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wndaswife · 1 year ago

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trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own.

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers.

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground.

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence.

Y/N — that was your name.

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective.

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic.

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about.

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base.

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N.

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too.

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously piqued interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you.

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you.

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later.

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party.

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together.

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd.

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you.

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you.

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing.

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern.

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends.

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out.

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer.

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to.

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material.

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team.

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them.

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless.

But with you, it was different.

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now.

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain.

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet.

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon.

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes.

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony.

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you.

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now.

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with.

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside.

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you.

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you.

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.”

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone.

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face.

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong.

She hoped she would never be right.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel #marvel fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

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babejinxy · 1 month ago

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Jinx x f!reader special new year 3

✨ Ok, first of all I wanted to apologize for the delay, but something unexpected happened and I've been really busy. I know I said this would be the last part, but I got a little carried away - a lot actually - and when I realized it, it was too long. So there will be one more chapter after this one and I swear it will be the end, sorry guys. Anyway, I hope you like it!

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

🥂 Part 1 🥂 Part 2

“Close your eyes, princess,” she whispered and you obeyed. Jinx led you out of Caitlyn’s house and took you somewhere high and far away from Piltover. “Careful, baby, go up slowly and don’t open your eyes until I tell you to,” she said, holding your hand tightly and helping you up a few steps. She walked with you and stopped, pinning you against a�� railing? She pressed her body against your back and with her hands on your hips, she kissed your neck softly. “Eyes closed, ok?,” she whispered and you nodded.

You felt your girlfriend's hands leave you and you got goosebumps as the wind hit your skin. "Jinx?!", you called out to her. "I'm here, light of my life", she replied and you heard her unzipping her backpack. You smiled, you loved it when she called you that affectionately.

You heard the heavy footsteps of her boots walking towards you and her thin hands gripped your waist and she pressed her body against your back again. Jinx kissed your bare shoulders and moved up to your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses on your soft, warm skin, she purred behind you between the kisses that burned into your skin. “You can open your beautiful eyes now, my life,” she whispered in your ear, biting your lobe.

You opened your eyes and at the same moment the clocks in the city of progress began to chime midnight. You looked around and realized that you were outside a blimp. You heard Jinx pull a trigger behind you and at that moment, a fireworks display began in the sky. “Happy New Year my love,” she said behind you and before you turned to face her to kiss her, a bomb exploded in the sky that soon turned into colorful fireworks that said, “marry me, toots?”

Tears streamed down your face quickly and you felt her take her hands off of you and kneel in front of you. She was holding a blue velvet ring box in her hands, one she had made and painted for you. She opened the box and there was a silver engagement ring with a blue sparkle on the tip.

“I will never be lost in the darkness again with you by my side, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, y/n. You brought back everything I lost, I have everything just by having you, I love you. Please be my wife, baby?”, she said with her eyes shining and you could swear that for a second, they were blue again.

You smiled through your tears, “Jinx I love you, of course I want to marry you, I will always say yes to you, I want to be with you for the rest of my life, my sunshine”. She stretched her lips into a smile and laughed a little, then she put the ring on your finger and you didn't have the chance to admire it, the next second she grabbed you and crashed her lips on yours, kissing you intensely and passionately.

She licked, kissed and sucked your lips on hers desperately, she pressed you against the railing of the airship and pressed her body against yours. You placed your right hand on the back of her neck while you brushed your nails on her left arm with your other hand. Jinx placed her hands on your waist and leaned over you a little. She lifted your left leg to her hips and held it tightly.

You were both breathless from the heated kiss and you were panting when Jinx - now your fiancée - left your lips and kissed your chin and down to your neck. You threw your head back and she took advantage of that, biting your skin and sucking hard. The sounds of her mouth on your skin, the noises she made and your soft moans and panting breaths were a true symphony.

She made a trail of kisses and bites up to the top of your breasts and stuck her tongue inside your cleavage licking between your breasts, “mhmm so hot, fuck”, she whispered and then went back to kissing and sucking the top of your tits leaving them marked and slightly sore. She kissed your lips again and let go of your leg. She placed her hands on your hips under your dress and pulled you tightly against her. You placed your hands one on each of her boobs and squeezed lightly, contrasting with her grip on your hips and ass, where she squeezed very hard, marking the skin with her fingers.

She squeezed your ass so hard that your lips faltered against hers making you gasp and your feet lift slightly off the ground. She captured your lips again and swirled her tongue with yours, biting your bottom lip and letting out a noise from her throat in the process. She was getting desperate and needed to fuck you and she needed to punish you for your behavior earlier, she hadn't forgotten that.

You didn't have the breath and stamina of your fiancée, you were in need of air, and tried to pull away from her for just a second, but she wasn't willing to let you. When you broke the kiss breathlessly, she captured your lips again and again. You tried to stop the kiss for the fourth time and this time she gave in and rested her forehead against yours. You both panted with your mouths half open on each other. “Just… just one more thing toots…”, Jinx said after placing a quick kiss on your half-open lips. “I want… to make a child in you,” she said, her voice hoarser than usual. You frowned, how was that possible? “After Isha…”, she said, her voice breaking, but before she could finish, you interrupted her, “Jinx, we swore to never speak about h…”, your eyes were filling with tears again.

“I know... I just want a kid, our kid, baby”, it was her turn to interrupt you and then she went back to planting kisses on your neck. “And how are we… a-ah… how are we going to… do this?… mhmm”, it was difficult to concentrate and form the right words with Jinx abusing the skin on your neck. “There are many ways,” she said, pulling the skin on your neck between her teeth, you rolled your eyes and gasped at the sensation.

She was spreading kisses and bites all over your neck, you were loving it, but she had gotten into a delicate subject and you had to focus on that. So you pushed her away, “Baby, calm down…”, she frowned and pulled you against her again, going back to abusing your skin. “You made me wait all day, toots, don’t ask me to calm down now.” She pushed you against the airship's railing again and placed a hand on each of the railings, holding you there, and then pulled the part of your dress that held your right breast down and it jumped out of the fabric, and she buried her lips in your bare chest, teasing your nipple with her tongue and teeth.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, moaning softly at the feeling of her tongue. Jinx stuck her tongue out and licked your boob from bottom to top several times, then swirled her tongue around your nipple and sucked on it. You gasped and bit your lower lip, you put your right hand in her hair and pulled it gently, making her moan into your boob. You were already soaking wet down there, you pressed your legs together you needed her, but before that you both needed to finish the conversation that Jinx started in the first place.

Jinx was just kissing your breast softly when you lifted her face to look at you. “Baby…”, you said, still a little breathless. “Yes?!”, she asked and planted a peck on your lips. “How are we going to be able to have a child?”. She rolled her eyes, “Sugar, what do you mean ‘how’? We’re amazing, you’re going to be a wonderful mother”, she said, kissing your chin and going up to leave kisses on the corner of your lips and giving you another peck. “I don’t know… it’s not that… you know what life is like in Zaun”, you said, caressing her thin and defined abdomen.

“And who said we’re having a baby in Zaun? my silly girl,” she scoffed. You gave her a confused look. “Look around you toots, let’s get out of here, start over somewhere else, where no one knows us, where we can be a family.” So that was why she had taken you to an airship, she intended to run away with you. Jinx caressed your face with her hand, “we can rebuild the family we lost, baby… me and you and…”, she placed her hand on your womb and smiled, “…you know… we can do that… but we could never do it here… It’s a real new year, don’t you think?”. You smiled and hugged her, “I love you so much babe.” She squeezed your sides, “I love you too toots.”

“But now,” she said, picking you up suddenly, bridal style, “now I want to do adult things with you, toots.” She took you inside the airship and you laughed at the feeling of being carried like that, your fiancée was really crazy and you always loved that about her. She threw you on a sofa bed full of very soft and comfortable pillows and climbed on top of you. “Now I’m going to fuck my beautiful and hot fiancée, until she loses consciousness inside that beautiful head of hers,” she said with her voice getting hoarse and making your body shiver and your pussy ache for her.

She took off her top and threw it away, exposing her small breasts. You raised your hands to feel them, but Jinx held your wrists above your head with her hands. She lowered her head and stuck her tongue in your lips without warning. You kissed her back, your lips were already sore from the kisses from before and from how she was kissing you hard like a starving animal that hadn't eaten in days.

Jinx released one of your wrists and held it close to the other only to take a hot pink satin scarf from her pants pocket and tie it tightly around your wrists and it was then that you realized that you were fucked, very fucked and that only excited you even more. “Did you think I had forgotten about your previous behavior? Nah, nothing like that, princess,” she snapped and slapped your face, not hard enough to hurt you too much, but enough to make you close your eyes tightly from the burning sensation that remained there.

Your blue-haired bride held your face in her hands and came very close to look at you. She smiled wickedly and ran her eyes all over your beautiful face and turned it to the side leaving the skin of your neck - already with some marks - exposed to her. She began to gently kiss the skin alternating between kisses and bites. She ran her tongue over the pulse point on your neck and then trapped the skin between her lips and teeth, sucking your skin hard to leave a very obvious bruise there. “Oh god,” you moaned.

Jinx trailed kisses down to the top of your tits and then she sat on your pelvis and without warning she placed her hands on the top of your dress and ripped it completely, your bare breasts jumping out of the torn fabric. Jinx immediately grabbed your boobs with both hands, massaging them, squeezing them and pulling them. She sucked on your left breast while she continued to tease the other one with her hand. “Fuck they are such perfect toots… hmm”. You were just a mess of moans and whimpers. She moved to your other breast and caught your nipple between her teeth, pulling it hard, your eyes watered and you moaned in pain and pleasure at the same time. She released your injured nipple and drops of blood ran down your breast and Jinx licked them off, licking your nipple too and swirling her tongue around it and then she sucked it into her mouth. Her saliva on your cut nipple stung and you choked trying not to cry.

“Sorry baby, I can’t control myself,” she said, running her thumb over your nipple, you squirmed at the stinging sensation. “Stop, please,” you said, tears streaming down your eyes. Jinx crashed her lips onto yours and you tasted the iron of your blood on her lips. She broke the kiss only to lick your tears away and said, brushing her lips against your ear, “Oh my sweet girl, I warned you that you would be screwed when I got you, you will take what I give you until the time I decide to stop, understand?” You nodded, she grabbed your face tightly, “Use the words toots.” She ran her thumb over your lips, waiting. “I got it babe.” She smiled mischievously, “Fucking good girl.”

Jinx made a trail of hickeys from your neck to the top of your left breast - the one that wasn't bleeding - then she filled her mouth with the soft flesh of your breast and bit and sucked on it while her hands gripped your hips so tightly that there would be marks from her fingers for days. She sucked on the skin at the edge of your breast, leaving a bruise there.

