens in response. They're going to tear you apart.
You realize, distantly, that you want them to.
"She's hurt," Caitlyn murmurs against your skin, but her teeth don't gentle. "We should-"
"We should punish her," Ambessa cuts in, and your body betrays you with a shiver. Her hand slides higher, past your knee. It makes you realize that youâre in nothing but a simple pair of baby blue cotton panties and a skimpy bra. Your tits spill out at the bottom. "Shouldn't we?"
Caitlyn makes a sound like drowning. Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and ghost over the bandaged wound at your side. "Yes," she breathes, and you feel yourself sinking, sinking. "But she's ours to punish."
"Ours," Ambessa agrees, and the word feels jagged.
You're losing yourself in them. A thought floats up through your hazy mind: that they refuse to acknowledge each other even as they work in tandem to break you down, to unmake you piece by piece. Their synchronized destruction should be beautiful to watch if you can remember how to open your eyes.
"Look at me," Ambessa commands and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. Her hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip. "She trembles so prettily for us, doesn't she?"
Caitlyn's answer is to drag her nails down your spine, making you arch into the touch. The pain blooms like ink in water, spreading out until you can't tell where it ends and pleasure begins. You're caught between them - Ambessa's unyielding strength and Caitlyn's desperate need - and you're not sure you want to escape.
"Tell us why you ran," Caitlyn whispers, but it's not really a question. Her fingers trace the edges of your bandages again, a reminder of what your foolish escape attempt cost you. "Tell us what you thought you'd find out there.â
"Freedom," you manage to gasp, and Ambessa's laugh is dark honey, sticky-sweet, and dangerous.
"Oh, little one." Her grip tightens, not quite painful. Not yet. "You're only free when I allow it."
She speaks only of herself, but you know the notion pertains to both of them. You know they're right. You've always known and it leaves something bitter in your mouth. That's why you ran - not to escape them, but to make them chase you. To prove they would. To ensure they'd punish you when they caught you.
And now they have.
"Please," you breathe, though you're not sure what you're begging for. More? Mercy? Neither?
"Please what?" Caitlyn's voice has gone rough with her aching. Her teeth find your shoulder again, and you shudder. "Use your words."
But Ambessa's hand is sliding into your hair now, pulling your head back to expose your throat. "No," she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "I don't think she gets to speak anymore tonight. I think sheâll bore me with her useless whining.â
The whimper that escapes you makes them both pause, just for a moment. Just long enough for you to feel their satisfaction ripple through the air like heat waves. You might die this way, youâre realizing. They may build you up one final time, only to slit your throat at the time of climax.
Ambessa is practically stone with her tempered fury, and Caitlyn is antsy with her need. You never realized how much you riled them in the same manner they did you. Ambessa goes on to say more, filling the silence with something sick and cruel but Caitlyn has had enough now.Â
She lurches up, rolls you over so that she sits atop just like the night she first kissed you. The night where it all burst. Thereâs a moment where she has a hand on your chest, pushing down as if resuscitating you. You donât understand it until you look down and see the way the pressure makes your breasts surge and spurt from underneath your bra. She pushes again and again and again until youâre taking halting, broken sips of air. Over and over, your tits spill until she grows crazed and snaps the fabric off of you.
Ambessa only watches, though you notice her thighs spreading. She looks soft, her hair unbraided and haloing her face. She wears nothing but a silk yellow robe which displays her figure lovingly. Your cunt grows warm, tender.
Catilyn taps your cheek, brings you back to her. You canât remember if the button-down she wears is yours or Ambessaâs. Maybe both. You wince at her weight on your stomach and she moves up and over your face.Â
Thereâs no time to prepare for the way she comes down on you, her groan thunderous as her pussy settles on your parted mouth. You fall into line, give her what she wants.
Still, you are to be punished, so she sits for a long while. Just smothers you. Occasionally she grinds, filling your nose with her musk. You can feel her soft curls around your lips, and you arch up as if to crawl inside of her skin. This gets her to move, a slow rocking that amps up as you settle into making out with her pouring pussy.Â
You kiss her here, over and over, dragging your tongue into the affair until sheâs riding you. Your tongue slips in and Caitlyn quivers with a whimper as she rides your face harder. You bring a hand up to hold her, to prevent her from slipping but she smacks it away.Â
âNo,â she pants. âNoâoh, fuck me. Holy shiiiit.â She bounces liberally, selfishly. âNo touching.â
Caitlyn leans forward, supporting herself as she fucks down on you with fervor. Youâre so distracted with getting her to fill your throat with her pleasure that you mistakenly lose focus on where Ambessa is. Which is why the press of her cunt against your own absolutely blindsides you.
