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hayatheauthor · 5 months ago

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The Arsonists’ Handbook: A Writer’s Guide To Igniting Fire

This comprehensive guide is crafted to assist writers in creating realistic and gripping depictions of arson scenes. We'll explore the psychological motivations behind arson, the different types of fires, and the intricate dynamics of how a fire spreads.

I personally wrote this blog due to a story I’m working on involving the Salem trials fires, thus the extensive research. I hope this comprehensive guide will help you out with your fiery (written) endeavours! (Heavy on the written).

Understanding Fire: The Basics

How Fire Starts

At its core, fire is a chemical reaction known as combustion. For fire to ignite, three key elements must be present: heat, fuel, and oxygen. This trio is often referred to as the fire triangle. Removing any one of these elements will prevent or extinguish the fire.

Heat: The energy source that raises the temperature of the material (fuel) to its ignition point. Heat can come from various sources, such as an open flame, electrical sparks, friction, or chemical reactions.

Fuel: Any combustible material that can feed the fire. This can range from solid objects like wood and paper to liquids like gasoline and alcohol, and even gases like propane and natural gas.

Oxygen: Fire needs oxygen to sustain itself. Typically, the air around us provides the necessary oxygen, but in certain conditions (like in an oxygen-rich environment), fire can become significantly more intense and harder to control.

Fire Behavior

Once a fire ignites, its behavior is influenced by several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the environment. Understanding how fire behaves is crucial for writing realistic scenes, especially when it comes to describing how quickly a fire spreads and the destruction it causes.

Spread of Fire

Fire spreads through three main methods: conduction, convection, and radiation. Conduction is the transfer of heat through materials, like when a fire heats up a metal door. Convection occurs when hot air rises and circulates, spreading the fire. Radiation is the heat that spreads through the air, setting nearby objects alight without direct contact.

Stages of a Fire

A fire typically goes through four stages: ignition, growth, fully developed, and decay.

Ignition: This is the beginning stage where the fire starts. It’s often small and contained, but the potential for growth is high.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. During this stage, the fire spreads rapidly, and the heat increases, potentially igniting nearby objects.

Fully Developed: The fire has reached its peak intensity. All available fuel is burning, and the temperature is at its highest. This is the most dangerous stage, where the fire is hardest to control.

Decay: As the fire runs out of fuel or oxygen, it begins to die down. The flames reduce in size, and the temperature starts to drop. However, if there’s still some fuel or oxygen left, the fire can reignite.

Types of Fire

Not all fires are created equal, and understanding the differences between various types of fires can help you write more accurate scenes. The type of fire often determines how it spreads, how it's fought, and the damage it causes.

Class A (Ordinary Combustibles): These fires involve materials like wood, paper, cloth, and some plastics. They are the most common type of fire and are usually extinguished with water or foam.

Class B (Flammable Liquids): These fires involve flammable or combustible liquids such as gasoline, oil, and alcohol. They are more dangerous than Class A fires and are typically extinguished with foam, carbon dioxide, or dry chemical agents.

Class C (Electrical Fires): These fires involve electrical equipment, such as wiring, circuit breakers, and appliances. Water should never be used to extinguish a Class C fire because it can conduct electricity, making the situation worse. These fires are typically fought with non-conductive agents like dry chemicals or carbon dioxide.

Class D (Combustible Metals): These fires involve metals like magnesium, titanium, and sodium. They are very dangerous and are fought with specialized agents like dry powder designed to absorb heat and smother the fire.

Class K (Kitchen Fires): These fires involve cooking oils and fats, often occurring in kitchens. They are fought with wet chemical agents that cool the fire and create a barrier between the fuel and the oxygen.

The Stages of Arson

Arson, the act of deliberately setting fire to property, is a complex crime that involves planning, execution, and, often, a great deal of psychological motivation. Understanding the stages of arson can help you create more realistic and engaging scenes in your writing.

Planning and Preparation

Before an arsonist sets a fire, they usually go through a detailed planning and preparation phase. This stage involves selecting a target, gathering materials, and determining the best time and method to set the fire.

Motive: The reasons behind arson can vary widely. Common motives include revenge, financial gain (such as insurance fraud), psychological compulsion (pyromania), or even a desire to destroy evidence of another crime.

Target Selection: The arsonist will choose their target based on various factors, including the accessibility of the location, the presence of flammable materials, and the likelihood of the fire being discovered quickly. For example, an arsonist might target an abandoned building, a business with financial troubles, or a residence where they hold a grudge against the occupants.

Materials Gathering: The arsonist needs to gather materials to start the fire. This might include accelerants like gasoline or kerosene, tools to break into the target location, and possibly even timing devices to delay the ignition. Some arsonists use household items like matches, lighters, or candles, while others might resort to more sophisticated methods.

Timing: Timing is crucial for arson. The arsonist might choose a time when the target location is unoccupied to avoid detection or ensure maximum damage. Alternatively, they might set the fire at a time when the building is full of people to cause harm or send a message.

Ignition

The ignition stage is when the arsonist actually starts the fire. This is often the most critical and dangerous part of the crime, as it requires the arsonist to be physically present at the scene.

Methods: There are various methods an arsonist might use to start a fire. The simplest method is using a match or lighter to ignite flammable materials. However, more sophisticated arsonists might use chemical accelerants, timing devices, or even electrical equipment to start the fire remotely. In some cases, the arsonist might create a trail of flammable liquid leading to the target, allowing them to ignite the fire from a safe distance.

Initial Signs: The first signs of a fire are usually small flames and smoke. Depending on the materials used, the smoke might be thick and black (indicating the presence of accelerants) or lighter and less noticeable. The smell of burning materials is also a telltale sign, and in some cases, the arsonist might use scented materials to mask the odor of burning chemicals.

Fire’s Progression

Once the fire is ignited, it begins to grow and spread. The speed and intensity of the fire depend on several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the structure of the building.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. Flames spread to nearby objects, igniting anything that can burn. The heat generated by the fire causes nearby materials to reach their ignition points, further fueling the blaze. In a well-ventilated area, the fire can spread rapidly, engulfing the entire structure in minutes.

Environmental Effects: The fire’s heat can cause significant damage to the surrounding environment. Smoke and toxic fumes fill the air, making it difficult to breathe and see. The intense heat can cause glass to shatter, metal to warp, and wood to burst into flames. The fire might also create a backdraft, a dangerous phenomenon where a sudden influx of oxygen causes an explosion of flames.

Aftermath

After the fire has been extinguished, the aftermath reveals the full extent of the damage. This stage involves assessing the destruction, investigating the cause of the fire, and dealing with the legal and emotional consequences.

Destruction: The fire leaves behind a trail of destruction. Buildings are reduced to charred skeletons, possessions are destroyed, and in some cases, lives are lost. The damage caused by fire can be catastrophic, leaving victims homeless, businesses bankrupt, and communities devastated.

Investigation: Arson is a criminal act, and a thorough investigation is usually conducted to determine the cause of the fire and identify the perpetrator. Fire investigators look for clues like burn patterns, residue from

The Psychological Profile of an Arsonist

Arsonists come from diverse backgrounds, but their motivations often stem from deep psychological issues. Understanding the mind of an arsonist can help you create more complex and nuanced characters in your writing.

Common Motivations

Revenge: Many arsonists are motivated by a desire for revenge. They might set a fire to get back at someone who wronged them, such as a former employer, an ex-partner, or a rival. This type of arson is often impulsive, driven by anger and a need to assert control.

Financial Gain: Arson is sometimes committed for financial reasons, such as insurance fraud. The arsonist may set fire to their own property or hire someone to do it, intending to collect insurance money. This type of arson is usually well-planned and methodical.

Psychological Compulsion (Pyromania): Some arsonists are driven by a psychological disorder known as pyromania, where they experience an uncontrollable urge to start fires. For these individuals, the act of setting a fire provides a sense of excitement, satisfaction, or relief. Pyromaniacs often set multiple fires and may stay to watch the fire burn.

Attention-Seeking: Arsonists may set fires to attract attention, either to themselves or to a cause they believe in. This can be seen in cases where someone sets a fire to highlight an issue, make a political statement, or simply because they crave the spotlight.

Thrill-Seeking: For some, the act of arson is about the thrill of taking risks and the adrenaline rush that comes with causing destruction. These arsonists might not have any particular grievance or financial motive but are instead driven by a desire for excitement.

Psychological Traits

While not all arsonists fit a single profile, there are common psychological traits that many share:

Lack of Empathy: Arsonists often exhibit a lack of empathy, unable to fully grasp or care about the consequences of their actions on others. They may not consider the potential loss of life or property and are more focused on their own desires and needs.

Impulsivity: Some arsonists act on impulse, setting fires without fully considering the long-term effects. This impulsivity can be linked to other behavioral issues, such as a history of aggression, substance abuse, or other criminal activity.

Desire for Control: Arson can be a way for individuals to exert control over a situation or person. The fire represents a powerful force that the arsonist can manipulate, giving them a sense of power and dominance.

Isolation: Many arsonists are socially isolated, struggling to form meaningful relationships. This isolation can fuel their desire for attention or revenge, leading them to commit acts of arson as a way of asserting themselves.

Physical Signs and Symptoms of Arson

When it comes to describing a fire in your writing, the physical signs and symptoms of arson can add a layer of authenticity and vivid detail to your scenes. Understanding these signs not only enhances the realism of your narrative but also helps to convey the severity and impact of the fire.

Visual Cues

One of the most striking aspects of a fire is its visual presentation. The flames, smoke, and other visual cues can vary greatly depending on the type of fire, the materials involved, and the environment.

Flames, Colors, and Intensity of the Fire: Flames can vary in color depending on the materials burning and the temperature of the fire. For instance, a fire fueled by organic materials like wood or paper typically burns with orange or yellow flames. In contrast, fires involving chemicals or metals might produce blue, green, or even white flames. The intensity of the flames can also signal the fire’s progression, with small, flickering flames indicating the early stages and roaring, high flames signifying a fully developed fire.

Smoke Characteristics: Smoke is another key visual indicator of a fire’s behavior. The color, thickness, and smell of smoke can provide clues about the type of materials burning and the presence of accelerants. Black, thick smoke often suggests that the fire is consuming synthetic materials like plastics or rubber, while white or gray smoke might indicate burning wood or paper. The smell of the smoke can also vary, with a sharp, acrid odor suggesting the presence of chemicals.

Heat Effects

Heat is one of the most destructive elements of a fire, and it can have profound effects on objects, structures, and people. Describing these effects can make your arson scenes more visceral and impactful.

Effects on Objects and Structures: The intense heat generated by a fire can cause a wide range of damage. Wood and other combustible materials might blister and char, while metals can warp or melt. Glass windows might crack or shatter due to the rapid temperature change. The heat can also cause scorch marks on walls and floors, which are often key indicators in an arson investigation. Understanding these effects allows you to describe the aftermath of a fire with greater accuracy.

Scorch Marks, Blistering, and Charring: Scorch marks are darkened areas that indicate where flames or intense heat have come into contact with a surface. Blistering occurs when the heat causes materials to bubble and expand, often seen on painted or varnished surfaces. Charring is the blackening and partial burning of materials, typically seen on wood. These signs can be crucial in determining the origin of the fire and whether an accelerant was used.

Human Reactions

The physical and emotional responses of individuals during a fire are critical elements in conveying the terror and urgency of an arson scene.

Physical Responses to Heat and Smoke: The human body reacts dramatically to the extreme conditions of a fire. Heat can cause burns, ranging from superficial first-degree burns to more severe third-degree burns that destroy deeper layers of skin. Smoke inhalation is a common and often deadly consequence of being trapped in a fire. It can cause coughing, choking, and disorientation as the smoke deprives the body of oxygen and fills the lungs with toxic gases. Victims might experience blurred vision, dizziness, and confusion, making it difficult for them to escape.

Emotional Responses to Fire: The emotional toll of being caught in a fire can be overwhelming. Panic is a common reaction, as the instinct to flee overwhelms rational thought. Fear and anxiety can paralyze individuals, making them unable to act. However, some characters might respond with determination and resolve, driven by the need to save themselves or others. Describing these emotional responses can add depth to your characters and heighten the drama of the scene.

For a more detailed guide on burns, read how to write burns.

Common Misconceptions About Arson

When writing about arson, it’s important to address common misconceptions that can lead to unrealistic or inaccurate scenes. Debunking these myths can help you create more credible and compelling narratives.

Fire Spreads Quickly

A common misconception is that fire spreads almost instantaneously. While fire can indeed spread rapidly, especially under the right conditions, there is often a progression that can be influenced by various factors such as the type of fuel, the presence of accelerants, and the structure of the building. In reality, a fire might start small and take several minutes to fully engulf a room, especially if there’s limited ventilation or the materials are slow to ignite. This progression allows for moments of tension and potential escape in your narrative.

All Fires Look the Same

Another myth is that all fires behave similarly, regardless of the environment or the materials involved. In truth, the appearance and behavior of a fire can vary widely. For example, a fire in a well-ventilated area with plenty of fuel will look very different from a smoldering fire in an oxygen-deprived environment. Additionally, fires involving different types of materials—like wood, gasoline, or chemicals—can produce vastly different flames, smoke, and heat. Recognizing these differences can help you craft more nuanced and realistic fire scenes.

Fire and Explosions

Thanks to Hollywood, many people believe that fires often result in dramatic explosions. However, explosions are relatively rare in most fires and usually require specific conditions, such as the presence of flammable gases or liquids in confined spaces. While a fire can cause small, localized bursts (like when a pressurized canister overheats and ruptures), full-scale explosions are uncommon. Incorporating this knowledge can prevent your scenes from falling into the trap of over-the-top sensationalism.