Your fiancée moved her kisses and bites down from your breast to your abdomen and got rid of the rest of the dress that was still on your body, ripping it completely and throwing the rags somewhere, leaving you with only your ruined and soaked panties. Jinx ran her nose over the wet spot on your panties and bit her lips, getting hornier. “Hmm, that’s delicious, baby, fuck,” she mumbled, planting a kiss on your swollen clitoris through the thin fabric of your panties. You moaned and writhed beneath her and she smiled wickedly.

Jinx pulled your panties to the side just to show your crotch, where she licked you teasingly. Then she went down to the inside of your left thigh and sucked on your skin, marking you there too. She went down to your ankle and knelt on the floor at the edge of the sofa bed just to unbutton your sandals and take them off your feet. She grabbed your left foot and kissed it, but your body's reflexes pulled it out of her hand because of the sensitivity that made you feel ticklish. She got up from the floor, standing up and took off her boots, then got rid of her pants and boxers, throwing them on the floor with the rest of her clothes.

She climbed on top of you again and placed her hands on each of your arms - which were raised above your head, with your wrists tied together. Jinx captured your lips with hers again and took her time with you. She placed her right hand on your throat, but didn't squeeze, just held you firmly as her tongue danced with yours. You both let out soft moans between the kiss, Jinx pulled your lower lip so hard that it bled a little, you gasped and she moaned at the taste of your blood. She licked your chin and ran her tongue over your lips before capturing them with hers again. “Open your mouth, love”, she whispered with her lips brushing yours and you obeyed, she spat inside your mouth and you swallowed her saliva. “Oh fuck, like this you're going to kill me toots or I'm going to kill you, I don't know anymore”, she said whispering and kissed you again.

She swirled her tongue around yours and then sucked your tongue and you moaned into her mouth, she devoured your lips for a few more seconds while squeezing your tits in her hand. Jinx moved her kisses from your lips to your chin, passing through your neck, the top of your breasts, your nipples, all over your abdomen until she reached your clothed pussy. She took off your panties and kissed your pelvis, biting and sucking afterwards and you moaned at the sensation. She brought your panties to her nose and melted feeling the sweet smell of your arousal, "fuck", she whispered and then threw your panties with the rest of your clothes on the floor.

Jinx bit her lower lip hard as she stared at your bare, dripping pussy. Yes, she intended to tear you apart, but before that, she laid on top of you again and shoved her knee into your needy cunt and you moaned a little loudly. She stuck her index and middle finger inside your mouth and you understood what she wanted and started sucking on them. She bit her lower lip as she watched you suck on her slender fingers and she shoved them deeper into your throat making you gag. Your saliva started to run down the corner of your mouth and onto the knuckles of her fingers.

She got off of you and got on her knees on the bed, and then she stuck the fingers that were in your mouth inside herself and started masturbating herself while shamelessly staring at your pink, swollen pussy. You felt a little embarrassed by this, but then you enjoyed the sight and it was only making you hornier. “Fuck baby, fuck...,” she moaned as she touched herself, the rhythm of her fingers increasing more and more. You could do it for her, you wanted to be able to touch her, but you knew she wouldn't allow it, she rarely did.

You could go crazy at any minute, you needed her, you needed to be touched, you needed to be fucked. You squeezed your legs together to feel something and that irritated Jinx, she didn't say anything but with her free hand, she parted your legs opening them so hard that your groin burned and you let out a tearful moan.

“Look at this… a-ah hmm… fuck… look at this delicious pussy”, she said between moans, the wet sounds coming from her fingers in your pussy were getting straight to you and you could only feel the ache in your core and your pussy getting wetter and wetter. “You’re so hot baby, I’m going to fuck you like hell, you’ll see”, she said in a hoarse voice and moaned loudly, cumming all over your belly and pelvis.

Without wasting any more time, she stuck her fingers covered in her cum into your vagina and mixed her cum with the cream of your arousal, lubricating your pussy with her cum, making you moan as you felt her fingers in your needy pussy and arch your hips slightly. She ran her fingers up and down your slippery pussy and you bit your bottom lip.

Without warning, Jinx opened your lips with her fingers and stuck her tongue in your pussy, eating you with desire, like a hungry wild animal. She licked from your clitoris to your hole, teasing it. She was savoring your taste that she was crazy about and the sounds she made while eating you were infamous and made you moan like a bitch in heat. “Mhmm, that feels so fucking good,” she said, and then she finally swirled her tongue around your clit and sucked on it. You lifted your head and looked down, and when she began licking your clit in a fast, steady rhythm you slammed your head back into the pillows, “Ooh fuck,” you moaned.

You were a panting, whimpering mess, your wrists pinned numb above your head as your bride devoured your pussy. Jinx's tongue expertly explored every side of your poor cunt. She licked you with her mouth wide open, alternating between sucking and licking your swollen clit. She held your legs wide open for her by gripping your hips tightly. Jinx closed her lips around each of your fucked pussy lips in her mouth and sucked on them, making you gasp above her. Then she stuck her tongue in your hole and fucked you like that. Your walls swallowed her tongue inside you and you both moaned in unison.

Jinx fucked you with her tongue for a long time, alternating between pumping her tongue inside you frantically or thrusting your hips against her tongue and then you were close, very close to cumming in her mouth and she noticed it when your walls tightened around her tongue. Of course this only encouraged her to go even deeper and she brought her fingers up to brush against your clit alternating between giving light flicks that made your eyes roll back in your head. Just a few more strokes of her tongue into your hole and the rhythm of her fingers on your clitoris made you come hard into her mouth and she drank your cum as if she had been dying of thirst for days.

“Atta girl,” she said breathlessly, her jaw was sore after her intense work on you and she was proud of it, but not satisfied. She wanted more, she needed more, she simply couldn’t contain herself when she had her bride tied up, naked and cumming in front of her. So she went back to eat you, licking and sucking your pussy without mercy. “Jinx I… I… aaah-ah… I can’t anymore baby… oh my god,” you said shaking frantically.

“Shut up and take it,” she said, slapping your pussy and then going back to sucking it. She didn’t stop, she just wouldn’t stop, you moaned frantically and your body began to twitch involuntarily. Your hips were moving away from her in a reflex of your body, but she pulled you back close to her, continuing to eat your pussy. “Oh…oh Jinx,” you moaned her name and that only made her even wilder. She sucked your clit and licked it frantically without stopping and fuck you were going to cum again.

You needed to grab something, anything, but your wrists were tied tightly by the tight knot she had made in the scarf and all you could do was moan, moan, moan and you practically screamed as you came for the second time in her mouth. After she cleaned up all your juices with her tongue, she slowed down and was giving kitten licks and leaving kisses on your aching pussy. You were crying from the overstimulation and your legs were shaking with each contact of her tongue on your pussy.

Jinx bit and sucked on the inner skin of your thigh, leaving red marks that would soon turn purple, and finally lifted her head from between your legs and massaged your sore jaw and neck. She was drunk on your cum and she loved it. She planted a kiss on your pelvis and made her way up to your lips and kissed you, pushing her tongue into yours and making you taste yourself in her mouth. She squeezed your right breast - the one with the bruised nipple - and you whimpered into her mouth. She released your lips and buried her head in your neck, sucking and marking the skin over the marks she had left earlier. Jinx thrust her right hand into your pussy while the other held your bound wrists. “Spread those legs for me now, toots,” she ordered in a dangerous voice and you obeyed.

Once she had easy access to your already abused pussy, she wasn't gentle and slipped her middle and ring fingers into your slippery hole with ease, finger fucking you. She had a relentless rhythm, using the shimmer in her veins to thrust hard and impossibly - for people who didn't have shimmer running through their veins - fast. She let go of your neck and knelt beside you on the bed, speeding up her slender fingers inside you more and more. The wet sounds coming from your pussy, your pornographic moans, the fucked-up sight of you and your tits bouncing with each deep thrust of her fingers into your pussy made her cum on her own and she threw her head back, "ounch that's so fucking good, fuck... shit", she moaned.

It didn't take long for you to come on her fingers, but she didn't stop fucking you. She continued fingering you through your orgasm, the rhythm never faltering, she lowered her head to bite and suck on your left breast. You let out tearful moans from your throat, your juices running from your hole onto her fingers and wrist and dripping onto the sheets. She pulled her fingers out of you and started rubbing your clit, and you rolled your eyes. “Hmmm baby, oh my god I can’t… aah… I can’t take it anymore baby,” you cried. She laughed and bit your earlobe, “pay the price for being a fucking hottie who likes to tease me.” Then, as she said that, Jinx sped up her fingers on your clit and then stuck them back in your hole, curving them and hitting that spongy spot inside you. She alternated several times between rubbing your clit and burying her fingers inside you, making you see stars and moan her name nonstop.

You were squirming and shaking as your fiancée lowered her head between your legs and began teasing your clit with her tongue while she fucked her fingers frantically into you. Jinx released your clit and licked it every now and then teasing you. “So beautiful baby, my fingers feel so good inside you, just like you… fuck, your pussy is the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.” Her words reached straight to your fucked pussy and you got closer and closer to your limit.

Jinx curled her fingers inside you and hit that spongy spot several times and as if that wasn't enough, she pressed your belly a little with her hand while still pounding her fingers into you. Your hips lifted off the bed, your legs trembled and you rolled your eyes back in your head. Your blue-haired bride pulled your hips back and continued pumping her fingers into your hole, curling them inside you while putting just the right amount of pressure on your belly. She licked and sucked your clit a few more times and then you closed your eyes tightly, moaning loudly and uncontrollably. With your wrists tied, you couldn't hold on to anything, so you dug your nails into your palm hard and squeezed, leaving moon marks on it.

It was too much, her tongue on your clit, her fingers fucking you wildly and the pressure of her hand on your belly was too much and you screamed her name as you finally squirted, soaking her fingers and the sheet. “Fuck baby!” Jinx said satisfied and laughed a little. “Fuck toots, I knew you were capable of this, but this time… wow I’m so fucking good”, she said bragging. “You’re so fucking good my baby girl, fuck I want more of this”. She said lightly caressing your red pussy and you whimpered.

She looked at you and you were panting, your boobs rising and falling with your errant breath. You were out of your mind and Jinx smiled wickedly when she noticed it. She went straight up to your face and kissed your cheek, the tip of your nose, your chin and finally planted a peck on your lips. She kissed the entire length of your neck as you recovered from the intense orgasm and came to your senses.

“You were so good to me Toots,” she said when you calmed down, kissing your jaw and finally untying the knot of the pink scarf that kept your wrists tied together. You lowered your arms in relief, they were numb and sore, there were purple marks from her fingers and the tight knot of the scarf that had previously been tied tightly around them.

Jinx didn't wait long and crashed her lips against yours again, she had an unusual resistance and still wanted to fuck you. You were finally able to touch her and brought your right hand to the back of her neck, pulling the strands of her short blue hair while you rested the other on her face, your soft touches didn't even compare to her aggressive ones squeezing your sides during the kiss. But for her, any slightest touch of yours on her skin was enough to make her catch fire and lose control.