Sheâs climbed atop the bed during the desperate coupling between you and Caitlyn, removing your panties so that your pussy winks at her voraciously. True to her nature she decides to take, to conquer you. You grip Caitlyn tightly, so tightly that she squeals and cums at the pain.Â
You forget to let go, buck wildly as she creams over your nose and chin. It settles on you like sugar; she takes a long finger and dips it inâsoft and sweet. You suckle at the pad of it, taking the digit into your mouth and moaning around it as Ambessa slides your cunts together.Â
You canât tell if you are one body or three or three-in-one. You feel enmeshed in the both of them. Your blood is theirs; your cunt is theirs. Maybe it is less togetherness and more possession. Ambessa groans deeply as you gush against her, the squelch both loud and quiet. Caitlyn is now off to this sideâthis you know. She has her other fingers playing with herself, shifts down to let them puncture her.Â
She shoves another finger into your mouth and you gag, let her hit the back of your throat. Drool is coalescing and running over them. The sight makes Ambessa open you further, and hold you down as she slides your clits together over and overâharder and harder.
Your babbling makes the both of them smile, dark curves tinged with their sadistic pleasure. Again, the possession. Ambessa shoves Caitlyn aside and crawls over you to hook her thicker digits into your mouth. She drags you, your head lolling, as she reaches down and rubs your clit.
You scream, silent with your mouth open wide as you cum. This is not enough. It is never enough. She is back on you, like a lioness on a gazelle. Her pussy swallows yours, and Ambessa forgets you as she leads herself to that approaching golden horizon.
When she crests, she falls on you and you do nothing but accept her weight. You lay there, do this for what feels like years, until Caitlyn weasels behind you. Then you do it again.
đ¸
You wake with a start, disoriented by the weight pinning you to the bed. Caitlyn's arm drapes loosely over your waist, her fingers curled like sheâd been holding you even in sleep. Ambessaâs warmth radiates from behind you, her breath slow and even. The sheets smell of sweat and sandalwood, of something heady and unnamed.
The sheet clings to your skin almost oppressively, a reminder of last nightâs twist of limbs and pleasure. You slide out from between them, careful not to disturb their slumber. Ambessa stirs slightly, her arm shifting, and you hesitate. Caitlyn murmurs something unintelligible, and you freeze. When neither of them wakes, you slip free.
You take Caitlynâs robe from the chair by the bed, pulling it around your shoulders. The fabric is sheer, nearly useless, but it smells of her. You step onto the balcony, and the cool morning air kisses your skin. The horizon is painted in hues of gold and rose, the sun stretching its fingers across the sky.
You lean against the railing, the chill of the metal biting into your palms. The fortress sprawls below and blends into the distant city, a patchwork of shadows and light. For a moment, it feels like youâre the only person in the world. But the ache in your chest reminds you that isnât true.Â
You are loved. You are wanted. And it terrifies you.
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest. The robe clings to you, and the light hits your body in a way that feels exposing, even with no one watching.
A soft sound pulls your attention, and Caitlyn steps out onto the balcony, her hair a tumble of dark waves over her shoulders. Sheâs still half-asleep, her bare feet silent on the stone. When she sits beside you, the space between you feels both unbearable and necessary.
"Couldn't sleep, baby?" she murmurs, her voice rasping in the quiet.
You shake your head, eyes fixed on the horizon. You ignore the goosebumps that rise at the pet name.
 "I donât know what to do with so much love," you say finally, your voice trembling. "From you. From her. Itâs⌠too much."
She doesnât answer immediately. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing your forearm. You flinch, and she pulls back, pain flickering across her face.Â
"Baby," she says softly, and the word lands like a stone in your chest. "I will undo this. I will make your living easier."