Easy to Identify an Arsonist

The idea that arsonists are easily identifiable or leave obvious clues behind is another misconception. In reality, arson investigation is a complex and challenging process. Arsonists often go to great lengths to cover their tracks, using methods that leave little evidence. The fire itself can destroy crucial evidence, making it difficult to determine the cause and origin. Investigators must rely on subtle clues, like burn patterns, residue from accelerants, and witness statements. Writing realistic arson investigations involves understanding the nuances and difficulties involved in linking the crime to a specific individual.

Real-Life Case Studies

Exploring real-life arson cases can provide valuable insights into the motives, methods, and consequences of arson, helping you to create more authentic scenes in your writing.

Notorious Arson Cases

The Boston Fire (1919): This fire, started by disgruntled city workers, caused extensive damage and highlighted how social unrest can lead to destructive acts of arson. The arsonists used a combination of accelerants and timing devices to ensure the fire spread quickly and was difficult to control.

The Happy Land Fire (1990): A tragic case where an arsonist set fire to a social club in New York, resulting in 87 deaths. The fire was started with gasoline, and the arsonist’s motive was personal revenge after an altercation with a club employee. This case illustrates the deadly potential of arson when combined with crowded, enclosed spaces.

The Oakland Hills Firestorm (1991): Although not initially an arson case, this firestorm was exacerbated by arsonists who set additional fires in the area. The fire destroyed thousands of homes and underscored the difficulty of controlling fires in densely populated areas with dry, windy conditions.

Lessons for Writers

Real-life cases like these offer important lessons for writers. They demonstrate the variety of motives behind arson, the different methods used, and the devastating impact that fire can have on individuals and communities. Incorporating these lessons into your writing can help you create more complex and realistic arson scenes.

Complex Motives: Arson isn’t always about destruction for its own sake. It can be motivated by revenge, financial gain, political statements, or psychological issues. Exploring these motives can add depth to your characters and their actions.

Diverse Methods: Arsonists don’t always rely on the same techniques. Understanding the different methods used to start fires allows you to vary your scenes and avoid repetitive or predictable narratives.

Realistic Consequences: The aftermath of arson can be devastating, with long-lasting consequences for the

Arson in Literature and Film

Arson is a powerful narrative device in literature and film, often used to create tension, drive plot, or explore character motivations. Understanding how arson has been portrayed in these mediums can help you craft more compelling and nuanced fire scenes in your writing.

Arson as a Plot Device

Arson is often used as a plot device to introduce conflict, create suspense, or catalyze a story’s events. It can serve as a turning point in the narrative, forcing characters to confront their past, make difficult decisions, or reveal their true nature.

Catalyst for Change: In many stories, a fire is the catalyst that sets the plot in motion. The destruction caused by the fire forces characters to adapt, overcome obstacles, or seek revenge.

Revealing Character: Arson can also be used to reveal a character’s true nature. A character who commits arson may be driven by anger, greed, or desperation, and their actions can expose underlying flaws or hidden motivations.

Symbolism: Fire is often used symbolically in literature and film, representing concepts like purification, destruction, or rebirth. The act of setting a fire can be a symbolic gesture, reflecting the character’s desire to destroy the past, cleanse themselves of guilt, or start anew.

Notable Examples in Literature and Film

"Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Brontë: In this classic novel, the character of Bertha Mason sets fire to Thornfield Hall, an act that is both literal and symbolic. The fire represents Bertha's madness and desperation, as well as the destructive secrets hidden within the estate. The blaze ultimately leads to the revelation of Mr. Rochester's past and serves as a turning point in Jane Eyre's journey, symbolizing the destruction of the old and the possibility of a new beginning.

"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury: In Bradbury’s dystopian novel, fire is used as a tool of oppression. Firemen are tasked with burning books, a symbol of knowledge and freedom, to maintain societal control. The protagonist, Guy Montag, initially takes part in these acts of arson, but as the story progresses, he becomes disillusioned and eventually rebels against the system. The novel explores themes of censorship, conformity, and the power of knowledge, with fire serving as both a destructive and a purifying force.

"Carrie" by Stephen King: In King’s horror novel, fire is a key element of the climactic scene where Carrie White, after being humiliated at her high school prom, uses her telekinetic powers to set fire to the gymnasium. The fire is a manifestation of her rage and desire for revenge, and it leads to the destruction of her school and the deaths of many of her tormentors. The scene is a powerful example of how fire can be used to convey intense emotions and serve as a metaphor for uncontrollable anger and retribution.

"Rebecca" by Daphne du Maurier: The burning of Manderley, the grand estate that serves as the novel’s primary setting, is a pivotal moment in du Maurier’s gothic tale. The fire, set by the vengeful housekeeper Mrs. Danvers, symbolizes the destruction of the past and the erasure of Rebecca’s lingering influence over the characters. It also represents the liberation of the protagonist from the oppressive shadow of her predecessor, allowing her to finally step out of Rebecca’s shadow.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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city-of-ladies · 10 months ago

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"Burginda’s letter is instructing the young man in his spiritual endeavours, and the contents of the (albeit short) letter reveal that she was highly educated and well-read. Written in a period that many still refer to erroneously as an intellectual ‘Dark Ages’, Burginda’s letter uses Greek words, utilises biblical exegesis, imitates Christian poetry like the fifth-century Psychomachia of Prudentius, and references both the sixth-century Italian poet Arator and the classical Roman poet Virgil. It also contains a reworking of a description of heaven found in a Latin poem from Africa that dates to c. 500. Burginda was clearly a very well-read intellectual.

This letter can be used as an example to refute many popular misconceptions about the early middle ages. The first misconception is that antique texts were neglected or unknown in this period. The second misconception is that medieval women were uneducated and unintellectual. The third misconception is that there was little or no intellectual transmission between Africa and Europe in this period. Burginda’s letter proves all these assumptions false. Not bad for two paragraphs of Latin."

#burginda #history #women in history #women's history #8th century #england #english history #female writers #herstory #middle ages #medieval #medieval women

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ireadwithmyears · 2 years ago

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Absent mindedly making me want you

Pairing: Ellie Williams / female reader

Word count : 12 K 💀 I swear it’s worth it I just really wanted a well rounded story even if this is just a one shot

Summary :

Due to her first-hand experience when it comes to drowning, Ellie takes it upon herself to teach you how to swim. Something that neither of you had anticipated, however, was how intimate this endeavour would be, resulting in a day filled with unresolved sexual tension, that, unsurprisingly and inevitably comes to ahead

Tags/warnings : established relationship, soo much sexual tension, smut (18+, MDNI), porn with minor plot, dom/sub undertones, soft dom Ellie, submissive reader, inexperienced reader (first time), light hair pulling, unsafe lesbian sex, fingering, oral (F receiving), face sitting, lots of dirty talk(bc you cannot convince me that Ellie doesn’t have an absolutely filthy mouth), praise kink, overstimulation, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, pussy slapping (just once), aftercare, fluff, no use of Y/N

“I’m sorry, wait, hold on. You’re telling me you’ve never learned how to swim?”

The settlement of Jackson has been dealing with, hopefully, the last of its winter storms for the year. Spring had crept its way around the corner, shining its promisingly hopeful rays of warm sunlight for a few, blissfully beautiful, but in the end, all two short days

But then, in what must be mother nature’s idea of a harmless joke, it was crudely snatched away and replaced with icy winds that seemed to settle within your very core, leaving you shivering long after you went inside to get warm. Wyoming had been hit with a blizzard that had caught everyone so off guard, that Jackson was ill-equipped and unprepared to handle it, leaving most of the community snowed in; workloads being much reduced and limited to essential services for the time being, until the snow abated.

This is how you and a group of friends found yourselves in Jesse’s living room, cradling mugs of hot chocolate, enjoying the warmth that seeped into your fingertips, and making a blanket fort as if you were still school children at a sleepover. The snowy days and lack of work seemed to bring out a childish side to everyone, which is how you found yourself engaged in a game of never have I ever, sitting in a tight circle with your friends and girlfriend who, up until a few seconds ago, had been absent mindedly playing with your hair, your head resting against her shoulder, where you had been quite content to stay.

But, she had now pulled back, looking at you with her eyebrows raised, lips quirked down quizzically, as if in thought. You look around at your friends, taking note of everyone else who’s never learned. You’re relieved to find that you’re not alone in this. As expected, the Jackson old-timers, the few of you who have been settled here almost your whole lives, or at least, as long as you could remember, had never encountered an environment that required the ability to swim.

“Nope, it’s never been necessary.” You shrug.

She tilts her head, thinking, a few wisps of auburn hair escaping her ponytail as she regards you, teeth lightly grazing the bottom of her lip as she appears to be calculating an idea in her mind.

“As soon as it gets warm enough, I’m taking you out, and I'm gonna teach you. Joel taught me because he said that I would never know when it was a skill that would become necessary for me to have until it’s too late,” she says, nodding to herself decisively.

“Ah, I see your dad‘s passed off his overprotectiveness onto you,” you smirk, rolling your eyes fondly.

She hits you with a pillow for that.

“Quiet, you,” she says in mock offense.

She pokes your belly lightly and you instinctively jump back with a surprised squeal. You hear the quiet amusement of your friends, Jesse barely containing a snort as he watches. You’re about to utter a retort when she reaches out, pulling you against her, settling you on her lap, where you happily go.

When she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving goosebumps to form beneath their eager caresses, any kind of argument dies on your lips. Resistance melts as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, and all thoughts scatter like butterflies, only landing on the one thing that you care to focus on.

It’s her, with her teasing lips and wandering hands, that explore and touch you as if she wants to know you, to memorize you, like you’re her well-kept and cherished secret. She is the only thing that surrounds your mind, the only one who holds your attention so easily, and it takes you a moment to shake yourself free of this haze. It’s strange, and euphoric, a kind of feeling that you’ve never felt before, and you find that you like it – instantly craving more the second that her lips leave yours.

She's kissed you plenty of times before, and though it’s always been an enjoyable experience for you, it’s never felt like that. You decide to file that information away for now; you’ll sort out whatever the fuck these new feelings are later.

When you do come back to yourself, your head nestled against her shoulder, her arms wrapped around you as she looks down at you with warm, soft eyes, you think, yeah, you’ll let her teach you how to swim. You’ll let her do whatever she goddamn pleases, as long as it means that she’ll keep kissing you like that, and bringing out those good kind of butterflies that flutter in your stomach whenever she’s close to you.

To your surprise, Ellie makes good on her promise at the earliest opportunity.

In your experience, life is full of making plans and dreams that, more often than not, fall through. Even here, even in Jackson, where the walls are fortified and everyone is protected, the act of planning future endeavours is a luxury.

Spring finally comes , for real this time, with its customary blend of warmer weather that makes everyone instinctively turn their faces towards the sun, tentatively brushing its heat against their skin. And then, in complete juxtaposition, rain that starts in a slight drizzle that quickly descends into a downpour that sends those who’d ventured outside to appreciate the sunlight running back inside, scrambling to find cover, while quietly grumbling that they wish it was summer already, if only so that they could be freed from this topsy-turvy weather.

Humans are funny like that, you suppose. Never fully able to live in the moment, always wishing for the next season the second spring reveals its more wild side. They forget that the scorching heat of summer will have them complaining and wishing for autumn to come faster in a few months.

Nonetheless, it’s early summer, and you find yourself riding astride Ellie’s mare, Hazel, whose step is light and carefree, tale gently swishing in the warm breeze as you make your way to a clearing with a lake, a few miles out from Jackson’s gates. You’ve taken up the rear position, head resting against your girlfriend's back, arms wrapped around her waist.

From her position, she can’t see the expression on your face, the way you worry. Your bottom lip is between your teeth until it starts to bleed, because quite honestly, you’re nervous. Your instinct is to hide your feelings from her, because it feels silly. “A tough girl like you all freaked out over a little water?” You can almost hear her snark in your head. Logically, you know she wouldn’t say that, not to you, at least. But you can’t help but wonder if she’d think it.

You also know, however, that the minute you’re off this horse and she turns to look at you, she’ll read right through any bullshit or lies you come up with in an instant. Ellie’s just that kind of person; able to read right through people without them even having to say a word. So, as the bird chatter accompanies the beat of Hazel’s hooves against the ground, you speak, softly, tentatively, half-wishing that she won’t hear, almost hoping that your words will be carried off in the slight breeze that ruffles the braid against your back, delicately freeing strands of your hair.

“You know, I’m actually kinda fucking scared to do this,” you figure if you’re going to admit this, it’s just best to rip the Band-Aid off.

She holds the reins one-handed as her other comes to squeeze your wrist gently.

“Can you tell me why?”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you rest your chin against her shoulder. She’s so warm and steady, confident and self-assured in a way that you couldn’t even attempt to replicate.

She senses your unease, moving her thumb beneath the thin material of your sweater, stroking against the skin of your inner wrist. She lets it rest at the point where she feels your pulse lightly fluttering beneath her.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, encouraging, “Talk to me, Sweetheart, you’ve got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Her thumb resumes its movement, stroking back-and-forth along the inside of your wrist, soothing away the knot that’s begun to tie itself in your stomach.

“It’s stupid, I know. It’s just, I’m scared that I’m gonna drown, or something dumb like that,” you roll your eyes, feeling a little bit pathetic.

“It’s not stupid,” you’re not surprised that she’s come to your defence so quickly, but the conviction in her voice gives you pause.

She continues, “I almost drowned, once. Well, I guess it wasn’t almost, I did drown, though I don’t remember the details. It was before Joel had taught me how to swim, probably what made him decide that he had to. But, when he did, it took me the longest time to get over my fear. Every time I so much as touched the water, my mind would bring me back to that moment where I thought I was about to die.”

Her voice is sheepish, nonchalant, but you scoot closer to her on the saddle nonetheless, wrapping your arms just a little tighter around her waist.

“My point is, if you would have seen me when I was fourteen, the way Joel would have to coax me into the water bit by bit, you wouldn’t believe I’m the same person now. Now, I can be assured that whenever I go into the water, nothing’s going to happen to me that I can’t handle.”

She takes your hand in hers, and her voice is completely serious when she speaks now.