She moved her kisses to your neck and went back to sucking on your skin, now sensitive from the bruises. You tried to reverse positions and stay on top of her, but when you dared to move, she held you tightly in place while still devouring your neck. “Babe, please, let me touch you now,” you said between sighs. Jinx lifted your torso and put her right hand on the back of your neck, pulling your hair, making your head go back and then she deepened the hickeys on your skin, increasing the marks, at this point your neck had no single side that was not covered in bruises.

She pulled your hair a little harder and you gasped, then she held your face tight and said in a stern voice, “Haven’t you learned yet? You’re the one receiving here bunny, and I’m far from done with you,” her dominating words, the grip on your face and the wild look she had on you went past your ears making you shiver and reached your poor pussy already wet for her again. “Now turn around,” she said, letting go of your face and your hair, pushing your head hard. You flinched at your fiancée’s brutality and fell onto the bed, hitting the side of your face on the pillows. You were used to it, Jinx was never very soft, but today she was much wilder and you immediately obeyed her, laying down on your stomach…

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #powder arcane #powder x reader #lesbian #jinx #jinx x you #powder x jinx #jinx x fem!reader #jinx smut #jinx lol

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gor3-hound · 1 year ago

Text

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #dark content

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peggyao3 · 3 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 15 "Herr God, Beware"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 3k

A/N: Thank you so much for your comments on the last chapter in particular. It was my favorite out of the entire fic 🥺🥺 And now, just some smut before we enter the finale (3 more chapters) 🥹

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Feyd-Rautha's strong hand clutches the wrist of his giggling, ticking time bomb as he herds her down the hollow hallway, back to her own chambers. Blackened water still dribbles down the thick curve of his pale calves and his feet leave wet imprints on the tiles. A black bathrobe clings damply to his shoulders, fabric curling around the salacious shape of his muscles.

Lilia quickly vacates her Lady's quarters and closes the door, Glugo at her hand, when the half undressed na-Baron and his beloved rush past her into the bedroom in a hurry.

His darling had wanted to have him right there in his tub. He had to stop her, rising out of the diluted healing concoction dripping wet. For their first time as proper betrotheds, he doesn't want to be submerged in claustrophobic bath water. He has a special place in mind, one that has her eyes growing round when she realizes that Feyd-Rautha does not intend to fuck her on the bed.

"Feyd! It's meant for cryo sleep, not for—"

"Open the lid, my darling, please."

Desire claws at his belly and a near perverse delight floods him when his fiancée obeys. Her pupils give a telltale flicker to the side and the top of the Sarcophagus swings open by her invisible command.

"What are you doing?" She giggles, her voice still high-pitched from the afternoon's victory.

Feyd-Rautha lets the bath robe drop to the floor and her eyes fall from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and the muscles of his glutes that flex beneath his fair skin when he raises one long leg and climbs into the man-shaped mold that had sheltered his darling during her long journey between the stars.

"I want you to have me in here."

His semi-hard cock falls against his navel as he sinks down. The gel padding of the mold is surprisingly soft, cool to the touch but quickly warming up to his damp skin. The surrounding walls are lined with tubes like blood vessels and the chamber hugs him like he was transferred back into the womb.

"It's designed for one person," she scolds, but her hands are already at her waist, sliding under the hem of her trousers.

"And your trousers are designed for men, yet you are wearing them." Feyd-Rautha lets one corded arm dangle out of the sarcophagus, beckoning his betrothed closer with a curl of his hand. "Come here," he purrs. "Sit in my lap."

"You dare lecture me on my clothing when I've just discovered—?" Her trousers and boots are kicked to the floor with ferocity and when she climbs into the mold to him, Feyd's cock swells to full hardness without even a touch. His woman's eyes flash with the kind of indignance that he had hoped to spark.

His pelvis leaves just enough space on each side of the chamber for her to slot her folded legs, though it is a tight fit. Feyd-Rautha's hard flanks warm her knees and she frees her torso from the cover of her tunic with a swift curl of her arms that has her chest popping out and her breasts lifting as she stretches her arms high. The garment tumbles to the floor and Feyd-Rautha's hands are immediately at her hips and belly.

When she meets his gaze and lets the apex of her thighs sink down on his pelvis, feeling the soft squishiness of his balls against her cunt, she realizes the true nature of Feyd's provocation. While her eyes are glaring with fire, his are glossy and wanton like the deep-blue oceans of her old home.

The hand with which she intends to aim the gun at the Baron slides over Feyd-Rautha's warm chest, where his heart beats, and he makes no move to overpower her or coax her into action, just holding her expectantly to his straining manhood. She lowers her voice, wild giggles replaced by a sultriness that comes from the overflowing well of her earlier victory.

"Is that what you desire right now?" She coos, eyes gliding proudly over the hard, masculine body that lies so docile beneath her. He has been vulnerable with her before, when he needed her touch to keep himself from drowning, but never like this. Not with his pretty mouth open and his blue eyes rendered so dark with lust, like he's going to come apart willingly at a fleeting touch of her hand.

His submission is not an escape tonight, it is triumphant.

Feyd-Rautha nods and his tongue darts out briefly to wet his pink bottom lip. She eclipses the light of the golden glow globe and he readily cranes his head for her trailing hand, moaning when her fingers encircle his throat. The thick tendons that stretch from base to jaw strain against her palms, yielding under pressure, because despite how hard he looks, Feyd-Rautha is made of soft flesh, like anyone else.

As he gazes up admiringly, he briefly wonders how old his betrothed actually is. He's never asked her, but she glances down at him with a wisdom and confidence that melt his bones. Willingly, his knees fall apart against the walls of the man-sized cavern.

She's going to make it alright. She's going to cure his rot.

"Can you ask me again?" He demands pleadingly, his voice a low rasp that vibrates against the palm of her hand.

"Ask you what?" Her thumb brushes over the sharp tip of his Adam's Apple. It is cute, the way it jumps away from her touch, like a frightened animal.

"To be your husband."

"But you already said yes," she purrs and makes sure that he feels the weight of her against his pelvis. With the way she's seated on him, her clit comes to rub against his smooth pubic mound as she leans forward a little.

"But I want to say it again," Feyd-Rautha confesses. A part of him yearns for her to ask him again every new day, so he knows she hasn't changed her mind.

"How about you ask me now?" At that, her betrothed's strong fingers twitch around the soft flesh of her hips.

"Will you be my wife, my darling? Will you honor and serve me til death do us part?" His pupils fill out the blue pools of his irises with comical dilation and a heavy inhale raises his chest a bit closer to her breasts.

"Is that how Harkonnens ask for the hand of their Lady?"

"You need to say yes," Feyd-Rautha snarls with a pleading darkness gathering behind his eyes.

"I will, if you ask me right." Her cheeks are rounded in a coy grin, infuriatingly disregarding the distress that pounds against Feyd's ribs. His hold on her tightens and so does hers around his pale throat. At the possessive touch of him, her cunt provides moisture that flows across Feyd-Rautha's sac.

"Will you be my wife and let me honor and serve you til death do us part?"

She laughs brightly and the flexing of her muscles brings the cradle of her thighs against his pelvis in an involuntary jerk. When her betrothed moans, she repeats the same motion, this time deliberately, and leans down to his face, nestling it within her palms.

"I was thinking more of loving and caring for each other til death do us part, but I suppose honoring and serving works too, as long as we both do it."

"And does that mean yes?"

"Of course it does, silly boy. Yes, I will be your wife. And my wedding gift to you will be death."

He shudders obscenely at the power that lies at their fingertips. The power to not only put an end to his tormentor's regime, but to throw the universe into a new dark age — The universe that had always looked away from his suffering, endorsed it.

"Would you say this is a worthy gift, my love?" His woman purrs lovingly and slowly grinds her sweet, wet cunt against the base of his cock.

Feyd-Rautha nods, moaning quietly. His hands just lightly aid the rolling of her pelvis that has his cock jump longingly against her abdomen, plump head almost nudging her navel. She feels the velvety hardness of him against her belly and arches her spine to meet the next twitch of his aching length.

"Then so be it."

One hand abandons his neck and embarks on a journey down the length of his smooth, tapered torso.

Feyd is the perfect harmony of strong and vulnerable. Thick muscles wrapped around his chest and shoulders, his thighs powerful and hard, his wiry forearms entwisted by prominent veins that stretch all the way down to his hands, knuckles still dusted in the purple remnants of bruises from the afternoon brawl.

Yet, there is a graceful felinity to his long limbs and slender core and the way he carries himself, every muscle in a perfect equilibrium of poise. The skin she skims is made soft by lotions and oils, the perfectly delicate cover for the hard swells of his abdominal muscles that flex deliciously in the wake of her fleeting fingertips.

"Woman~" he moans low and sweetly and her gaze falls on the absurd dip of his cupid's bow and the plump curve that defines his bottom lip.

"Yes?" Her fingertips gently dance around his twitching length, indulging his abdomen in ticklish caress while avoiding the place where he aches all over.

"Please." Feyd's pelvis rolls up against her cunt, bare feet seeking purchase against the odd, cushioned floor of the sarcophagus.

To Feyd-Rautha, tonight is a night of self-indulgent weakness. He has grown long tired of living behind the guards of violent defense that he has erected around himself, sick of the impotent fear and rage his uncle has cultivated in his misshapen boy heart.

Perhaps Feyd would have been able to kill the Baron without her. But an animal may not be able to free itself from its cage, even when the key in the lock is turned. It may just need someone to push the handle and open the gate.

His darling may be diabolical for the knowledge she has unlocked with the aid of the machine that calmly hums beneath his back, but she is not diabolical to him. One sweet plea from his lips has her lifting her pelvis and his cock readily jumps against the folds of her cunt.

Another day, his hand would have been around the thick base of his cock to angle himself into her entrance, but tonight he waits for her smaller hand to guide him. The briefest of touch has his mouth open and his neck strained in anticipation, and then the wet heat of her meets his weeping slit.

"Oof~" A little sound escapes her lungs when the blunt tip of him spears her open wide, generously slick but otherwise unprepared. She holds herself there, fingers twisted into the skin of his tensing stomach. Feyd-Rautha waits with agonizing patience as the head of his cock is veritably crushed by her tight walls.

He is so absurdly sensitive, the impossibly slow descent of her pelvis has him hissing through his teeth.

"God, what did they, agh, feed you to make you grow to this size?"

Feyd-Rautha lets out a burst of boyish laughter, then curses to the Sun in Harkunnin before he can tell her that, if not genetics, it could have only been the extraordinarily carnivorous diet he had enjoyed as a boy. She raises herself and the slow glide of her cunt massages the aching inches of his cock.

His voice grows guttural and deliciously pathetic as she establishes a slow, rolling pace, aided only gently by the push and pull of his hands. He feels truly cocooned in the way her walls wrap around his cock and her soft hands on his chest press him down into the cushioned gel pads.

The moisture from the bath has long dried on his skin and what dampens it now is a warm flush of arousal. Blue eyes are glued to the movement of her flesh, trailing over her tummy and breasts before meeting the calm, simmering confidence in her eyes. Her torso folds itself halfway over his chest, one hand propped against the gel cushion next to his head, the other cupping his flexing jaws.