You exhale sharply, the sound halfway to a laugh. âWill I always have to share you?â you ask.Â
You donât look at her.Â
Caitlyn hesitates, then glances toward the bed where Ambessa shifts, her hand moving as if searching for you in her sleep. You glance over instinctively, the motion so natural it betrays you.
âI could ask you the same,â she says finally. Her tone is steady, but thereâs a thread of something deeper woven through itâsomething sharp and sad. Your gaze flickers to her, then back to the bed behind you. Ambessa shifts again, her brow furrowing, and you instinctively turn to her. The action is so ingrained, that you donât realize what youâve done until Caitlyn speaks again.
âShe pulls at you,â Caitlyn says, not unkindly. âI see it.â
You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you say, âAnd you donât?â
Her lips curve into a wry smile. âI pull at you too. But sheâs⌠something else.â
You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over you. âYou didnât answer my question.â
Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The city stirs below, oblivious to the ache of your small world.
INTERLUDE: THE LIONESS, WITH THE COIN IN HER MOUTH.Â
Ambessa lies still in the bed, her breathing measured and even, but her mind sharp and alert. She hears the murmur of voices from the balcony, the quiet cadence of Caitlyn's voice mingling with yours, a soft harmony in the cool morning air.Â
Her eyes remain closed, yet her thoughts stray to the image of you wrapped in Caitlynâs robe, the rosy light of dawn casting faint halos around your figures. She imagines the tension in your body as Caitlyn reaches for you, the way youâd shift, hesitant, but never pulling away entirely. Itâs a dynamic Ambessa understands all too well: the push and pull, the magnetic sway you hold over both of them.
Youâre the thread that binds, fragile yet unbreakable. Itâs maddening. Itâs beautiful. Â
Ambessa shifts slightly, her fingers brushing the cool sheets where you once lay. The absence is temporaryâshe knows this. But the way you linger in her mind is something she canât easily reconcile. She has always been a woman of precision, of control. Yet you are beginning to undo her in ways she cannot name, cannot stop, that she believed herself too old for.
Through the door left ajar, your voice carries faintly. When you and Caitlyn return, Ambessa will let you come to her. For now, she waits, her lips curving faintly, as if in a private, unspoken promise. Â
âYouâll come back to me,â she murmurs under her breath, a whisper carried only by the stillness of the room. Â
And outside, the sun climbs higher, gilding the world in its light.
RE: THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD â CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.
Caitlyn leans back, her eyes tracing your face. "We grew up together," she begins, her voice softer now. "Trained together. They taught us to kill, to win, to survive. But youâŚ" She pauses, swallowing hard. "You were always my half. I canât promise much, but when the pendulum swings, I will choose you to save. Every time."
Her words settle heavy in the space between you. You lean your head against her shoulder, letting the warmth of her presence ease the sharp edges of your doubt.
Caitlyn tilts her head, resting her cheek against your hair. "Youâre half of me," she murmurs.
From inside, Ambessaâs voice calls softly, "Come back to bed."
Caitlyn shifts, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, then your nose, and finally your lips. Itâs a lingering kiss, tender and unhurried as if sheâs trying to pour every unsaid word into you.
"Youâre my girl," she whispers against your mouth. "I love you, baby."
The declarations are so soft you almost think youâve imagined them. But the look in her eyes tells you otherwise.
Ambessa calls again, her voice low and expectant. Caitlyn straightens, her hand falling away from yours. She glances at the door, then back at you. She stands, offering her hand to you.Â
"Come," she says simply.
You hesitate, the ache in your chest a living thing. But you take her hand.
The sun exposes as it further moves toward its high point, casting the balcony in streaky light, but you feel no warmth. Only the quiet weight of something you canât name, pressing into the spaces between your ribs.
And behind you, the world goes on turning.
âCome,â Caitlyn says again, her tone gentle but firm.
You go.
Š hcneymooners.
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john egbert. heir of grief.
pt. 1 >>
#john egbert#dad egbert#dirk strider#homestuck#parallels#grief#anger#doomed by the narrative#game over#web weaving#web weave#implied dirkjohn#hehe#gif#mine#juan đ#flashing#flashing gif
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au where will is a graphic designer and Hannibal tracks his encephalitis based on how out of alignment and asymmetrical his work becomes
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