“Baby, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, right?”

In spite of your nerves, you know the answer to this question immediately. It’s not even a question, really, you know without even having to think about it that she’ll keep you safe, protect you with her life if necessary, and you nod aggressively, even before she finishes speaking.

“I know, Elles.”

She gives your hand a squeeze.

“Good, because if my 14-year-old freshly traumatized from actually drowning ass can learn how to swim, I am fully confident in your abilities.”

Hazel trots on, and for the first time since you headed out today, you feel a genuine smile pulling the corners of your lips upward, your laughter accompanying the birdsong as you ride on.

“That’s it, just lean back into me, I gotcha.”

She’s teaching you how to float on your back, first, and as you lean against her and lower yourself into the water, you swear you feel the peak of one of her nipples, hardened from the cold, poking through the flimsy material of her tank top, brushing against your back as you submerge yourself. You have to fight to keep your expression neutral, trying not to betray anything on your face. If she asks why you’re blushing, you’ll just say it’s because of the heat.

Her hand holds you up, pressing into the small of your back as she instructs you, and it’s nice, the heat that radiates from the warmth of her skin. You feel it through your tank top, and maybe it’s because the water is cold and it’s heightening all of your senses, or maybe it’s because you’re in a pair of underwear and a tank top, feeling very exposed to your girlfriend in a way that you’ve never been with anyone, but you’re getting goosebumps, and you know for a fact that it has nothing to do with you being cold.

You hope to yourself that the feeling of having her hands on you will get easier throughout the day, because for some inexplicable reason, the feeling of her hand pressing against you like this is making it hard to focus on what she’s actually saying.

You quickly discover that it does not get easier as the day goes on.

It actually gets so much fucking harder to bear as the sun begins to sail higher in the sky.

When she’s about to teach you how to kick, her hands ghost over your hips, making you jump.

“Sorry, hun, I should’ve asked,” she apologizes softly.

You can’t bring yourself to look at her, and have to temper your voice to not sound eager as you respond. “No, you’re good, go ahead, I'm just cold, that’s all.”

When her hands caress your sides before settling against your hips, your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, trying to contain the gasp that wants to escape.

Is she truly that fucking unaware of what she’s doing to you?

The skin where her fingers had trailed over tingles, and you have to give your head a slight shake to clear it, because that touch, regardless of how innocently meant it might’ve been to her, suddenly makes you want to get on your knees and beg her to touch you like that again.

You want more.

You learn the mechanics of how to propel yourself through the water, arms and legs separately. When it comes time to put the two together, Ellie eases you onto your stomach. The water is still shallow, your toes can still touch the ground. This was as deep as you’d be going today, she had told you, making you feel relieved.

“I’m just gonna put a hand on your stomach to hold you up. You’re still gonna have my help, I’m right here,” you’re stomach muscles tense when her hand lightly presses against it. She must think you’re nervous, because she gently strokes her thumb up and down between your rib cage, in a way that should be reassuring, but in reality, makes heat radiate from between your legs. You’re grateful that she can’t see your face, because the small pool of wetness that blossoms against your panties is undeniable now, and it makes your cheeks heat.

Okay, so you have to admit it now. You’re horny. In spite of the fact that you’ve never had sex and you haven’t been ready to take that step before today, as you slowly move through the water, feeling her hand pressing against your stomach, so close but so, so far from where you want her to be, you know that you want her, in a way that you’ve never wanted anyone before.

“At a girl, just like that,” she says encouragingly, and you swear you can feel your thigh muscles clenching involuntarily, thoughts drifting to a very different scenario in which she’d utter those words.

It’s late afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, warming your shoulders as you stand in the water. You’ve long ago adjusted to its cool, murky depths, and you’re not on edge anymore.

At least you weren’t, until Ellie suggests that to finish off the day, you try moving a little bit on your own. Your eyebrows raise, in obvious alarm, and her hands settle on your shoulders, quick to reassure you.

“You won’t have to go far, I’ll be right in front of you, I promise, all you need to do is just keep coming towards me.”

You tilt your head, considering. Yes, you’ve grown accustomed to the water, but whenever you’ve been moving, she’s always had a hold on you, and you felt safe, knowing that there wasn’t even a chance that you would go under.

Seeing your still evident hesitation, Ellie steps closer, a hand grazing against your waist as she presses her lips to your forehead briefly, before she speaks, her voice low and teasing against your ear.

“Can you do it for me?” She says softly. Her fingers are tracing slow, enticing circles over your waist, soothing you, but making you feel all worked up at the same time.

She’s so close that you can feel her lips brush against your ear when she speaks, and you can’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine. You’ve lost the ability to form coherent thought, for the moment, and you have to mentally kick yourself to push your mind back into any semblance of reality. God, if she asks you like that, you’ll do anything.

You don’t say that, though. You only nod meekly, not trusting your voice to be controlled when you speak.

When her hand gives your hip an appreciative squeeze, you feel her breath ghost against the curve of your neck as she speaks. “Good girl,” she practically purrs, a quiet, low hum against your ear that makes your knees buckle so hard that you have to dig your feet into the sand beneath you so that you don’t faceplant into the water.

When she pulls back, taking slow, tentative steps away from you, she knows that you’re watching her every move. She can feel your eyes burning into her, the further she moves away, nerves making you fidget with the hem of your top. When she’s several metres away, she reaches out a hand, beckoning.

“Okay, c’mere, Baby Girl.”

Her voice is low, persuasive, encouraging you forward. But it still takes you a solid 30 seconds of anxiously staring at her before you actually begin to move. She stands, arms folded, patiently waiting for you to give in, because she knows that sooner or later, you will.

She’s not that far away, not really. She still would easily be able to reach her arms out, steadying you if somehow, even in this shallow water, you managed to bring yourself under. Still, when you kick back, and you no longer feel the assurance of the soft sand against your feet, or Ellie‘s arm wrapped securely around your stomach to hold you up, you freeze. She notices instantly, and her voice is quick to call you back, bringing your racing heart back down with a few, gentle words.

“Hey, eyes on me.”

You swim forward, it’s unsure and hesitant, but at least you’re moving. You can’t always keep your eyes on her, but when your head is lowered to the water, you can always hear her voice, which she uses to get you to keep going.

“That’s it, almost there.”

She eggs you on, making your limbs instinctively move faster, cutting through the water with an almost desperate urge to get to her. You’re reaching for her, arms ready to wrap around her waist when she meets you halfway, scooping you up into her arms.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers against your lips, cradling the back of your head as she pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut, and you can’t help the small sigh that she elicits from you as she lowers her head to kiss you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, soft caress, searing as her touch sets your skin alight with heat. Instinctively, only half aware of what you’re doing, your legs wrap around her waist, desperately pulling yourself against her with a sudden need that is too strong to be contained.

When her hand, tangled in your hair, gently pulls, forcing your head back as she deepens the kiss, your mouth falling open as her tongue teases past your lips, you are unable to hold back the little moan that escapes you, scalp tingling at the sensation of her fingers, curled against strands of your wet hair, holding tight, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

She’s so close, you realize. Your legs wrapped around her like this, your heat pressed so near to hers. It’s enough to send your thoughts reeling. Every nerve ending in your body is alive with want and need.

Her hand makes a slow path, warm, delicate fingers journeying from your waist all the way up to the peak of your breast, leaving a trail of goosebumps to form in their wake. Her hand rests against you, leaving you warm and wanting, and just when you think that you can’t handle any more, she moves her thumb in a slow, deliberate caress over your perked, hardened nipple, which, at this point, your tank top, with its thin, soaked through material that clings to your every curve, leaves little up to her imagination. She can see you, she can see all of you. Your breath shutters, the smallest sound of want, of need, of desperation escaping your throat in a choked, pleading moan that has your back arching.

And that’s when Hazel makes her displeasure and boredom known, letting out a loud, displeased nay of indignation as she stamps her hooves against the ground.

The noise is so sudden, so out of the blue, disrupting the sounds of the water gently lapping around you, and the ambiance of nature that you’ve grown quite accustomed to hearing over the past few hours, that it makes you both jump. You startle so hard that you nearly fall into the waters below, jolting back as your head whips around to discover the source of the noise. Ellie’s arms are secure, though, you feel her adjusting her hold on you, wrapping them around you tighter. She too frantically searches the area around you for signs of trouble.

When you realize that you’re in no imminent danger, and that it’s just Hazel being her typical, dramatic self, you both look at each other, and simultaneously, slow smiles creep across your faces. She can feel you begin to shake with laughter. All the adrenaline leaves your body in a relieved, sudden rush that escapes with the quiet, barely contained snort that you desperately try to hold back. After that, it’s over. Ellie’s face buries against your hair as you both begin to laugh uncontrollably.

You feel her breathy, relieved sigh ruffle your hair. “We should probably go see what her problem is – knowing Hazel, a mosquito probably landed on her and she freaked the fuck out. God, that horse is such a drama queen.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an underlying affection that she can’t keep out of her voice, even if she tries.

“Probably saw us kissing and was offended. Maybe she’s homophobic,” you quip, chuckling.

Ellie gasps in mock horror. “I practically raised that horse, there’s no fucking way,” you both laugh as she begins to move towards the shore, you cradled against her with your head on her shoulder.

Riding back to Jackson when you’re extremely sexually worked up, it turns out, is no fun.

Your girlfriend, as much as you love her, is doing nothing to help the situation.

In general, Ellie prefers to ride horses that are the most chaotic, and that carry attitudes that make them almost borderline untrainable. She says it’s because she can empathize with them, she listens to them in a way that no one else does.

You think, privately, that it’s because it scares the shit out of Joel. He lives in constant fear that Hazel is going to throw Ellie off, sending his already accident prone daughter home with a broken leg and a concussion. You swear, Ellie enjoys getting a rise out of him, making his heart race with all of the reckless shit that she does.

Hazel has been sitting still for too long, and is now thoroughly enjoying the freedom of being able to trot about; she tries to take advantage of it regardless of the cargo on her back, making for a bumpy ride.

You’re riding in front, this time, and every time you hit an unavoidable bump, Ellie rests her hands on your hips. She claims that she’s doing it to keep you steady, make sure that you don’t fall off the horse. but, you know better. You know an ulterior motive when you see one. The way that her hands linger, fingers slowly teasing At the edge of your still damp top, drawing slow, light circles against the exposed skin she finds beneath, suggesting that she has other plans in mind. It makes you shiver.

“You cold, baby?” Her voice is low against your ear, the unexpected proximity making you jump. She cannot be serious. Even though it’s late afternoon, evening fast approaching, the day is still scorching, hence why you’ve opted out of wearing your sweater on the way back. You didn’t even want to put on shorts over your damp underwear, but alas, you still had some shred of modesty left, not wanting to make whoever was stationed to guard Jackson’s gates uncomfortable.

When her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against her, you swear that you can feel her hips slowly moving as she grinds against you suggestively. Her lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder, lingering as her warm breath ghosts against your skin, caressing against your neck with its heat. You can’t hold back your gasp at the feeling.

One of her hands travels down, settling against your knee with a gentle squeeze.

“How’s that, Baby Girl, is that better?”

God!

If she doesn’t fuck you soon, you swear you’re gonna kill her. Or, at this rate, she’s gonna kill you first with the way she’s sending your heart racing like that.

If you had thought that getting home, changing into a fresh pair of clothes, and giving yourself the chance to calm your racing heart would magically put an end to whatever was stirring up inside of you, you were sadly incorrect in your assumptions.

You’re sitting on the couch in your living room, wearing a sundress that falls to your knees because it’s light and you enjoy the slight breeze that it creates when you move. It flutters around your legs gently in the humid air. It might provide next to no relief at all, but it’s still better than nothing.

Ellie sits across from you in an armchair. Without even looking, you can feel her staring at you, eyes burning into you with a restrained and tempered want. You suspect that she’s holding it back, now wondering if she’s crossed a boundary today and made you uncomfortable.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Ellie is the type of person who acts on impulse, then completely over analyzes and over thinks her actions later, until she’s convinced herself that she’s fucked something up. She’s so bold, so confident in the things she does in the moment. But, in the end, she’s still someone who sometimes needs you to explicitly communicate and validate what she does after the fact. Regardless of how her confidence is so vast, and can sometimes be mistaken for being cocky, on the inside, she’s deeply insecure and needs reassurance.

Glancing up at her through your lashes, seeing the way that she twists and fidgets with the hair elastic on her wrist, the slight frown on her face, the almost guilty way her eyes flit away from you when she sees you looking, you know that she needs that right now, and you fully intend to not just give that to her, but encourage her forward.

Setting down the book that you weren’t actually reading, just trying to distract yourself with and completely failing, you rise to your feet, and as you move to her, she looks up at you with a smile, slipping back into its place effortlessly.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?”

Her voice is low and soft, and the way her eyes skim over you, pausing at where your dress falls, the hem barely skimming your knees, makes heat flush at the back of your neck.

“Want somethin’.”

You admit, crawling into her lap, bracing your hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

She quirks a brow, and the way her eyes smoulder as she looks at you makes you nervous, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies as she looks intently at you.

You’ve got her full attention, and now that you do, you don’t know what to do with it. You were fully ready to take the lead on this, but at the end of the day, you’re still shy and inexperienced, and she’s everything that you’re not. To be honest, it’s intimidating, knowing her wealth of experience that you couldn’t even attempt to match.

The insistent butterflies take flight in your stomach; you decide that the only way forward is by pure instinct, and the blind hope that you won’t embarrass yourself too much.

You lean forward slowly, hesitating slightly until, with understanding, Ellie’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you the rest of the way forward until your lips meet hers, and suddenly, you forget exactly what your plan originally was, if you even really had one in the first place. It easily slips out of your mind as you melt against her, effortlessly letting her take the lead.

Her fingers brush against your lower back, holding you securely against her. This isn’t like your usual, every day kiss, one that starts off slow and gentle. Her lips are insistent, pressing against yours with a desperate, persistent need. Her fingers absently brush against your scalp, running through your hair before cupping the back of your neck, the pressure just firm enough.