"My baby just needs someone to take care of him, isn't that right?"

Feyd-Rautha's brows twitch briefly at the unfamiliar moniker, but its meaning is clear and his pelvis shudders against his will. A deep, sweet desire blossoms at the base of his spine, waiting to be spilled.

"My baby boy has been so lonely all his life, but I'm here now. I'm taking care of you."

He wants to be something for someone, something of value, something precious, something coveted and even vulnerable. For once in his life, someone is standing up for him and Feyd falls head first into the white-hot ignition of love that pulses at his core and reaches so quickly into his balls and the root of his cock.

"Yeeesss," he moans, brows scrunching together tightly. The steady rocking of his beloved's hips milks him dry of his cum and his lungs wheeze in breathless huffs. Tears prick at his eyes below closed lids.

"My darling," she sighs, her voice a shiver that flows across his face along with her hot breath, so close, so sweet.

"More," he demands even though his empty cock begins to burn from the deep rhythm that fills her out from entrance to navel. Feyd-Rautha's strong fingers cling needily to her hips and she grins upon his request, straightening herself. A bead of sweat dribbles down between her breasts.

"Then be good and help me, yes?"

His thumb is on her bundle of nerves before she can even finish her sentence, blue eyes wickedly gleaming with determination. It is the least he can do to reward her for being an angel sent to him across space and time.

Her pelvis rolls back and forth, meeting the perfectly placed pressure of the pad of his thumb. Even with him half flaccid, she still feels deliciously full, and the gravelly moans she pulls from his throat sinfully aid the approach of her climax, a tightening pressure against the base of her spine that seems to be pulling every muscle inwards to her core.

In their wake, they make a mess all over his lap and balls, inky seed marking them both in sticky trails.

Where another man might struggle, Feyd-Rautha has little trouble growing hard again from having his future wife around his overstimulated cock. The pleasure-pain of it makes him sink his teeth into his plush bottom lip and his fingers into her waist, taking back a smidge of control. His shaft twitches against her tender walls.

"Just like thi-is, ahh, Feyd—!" Her toes curl against the outsides of his thighs.

"Almost there, sweetling," he promises, positioning his soles safely against the cushioned ground and then pistons up into her cunt. The force and stamina behind his thrusts is effortless, splitting her poise. Her torso falls against his, breasts flattened against the hard planes of his chest, lips finding his.

Feyd-Rautha drinks up his to-be wife's needy whines like wine from a chalice, wraps one strong arm around her middle while his thumb remains on her swollen, little clit. His cock does the rest, rhythm powered by his thick thighs, he slams himself into her slick cunt.

Moments away from climax, her tongue squirms against his and her pelvis tries to escape from his hold, the first tendrils of white-hot pleasure so overwhelming that her first reaction is flight. But Feyd-Rautha's grip screws itself tight around her waist and the next, perfect circle of his thumb has her coming apart on his cock, drool slipping into his open mouth, in glistening rivulets down his black teeth.

Feyd gives himself to the sweet strangulation of her cunt, shuddering from each burst of seed that is wrenched from his balls. Each clench of their combined release sparks like a bang of fireworks, a rumble that shakes the fundament of the universe.

Their bodies grow still aside from their lungs' heaving and Feyd-Rautha's cheeks are dusted in a blush, lids drooping low as he lets his big hands wander over the curves of her body in blissful delirium. When his hand arrives in her nape, their lips meet again for a slow dance in the afterglow of their release — lazy, sloppy kisses and slow grinding of their hips while sweat cools on their flesh.

A silly thought tugs on the strings of his drowsy mind. If he fell asleep right here and she closed the lid of her sarcophagus over him, he could time travel to a world where the Baron is already dead and burned. He has not a doubt in his heart that she will make it happen.

With a sweet sigh, his darling straightens herself, fingertips lingering on his belly as she admires him from above. Golden glowglobe light spills from the crown of her head down her shoulders like a bridal veil, like a ruler's cape. Feyd-Rautha's hand moves up her sternum and cups her warm cheek. Her lashes flutter shut and she exhales slowly, and by the time she casts them open again, her gaze has sharpened itself to the tip of a spear.

She was an unshaped piece of wood, pulled out of the grave, then carved into a lumpy shape by the Bene Gesserit and set on the board, a wildcard pawn with promising genes, ready to play.

Now, she is about to shatter the chessboard with a fractal hammer, because now she has a reason.

For him. For her new kin. And out of rage. And for freedom.

The Bene Gesserit didn't just open a relic from space. What they did is unleash an invasive species from a time capsule into a delicately stable ecosystem, and she intends to unravel it like a tumor from within.

Ash, ash — You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there---- A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the [ice] I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

- Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

A/N: Because I'm an asshole, I will say the following: Two characters will die in the next chapter, and one of them you're looking forward to. Give me your best guesses 😌✨ If anyone guesses correctly, I'll eat my own arm.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd #feyd rautha x reader #austin butler #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x oc #peggysuave fanfics #peggysuave;relic #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd fanfiction #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

Text

Guide to IPA Symbols

Vowels

æ ask bat glad ɑ: cot bomb caught paw ɛ bet fed ə about banana collide i very any thirty i: eat bead bee ɪ id bid pit ʊ foot should put u: boot two coo ʌ under putt bud ɚ merge bird further eɪ eight wade bay aɪ ice bite tie aʊ out gown plow oɪ oyster coil boy oʊ oat own zone blow ɑɚ car heart bizarre eɚ bare fair wear iɚ near deer mere pier oɚ boar port door shore uɚ boor tour insure ɒ British cot bomb ɔ: British caught paw port ə: British merge bird əʊ British oat own zone blow ɪə British near deer ɛə British bare fair ʊə British boor tour

Consonants

b baby labor cab d day kid ʤ just badger fudge ð then either bathe f foe tough buff g go dagger bag h hot ahead j yes vineyard k lacquer flock skin l law hollow l̟ pedal battle final m mat hemp hammer rim n new tent tenor run n̩ button satin kitten ŋ rung hang swinger p lapse top lip speed r rope arrive s sad mist kiss ʃ shoe mission slush t mat stick late tʰ toe attack ɾ later catty riddle tʃ batch nature tʃʰ choose chin achieve θ thin ether bath v vat never cave w wet software z zoo easy buzz ʒ vision azure beige

Other Symbols

' penmanship ˌ penmanship British indicates British pronunciation variant

Source

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hypernova-writes · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Day 24

[Free Use - Demoman/Soldier]

"Yer such a beaut, ya know that lass"

"OUR CUPCAKE IS SIMPLY THE BEST~!"

"F-fuck..Oh..shit~.."

"Sorry baby, ye just looked so bloody good.."

"Right! And walzting around us without any panties? You knew what you were doing!"

You couldn't rebuttal as you were bent over your bed, Demoman fucking you from behind, your flimsy night dress above your hips.

You struggle to say something, "H-haa..~, Y-you wanted me to be ready..for you.."

Demoman chuckles as his angles his hips, loving the high pitch squeal that left your lips suddenly. He chuckles as he suddenly pulled out.

"Aye..you may be right."

He gives you a pat on your ass before turning tou over so they could get a nice look at you.

"We didn't think you listened whe we said we wanted ha any time cupcake!" Solider says as he takes in your fucked out state.

You giggle tiredly as Soldier pulled you to the edge of the bed, he slaps his cock against your folds before he plunges in. You gasp out as he grips your hips, beginning his punishing pace.

"You look so beautiful cupcake! Waiting for us...ready to be taken by your men."

"Aye..soldiers right. Definitely could do this more often..~"

Sorry for how short this one is, I plan on turning this into a poly marriage fic between Boots n Bombs and you.

#nova's kinktober '24 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 x reader #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fandom #team fortress 2 #team fortress 2 x reader #team fortress 2 imagines #tf2 #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 demoman x reader

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 year ago

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Meant To Be One

Gf!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-Shot

Summary: You couldn't have guessed this is where you would end up after letting Sam Carpenter in your life. Well, now you're in your room, hiding, as Sam tries to break down your door whilst revealing the cruel future she has planned for the students of Woodsboro High

Warning(s): Swearing, dark!sam, manipulating/gaslighting, gun(s), mentions of death & killing

Notes: Based off of the song 'Meant To Be Yours.' Not sure how to feel about this one, lemme know what you think

2/7 for Seven Days Of Christmas

Bang. Bang. Bang—BANG.

That was all you could hear on the other side of the door as Sam Carpenter incessantly pounded on your bedroom door. You tried to be as quiet as possible but deep down you knew no matter how quiet you could be, Sam wouldn't leave until you opened up.

“All is forgiven baby! Come on, get dressed! You’re my date to the pep rally,” she shouted from the other side. You stayed a few feet from the door, not knowing how far Sam would go. You’ve seen how far she could go, and you soon realized she could go much farther.

“Fuck off! You’re a psychotic asshole!” You spat harshly. Sam stared at the door with a grin so sinister you could almost feel it.

“I’m protecting you! If you would just listen instead of chucking me out like trash, you would understand that!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you! You should be dead for the way you’ve treated me!” The grip on Sam’s gun tightened as she spoke, soon loosening once remembering the plan. “But that’s when it hit me like a flash…” Sam took a short pause between, leaving you in a state of suspense. “What if high school went instead? Don’t you see it—those assholes are the key! They’re keeping you away from me!”

“Sam, you’re fucking crazy! So what—what your solution is blowing up our school with everyone in it and we’re just supposed to drive off into the sunset?”

“Do you not want that for us?” You could hear the emotion in her voice, the sorrow in her tone evident. It made you want to give in until you remembered where you were, how you got here, what she had done—no, what you both had done.

“It’s not that simple–”

“Then make it simple!”

“You tricked me into killing my best friend—not to mention the six other people we’ve killed. God. Just saying it out loud… It’s fucked Sam!”

“He was a damn asshole, an asshole that didn’t deserve you. Not like I do.” She spoke with pure venom, just the thought of him and you made her trigger finger itch. “When I found you, it changed my heart… and so I built a bomb. Because that’s how much I fucking love you!” She banged on your door again, causing you to flinch back.

“Love doesn’t equal bombing the whole damn school!” You subtly moved around in your room as you shouted back, looking through your things for something.

“You don't know what you’re saying! They have made you blind, messed up your mind—but I can set you free!” She pounded on the door again. “Just open up, Y/N. Do you really think there’s going back?”

You grabbed the bat from under your bed, getting ready to use it. Your grip squeezed around the handle as you slowly inched towards your door. “Y/N!” Another bang to the door causes you to jolt back. “Open the door, please… Can we not fight anymore?” Sam’s patience was thinning as she was only met with silence. She let out a sharp exhale, her hand subconsciously squeezing around her gun’s handle. “Don’t make me come in there—I’m gonna count to three!”

“One!”

You let out a shaky sigh, but your eyes suddenly catch sight of your closet.