All you know is her. Her lips, claiming your mouth with a possessiveness that makes you ache for her inside. Her tongue, swiping over your lips, making you gasp slightly. As your lips part for her, you hear the low, satisfied sound she breathes against you as her tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that you’ve never sensed in her before.

Her thigh pushes between your legs, parting them with ease and settling between them, grazing against your clothed heat. When her hand schemes down your lower back, caressing over your ass, before pressing against it with a firm squeeze, you can’t resist the way your hips buck against her, desperately chasing the friction, unable to hold back the small whimper when you’re clit presses against the rough denim of her cut-offs.

The sound seems to startle you so much that you still your movements, eyes going wide as Ellie pulls back to look at you. She doesn’t even bother holding back the smirk that overtakes her features.

“Oh, so that’s what you want.”

Her green eyes darken with want, voice low and gravelly with desire as she studies you, perched on her lap with a needy expression behind your innocent eyes. Her fingers brush against your hips, teasing over your skin.

Heat flushes against your collarbone, spreading to warm your cheeks as you try to look down, wanting to escape the scrutiny of her piercing gaze. She anticipates your movement, and stops you with a hand coming to curl beneath your chin, making a soft noise of disapproval.

“Look at me, pretty girl, and tell me what you want,”

Her voice is still soft, still gentle, but there’s a warning edge that’s crept into it, an effortless authority, that sends a jolt straight through you, making your already throbbing clit pulse with anticipation. Her fingers nudge your chin upwards, holding firmly as she directs your eyes to meet hers, smouldering with uncontained lust as she watches you.

“You.”

Your answer comes out in barely a breath, barely a whisper.

“I want you.”

You feel like your response sounds ridiculous.

It sounds small.

It sounds completely inadequate.

And yet, when Ellie’s hand snakes beneath your dress, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties, her lips brushing against your ear as she says low, “that, sweet girl, I would be happy to oblige.”

She flexes her thigh up against your heat, rubbing over your swollen clit, making you cry out in surprise.

Her shirt hits the floor with a dull thump, pulled off by your eager and curious hands. You want to see her. You want to touch her. You want...

But now that it’s off and she’s looking down at you like that, your brain catches up to your body. What are you doing? What are you supposed to do? You don’t know how to do this. You don’t know where to put your hands, and the idea of fumbling around and embarrassing yourself is enough to make you nervous.

She sees the moment you begin to question yourself and overthink it, in the way that you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, the way your hand flexes, curling into itself with anxiety.

“Hey,” she says softly, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Her hands caress up and down the sides of your arms, pulling you from the spiral that your mind was going in, bringing you back to earth with a soothing touch.

“I know that this is your first time, and I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything of you tonight. The only thing I want is to make you feel good. So just, let me do that, okay?”

When she leans in, arms wrapping around you, and her lips press against your neck in a slow, seductive kiss, she can feel the shiver that runs down your spine, and she makes a note to remember that you’re sensitive there.

You feel her lips close to your ear as she speaks.

“Just let me take care of my girl tonight.”

Her hand schemes down your side, fingers drawing teasing circles over your hip. Your eyes close and your breath comes in a sharp, unsteady inhale and all you can do is look at her, eyes hooded, and say in a shaky voice, “please.”

You feel her low chuckle against your neck.

“Such pretty manners,” she hums against your skin, before you feel the gentle graze of teeth join her lips, delivering a small, sharp sting that you imagine will leave a mark.

This thought doesn’t scare you in the way that you thought it would. Your first thought isn’t of how on earth you’re going to cover this up tomorrow. The idea that there will be physical evidence of her, of what she’s doing to you, that there will be a reminder of it in the morning turns you on, sending a thrill through you.

Her tongue replaces where her teeth had just been, gently soothing over the sting. “Good girl,” she breathes, hand coming up to fiddle with the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I want this off,”

She waits for you to nod your consent, and then she’s sliding the straps off your shoulders, letting it fall. It pools around your waist in a soft brush of its material.

Fingers brush over your stomach, and you shiver with anticipation, already knowing the path they intend to travel over your skin. Her hands graze over your ribs, before she curls them around the curves of your breasts. She looks down at them, cradled in her hands, and her lips curl upward.

Warm, experienced hands massage and knead your breasts, gentle caresses and squeezes encouraging, coaxing your nipples to harden beneath her touch. Her thumb brushes over one of the hardening buds, and you gasp at even the slightest attention. She seems to relish in drawing sounds from you, her index finger joining her thumb, as she rolls your perked nipple between her fingers, adding the slightest pinch.

“You’re so fuckin pretty, you know that? The site of these,” she tweaks your other nipple, making your breath stutter, “peeking through your shirt at the lake was teasing me all day.”

Her face buries against your neck, she becomes rougher, more insistent. Still slow and attentive, but there’s a possessive edge to it as she leaves a trail of marks down your throat, your collarbone.

You love every second of getting to see this new side of Ellie, one that you haven’t seen before. The way that she’s intently listening to your body, finding out exactly how to touch you in a way that brings out those little gasps and mules that are like music to her ears, you want to see this side of her more often.

She’s enjoying the sight of her marks on you just as much as you are; a thrill runs through her, knowing that everyone will see that you belong to her.

She pauses toying with your nipple as her hand falls to your thigh, letting her breath graze against your skin, before she leans in, lips encircling the pebbled bud with a gentle suck. You whimper as her teeth barely graze your skin, tongue swirling over the small bud teasingly. She makes an appreciative sound against you while her fingers brush the bare skin of your inner thigh.

Her thumb teases over the seam of your panties, and you swear that you can feel her lips pull into a smirk as she feels the evident wetness pooling there. When she grazes a knuckle over your clothed clit, using a featherlight touch, your hips instinctively buck, you’re so worked up.

“Ellie,” your cheeks flush at the way that she’s got you whining for her with just one touch to wear you’ve been craving her to be. “Please, I, I need you to touch me there.”

“Aww, you’re so pretty when you beg for me,” she coos, two fingers caressing over your heat.

Your head falls back, eyes closing as you try to suppress the whimper that fights to escape at her teasing.

“Ellie, please,” and if you weren’t trying to beg before, you definitely are now.

She tilts her head, a slightly pleased expression crossing her kiss swollen lips as she looks at you, thoroughly unravelled before she’s even fully gotten you undressed.

“That’s all you had to say, Princess.”

Her voice is low and smooth, calm and effortless, in complete juxtaposition to her next actions, because suddenly, your dress is being yanked the rest of the way down, Ellie tossing it to the floor in a careless heap. She lifts you with ease, flipping you around so that your back is pressed against her bare chest. Her arms curl around you, holding you close to her, fingers trailing down your stomach, scheming over the waistband of your panties. One finger hooks under, and she pauses, voice suddenly soft.

“Can I take these off, baby girl?” Her finger strokes along the bare skin that she’s found beneath your panties, just above your mound, inviting, but not moving lower.

“Ellie,” you say with growing desperation. She’s teased you all day, and you can’t take much more of it. You’ve reached the end of your rope, and you can tell, without even having to look at her, that she’s fully aware of it, she’s just enjoying teasing you a little longer, dragging out the moment for even just a few seconds more. She’s so close to where you need her, but not close enough, and you need her to bridge the distance. “You can do whatever you want,” your head falls back against her shoulder, auburn hair tickling against your face as she leans down to whisper.

“Don’t give me any ideas, princess. You might regret it.”

Her words make you shutter, but, nonetheless, she pulls, and in a matter of seconds, she’s sending your panties to join your dress on the floor, with a practiced flick of her wrist.

She doesn’t waste much time now; her hands gently part your thighs.

“Spread your legs for me, Pretty Girl, I want to see all of you.”

She coaxes, not that you need much urging. You feel her legs cage over yours, wrapping around them, holding them open for her. Fingers ghost over your curls, dipping between your lips. She collects your wetness, fingers gliding effortlessly up to your clit, coating it in your own arousal.

“Barely touched you, and you’re already soaked for me,” two fingers press against your swollen clit, drawing slow, easy circles over your heat, already making your walls clench around nothing.

Her other hand moves, pausing to give an affectionate pinch to one of your perked breasts, making you gasp in surprise, your hips instinctively jolting forward, pushing against the hand that continues to massage, tease, and press against your clit. It continues its path downward, caressing over your hip, your inner thigh.

Long, tapered fingers dip between your folds, tentatively swirling around your entrance, gathering the wetness that’s collected there. You don’t realize you’re begging until, achingly slowly, one of her fingers brushes over your tight, glistening hole. She doesn’t push it forward, only curling it slightly to pet at your entrance.

“F-fuck, please,” your head falls back against her shoulder, and your hips push forward, trying to take her inside, but to no avail.

“Such a needy girl,” she murmurs, smirking at the way that you nod.

She’s got you so desperate that you’ll agree to anything she says; you won’t even try to deny it. It would be pointless, anyways. All she has to do is look down and see the way that your hips are bucking against her to know that you would be lying through your teeth. Nonetheless, she gently eases a finger inside you and you let out a long, tremulous breath as she pushes her finger, easing it all the way inside until she’s down to her knuckle.

She’s watching carefully for your reactions and she can feel how tight you are around her; she doesn’t want to cause you any pain. But when she tentatively, curiously, crooks her finger slightly upward, searching, a jolt runs through you, your body trembling and hips jerking forward, chasing the contact. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and you need more.

“Fuck, I, Ellie, I I want,” your hands grip onto her thighs tightly.

She presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck before whispering,“That’s it, baby, use your words. Tell me what you need,” her finger pumps in and out at an unhurried, languid pace, barely grazing over that spot that you so desperately need her to touch.

“Need more of you inside me,” you whimper, unable to keep the desperate edge from creeping into your voice. A second finger joins the first, slowly pushing through your entrance. You immediately feel the stretch, unfamiliar to having someone else’s fingers there, but you’re quickly distracted, because as soon as both fingers are pushing into you, she increases the pressure against your throbbing clit, fingers drawing rough, tight circles over your swollen bud.

The sound you make is high and uncontained.

Calloused fingers brush against your inner walls, clenching around them as Ellie stretches you out. Her fingers curl, a slight beckoning motion as she easily finds that spot inside of you. The pads of her fingers press firmly against it, fingers insistently petting at your center with small, precise strokes against your sweet spot. She's hitting that spot in a way that you’ve never been able to accomplish on your own.

You’re seeing stars, because she’s everywhere you want and need her to be, and now, the only thing you can do is grind your hips down against her fingers that are so effortlessly toying with you.

It comes out of nowhere, the coil that eagerly begins to tighten in your stomach. Your toes curl with anticipation, and your hands are gripping onto her so tightly. You’re pretty sure that you’re the one who’s going to be leaving bruises now. Her fingers continue to thrust in and out of your weeping cunt, and maintain the relentless pressure against your clit.

Ellie’s chin rests against your shoulder, watching attentively, and if you could see her, you’d see how utterly enthralled she is at how much of a mess she’s made you, eyes heavy as she watches her fingers plunge in and out of your cunt. Her voice is low against your ear, rough, commanding when she speaks.

“That’s it, Baby Girl, I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers and cum for me.”

You’ve always experienced orgasms as a gradual build, a wave, gently cresting against the shore. So, the way the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps, almost an instant after Ellie finishes speaking, has you taken completely by surprise. She’s attached her lips back onto your neck, sucking a mark just against your pulse point, which she feels fluttering rapidly beneath her tongue.

There’s the stuttering of hips accompanied by a sharp cry and Ellie feels your walls tighten around her fingers, unceasing in her ministrations even as your orgasm barrels through you.

“Good girl, fucking give it to me,” she nearly growls, as her fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm. All you can do is whimper uselessly, rocking your hips against her hand, as thrills ignite every inch of your body, making you tremble all over.

When you come down from your high, you’re collapsed against her chest, and she’s slowly easing off the pressure.

The first thing you notice is that you don’t feel the same as you usually would if you had just done this by yourself. For some reason, you thought that you were a one and done kind of girl. Usually you orgasm once, and then you take a nap, feeling for the most part satisfied. But as her fingers slide out of you, leaving you feeling empty, all you can think is that you want more.

Then, Ellie’s holding up her glistening fingers, slick with your arousal, in front of her face. You turn to watch her, curious, as she slides them into her mouth, licking them clean. She hums, and you raise a brow questioningly as she looks down at you, her eyes bearing an expression that is almost predatory in its intensity.

“What?” you ask, already feeling goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just, now that I’ve had a taste of you, I want more.” You turn fully to face her, lips curving into a smirk. Your hand trails over her breasts, and she looks at you with interest.

“Please,” you’re still breathless, and your voice is still unsteady.

“I want you too.”

“Atta girl, just like that.”

Admittedly, as much as you’ve had countless fantasies involving sitting on Ellie’s face, the prospect of actually doing it, as much as you want to, gives you pause. She’s carried you up to the bed, at some point along the way, the rest of her clothes came off, you’ll probably find them scattered along the hallway later. But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is that you’re hovering over her face, looking down at her while trying not to look nervous and out of your comfort zone, which you totally are, and she obviously isn’t buying it. Gentle hands reach for you, holding your hips and pulling you against her easily.

“All the way down, Honey, that’s it,” she coaxes, easing you down onto her. “You’re good, you’re not gonna kill me,” her hand caresses up and down your side, soothing, even as you feel her warm breath ghosting over your heat, making your cheeks flush, as you look down at how close she is to you.

“I gotcha’, Pretty Girl, just relax,” her voice is smooth, assured, confident, in a way that makes your muscles relax in spite of yourself.

That’s when you feel her tongue, warm and wet, brushing through your folds. The sensation is so new, so unfamiliar to you, that for a second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, her tongue flattens, pressing over your clit and applying a slight pressure that has you arching against her. Her tongue curls over your swollen nub, gently drawing it towards her lips, an almost imperceptible pulling motion that has your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding a grip against the headboard of the bed.

She makes a contented hum as her lips wrap around your center, the sound vibrating against you making your hips jolt. Her hands curl around the undersides of your thighs, holding you in place. Your hands hold onto the headboard of the bed for dear life, feeling like it’s the only solid thing that you have to hold onto, keeping you from toppling over the edge and out of control.

You’ve never felt like this before. Each swipe of her tongue over your heat, the gentle pulse of her lips as she sucks, enveloping you in her warm, wet mouth, brings a new sensation thrumming through your veins, almost akin to fire as it shoots through you, pleasure licking over every inch of your skin like flames. It’s overwhelming, in such a way that you don’t know what to do with it, how to express it.

All you can do, at this point, is roll your hips against her mouth, hold onto the headboard, and let small, desperate whimpers escape your lips. You’re trying to hold onto some semblance of containing yourself, because you don’t know what would happen if you let yourself unravel completely. You’re terrified of what Ellie might see if you fell apart like that.

She seems to be doing everything she can to break away at your composure though. Her tongue is alternating between dragging slow, tender circles over your clit, and firm, quick strokes, that has your head falling against your hands, braced against the headboard. She flicks her tongue against you, her lips surrounding your clit in a particularly firm suck, and before you know it, you’re spilling over the edge, eyes shut tightly, and breath releasing in a long, shuttering moan that seems to run from the top of your head to the tips of your tightly curled toes, her tongue continuing to caress you over your peak.

She moans into you, and it all becomes too much. Your head is thrown back and your hands are reaching down, tangling in her hair, to push her away or pull her closer; it’s unclear in your fuzzy mind. All the while, her insistent tongue continues to swirl over your increasingly oversensitive bundle of nerves, the relentless and inescapable pleasure making you shiver all over, while a light sweat breaks out on your bare skin.

You only drift back into yourself when you become aware of a shift. It’s so fast, you barely have time to even blink, before Ellie manoeuvres you, flipping you onto your back and roughly parting your thighs with her hands. Her fingers run through your glistening folds, calloused thumb pressing against your aching, overstimulated clit. The sensation has you gasping, crying out, and trying to close your legs, buck your hips, move away.

Frantically, you try to jam your legs shut, trying to escape her mercilessly teasing fingers. Rough hands force your thighs apart, putting you on display for her as she holds you open.

“Uh uh, not this time, Baby,” she tuts disapprovingly. “No more holding back on me, Sweet Girl,” listening to the low, dominant tone of her voice is like a drug to you, and your eyes roll back into your head as she speaks.

“I want everyone to know how good I fuck this pretty little pussy.” Two fingers circle your clit and you jolt, trying to move away. But a strong arm pushes your hips down, pinning you against the bed easily.

Faster than you can process, her fingers retreat, and you don’t even have time to feel relieved, because a split second later, her hand comes down against your cunt with a smack, delivering a stinging, rough spank that has you crying out, clit throbbing and pulsing with the agonizingly delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Two fingers notch at your entrance, but she waits, looking at you, a silent question, an invitation for you to tell her that this is too much and that you need to stop. You know she would in a heartbeat if you told her that this was too much or too rough for you right now, and that’s what makes you feel safe enough to continue.

So, when you respond by attempting to push your hips forward against her, a soft whimper falling from your lips, she smirks, and with the slightest movement of her wrist, her fingers thrust into you. Seconds later, her face is buried in between your legs, tongue gently lapping at your sensitive clit. After two orgasms, you’re hyper aware of every movement; every swirl of her tongue is sweet, hot agony that undoes you in seconds.

At the same moment her lips take your clit into her mouth, holding it as her tongue swipes a tight, rough circle over your heat, her fingers curl, and she finds that spot inside you that makes your legs begin to shake, pressing against it with each punishing thrust of her fingers.

Your moans are loud, unrestrained, sounds that you would be embarrassed to make if you were in any way capable of controlling them. But you’re not, because your mind is only filled with her, her and her tongue on your clit, and her strong fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt, playing with you as easily and as effortlessly as she plays the guitar.

She’s clearly enjoying the sounds that fall from your lips, every beg and plea and moan of her name making her feel quite smug that she’s undone you so easily…she encourages you to continue, making a contented hum against your clit. She only looks up long enough to say:

“That’s it, I want to hear you being such a dirty little girl for me.”

A third finger slowly, carefully, pushes in; the stretch makes you feel so full, so good, it nearly takes your breath away. Her fingers thrust in and out slowly, testing the waters, wanting to make sure that you’ve adjusted – but you are having absolutely none of it.

Your head is thrown back and your hips are thrusting forward, or trying to, but her arm is so fucking strong that she doesn’t even have to try that hard to keep you pinned against the mattress, exactly where she wants you to be. You don’t even realize you’re begging until you see her smirking up at you.

“Please, Ellie, please, fuck, I-I want,” it’s a challenge to even string coherent words together, but you’re distracted by her face, now looking up at you as her thumb takes over, stroking against your clit.

“Come on, Baby girl, tell me what you want,” she presses her thumb a little harder into you, making you gasp brokenly.

You take a breath to steady yourself, and your words still come out stuttered, but you say them, blushing in a way that she finds absolutely endearing considering you’re already spread out on her bed with three of her fingers buried inside of you.

“I-I want it harder,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “Want you to fuck me.”

“You’re so fuckin pretty when you use your words like that, Baby,” she praises. “Such a good fuckin girl,” then, her fingers are thrusting in and out, setting a rough pace, hitting that spot in a way that feels so much stronger than it already was.

When she lowers her head, tongue dipping between your folds, returning to feast at your clit rough, persistent swirls and flicks over your swollen center, any slight ability to contain yourself is lost. You’re not aware of the sounds that you’re making, or the way that your hands scramble to find a hold on something, anything solid, eventually coming to clutch the soft bed sheets, holding them tightly in between your fingers.

You’re only aware that your orgasm is approaching, and that Ellie, little by little, is nudging you towards a peak that once you make it over, you think might absolutely wreck you, in the best possible way. All you know is that you want this, you want her. You need her.

God.

You really fucking need her.

She feels your walls beginning to flutter around her, her free hand shifts down, coming to grip your thigh, opening you even wider for her.

“Come on, baby, wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me when you cum.”

She says against you, adjusting her wrist to fuck you with her fingers deeper. The new angle has you keening, hips desperately thrusting to chase the friction of whatever new spot she’s hitting.

Her tongue flattening against you as she draws firm, tight circles over your bundle of nerves, The way that your back is arching, hips uselessly trying to grind down against her and her relentless fingers, fucking into your weeping cunt mercilessly. She’s guiding you exactly to where she wants you to go, straight up towards that peak. Your vision blurs.

“Fucking give it to me, Pretty Girl, want you to cum for me, all over my fingers and my mouth.”

Your back arches off the bed, and suddenly, all you know is wave after wave of ecstasy that crashes through your body, electric shocks that pulse through you, making you jolt and flail uselessly combined with the rhythmic pumping of her fingers, and the dipping and swirling of her tongue against you.

She works you through your orgasm, never slowing the movements of her tongue or her fingers that continue to drag in and out of you, sustaining your pleasure for as long as she can possibly hold it. Her lips wrap around your clit, as her tongue swipes through your folds, collecting all the wetness that she can find. She hums against you, encouraging your loud moans, and by the time it’s over, you’re a shaking, completely fucked out mess on her bed,

If you happened to see the expression on her face as she watches you writhing beneath her, your hands twisting the sheets into knots and broken, unrestrained whimpers fall from your lips, she’s taking in the sight with immense appreciation, as if you’re the work of art she’s just created.

Turns out, the only thing that you have the ability to do post-three orgasms is roll over onto your stomach, shaking and trembling, and try, desperately, to regain your breath.

Ellie, for her part, crawls up the bed beside you, hand coming up to tenderly stroke back the hair that sticks to your forehead, before gently rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby, that’s it, just breathe for me.”

You’re eventually able to regain your breath, but your body feels floppy and light, and you can’t even begin to comprehend the slightest of movements. Ellie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, saying softly, “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna get something to clean you up, okay?”

You nod in slight acknowledgement of her words, but your mind is still fuzzy, and the only thing that you’re really aware of right now is the sudden sleepiness that comes over you in a soft, comforting wave. You feel her stroke your hair once more before she rises from the bed, briefly pausing to look at how fucked out you are, stretched out across her bed, bare skin glistening with sweat that makes your hair stick to your forehead, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed.

“So pretty,” she breathes, before exiting.

She isn’t gone long, and when she returns your eyes are closed, head buried against a pillow. She kneels between your legs, hand reaching out to gently rub your back as you turn your head to look at her.

“Just need to clean you up, pretty,” she whispers, and you realize how sticky you are in between your legs.

“Okay,” you mumble, your voice sounding slightly hoarse, similar to the way it does when you first wake up in the morning. Were you really moaning that much?

You feel a warm, damp washcloth brushing against your inner thigh. It’s nice, soothing, but as Ellie moves towards the place in between your legs, you instinctively flinch, overstimulated and slightly sore.

A large hand splays out over your back gently. “I know, Honey, it’s okay, I've got you,” Ellie soothes.

She runs the cloth over your folds. “There we go, sweet girl, almost done.” Its brush against your clit makes you cry out, leg kicking out instinctively. Ellie shushes you gently, pressing chased, featherlight kisses against your spine, the curve of your hip, effectively distracting you while she finishes cleaning you up.

When she’s done, she throws the cloth to the side, coming to sit beside you. “Okay, Baby, I just need you to get up and go for a quick pee.” You turn your head to look at her in bewilderment, staring up at her with your eyebrows raised.

“Why?” You ask, confused. She chuckles softly at your expression.

“Because, nowadays there isn’t much to protect ourselves from any infections that we could pick up while doing this,” she gestures vaguely. “And this is the one thing that we can do to at least try to help prevent something from coming up,”

“Buuut Elliee, I don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, burying your face back into the pillow.

She sighs softly, “come on, it’ll be fast, and then we can get back into bed and cuddle for as long as you want.”

That idea is tempting, but she could just get into bed with you right now and cuddle. Plus, you want to know who gave her this information, because it sounds pretty fucking stupid to you.

“I don’t want to,” you grumble.

Ellie playfully hits you with a pillow. “Come on, Lazy Ass,” she’s guiding you to sit up now, in spite of how much you’re resisting, because the bed is so warm and soft.

“Besides,” she reasons, “we both go out on patrol in three days, and I am not dealing with you having to dismount your horse every five minutes because you got a urinary tract infection and now you need to pee every time we hit a bump on the path.”

You dramatically sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it, Jesus Christ,” you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays your true feelings. “On one condition,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“What?” Ellie is fighting to restrain a smile, because you’re just too goddamn cute when you’re like this.

“You have to carry me there and back,” you say, reaching your arms up like a child who wants to be picked up.

She sighs, feigning annoyance, but she’s already positioning an arm beneath your knees. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she mutters against your hair as she cradles you against her chest.

You snuggle into her, smile growing wide as she moves towards the door, holding you in her arms. “Don’t lie, you love it.”

“Shut up ,” she says, hand sneaking around to give your ass an affectionate squeeze, making you gasp and giggle in surprise, instinctively kicking, nearly falling out of her arms in the process. But her hold is secure, arms tightening around you as your cheek presses against her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you.”

After gently setting you back in bed, once you’ve finally gone to the bathroom, grumbling the whole way there and back, Ellie went to get you a glass of water. She’s been gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already miss the feeling of her body, Strong and warm and steady, pressed against you. While she’s gone though, you entertain yourself by letting your eyes roam over your body, finding the evidence of her, left behind on your skin. You discover each new mark, each trace of her presence imprinted on you with the anticipation and joy of a child finding Easter eggs.

Your hand runs over your inner thigh, Lips pulling into a smile as you take in the sight of the finger shaped bruises that she left from where she gripped onto you so tightly. The site makes a warm, tingling feeling settle in your stomach.

You don’t hear her approach from behind you, and she must not see the expression on your face.

“Did I hurt you? Was it, was it too much?”

You turn, eyebrows raised and already shaking your head with vehemence, to find her watching you, biting her lip, concerned frown on her face.

“What, no, no, Ells, it’s just,” you avert your eyes, the blush creeping onto your face is mortifying, and in spite of everything you too just did, and how you had expected talking about things like this would be easier now, it’s still hard to admit it out loud.

She catches your chin in her hand, gently redirecting your eyes back up to meet hers. Seeing her so close to you, you don’t have to look hard to see the anxieties, trying to be contained and hidden, but dancing behind her eyes nonetheless.

You feel your heart clench. She’s opened up to you about her past on a few occasions, but when she has, it was easy to sense how fearful she was of her own inclinations towards violence, regardless of how necessary and imperative it might have been for her survival. She’s like a fire, impulsive and easy to set off, her flames all-consuming without a second thought. But after, even now, even when all this is small bruises marking your skin in the heated passion of lust, that will fade and be gone within a few days, she’ll still twist herself into knots, thinking and overthinking until she’s convinced herself that she’s ruined you.

“Please, Babe, tell me the truth,” her voice is soft, barely a whisper, but you hate the way that there’s a slight tremble in it, so uncharacteristic of Ellie. It breaks what’s left of your embarrassment, and the words fall from your lips without hesitation now.

“It wasn’t too much. It’s just, I-I liked it...the marks... I think it’s kind of hot.”

You wonder, in the back of your mind, if she can feel the way your cheek heats beneath her hand, resting against it ever so lightly. Her breath comes out in a soft, surprised laugh, and you’re relieved to see the concerned edges fade from her expression, a smirk instead overtaking her lips. “

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispers, fingers coming to trace over the scattered marks, littered across your neck and collarbone.

“You’re cold,” she observes, hands running up and down your arms, goosebumps beginning to form there. You hadn’t even noticed that you had begun to shiver.