“Two! Thre—fuck it!” Sam shoots the knob before kicking down the door. She was only wearing the cloak of her ghostface costume, opting to save the mask for later. You saw her look around, confused and frustrated. As she was just about to give up, she noticed your closet slightly open. You suck in a breath, trying your absolute hardest not to be caught. You could hear her combat boots as she inched closer to the closet.

This is it. Your only chance.

Suddenly, the doors abruptly open and instead of giving her a chance to make the first move, you swing your bat. She groans in pain after the metal bat makes contact with her back. You run past her, but Sam has a speedy recovery and immediately starts chasing you. One minute you’re running, the next you’re being pinned to one of your shelfs—books and items falling as she harshly pushed you up against the shelf.

“You really thought you could get away from me baby? Tonight our school is Vietnam, and nothing is changing that,” she says in a low voice. “So you might as well bring marshmallows, we’ll make s’mores,” Sam lets out a sinister laugh at her own remark.

You narrow your eyes at her, looking at her with disbelief and pure confusion. How was this the same woman you fell so hard for?

“I don’t even recognize you…”

“Well you better get associated darling, because there’s no backing out. We’re doing this. There’s no point in fighting it.” She ran hand down your face, her knuckles softly brushing against your cheek and you hate how much you love her touch.

“I’m meant to be yours. We’re meant to be one.”

Just a moment ago you were absolutely repulsed by her plans. Disgusted with her. Disgusted with the vile acts you helped her commit, how she so effortlessly manipulated you, and how easy you fell for it. But oh, when you look into her eyes… it’s hard to say no. You can't help but feel yourself being pulled back into her cruel plans. You couldn’t resist Sam Carpenter. Not when she kissed you the way she did, not when she touched you the way she did, not when you loved her the way you did.

Sam Carpenter had you in a chokehold.

“So what do you say baby?” With a tilt of her head, she looked at while flashing those dark eyes of hers—eyes she knew you couldn’t resist.

“You know I can’t say no to you, Sammy…” You softly spoke defeatedly, completely forgetting the mindset you had just ten minutes ago.

She brushed her thumb against your bottom lip, slightly smirking. “That's my girl. Now let's go blow up some assholes.”

At the end of the day, Sam was right. She was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be hers.

You were meant to be one.

-----------

A/N: R did a full 180 but let's be real, who wouldn't for Sam?

#sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #melissa barrera x reader #melissa barrera x you #melissa barrera #scream fanfic

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another-fanfic-haven · 6 months ago

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Eyes on me! Baby

I've got what you need baby

A/N: guess who's back, alive and with a new obsession? :3 Word count: 530

You're his proudest creation, his Magnum Opus in genetic engineering. Agile, sturdy, strong… and just as fast as he is. Of course, you're not perfect; no one is in comparison to Him. He sees himself as a god. And, to be fair, so did you. He gave you the powers you wield so eagerly.

You're standing by his side, half a step behind, not to overshadow him. Your hands clasped behind your back, mimicking his posture, as he overlooked the preparations from the metal balcony in the hangar. The stealth bomber glimmered in the flickering light with the menace of what was yet to come.

"Soon, the sun will set at the age of men." He said, his voice cold, emotionless, but with a slight edge. His words echoed in your head, yet you could NOT help but grin slightly. That's what he wanted. That is what YOU wanted. Or at least, you thought so. The P30 flowing through your veins permanently altered your mind, making you a perfect puppet in this twisted theatre, your mind, and ideals finally aligning with his. You took a step forward, the toes of your boots lining up with his. The P30 in your spine glowed as you took one deep breath, exhaling slowly, easing the tension in your shoulders.

"Reckon we'll be ready to launch in half a year." You commented, yet it was more of a statement. The Uroboros research reached its peak. Now all that is left is to load the bombs with the virus and spread all over the world. You could sense his emotions, excitement, and impatience. In a perfect world, the payload would be long ready, and he could declare himself a new ruler, a messiah. You glanced up at him, trying to read his expression - cold as always, with eyes glued to somewhere in the distance.

Suddenly, the silence cut with his voice, he turned his face towards you, his eyes obscured by the glasses. It's not like they could display any emotion anyway. "Go fetch Excella. I'll need my injection soon."

He commanded, and you obeyed. Like a good little soldier. Like a good little rookie. You bowed courtly, then turned on your heel and made your way out of the hangar in great haste. Your steps were confident, quick, and deadly as you strut through the Tricell complex.

And there you were, standing in front of the heavy office doors. You raised your hand, knocking a couple of times with your fist. You retreated your hand, clasping it behind your back, waiting patiently for the command, allowing you to walk in.

And there it was. Excella's voice rang through. You pushed the doors open, allowing it to close on its own as you stepped in.

"Oh. It's you." Excella turned around to face you, her voice almost disappointed. She attempted to keep her tone even, not betraying any emotion or resentment towards you, Wesker's prized little agent. You tensed your muscles, eyes narrowing on hers. You cleared your throat before you commanded quickly and coldly, yet trying not to make it sound like an order.

"Wesker sent me to remind you of his injection."

To be continued..?

#resident evil #re #resident evil wesker #albert wesker #wesker x reader #resident evil x reader #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #fanfic #RE fanfic #resident evil fanfic

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oddsandends-dirt-to-dust · 20 days ago

Text

The World Ender

Masterlist - (chapters, link to ao3 post, moodboard, and spotify playlist.)

I’m The World Ender, baby, and I’m comin’ for them

Word Count: 10k

Warnings (for part9): smut, infected, fire, bombs.

Warnings for smut: risky sex

A/N: late post my bad, I was suffering horribly, as usual.

chap’s long asf blame the smut, not me DX

——————————

PART 9 - Making Love On The Edge Of A Knife

You’d won already.

It hadn’t taken long for you to realize most of the restaurants were empty. Their chairs overturned; their tables scattered. Glass all over the floor, its glimmer muted by dust.

Glass was everywhere these days – one of the earliest human inventions – because windows were everywhere. People liked watching. They’d left the wild, left nature, and turned to buildings.

But, still, windows. For watching their old home sway and flutter, watching the things they used to live among – birds and bugs and more – still roaming around the outside, while they sat in their buildings and pretended to be better. Pretended to be smarter, and more important.

Glass, one of the earliest human inventions, and yet so fragile. So easy to shatter, so easy to turn to sharp edges and brittle points.

The outside hadn’t liked the buildings, nature hadn’t liked the arrogance. It had shattered the thin, fragile sheet of the windows we watched through, let that plague rush in to reclaim.

A reminder.

You’re not so special, nature had said. You’re not so important.

Your boots had crunched a haunting melody as you tottered through the restaurants that were empty – aside from those wrecked tables and chairs, and that glass, and the pictures on the wall, and the blood stains on the hardwood.

The important things were all gone.

But. The Italian place.

That fancy restaurant was just as wrecked inside. And the kitchen was dusty, decaying, its metal furnishings smothered by muck.

But the kitchen was full of cans.

It brought a smile to your mouth, finding cans of pasta, and soup, and vegetables in fancy sauces inside a fancy Italian restaurant. But you were five thousand miles from Italy, in a little rural town – so it made you smile, but you weren’t surprised at the inauthenticity.

And you’d won, you’d found ravioli, the world had brought the opportunity right to your hands, as usual.

Then you’d hit the stores.

And those were empty of important things too. The clothing still hung around, ragged and forgotten. And the children’s toys, the household decor, the meaningless crap still laid in blankets of dust on buckling shelves.

But the books, the toilet paper, the shampoos, the toothpaste.

All gone.

In the hardware store; the tools, the nails, the planks of wood.

All gone.

In the pharmacy; the medication, the bandages, the antiseptic creams, the important stuff.

All gone.

Either this town had been cleared of people and supplies in the early days.

Or, someone was here. Someone who really hated Italian food.

You hadn’t mused for long. First, you’d trailed over to Ellie’s side of the street, sticking your head into shattered windows until you’d found her. You’d told her you were checking out a building in the trees to the south-east.

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“You know I don’t like your surprises.”

“Well, that’s why I’m checking it out first. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Yet – was the part you hadn’t added.

Then you’d left the street with the carnival and the colors, the light rain shrouding your cheeks in a loving mist.

You’d checked out a line of houses, eight to be exact.

And they’d held books, and toilet paper, and toothpaste, and cans of food, and photo albums, and cell phones, and meds.

Things people would bring with them, even during a sudden evacuation order.

And you’d narrowed your eyes. You’d finally left to scout the hiding building you’d spotted.

Because someone was here.

Someone who shared Ellie’s discomfort of routing through dead people’s belongings. Someone who didn’t share her fondness for ravioli.

Now your boots crunched on twigs and pebbles and dirt. You’d found the path at the end of a cul-de-sac, marked by a battered wooden post. There was a little sign nailed to the wood, adorned with words and an arrow pointing up.

Elkwood Library

It seemed fitting, that the building was a library.

The someone seemed to like books – one of the reasons you weren’t too concerned by their presence. The other being the undisturbed homes.

Sickness didn’t greed for art. Sickness didn’t respect boundaries, or the somber sacredness of death.

The trees around you were alive, not dark and clawed like the statues in the park. Their leaves were soft and fluttering, their bark chocolate brown and lined like a face full of age. They hovered over the path you walked, blocked the gentle rain.

You softened your footsteps as the path curved to the right ahead, your eyes trailing every little movement they caught. No people, yet, the trees were just alive in the wind. And little bugs flittered around, moving from trunk to branch to grass, buzzing spots of tremulous murk too small to see clearly.

You stopped behind one of those trunks, peeked around the corner. The path stayed dirt for a while, until it cut off abruptly and turned to ashy concrete. A wide lot that had once held vehicles, but was barren now.

You heard it then, the groans. The sputtering, wet agony that marked the presence of that iller kind of sickness. The smell came next.

Infected were in the library. Not the someone.

You were careful not to let your boots scuff as you approached the end of the path, where the trees ended too – and with them, your cover.

It had been so long it almost jarred you to see them.

The figures ambling around behind the wire fence in the distance, jerking and stumbling. Their faces starting to crack apart with fungus, their skin starting to boil with age. Walking around in aimless circles, clothing torn and stained with dark blood.

You imagined what they’d been thinking as they’d picked their outfits out that final day. Something useless and soaked in false hope, probably.

Because the library wasn’t a library anymore.

Of course, it hadn’t been a library for many long, aching years. But there was a faded sign hanging on the fence. A sign that made your chest tighten as you read it.

“Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all.”

Safe haven. All welcome. Find refuge.

There were giant vans towards the back, near the entrance to the brick building. You knew what they held – they were medic vans. And there were giant tents you were sure had once been blue, perched about the concrete. But they were dark and browned now, like most things, and they were ripped, and they were ruined.

The library was turned a refuge.

And the refuge was full of infected.

No need for solemn graves or gloomy headstones. The death walked around the place in clear view beneath the murky sky, still sobbing in anguish, still choking on their premature ends.

But it was nothing you hadn’t seen before – refuges like this one were as common as windows. As much a reminder as jagged, broken glass.