When she crawls into bed behind you, wrapping her arms around you, Holding you against her, her warmth settles into your bones, running through you like melted chocolate. She brings the glass of water to your lips, insisting that you drink, and refusing to back down, in spite of your protests that you’ll need to get up to go pee in the middle of the night and does she realize how annoying that is?

She does, but she still coaxes you to drink half the glass.

You hold the glass up to her, pouting slightly. “Now you drink some, I feel like you should, too, because you were doing a lot of work, you know, with your mouth,” you say suggestively.

“Oh my God, shut up,” she groans. She gives you a playful shove that nearly makes the glass tumble from your hand. But she has quick reflexes, and her hand is steady against yours as she gently grabs your wrist, preventing the spill.

“Careful, Hun,” she cautions, plucking the glass out of your hand easily. “If only to appease you,” she sighs dramatically, before tipping it back and draining the glass.

The inevitable crash that you hadn’t, but probably should’ve, anticipated hits you all at once. It starts with a sigh that quickly turns into a yawn that seems to take all of your energy with it. You move to shrug your shoulders, brush it off like it’s nothing, because honestly, it’s only just starting to get dark outside, you can’t go to sleep right now, it’s just too early.

Your bones feel oddly heavy, sore in a way that shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Adrenaline, and passion have temporarily blinded you to trivial things, like being a human and having a body that can get physically exhausted, especially after trying so many new things at once. You wince because fuck, you hadn’t realized how tense you had been holding yourself today until now, and the consequences are quickly setting in.

She’s watching you, observing you closely as she always does. She doesn’t say a word, but she intuitively understands.

She brushes your hair off to one side, and you shiver as your bare neck and shoulders are exposed to her. Warm hands settle over your shoulders, there’s a gentle squeeze, an unspoken question, an offering. The way your head falls forward, the low, contented noise that falls from your lips is all the ascent that she needs.

Her thumbs gingerly press into the tense muscles beneath them. She hums sympathetically, feeling how tender you are beneath her. She keeps her movements slow and precise as she presses her thumbs against you, applying a slight pressure, running them over the backs of your shoulders, gently encouraging the tension to release. She’s ceaselessly patient, only continuing her path upward when she can feel your muscles relax, giving into her ministrations.

She continues to massage across your shoulders and your upper back, seeming to find and undo tension in places that you didn’t even realize you were carrying. It makes you sleepy, the gentle caress of her hands gliding over your skin, paired with the firm press of her knuckles, exactly where you need it.

One of her hands slowly runs up the back of your neck, gently cupping you at the base of your skull. Her fingers smooth over your temples, stress easing away as your eyes flutter shut. Her other hand continues to press and massage in between your shoulder blades, firm and insistent as she smooths her thumbs over the tight knot that’s gathered there, with patient persistence, making it unravel at her touch, and forcing the tension to leave your body.

“Relax, Pretty Girl, I’m not going anywhere,” her voice is a low rumble against your ear.

Her lips brush over one of the bruises she’s left on the side of your neck, and suddenly, it’s like all the tension bleeds out of you, draining so quickly that you don’t have time to catch yourself.

She laughs softly as you try to contain the yawn that tears through you as she eases you back towards the pillows. She wraps a soft blanket around both of you, covering your bodies and making sure you’re tucked in securely.

She settles in behind you, warm, bare skin pressing against yours as she curls herself around you. A strong arm wraps around your waist, gently tugging you close to her as her leg hooks over yours.

You’re barely awake, only aware enough to snuggle into her, saying sleepily, “if this is the treatment I’m going to get after one swimming lesson, what are you gonna do when I’ve mastered it?”

There’s a soft chuckle, low against your ear as she whispers, “don’t worry about that, pretty girl, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

She kisses the top of your head, lingering for a moment as she adoringly watches your eyes flutter. You sigh with contentment, letting a sleepy smile graze over your lips. Maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s doing, maybe she isn’t even aware…but, in this moment, you’re surrounded by her.

Her safety.

Her warmth .

Her unconditional and unwavering love is curled around your heart as closely as she’s curled herself around you. She’s here, she’s safety, she’s love,and right now, she is all that you could ever want.

this was actually my first attempt at writing smut, and in spite of how nervous I am to share it, I’m actually really happy with how it turned out. So if you enjoyed it, please let me know, notes, comments, and re-blogs are so appreciated. Thank you so much for reading

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us #The last of us part #Ireadwithmyears masterlist

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whencyclopedia · 4 months ago

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Kingdom of Abyssinia

The Kingdom of Abyssinia was founded in the 13th century CE and, transforming itself into the Ethiopian Empire via a series of military conquests, lasted until the 20th century CE. It was established by the kings of the Solomonid dynasty who, claiming descent from no less a figure than the Bible's King Solomon, would rule in an unbroken line throughout the state's long history. A Christian kingdom which spread the faith via military conquest and the establishment of churches and monasteries, its greatest threat came from the Muslim trading states of East Africa and southern Arabia and the migration of the Oromo people from the south. The combination of its rich Christian heritage, the cult of its emperors, and the geographical obstacles presented to invaders meant that the Ethiopian Empire would be one of only two African states never to be formally colonised by a European power.

Origins: Axum

The Ethiopian Highlands, with their reliable annual monsoon rainfall and fertile soil, had been successfully inhabited since the Stone Age. Agriculture and trade with Egypt, southern Arabia, and other African peoples ensured the rise of the powerful kingdom of Axum (also Aksum), which was founded in the 1st century CE. Flourishing from the 3rd to 6th century CE, and then surviving as a much smaller political entity into the 8th century CE, the Kingdom of Axum was the first sub-Saharan African state to officially adopt Christianity, c. 350 CE. Axum also created its own script, Ge'ez, which is still in use in Ethiopia today.

Across this Christian kingdom, churches were built, monasteries founded, and translations made of the Bible. The most important church was at Axum, the Church of Maryam Tsion, which, according to later Ethiopian medieval texts, housed the Ark of the Covenant. The Ark, meant to contain the original stone tablets of the Ten Commandments given by God to Moses, is supposed to be still there, but as nobody is ever allowed to see it, confirmation of its existence is difficult to achieve. The most important monastery in the Axum kingdom was at Debre Damo, founded by the 5th-century CE Byzantine ascetic Saint Aregawi, one of the celebrated Nine Saints who worked to spread Christianity in the region by establishing monasteries. The success of these endeavours meant that Christianity would continue to be practised in Ethiopia right into the 21st century CE.

The kingdom of Axum went into decline from the late 6th century CE, perhaps due to overuse of agricultural land, the incursion of western Bedja herders, and the increased competition for the Red Sea trade networks from Arab Muslims. The heartland of the Axum state shifted southwards while the city of Axum fared better than its namesake kingdom and has never lost its religious significance. In the 8th century CE, the Axumite port of Adulis was destroyed and the kingdom lost control of regional trade to the Muslims. It was the end of the state but not the culture.

#History #Abyssinia #African #Aksum #WHE #[#]

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elfwitchtrickster · 5 months ago

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Magic show - Loki fluff oneshot

Summary: Loki has a major crush the quiet reader but doesn't know how to get close to you. So he gathers the avengers for a faux magic show where he ‘accidentally’ handcuffs the two of you together, forcing you to spend time with him.

Loki stared at her H/C locks lovingly from across the room. Ever since Y/N had stepped foot into the compound she had intrigued the God of Mischief. While he did not see her often as their missions rarely overlapped, he bubbled with excitement every time he saw her making her morning coffee or relaxing with the other avengers. He had only spoken to her twice, once their first hello upon meeting in the hall and second when she accidentally dropped a stack of files and he was kind enough to help her pick them up.

She seemed rather quiet when talking to others and he was unsure how he to befriend her.Over the past few weeks he had generated many strategies to get Y/N to talk to him. Deciding that life or death, escape situations probably weren't the best environment for their first full conversation, Loki opted for his next devious plan.

He watched Y/N take a seat next to Wanda on the large couch in the avengers living room and tried to hide his smirk. "Welcome" he announced. “To the God of Mischief's magic show" he said using his magic to write his title in the air with sparks. "Okay what are you planning Reindeer Games, if this compound ends up in flames, I swear to-" "Relax my metal acquaintance, your compound will remain safe and sound, as will all of you" Loki cut Tony off with a smile. The other Avengers still looked skeptical, save Peter, Vision and Y/N. His eyes softened, noticing that the girl was not scared of him.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y is Reindeer Games gonna ruin my compound" Tony spoke aloud. "I detect no sign of malicious or deceitful behaviour sir" the assistant announced to the room. "Very well" Stark muttered, leaning back into the couch. Loki smirked as he continued with his act.

He performed a few rudimentary tricks first, then using his magic to conjure some impressive illusions. "For my finale I will need a volunteer" he said, looking out at all the others. He purposefully used his magic to steal Peter's voice in fear that the spider boy would take Y/N's place. "I'll do it" her tentative voice was music to his ears. He bowed deeply, ushering her onto his makeshift stage. "This next trick is an escape illusion, where I will magically free Y/N and I from these, without a key" he said clamping the handcuffs shut on his and Y/N's wrists. He had conjured the cuffs himself, strategically crafting them without key holes and making them strong enough to be almost unbreakable.

"As you can see, they are quite secure" he said lifting his wrist and pulling Y/N's arm up with him. "And now, I shall release from this-" he pretended to stop talking out of panic, as he jerked his wrist, feigning an attempt to get out off the cuffs. He chuckled lightly "Just a moment" he turned around and rapidly fumbled with the metal chains, faking a desperate wrestle with the handcuffs. "Why is it not working" he mumbled.

"You okay there Loki?" Steve asked in a concerned tone. "Quite alright thank you" he snipped. He continued with his sham until finally he dropped the cuffs in defeat. He turned around with a sheepish smile "So um it seems the handcuffs are temporarily stuck" he said. The other avengers broke into yells of indignation yet to his joy, Y/N did not seem as perturbed.

"What did you do, swallow the key?" Bucky asked sarcastically. "There is no keyhole" Loki replied "true magic is a high stakes endeavour"

He answered Bucky's unanswered question and held his chin high. "Can we break it?" Thor asked, and Loki rolled his eyes at his brother's typical violent solution. "I sincerely doubt it" he said. "Okay you know what, Banner and I will go down to the lab and see if we can find a way to crack these" Tony said getting up from his seat and nudging Bruce. "Until then, looks like you're stuck with Reindeer Games" he said to Y/N. She didn't respond and Loki waited for the heroes to clear out before he spoke to her.

"I apologise Lady Y/N, I truly did not mean to get you stuck with me" he said. After all Loki's time in Asgard, he knew the key to making any women melt, was being a gentleman. "That's okay, it might be fun" she replied. He was delighted to learn she wasn't opposed to spending time with him. No one said anything for a moment, Loki silently gestured her towards the couch.

They sat in awkward silence for a while before Y/N spoke up "I'm kinda hungry" she said. "We can get a snack from Stark's cupboard" Loki said. "Or we could make something" she countered with a smile. "What do you propose?" He questioned. She smiled wider and jerked him up, speeding to the kitchen. She began placing trays, bowls and ingredients on the kitchen island, pulling Loki's hand along with hers. "We are gonna make cookies!" She said clapping her hands together. "Interesting what type?" He asked peering over at the food. "Chocolate chip" she said, laying out sheets of baking paper on a tray.

She instructed Loki to put baking soda and salt into a bowl while she fought with the jar of flour, struggling to open the lid. It popped open unexpectedly and a puff of white flour enveloped the god. When the cloud cleared, Loki was left with an irritated expression on his face. The flour had settled in his hair making him look like he aged twenty years. Y/N's hand flew to her mouth as she failed to contain her laugh. She doubled over as she looked at the usually majestic god, covered in baking flour.

It was if her giggles were magical because Loki could not hide the smirk growing on his face. "Oh you think that's funny?" He said, raising an eyebrow. Y/N was too busy laughing to answer. As she tried to catch her breath, Loki dipped his hand into the bag and threw a handful of flour over her bent figure. Her smile was quickly replaced with shock and she let out a gasp. But Y/N was not one to back down, she grabbed a pile, flinging it in Loki's face, making him spit out white smoke. She reached for another handful but the bag disappeared, resurfacing in Loki's grasp.

Thankfully it was in the hand that was chained to Y/N so she could easily steal it back. Loki switched the soft weapon to his other hand and lifted it high into the air. She groaned in frustration, jumping to reach it. On her third jump she knocked over the cookie tray sending it flying into her and Loki. They fell back against the counter and Loki dropped the bag. In an instant, they were both painted in white powder, when they turned to face each other they burst out laughing. "You- you look like an old man" Y/N said between giggles. "I could say the same about you" Loki quipped earning him a slap on the arm.

Coincidentally, they both leaned down to grab the tray and their noses bumped together. Loki chuckled as he helped his flour covered baking partner up. Now standing, Y/N realised how close they were together. Her chest brushed his and she could feel the hotness of his breath. She reached up to dust a bit of flour off his eyelash but then withdrew it, embarrassed. "Sorry" she muttered but before she could move away, he gently clutched her hand. "It's quite alright" he said sincerely, dusting her shoulder to make her feel more comfortable. She smiled up at the god in silent thanks.

Once Loki had used his magic to clean up the kitchen they successfully managed to get the cookies in the oven without any mess. As they waited for them to bake, they sat on top of the island. "You know, when Thor and I were little we used to sneak into the kitchens at night to steal cookies" he said with a fond smile.

"Really?" Y/N laughed. "Yes, in fact we did it every time we had guests because they always made the best cookies for the guests" he said. "We got caught a lot, Thor would just run in and grab as many as he could, whereas I would use more stealthy approach" he said shaking his head amusedly. "But once we became teenagers our midnight escapades stopped" he said with a hint of sadness. "It's nice to have someone to share cookies with again" he said, looking at her with a warm gaze. His blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light, Y/N found herself staring at them longer than she should have.