Nature’s reminder. Nature’s revenge. Turning the humans into plant as consuming as they had been. Sometimes you wondered if it was the sick already inside them warped and twisted and sprouting into fungus.

Nature had turned our greed against us.

Your eyes roved back and forth. There was something wrong with the fence on the furthest side of the building.

The fence was chain-link, with posts breaking its sleek sheeting every five feet or so. But in the space where one of those chain-link sheets should be, you were met with the rough sight of festering, rotten wood.

The planks from the empty shelves of the hardware store.

You wondered how the someone had managed to patch it up without riling the hoard. And why?

You supposed if they were making this hollow place a home, caging the storms of snapping teeth in one place would be a good idea.

Though, if it were you, you’d follow it up with a pretty, little bomb. Just to be safe.

Unless the someone wasn’t making the town a home. It was their home. And the people in the library turned refuge were their neighbors.

Your teeth grazed your lip.

You should leave the town soon. Because you were familiar with two reactions that came with encroaching upon sacred territory.

The ones who didn’t mind. And the ones who did.

And really, this could go either way.

The someone was solitary, clever, resourceful, took care in perfecting their little slice of the world. You found that kind of aloofness, that kind of effort, was often paired with fierce paranoia. And paranoia was one of the deadliest kinds of fear.

But the someone was also sensitive. They hadn’t reaped their neighbors, despite them being nothing more than walking corpses – wearing the mangled and perverse faces of things that used to be. The someone didn’t route through houses, as though they thought them shrines. And the someone was an aesthete. They collected books. They valued the words of their late peers. They valued art. And art was a tool of connection, a precious insight into the very heart of existence and perseverance, one of the most intimate kinds of love.

So, this could go either way. And you didn’t like taking risks, but you needed to change, so you should leave the town soon.

Now.

Just as you turned to leave, your eyes caught something plastered to the side of the brick building. Something big, and flashy. A poster – an utterly irresistible one at that.

You sighed.

The truck could wait thirty minutes.

Because life had done it again. And you had so won.

You had no doubt that, despite her words, Ellie would like this surprise.

The library, turned refuge, turned tomb, stared down at you like it was waiting.

For what, exactly, you couldn’t decipher.

You supposed it could be mourning. It could be angered. Or, it could be hopeful.

Because you were staring up at it like it was a library. Like it was full of knowledge, and art. Like despite its decay and the howling things it held, it knew you were entering to run your fingers along blossoms of words, find the one that sparked joy. It knew someone was going to read it, going to value it, it knew you found it important enough to brave certain death.

Because art was a tool of connection, it was an intimate kind of love, and that was exactly what you were thinking about as your eyes roved over its battered back. Its chipped bricks, its aching roof. Its shattered windows.

You pulled your mask from your bag, slotted it over your face. The place had fallen in the early days, which left more than enough years for spores to form.

The fence had been plastered flat to the wall of the library's back, shielding the windows of the ground floor. But the ones a little higher, they were clear. So, you wrapped your fingers around wire, careful not to rattle the fence, and you climbed slowly and silently.

Eventually you found yourself standing on the top rail, your stomach flush to the brick as you balanced, your mask scraping its rough surface. Your fingers met the lip of the windowsill above, and you felt flat shards of glass beneath them. The window had been smashed from the inside, perhaps in a bid for escape.

That was the other reason so many were shattered these days. Humans crawling out of the glass they’d created to divide, seeking the ancient safety of the trees to hide away in. Reduced to animals, once again. Reduced to the hunted, the prey.

You swiped the glass to each side gently, cleared the middle so you could get a good grip. Your next movements were smooth, strenuous but necessary, as you pulled yourself up until your chest was pressed against your knuckles. You used your feet to propel yourself further up the weathered brick, inching your hands forward one by one until your palms were flat against the wood.

You leaned forward, angling your head and shoulders into the broken window as your feet continued their crawl, eventually heaving one knee beside your hands. You grimaced, barely able to breathe through the tautness of your muscles.

The library was dim inside, due to the lack of light breaking through the clouds. The second level wasn’t a floor, but an interior balcony, and you couldn’t see much. There were two shelves perched beside the window, like a little hallway leading to the railing ahead.

And spores, yes. The little floaty things, ugly as ashes, coiling around open air and waiting to bring your lungs to ruin. Crueler than red berries, or poison ivy. You had to admire nature’s tricks. Had to admire its relentless retaliation.

Nature was a betrayed thing, like you.

You moved one of your hands to the inner sill of the window and crawled in, careful not to cut yourself on the spiked glass still stuck in the frame. You could hear the footsteps of infected below, staggered and unsure. Low growls made the hair on your arms stand, the sporadic bursts of screams sending your heart hurling. And the clicking. The echoic, chittering clicks that sounded like snapping bones, those made your stomach curl.

You didn’t like infected.

Obviously, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who did, but you weren’t a coward. You weren’t controlled by the little voice in your head, as old as the earth itself, that whispered fearful warnings of violent ends, injury, death.

Actually, you’d ignored that little voice for so long it had been replaced by different whispers.

You didn’t like infected because of their growling and their sobs, their empty eyes and their bleeding. Their jagged teeth, their stench of decay, their relentless hunger.

An infected could chase you for miles and never tire. One caress of their teeth and you were done for.

Maybe that was the part you didn’t like.

Because though you didn’t have a strong grip on who you were, had been, ever would be – you knew your morals. You knew your truths.

The thought of being stolen, your body changed but still holding your features – you didn’t like it. The thought of rotting on two feet, the thought of being invaded by the by beast of gluttony. You’d rather chew lead.

You shallowed your breathing, though it still came out in a hushed hiss through your mask, and slithered through the tenebrous air like you belonged. The shelves beside you didn’t hold what you were searching for, because they held books – their pages beige with age.

You reached the end of your little wooden hallway, eyes scathing the scene ahead through the film of your mask. The library beyond was huge. The balcony wrapped around three walls, lined with cases and books, dust and rot. The signs above them were decrepit, you were barely able to make out the words. But you were sure none of them had the letters you needed.

The floor below the railing of the balcony was a living picture of war.

And the library had lost.

A few shelves were knocked over, books lay wounded all over the floor, spitting paper that had long crumbled to dust. The other shelves were still upright, lined and organized like a troop, spanning the whole length of the floors. Apart from a large space in the very middle, taken over by sleeping-bags, blankets, empty water bottles and dented cans. And blood. It didn’t look like blood anymore, but you knew blood, knew how it blackened. And it was still shaped like blood, great patches and splatters and pools of it.

The victors walked their battlefield – though really, the infected stood as both winners and losers. What they truly were, were losers so thoroughly bested that the triumphant side had even conquered their bodies, and paraded them around like gore-smattered trophies.

It wasn’t an exact science, the thing that dictated when runners morphed to stalkers, stalkers to clickers, clickers to whatever the fuck that thing bumbling around down there like a ballooned ball of goo was.

Time was a factor, obviously. But there was something else.

The rough, blooming wreaths of fungus weeding its way across the walls was proof. There were a few outlines of mangled corpses within the bubbled, veiny mess – hosts who’d died, the virus choosing to use the last of its resources to sporulate.

That was the question wracking your mind as the runners-slash-stalkers, clickers, and the big guy swayed on the floor below.

Why did some die, some change, and some stay the same?

The answer could be some winding, twisting fragment of the virus’s DNA.

But your answer was the winding, twisting fragments of the human DNA, long forgotten within the claws and tendrils of cordyceps – the small fight the people still put up against the relentless rage of nature.

You thought, maybe, those invaded people were a factor in the evolution. That maybe, the runners were still runners because they were still running. Still trying to fight against the infection, still trying to cling to their bodies, refusing to be changed further by the beast that had stolen them.

Maybe the dead ones on the walls had given up.

Maybe the stalkers were hiding, from themselves and the things they used to be. Would rather sneak up on you than make you face the thing they were going to make you into. The thing they’d faced.

And maybe the clickers had given in. Let the beast have them, let it use their bodies, let it blind their eyes so they didn’t have to watch the world go by without them anymore.

And the big guy, the bloater, as Ellie called them...

You didn’t run into many in Wyoming; you’d find the more common strains on patrols. But she’d told you her stories of when she’d battled them in basements with Joel. You’d shared yours, though you didn’t have many. You’d both ended with the same conclusion – they were brutal.

So the bloaters, you thought, were angry. They wrapped themselves in a hardened shell, and equipped themselves with bombs of toxin, and they raged. They rampaged, they roared, and they ruined.

You couldn’t decide what you’d morph into. Nothing was the obvious answer, you’d sooner brace a bullet in your skull than turn. But in theory – a runner or a bloater. Those were your options.

Running or raging.

By the time your mind had finished its spiraling, your eyes had finished their examination. The comic section was at the back, hidden below the floor you were standing on.

Your helpful eyes had found a sign in better condition, hanging on the wall next to the open entrance doors, above the messy desk at the front. Your helpful eyes had also found the stairs no infected had bothered climbing, attached to the wall to your right.

It was simple. Use a trick from Ellie’s stories, one she’d shown you on patrols. Throw a book, distract the lurkers, find the comic, run back upstairs, fly out the window.

Simple, yes – but weak too. Though, so were most of your plans.

Could you really call them plans?

It was one of the parts of you more like a bloater. The part that charged into danger without a thought, just a bag of weaponry and an aim.

You reached behind you, inched the zipper of your backpack up, so slowly, until a space large enough for your hand to fit through was open.

Your fingers reached to the shelves for a book, a heavy one, a hardback, before the bloater in your head spoke up again and you paused.

A fire would be better.

You reached back into your bag, fingers fumbling awkwardly for the smooth bottle within. You found it, pulled it out. It was small, only half-full, but it’d work. You reached back in to find a scrap of fabric.

Ellie liked to make sure you each had a bottle for moments like these.

For Molotov's. Not for drinking. She’d chide.

You wondered how many of her tricks had been learned from her father. And how many of your own had been learned from yours.

As you opened the bottle, you wished you could drink some of the liquor within. You cursed the stupid mask on your face, stuffing the rag in its neck instead, let the liquid soak the bottom.

Then you paused. And you breathed. And you went over your plan, that was more like an aim, again. And you steadied yourself.

Your hand found your lighter. The lighter found its flame. The flame found the rag.

Questions swirled your mind as the rag glowed atop the bottle in your palm, sending smoke into the already devastated air. You wondered if the fire would spread through the library full of dried pages. You wondered if the someone would be enraged or relieved if it did. You wondered if the library would be. You wondered if the souls trapped in the cages of fungus and bone would be. Enraged or relieved?

An annihilation or a mercy?

You weren’t used to questioning.

You ducked behind the rail, aimed for the desk way in the distant front, and let the bottle fly. It landed with a crash and a beautiful, flaring bang of warmth and eagerness. The flame waved at you.

You crawled your way to the stairs.