She reached into the oven, dragging Loki's hand with her. She shut it and a rush of warm air hit her, permeating the kitchen with the smell of freshly baked cookies. "I bet my cookies are better than the ones in Asgard" she said cockily. "Oh do you?" Loki asked, his signature smirk creeping onto his face. "See for yourself" she said carefully sliding one of the cookies off the tray. To her surprise Loki was not startled by the hot crust.

He took a large bite, chewing slowly and carefully. He nodded thoughtfully as he swallowed "It is hard to admit but you may be right" he said savouring the sweet taste that lingered in his mouth. She took a bite too, sighing happily as the chocolate chips melted in her mouth. She leant against the counter, munching on their creation. On the corner of her lips, a bit of chocolate was smudged so Loki took it upon himself to wipe it. He stepped closer to Y/N, rubbing his thumb along her lips and wiping it on a tissue behind her.

She was now trapped between Loki and the counter, yet she wasn't complaining in the slightest. Her breathing grew heavy as Loki's head tilted towards her. Her eyes fluttered close as his lips pressed against her. His fingers danced across her cheeks and he pulled her closer to him by her waist. The kiss grew deeper, as he revelled in the sweetness of her chocolate tongue. A sensation even warmer than her cookies spread through him and he got lost in her kiss.

Reluctantly he pulled apart, not daring to break eye contact. Y/N's eyes were glazed and she had a goofy smile on her face. "I guess you really liked the cookies" she said with a small laugh. His hand dropped to hold the one that was chained to hers, "actually I prefer the baker" he said, leaning in for another impossibly sweet kiss.

An hour later the cookies were almost completely eaten, all that was left was a plate full of crumbs next to the couch. There, Y/N lay between Loki's arms as he told her about the last book he had read. In between sentences Y/N would place little kisses on his jaw, turning Loki a brighter shade of pink each time.

Just as he leaned in for another kiss, the sound of footsteps came from beside the couch. "Whoa, what's going on here?" Tony asked in disbelief. Y/N attempted to sit up, mortified at the situation she had been found in, but Loki pushed her down by the chest. "You are the last one that should criticise public demonstrations of affection" Loki said coolly. "Fair enough" he answered, kneeling down beside the pair.

"Give" Stark said, motioning for their handcuffs. Holding it above the floor, Loki poured a bright purple liquid onto the chain. It sizzled and bubbled but did not even scratch the silver metal. Stark let out a howl of frustration, tossing the empty vial behind him. Loki was bemused. watching the man."No matter" he said calmly, waving his hands and the cuffs disintegrated in a burst of green sparks. "Wha- how?" Y/N stuttered. "It served its purpose" he said pressing a kiss to her forehead. She looked at him in confusion for a second. Then "LOKI" she yelled, but the god only laughed.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader fluff #loki odinson #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki x reader fluff #mcu loki #loki imagines #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston loki #marvel loki #loki laufesyon x reader #love #domestic Loki #domestic fluff

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bakugou-jpg · 3 months ago

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✧ Past never dies | Touya Todoroki/Dabi ✧

Request: Ayee! Can i request a scenario for Dabi with a female s/o who is a hero. They were childhood friends, till they were like 16, until dabi left and became a villain. Dabi never clicked in, except for y/n who was his only and best friend. They used to have feelings for each other and Dabi still does since he always had watched over her? by anon.

⤷ -Genre: angst -Characters: touya todoroki/dabi -Tags: light angst, reunion, childhood friends, grief -Word count: 5.9k words -Warnings: violence, blood, vomit, death, abuse [mention] -Author: noelle part of the rewriting series

You were 5 years old when your parents decided to move away from the small town village you had known all your life. With your father's business having grown a whole lot larger over the years, it was only a matter of time before he took it to the bigger cities. A man who had taken his glass shaping abilities to the industrial world rather than the hero one.

From a very young age you had known what path you wished to take. Unlike your father, you had been granted the ability to harden and shape your very own skin with it. As fragile as glass could be, you were determined to proof the world the opposite. To proof the world that your quirk had as much potential as any other.

You were 5 years old when you hid behind the legs of your mother as your parents had taken you to meet your new neighbors. At the time you thought the house you and your parents moved into was big —especially compared to your old one that was. A thought immediately thrown out the window when you first laid eyes on the Todoroki residence. The fact that the head of the household, the number two hero as if he wasn't intimidating enough yet, watched you like a hawk the minute you stepped foot into their house didn't make it all too better.

At the time they only had three children— Touya the eldest who was the same age as you, Fuyumi who was 4 and Natsuo who was still but a baby at the time. Shouto hadn't even been born yet, Touya still being Endeavour's greatest creation at that moment.

Your mother wanted to you to befriend more children so you'd feel more at home in your new town and what better way but to meet the children next door? Something which didn't take too long as you almost instantly bonded with their eldest son over your shared ambitions. Touya more than eagerly showed off his quirk to you, your eyes immediately widening in amazement upon feeling the warmth of his flames brushing against your cheeks.

He had laughed at you when you had shown him yours, immediately pointing out the fragility of glass. Upon hearing his words you, like any child at that age, did what anyone would do after getting called weak— which was immediately jump him to proof him wrong. Touya, like any child at that age, acted accordingly— gladly returning your sparring to proof himself right.

And just like that, each of you having received a good amount of minor burns and cuts topped off by a good scolding of both your mothers, you had found yourself a new friend. In truth you got along with all the Todoroki siblings at the end of the day, but Touya was the one who you clicked almost instantly with.

At the time you didn't know about what went on behind closed doors. About the both emotional and physical abuse, neglect and the pressure put on those he viewed as an extension of himself rather than their own person. Of course, Endeavour never played the part of a warm loving father and you were aware of the fact Touya had very limited time in which the two of you were allowed to play together, but you hadn't known of the seriousness of it all.

It wasn't around the time the youngest Todoroki sibling was born that you glimpsed into the family's real problems. Around the time that it came to light that Touya's body was made to withstand the dangerously low temperatures of ice like his mother but simply unable to handle the heat of his own quirk.

When Endeavour cast Touya aside to focus on his new successor— the one who would surpass All might. With Shouto possessing both his mother's and father's quirk, Endeavour became obsessed with training the boy into what he viewed to be the perfect hero. Unlike Touya, Shouto's body was able to withstand both ice and fire making him Endeavour's perfect creation.

It was around that time that Touya started his late night journeys to sneaking off to your house. With Endeavour not even granting him as much as a glance anymore, his siblings not seeming to understand and his mother at the edge of madness, Touya had no one. You had been the only one who would listen to him, the only one that seemed to understand the reason for feeling he way he did. After all, becoming a hero was the thing the two of you had bonded over since the very beginning.

It was a silly promise the two of you had made at the time, swearing to one another that you'd become heroes together. Hero agencies right next to each other so you could visit all the time, maybe even a shared one if given the chance. The plans you came up with were never ending— the very last source of hope for Touya who believed the entire world had given up on him. The one who believed he could find a way eventually.

He could always count on you to be there with your comforting words, listening ear and pretty smile to welcome him with open arms. Touya was your very first true friend. The type you genuinely believe you'll grow old with— two 40 year old somethings sitting on your couch with a drink having a laugh while reminiscing on old times. Someone you knew was always gonna be there.

Touya had also been your first heartbreak.

That unexpected Thursday morning in which frantic pounding on your front door woke you and your parents up— an inconsolable Fuyumi and Natsuo barely being able to form words through their sobs and hiccups standing in front of your doorstep to bring you news you hadn't expected to hear for another 60 years in the least.

After all, Touya would grow old with you right? You had so many things planned after all with attending UA together, the hero agencies right next to each other and both being in the top 10 together right? Touya knew that as much as you did, so how could he just go ahead and leave you?

You were only one year away from attending UA, the very first step towards your dream. One that wouldn't feel complete without him there. For Touya to just go ahead and die right before that..

The image of the closed casket would forever be burned into your retina. His quirk apparently having gone out of control, burning his own body to ashes. There wasn't even anything left to bury, so why had they even bothered getting a casket in the first place? You couldn't help but wonder how scared Touya must've been in his very last moments. How alone.

At times you blamed Endeavour for what happened, believing that the pressure the man put on his family and the abuse he had caused having been the reason Touya was so determined to proof himself even to the point of his own demise.

There were times in which you blamed yourself. Had your naivety been the cause of it all? Had those times in which you spoke of the future together and told him you believed in him, given him false hope? Even though his body couldn't handle his quirk, had you made him believe that maybe if he went all out it could?

The weight of your grief was always present in your heart, every achievement that you had made leaving a bitter taste in your mouth at the thought he would never get that same chance as you. Nor was he there to celebrate it with you. Surely through the years you had come to a point of acceptance, after all death is part of all our lives. It is inevitable and as much as you could never fully let him go, you had found ways to go on with your life.

At the end of the day, you had graduated. Years of hard work having been paid off in fond memories and a hero license in your pocket. At the end of the day it all worked out. Now at 24 years old, you had your fair share of experiences in the hero world already.

You weren't one of the big name heroes, but you still had a handful of fans. Here and there your name had been mentioned on the local news and you had even teamed up with some of the bigger one such as Hawks and, unfortunately, Endeavour. Now having climbed your way into the top 30, you finally allowed yourself to feel some sort of pride for your hard work.

Something which was fast to fade away as you had managed to get yourself cornered by some unnamed criminals you caught causing a ruckus late at night after some drinking.

Your body was failing you in every possible way. For your quirk to still be somewhat cooperative was a miracle on its own, but with your knees already having succumbed to whatever it had been the tailed man had injected you with, it could only be a matter of time before the rest of your body would follow.

Maybe this was your doomed fate— to die right at the very start of it all, just a few feet away from the starting blocks. Barely having made a name for yourself, the headlines probably wouldn't even give you the recognition you deserved and simply describe you as 'B-tier hero' as the announced your death. The least you could hope for was they'd at least mention you went all out until the very end.

At this point, you weren't even sure what you were fighting for anymore. Was it still the dream of a naive teenager who believed that the life of a hero was exactly as it appeared in the movies? Praised by millions, helping those in need, and never having to worry about expenses?

But all that was washed down the drain when you realized that life was only reserved for those with flashy quirks and big personalities. People like Endeavor, whose heart was as rotten as a corpse left to wither and decay in the open sun. Men like Hawks, who hadn't even gotten a choice but to accept the cruel fate set in stone for them by the Hero Public Safety Commission—a company that did as it pleased.

All Might had been one of the few genuine ones left, but with his fall came the collapse of hero society itself.

You blindly followed the path you had chosen—after all, what other choice was left? At the very least, you hoped to be one of the few good ones remaining, to show what the true meaning of a hero was. That very thought was what kept you going, what helped you get out of bed in the morning.

With that in mind, you groaned through gritted teeth and raised your arms in front of you. Your skin tingled before a thick layer of glass replaced its upper layer. The sharp material extended to the tips of your fingers, hardening and fusing into sharp spears.

Even with all odds against you, you were determined to prove yourself. Pushing yourself up using the spears you'd just created, you struggled to harden your knees to stabilize yourself. Though you were in no shape to take even a few steps forward, perhaps this way, you at least stood somewhat of a chance. The men could only laugh at your pathetic display of courage. Three of them— all still standing and suffering only minor injuries— against you, someone who could barely stand on her own. It was only a matter of time before the rest of your body succumbed to the venom slowly spreading through your veins before giving out.

Seeing you stand again made the bald-headed man raise his tail once more. He could only smirk when he saw you slightly wince at the sight of the stinger, it still dripping a mixture of your blood and poison from the last time it struck you. You couldn't help the hairs in your neck from rising.

"Haven't had enough yet, girly? Can't blame you—"

The stinger whipped back before lashing out your way, its tip shining with beads of poison. It was the last thing you saw before shutting your eyes, arms thrown up to shield your face. Fragile as glass maybe, your very existence was proof it could be much more than that.

Before you knew it, a wave of screams erupted from the men, followed by an almost incinerating heat slamming into your face. For a moment, it was almost comforting— right until the moment you felt the tips of the spears heat up, to the point the melting heat spread through your entire arm and burned the skin beneath

Had it been Endeavour that came to your aid?

As quickly as your skin had turned to glass before, as quick it was to turn back. With your arm shielding your face from the heat, you finally managed to peek through your eyelashes. Almost instantly you were blinded by the brightness of the flames before you, the blue sea of fire becoming almost unbearable to stand next to. It was a challenge to be able to make out whoever was the source of the heat— the searing wind almost drying your eyes out. You could only hope the heat hadn't burned your eyelashes and eyebrows off.

It was then that you saw the source of it all—a tall dark haired man standing only a few feet away from you. He had his arm stretched out in front of him, hand open and palm directly pointed towards where the men had been standing whilst his other one was snuggly tucked into his pocket. The power held in just the palm of his hand was enough to fill the entire alleyway with a sea of flames.

He didn't even seem slightly fazed by the fact the three men from before had completely burned to crisp— there ashes falling to the ground as their entire existence had just been wiped off the surface. Even their bones had been completely incinerated.

You couldn't dare move. Whether it had been fear which caused you to freeze up or the fact forming a single coherent thought seemed impossible after what just happened, you weren't sure. You could only watch the man's back— eyes shot wide like a deer caught in headlights.

For a moment, you had completely forgotten about your knees— until they could no longer bear your own weight. Almost instantly you fell back into the wall, a soft groan rumbling in your throat at the impact before your hand instinctively reached out to the swelling sting mark on your hip.

The place where the man had stung you started throbbing, the burning sensation in your muscles now spreading throughout your legs. Besides the feeling of your muscles on fire and throbbing, the wound itself had swollen to twice its size from before. You could only hope the infirmary had some sort of antidote lying around for a situation such as this.

Finally the man in front of you lowered his arms, the wave of fire immediately dying down leaving only a few small fires in its wake. Brick walls were covered in black soot, nearby trash containers melted to the ground and you couldn't even begin to describe the smell of burned trash and bodies. The three men from before had been reduced to nothing but a few piles of ash, blowing away in the wind.

"You should've ran."

His husk voice rang— back still turned to you. With the heat gone you could now take a much better look at him than before. He didn't seem like a hero, at least not one that you knew of. His coat was torn in several places, a bad stitching job holding the sleeves together and most of its edges having fire damage. Despite the poor state of his clothes, it was a miracle they managed to only have such minor burns to them.

It wasn't until the man glanced over his shoulder to look at you that you caught a slight peek at his face. Purple scars, presumably caused by his fire, littered his face all the way up to his ears and neck—a collection of messily placed staples holding it all together. You wondered if he still had sensation in those areas; the patches looked so rough and dark you could only assume the skin had died a long time ago.

When the man finally turned on his heel was when you finally got to take a good look at him. The scarred skin seemed to spread across his entire body. There seemed to be more scarred places rather than normal healthy skin. Could his body even withstand his own quirk or had it been someone else's that had caused such severe burns?

As shocking as his scars had been, it was his piercing blue eyes that locked with your own that almost instantly caught your attention. The very same bright blue in which his flames burned. Almost mesmerizing if it weren't for the fact fear currently settled deep within your stomach.

For any hero, or even civilian, would've been able to figure out who the man was after taking a quick look at him. A face that had been on the news and headlines so many times even children heard of him—and feared him.

It should've been obvious from the very start with how high of a temperature and what color his flames burned. No hero would go so far as to wiping someone's entire existence off the earth within seconds. Despite this, there had been something in you that tried convincing you that perhaps the knight in shining armor that came to your aid was just another hero—maybe even a vigilante.

Not a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Was he here to mock you? Toy with you until the very end? It was embarrassing enough you couldn't help yourself against the other three but looking back you should've been thankful for such a quick end.

After all, the villain known as Dabi, someone affiliated with the League of Villains, was known for his cruel methods. If it wasn't death by hours of torture, body littered in severe burn marks and clothes melted onto your own flesh— it was death after having been consumed in his sea of flames. In which case you could only hope he left your bones so that people still had something they could bury or identify you by.

Maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't been in the condition you currently found yourself in you could've stood somewhat of a chance. Not even a chance at victory, that was completely out of the question, but just a mere chance to flee at the slightest opening given. Flee from the fire, flee from him. Even then you were in no shape or form a good match against him— glass had a melting point after all.

Heavy was the sound of boots echoing through the alley as he got closer to you. Not once had he broken eye contact with you ever since your eyes had locked for the first time. Dabi was a man that was hard to read, a villain known for the fact he genuinely did not seem to care about his actions. You couldn't tell if what just happened affected him in any way or whether it was just another day on the clock for him.

You weren't sure whether or not the unsettling heaviness in your stomach and the sweat beading on your forehead were caused by fear or side effects of the poison coursing through your system. Maybe if you were in luck the poison would take you out faster than he would. What seemed like a slow and painful death before, now looked like a merciful one.

"You are no Mirko or Mt lady. Know your limit."

His tone was a condescending one— voice awfully low as he got closer to you.

"W-what the fuck do you want from me..?!"

The words came out lacking every little bit of confidence you would've liked it to have, voice trembling in a way that betrayed the tough facade you had tried to maintain. It was painfully obvious that the act you tried putting on did in no way match the fear that had run your blood cold. You felt like a lamb cornered by a wolf, one who got their pleasure out of seeing the fear of its victims before ripping them to shreds,

Hearing you snap back at him caused him to pause for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. With the obvious power difference he probably hadn't expected you to still try and bite back at him. For just a moment there was a tiny flicker of hope in you that held onto the thought that maybe, just maybe, you had intimidated him for a moment. A tiny flicker that was immediately dimmed beneath the shit-eating grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Is a man not allowed to perform a good deed once in awhile, miss he-ro?" The last word spoken a little dragged out, the R rolling over his tongue, tainted with mockery. To him you must've been no better than a kid dressed up as a hero for Halloween. A mere joke.

Dabi didn't even seem to consider you a threat as he continued to drag his feet forward, hand stuffed deep into the pockets of his slightly damaged coat. With the way his eyes bore into your own you didn't dare look away, scared he'd be at your throat the minute you would. You weren't even sure whether to be relieved he had yet to make his move or to be even more frightened of that.

A sharp scoff escaped your throat shortly after he finished his sentence. For him to even consider himself a man rather than the monster he had proven himself to be, was as much as a joke to you as your entire existence was to him.

"Working on your good karma now?"

There was a nauseating feeling slowly spreading through your chest, your insides churning as the internal battle against the poison was starting to get the best of you. Cold sweat began to drip down your face, every fiber of your being screaming for relief as if your organs cried out for help.

You weren't sure whether to focus on him or the rising panic of trying to swallow down the inevitable, desperately trying to stall the moment in which the content of your stomach made its way into your mouth. It was only a matter of time before you'd succumb to the effect of the scorpion man's quirk.

A loud cackle echoed through the alley, the disturbing laughter bouncing off of the charred cement walls. The sound of his voice invaded your eardrums, adding only more discomfort to the already throbbing pain inside your skull.

His hand ran through his hair as he smiled down at you, a visible joy radiating off his face. The further his lips curled upward, the more the staples seemed to strain against the pull of his lips. You wondered what it felt like— whether or not they hurt. Could he feel them pulling at his skin constantly? Did the sharp edges hurt the inside of his mouth? Maybe they felt like piercings to him, no different from the ones in his ears and nose.

"You haven't lost your sense of humor— how wonderful."

Dabi stopped in front of you, his piercing blue eyes peering down at you as he towered over you. Only then did you realize just how tall he actually was. As if his appearance on its own wasn't already intimidating enough, dead charred skin only being held together by low quality staples of which some were still covered in dried blood.

It was hard to put your full focus on his words as you tried your very best to keep your breath steady. With every second that past the strength to keep your own head up felt like a much bigger challenge than before.

"Such a marvelous hero you've become—"

The man kneeled down in front of you, a grin still very present on his face as his eyes scanned over your face. With a slight tilt of his head, Dabi pressed his lips together into a thin line. The way he was studying you felt almost violating with how close his face was to your own.

A heavy, stale smell of smoke invaded your nostrils as he got closer. His clothes reeked as if they had marinated all night by campfire, a scent that made you feel strangely nostalgic to your youth. It was the very same smell which Endeavour carried around with him after a long day of work. Though Endeavour's was more subtle, it always lingered in his office.

"—and still as pretty as ever." his husky voice murmured, a small grin spreading onto his face.

Before you could even fully process his words, his fingers were on your face— gently moving the strands of hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead away from your face. His touch was strangely gentle, the skin of his fingers being nowhere as rough as the rest of his exterior. Soft even.

Death was kinder than any man ever would be. To be humiliated at the hands of the cruel, scarred pyromaniac in your final moments was not how you wished to spend your last moments. At this point, even if he planned of mutilating your body beyond recognition, the poison currently having spread through your entire body would take you out long before that.

With that final boost of motivation, you managed to use the last bit of strength your body could offer to activate your quirk at your fingertips. A tingling sensation spready through your skin as it transformed, a glassy layer forming at your finger tips. Tiny claws extended, and in one quick motion, you managed to slash the palm of his hand.

With the current pathetic state you were in you only managed to cut him once before he leaped back, causing you to fall forward. In your life had you never felt so incredibly betrayed by your own body— usually being able to fully transform yourself and now barely having managed to turn your fingers.

Your arms were the only thing currently supporting you, but with the way your muscles were currently twitching you barely even managed to do that. It was a fight against your own body at this point— vision starting to blur the longer you stared down at the ground and your heart hammered against your ribcage, each thump echoing the growing despair of your declining health.

Turquoise eyes widened as they stared at the blood seeping from the palm of his hand, forming a small puddle on the ground. If you had cut just a little deeper, you would have split open his staples, forcing him to endure the hassle of putting himself back together again. The thought made him smirk.

Even in the state you currently found yourself in, you still tried fighting him? Though your quirk might've not been one of the flashiest ones and especially not one that could match his own— yet here you were. Willpower that could rival those in the top 10.

He squeezed his hand, more blood seeping between his clenched fingers before dripping down his wrist onto the ground. In a swift motion, his tongue dragged across his skin licking up some of the blood that stained his skin. It was then that you noticed a glistening, small metal ball resting on the tip of his tongue now tainted in crimson blood.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat, a twisted smirk once again tugging at the edges of his mouth. "My, my— that's no way to greet an old friend, (Y/n)-chan" He taunted, voice laced with mockery.

As hard as it was to focus on your surroundings with your current state, those words had not gone past you— eyes immediately narrowing in response.

It had been quite a few years since your debut as a hero, years in which you faced countless of villains. From street-level pick pocketers to more notorious criminals that had made a name for themselves, you had fought many. However, due the fact you had not been one of the top heroes, you never crossed paths with anyone affiliated with the League of villains— that was until now.

For an organization that hadn't been around long, the League had grown at an alarming rate in the last few months. The Hero Public Safety Commission had their hands full with them, especially after All might's fall. Missions regarding the League were reserved for the top heroes— people like Hawks and Mirko.

Especially someone like him—a man covered in scars from head to toe with flames that rivaled those of Endeavour, would surely be someone engraved on your memory. Even if you had encountered him, there was no way you could've gotten away unscathed.

A soft grunt rumbled in your throat as you pushed yourself backwards again, your back resting against the wall. You searched your mind for any possible solution, confusion clouding your mind as you tried to recall where you possibly could've seen him.

Black hair, piercings, scar littering half of his body, flames that burned hotter than anything you'd ever felt before, turquoise eyes—

"C'mon doll, i haven't changed that much have i?"

Your breath hitched in your throat , a gasp caught by disbelief as your eyes widened in realization. For a moment it seemed as if the world around you had gone completely still, the only thing you heard being your heartbeat echoing in your own ears. It felt as if your heart had turned to ice, the chill spreading quickly through the rest of your body— numbing your limbs and wiping your thoughts.

His piercing gaze felt even more unnerving than before, turquoise eye boring into your own staring straight into your soul. The intensity of his soul sent shivers down your spine, unsure whether or not to feel relieved or scared.

"Touy—"

Before you could even utter as much as a word, Dabi was right in front of you with the palm of his hand pressed against your mouth in an attempt to silence you. The rough skin of he bottom of his hand felt like sandpaper against your lips, the sharp edges of the staples grazing your skin as his other hand held the back of your hand.

He leaned down and once again, the heavy, stale stench of smoke that he carried with him invaded your nostrils. The very same suffocating smell of death and ash that hung in the alleyway. As his cheek lightly brushed against your own, his warm breath fanned onto your ear-shell causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Sshh— wouldn't want anyone to hear now, would we? I've got a whole show planned for it and all, would hate to spoil the surprise.."

His voice dripped with amusement as he whispered into your ear. You didn't even have to see his face to know that he was smirking, this was all a game to Dabi after all— your confusion and fear were his entertainment.

"I did miss talking to you, you know? About time we catch up."

The man leaned back slightly and, just as you had suspected, that same shit-eating grin pulled at his lips. The rough texture of his hand was still firmly pressed against your lips, the suffocating pressure only adding more rising nausea in your throat. Even despite all this, you couldn't ignore the feeling of his other hand softly threading through your hair like a twisted display of affection.

For just a moment you had completely forgotten about the state your body found itself in, that was until the nauseating feeling creeping up your throat from before that you had tried to swallow down came crashing back down on you.

As if sensing your discomfort, Dabi quickly pulled his hand back, just in time for you to throw your body to the side. You heaved as you gagged, the bitter taste of vomit rising in your throat and burning in your stomach. Tears burned in your eyes, a combination of both the nausea and helplessness, and the overwhelming wave of emotions running wild in your head.

A pair of hands grasped the back of your head, plucking away the damp strands of hair that clung to your face as you leaned forward while emptying the contents of your stomach on the pavement. Your hands desperately clawed at the ground beneath you, the sound of your retching echoing in the alleyway.

After a few seconds you could finally allow yourself to breathe again, coughing violently as the acidic burn from the vomit scratched at your throat. You couldn't help the tears that streamed down your face as you desperately gasped for air, your arms trembling beneath your weight as you tried to keep yourself from falling down.

"Y-you— i was there..I-i..i buried you, you..ha.. you died." Your voice trembling, each word weighed down by the grief and disbelief coursing through you.

With the last bit of strength your body could grant you, you managed to crawl a little to the side before your arms gave out causing you to fall to the ground. The lightness in your head was slowly consuming you, the faint noise from the nearby fire crackling and distant cars now fading into a muffled blur.

You couldn't even muster the strength to turn yourself over, holding your eyes open being enough of a challenge on its own. It was Dabi who's hand gripped your waist that rolled you onto your back with ease so he could look at you. It was hard to focus through your blurry vision, his face blurred— only his eyes vibrant enough to capture your attention.

A strangely affectionate smile tugged at his scarred lips, unsettling as it was you couldn't help but feel at ease for a moment— but the ominous gleam in his eyes was quick to take that comfort away. It was the cloth he used to wipe your mouth clean that made you— just for a moment — recognize his old self beneath the rotten exterior he had build around it.

His thumb ran softly over your cheek, brushing away the dirt smeared across your skin. You could barely even feel his touch at this point, the exhaustion weighing you down to the point it barely registered. As your eyelids grew heavier, you felt a sudden shift— a pair of hands sliding beneath your back and knees right as you were lifted from the cold ground with ease. Your head lolled to the side, resting against his solid chest where the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat felt like a soothing lullaby dragging you further to the edge of passing out,

"—the past never dies." was the last thing you heard before you felt yourself slip away into unconsciousness.

A/N- I rewrote this entiiiire thing! The original was so corny and bad i couldn't stand it. Hope you guys enjoyed and please stick around for more rewrites :D Also big thank you to my lovely friend for proofreading <3

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