And there was one question that didn’t skitter its way across your mind, even as the fire hissed and spat and crawled over the desk. Even as the infected roared to life, their feet thudding into the floor as they made for the light.

Was all of this worth it?

You made it down the stairs swiftly, watching as the infected from outside poured in, drawn by the noise. They circled the burning like cultists, at least sixty of them, some catching alight as they tried to grab the flames.

You disappeared into the rows of shelves, keeping an eye out for bent limbs beckoning from behind their wooden frames. It was darker down here, beneath the balcony’s floor, marred by dust and cobwebs. The smell of ancient death clawed its way into your mask.

You tread carefully over scattered books, keeping low as you made your way to the shelves against the back wall.

You found them then, the wood filled with thinner books, their covers bright despite their age. You palmed your knife in one hand and the issue you were here for in the other. Satisfaction warmed your chest as you bent low to stuff the thing into your backpack, the screams of the infected you’d bested fading into the black. Then you stood, slotted your bag onto your shoulders, turned to begin your trek back to the stairs.

You were halfway there when your boot hit something hard. You froze.

The someone was smart. They’d used a portable CD player to lure the infected inside while they’d worked on the fence. How had they turned it off?

No, they hadn’t turned it off. They were probably going to wait for the battery to die. But the battery hadn’t died. The frenzying infected must’ve knocked it off the shelf, jostling the insides just enough for it to shut up.

Until your foot had jostled it right back to life.

The thing was old, the music within long forgotten.

The thing was old, and it was angry. It was screaming.

The ancient player spewed sound into the air, grating screeches like the ones the truck had made when you’d took your knife to it. It stuttered, like it was pausing to breath. Then it went right back to roaring, it barked like a guard dog faced with an intruder.

Your foot flew forward again on instinct, kicking the thing away from you. Right to the base of the stairs.

You cursed, diving sideways – away from the noise and away from the stairs.

The infected jostled back to life right alongside the player, their mouths matching its raucous screams, their feet finding the wrecked floor once again. You crept through the maze of books, staying away from the open space in the middle, hoping none would take the same paths towards the noise as you were taking away from it.

If you made it to the doors, you could climb the fence or the vans. So that became your new aim, your body carving mindless turns and your eyes on the floor to prevent any further mishaps. But the library was swallowing you whole, the screeches within so loud you couldn’t tell where they were coming from.

Enraged then. The library was enraged – because reminders had to stick around to be able to remind, and your fire was rippling up the wall in the distance. Your fire was blocking the entrance doors, it was crawling around the carpet like you were. Your fire was swallowing the library and the library was swallowing you right back.

But you weren’t going to die. A thing like you could never die like this, with smoke billowing before the film of her mask, and screaming surrounding her, and growling too, and heat seeping through the paths of the shelves so fiercely you were sweating beneath your clothes.

Even as your mind collapsed in on itself and your body shrank with it, and your heart throbbed and your limbs weakened, you knew. You weren’t going to die here, because if the library couldn’t stand tall as a reminder, then it was going to make one out of you.

The fire was laughing.

Oh, hello again, it said. Remember me?

Your mind answered in pops and bangs, the sound of bullet casings tinkling to the floor.

Something bony thwacked against your mask, made your head buzz as the hit sank into your skull. You staggered back, gaze catching the screaming thing lurching for you again, and you plunged your knife into the side of its head. It squelched as you tore your blade free, splattering dark red onto sheet of polycarbonate over your eyes, the translucent barrier you’d covered your face with to hide from nature once again.

But nature had found you, as you plowed forward and came face to face with the fire that blocked the door, your eyes searching for a new escape and instead meeting the empty ones of the stolen.

YOU DID THIS

Your body jolted back, the heat of the fire slathering your spine. They were coming, charging back to the front of the library, charging back for you.

a reckoning – a wrecker and a ruiner. they’re going to eat you alive, consume, cage your soul in a battle of sickness and greed and revenge

Your gaze locked onto the row of shelves ahead. You broke into a sprint.

will it make a difference when they do? will it even matter?

You used the momentum to slam a boot into the first bookcase. It shuddered, books flying free as it toppled over and crashed into the one behind it. You braced your feet on the shelves, climbing the cases as they fell, crooked fingers tearing at your heels and heat tearing at your skin. The cases fell like heavy dominos before thudding against the back wall, the blow reverberating beneath you, and you didn’t need to look back to know the things were chasing – they were howling, they were clawing at the wood.

The balcony rose above and your legs tensed up before you flew, fingers grappling for the railing.

you can run all you want

You heaved yourself up and over, gaze locked on the smoke flowing through the window ahead. You swapped your knife for your gun as you fled forward, jumped onto the windowsill and turned at the mouth of your escape.

you can run and run and run

Gnarled fingers curled around the railing, barely visible through the smoke. The world behind glowed like an amber eye, unyielding and resolute. Then infected rose at the end of the bookcases, a clicker with its blindness and the bloater with its rage.

Loud, a bomb would be loud.

But you were used to being loud, and you weren’t going to hide from the person in this town. Because life wouldn’t let you, the bloater was amping up to charge and it’d follow you right out this window, and you didn’t have another bottle, or enough bullets. The someone would either be enraged or relieved, and you could stomach either one because you weren’t one to hide. So you shoved your hand into your bag, pushed past the comic, found one of the dwindling, jagged mounds at the bottom.

You slotted your gun into her holster, tore the pin free, threw your bomb at the bloater's feet just as it sent one of its own for your face.

Your body launched itself from the windowsill, calves ripping on glass. And then you were falling – you weren’t sure if it counted as falling since you were the one who jumped, but the air rushing past your mask and the ground rushing for your body didn’t seem to care. You were falling, until you landed, your feet hitting the ground first and sending achy lightning through your bones. You bounced onto your side next, but couldn’t feel the impact past the resounding, ground-shaking boom that tore through your body.

You pulled your hands over your head, curling into yourself as the library spat chunks of brick and wood down at you. It pattered over your back brutishly, made pockmarks in the dirt you were laying in.

After your senses came back, you felt the shockwaves from your fall shuddering up your legs, and the tingling burn on your flesh from the bloaters final fuck you that had landed when you had. The sickly green mess was lost in the dirt, dust, and smoke clouding the air.

You rolled over, pulling the mask from your face and blinking up at the dying building. The top floor had collapsed in, little flames poking their heads out from the remains, and a plume of inky smoke rose into the shrouded sky. Your burning and its water fought their own battle as the rain picked up.

You stood, wiping a hand over your stinging eyes. You pulled your bag off, shoved the mask in, and turned to the trees.

You made it to the end of the dirt path before you realized you needed to lie down.

Your ears were still ringing, your head swaying, and your back hurt.

is it all worth it?

You stopped in the middle of the cul-de-sac, stooped to the ground, pressed your back into it. The rain hit your face, spattering against your skin and soothing the aches.

You weren’t sure what had happened in the library, turned refuge, turned tomb, turned ruins.

A reminder, a reminder, a reminder.

Of what?

You went in there to find a gift for Ellie and left reeking of smoke, being jerked around by the crackling of fire and the growls of death and the pops of bullets. The screams in your memory blurred together, writhed behind your forehead until your temples throbbed and you wanted to let out a scream of your own.

The raindrops tapped on your cheeks like the world was taunting you. They rolled into your hair, into your mouth, into the hollows of your neck. The sky was aching a darker grey now, blotchy and bleak. You couldn’t tell if it was smoke or storm. Your eyelids fluttered against the downpour, collecting drops in their lashes like tears.

What did it all mean?

Your body hummed as the adrenaline faded out. You felt weightless. It didn’t matter; everything had worked out. You’d find Ellie, find the truck, find the end of the town, hopefully, without interference.

you're relentless

You splayed your arms out, let the rain patter over your throbbing bones.

“Y/n.” Her voice was loud, full of some kind of deepness you didn’t care to decipher.

You twisted your head, found Ellie jogging up the street toward you. She’d changed her shirt. She now adorned a ratty graphic tee, and a loose olive-green over-shirt, its sleeves rolled to her elbows. Thrown together carelessly, but it looked good on her.

Maybe you should find some new clothes too. Yours were in shambles, and they smelled. And the world was growing colder.

Ellie hovered over you; her face taut.

“Jesus, I thought you were dead.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“What? You saw me sprawled here cartoonishly on the concrete and thought I’d been struck down by God, or something?”

She scoffed in offence, her eyes trailing up and down your body.

“Well, why the fuck are you sprawled on the concrete?”

“I’m enjoying the rain.”

She stared at you pointedly.

“Oh, did this need a warning? Should I be holding up a sign that says ‘not dead, just batshit’?” You mocked, wiping a hand over your damp forehead.

“I heard an explosion.” Ellie said sternly, arching an accusing brow.

You clambered to your feet, dusting off your shirt.

“There were infected in the library.” You said.

Ellie froze before closing her eyes.

“Tell me you didn’t-”

“I had to.”

Her eyes found you again. She splayed her arms wide, shaking her head.

You bent to your backpack, the zipper cutting through the silence.

Her face changed as you pulled out your findings, the resignation shifting. Her mouth popped open, her eyes lighting up as they roved over the thing in your hand.

“You’re fucking kidding.” She laughed, quietly.

“Worth it, right?” You handed her the comic.

She took it, head swaying.

“If you died it would’ve been pretty fucked up.” Ellie twisted her head, a brow arching – the expression teasing now.

“You’ve been looking for that issue for two years, it was worth it.” You nodded, confirming your own question. Because she was smiling now, as she looked at you. She was smiling in the way that made your stomach warm.

Ellie pressed her tongue into her cheek, her fingers drifting over the cover admiringly.

“Okay...” She breathed. “You might be my favorite person again. I’m starting to remember why I like you so much.”

You hummed through your own smile, her jab bringing calmer memories to your mind.

The last time the seasons were edging toward their end, when you were just getting to know the girl beside you and she was just getting to know you. One patrol she’d traded her book for a comic, gaze entangled in it as you sat across from her on a fallen log.

You’d half-felt like you were in a dream. Watching the wild oat grass sway in the breeze, the wilting trees that cradled. The towering things in the distance you weren’t sure were cliffs or hills, and the mirage of indomitable mountains behind them putting them to shame. The blue skies, the endless clouds. You’d never seen anything like it. Never been anywhere so open, so gentle, so effortlessly alive.

You’d felt like you were something living then, something that could dream. Discovering parts of yourself you thought were long gone – parts you weren’t sure had ever even existed – in that little town that shouldn’t exist, but did anyway.

Your eyes had kept drifting towards Ellie, reading as always, unable to quell the suspicion that she brought those books and comics on patrols so she’d have an excuse as to why she didn’t talk. She didn’t need an excuse – you were a stranger. And you felt like a stranger. But she was strange too.

She didn’t seem the same as the others in the town. So, you’d asked what she was reading. And her eyes had flicked up to meet you, and you’d felt like you were on the precipice of something unspeakable and incomprehensible. Something new. Something important.

Ellie answered your question, her demeanor as cool as the breeze but not as flowing. Then you’d told her about your own collection of brightly illustrated stories, and she’d softened a little.

And everything had just felt so easy, so different. It was nice to pretend for a while that you were a person who lived, and not a thing who killed.

It was funny, looking at her now as she flicked through the comic – looking at her now that you knew her. And she was just as incomprehensible, just as important as you’d predicted. You almost felt sick at the weight of it.

You wondered if Ellie was thinking about that moment too. Her smile was too tender to be one of joy or excitement, even though her eyes were on the pages. She closed the comic, wiped a wrist over its cover, smearing the raindrops that had dampened its surface.

“Time to bounce?” She asked, stooping to slot the comic into her bag.

“The houses have some good shit in them, we should hit a couple before we leave.” You said. “Wanna eat first?”

Ellie nodded as she stood.

“What’s on the menu?”

You raised your brows, a coy smile spreading your lips.

Ellie huffed, her eyes narrowing.

“You asshole. You found ravioli, didn’t you?”

You tilted your head.

“I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved a hand, turning to walk down the street. “That’s just what I wanted you to think.”

“Sore loser?” You followed after her, wiping raindrops from your cheek. It was a pointless action, more were sure to follow, but they tickled.

“I got a brand-new comic to shut you out with, and my favorite canned delicacy. And you’re the schmuk who went traversing through ghoulish cannibals for them, I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

You tutted, bumping her with a shoulder.

“A sore loser, and ungrateful. Aren’t you a joy?”

Ellie bit into her smile, eyes roving the town ahead thoughtfully.

Maybe you should fix up a town. Though there were bigger buildings, easier to fortify – maybe you could find an emptier state and settle down after your trip to the observatory.

Or maybe you shouldn’t make plans. You were a thing that settled for a simple aim for a reason, this world had a habit of tearing up plans and stomping them into the dirt. And you didn’t like staying in one place for too long, anyway.

Ellie reached up and put a hand on your head playfully, urged your face to turn to her.

“I am grateful, thank you. But you’re a fucking idiot.” She said, leaning in.

You batted her hand away.

“I’m not, actually.”

She sighed, quirking her head.

“Okay fine, you’re super smart but totally batshit.”

“You know what they say...” You grinned. “There’s no great genius without a touch of madness.”

Ellie scoffed, gaze scanning the houses around.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, walking onto the cracked sidewalk. “Why’d you come all the way out here, anyway?”

She pushed open the little white gate and walked into the overgrown yard. A concrete path peeked out from beneath the thick brush, leading to a ruby-red door – though its paint was peeling sorrowfully.

“There’s someone here. The library was pretty detached, I wanted to scope it out.” You said, following her up the path.

“Wait, what?” Ellie stopped walking, turned to you.

“Well, I don’t know if they’re still here, but-”

“You knew there might be someone in town and didn’t think to let me know?” She cut in. “What if the fucker blindsided me?”

Your flesh went cold.

You stuttered, before finally landing on a reason. Though it felt like an excuse; it sounded empty and cracked. But it was your reason.

“I was focused on figuring it out. I was distracted.” You shook your head, nausea swirling. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Relax.” Ellie held a palm up. “I’m just saying, intel is intel, share it with the class next time.”

You paused at her impassive reaction.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You really think I’d let some fucker blindside me? I’m glad you realized I can handle myself.”

You stared at her for a moment. Ellie could take care of herself, yes, you’d realized. But... you were also starting to realize that her incessant need to prove herself drove her into worryingly dangerous situations.

Like following an aggressive, homeless derelict into an aggressive, home-less, derelict city and beyond, for example.

“I’m- I’ll clue you in next time.” You shook your head. “I just wasn’t sure, and when I was, they didn’t seem like much of a threat.”

Ellie nodded, turning back to the house. She trudged through the weeds, the grass swaying around her calves, and wiped a hand over an unmarred spot on the cracked window before peering in. Satisfied with her brief check, she made for the front door.

“Explain.” She ordered.

And you did, talking her through your findings as you began combing through the house, collecting supplies and trying not to look too hard at pictures or tiny shoes or ominous, long-dried blood spatters.

The someone was staring to get on your nerves. Alive or dead, their choices had really fucked you over. Couldn’t they have just let the infected roam the streets like a normal struggling survivor? How nature intended? Did they have to be such a perfectionist, such an idealist?

You’d stuffed your bags with goods from the houses, and on your way back to the truck you’d stumbled across the town hall. It was a big white building – adorned with pillars and other posh crap. You’d just wanted to see if the inside was more interesting. And it was, you supposed. You were halfway up the grand staircase when infected had come flooding into the foyer. You were cornered, no ammo, had no choice but to run. And you’d made it – though, not without a scare.

But it was fine. You’d sunk a knife into the face of the thing grappling Ellie, sent it toppling down the stairs.

The someone would definitely morph into a stalker. So desperate to carve their little slice of life back into some semblance of normality, hiding the infected away in buildings while they sat and read their books and ate nasty non-fancy cans of food. And they seemed to be hiding from you too, hadn’t come running at the sound of your explosion as Ellie had.

You tapped your fingers on your thigh, blinking through the dark of the little closet you’d stuffed yourselves into. Yeah, you were hiding too, but it wasn’t a choice; it was a necessity. You could hear the infected stumbling around the little office the closet belonged too, yelping and snarling.

Stuck, for the moment.

A quiet shuffling muffled the growls, and then a flashlight clicked on. Ellie pointed it to the wall, away from the door. The closet wasn’t much of a closet; it was small, empty – aside from you. Just four blank walls, a carpet, and a shoddy door. The jarring white circle of light against one of those empty walls, and a couple of cans on the floor that Ellie had laid out.

The infected had lost their lunch, but you hadn’t.

She shoved one toward you with a foot. You smiled up at her once you’d read the label. She shrugged, sending you a small smile back, but her face wasn’t all hers – there was a roughness to her features. Like the close-call with the infected had shaken her, though she should be well used to them by now.

You peeled open the can of fruit salad carefully, sipped the juice within. It was tart, but didn’t taste rotten. Ellie followed suit, and you both scarfed down your lunch in silence.

Then it was back to waiting. Once the room beyond your closet grew silent like you, maybe you could slip out a window.

Ellie’s eyes were on the carpet, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread hanging from a rip in her jeans. The rest of her body was still.

The close-call had gotten to you too, the sharp memory of those teeth so close to her neck still rang through your mind – but you weren’t one to dwell, and you thought she wasn’t either.

Her fingers moved, trailing up her arm and rubbing mindlessly at her tattoo. She’d gotten it to cover a scar, she’d said. Scars were stories, they were trophies, you couldn’t understand why someone would want to cover one up – but you couldn’t deny, the artwork curled around her forearm was beautiful too.

Ferns – ancient, enduring, represent protection and new life. Associated with healing and good luck. They reproduce using spores which, like their sinister fungal kin, are dangerous to inhale. But the plants are edible, and some types of ferns can be used topically to treat wounds, among other benefits when consumed.

And moths – vapid little creatures but determined nonetheless. A symbol of transformation. Ugly to most, but most weren’t looking hard enough.

You wondered what they meant to her. You wanted to ask, but the look in her eyes was far too haunted, stole the words right from your mind.

Instead, you leaned forward, pushed your hands in front of the flashlight splayed on the floor. You pressed your palms together, snapped your pinkies up and down. Your dog barked silently on the wall.

Ellie’s eyes shot to it, narrowing slightly.

You twisted your hands, contorting your fingers awkwardly until the shadow looked like a rabbit.

She rested her face on a hand, a smile tugging at her lips. It looked more genuine this time.

Your next move was a little more complicated, took you a few tweaks to master. Ellie’s brows pinched together.

“Witch.” You whispered.

Her shoulders twitched with laughter as she scrubbed her hand over her eyes.

“Those are terrible.” She whispered back.

You scoffed quietly, dropping your hands.

“My fingers are magic, you know this.” You smirked, leaning back.

Ellie threw you a twisted look. She sat with her back pressed into the wall, her legs bent at the knees in front of her, parted slightly. The picture of relaxation now, despite the muffled growls still emanating from behind the door. But it seemed your distraction had worked.

“Stop pretending you’re so above dirty jokes.” You chided, rolling your eyes.

She flattened her face as she glared at you, though you could see her mouth resisting the tug of a smile.

“I am.”

You crawled forward, standing on your knees before her. You rested your hands on her knees, dragged them down the insides of her parted thighs. You paused at the bottom to squeeze the plushy flesh, your nails grazing denim. Ellie stared up at you, that beguiling smile finally breaking onto her face.

“Cause you’re just so innocent, right?” You taunted in a breathy whisper.

“Cause I’m not a nympho like you.” Her lowered voice rumbled.

You narrowed your eyes, repeating your movements to caress her thighs languidly. She didn’t break your heated stare – it seemed her little bout of flustering had subsided already. You sighed despondently, a smirk following soon after as something warm and tingling rose in your stomach at the challenge in her gaze.

“So, you don’t want to hear me talk about how I’ve been thinking of you eating my pussy all day?” You whispered, thumbs massaging the crevice of her thighs.

Ellie still didn’t balk from your eyes, though hers flickered slightly. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips as she shook her head softly. You leaned close into her face, dropping your gaze to her mouth.

“How pretty you look between my legs? Or how pretty you are between yours?” You stroked a thumb firmly up her clothed cunt as you murmured the words.

Her breath hitched subtly, and your smirk stretched into a small grin. You left your thumb there, caressing lighter swipes up and down the seam of her jeans, as you brushed your face past hers. You let your nose trail down to Ellie’s jaw, pressed a kiss to the hollow beneath before you hummed against her skin in question.

“You’re an asshole.” Her tight voice made the flesh under your lips buzz.

You pulled away from her, dragged both your hands up her thighs.

“You don’t want to, fine.”

Your words weren’t bitter – if she wasn’t in the mood, she wasn’t in the mood.

But you could see her face again. You could see the lust in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks warm despite the cool illuminance of the flashlight. Ellie watched you for a moment before her hands flew up and caged your face. She pulled your lips down to hers, kissed you roughly.

She opened up and the wet of your mouths met, hot and smooth. The hunger in her touch made your clit pulse and you pressed closer, stumbling slightly as you moved a knee between hers. She straightened her leg against the floor so you could comfortably straddle her thigh.

Ellie’s hands moved to your sides, fingers rumpling your shirt as she slid her palms up and down the skin of your waist. Her chin bumped yours, her lips clamping down to suck on your bottom one as your hands skimmed up her shoulders, cradling the neck that arched up to meet you.

Her pulse thrummed beneath your fingers, the dark closet fading away as the heat and corporeal silk of her skin encompassed you. All yours, your tongue sliding between her lips and caressing hers, your breaths mingling, your chests flush and humming.

Chittering growls seeped into your perfect moment, pulled a question to your mind.

What would Ellie morph into?

Her hands tightened on your flesh, lips swirling together before her tongue stroked your top lip. You pushed into her, her head anchored against the wall, sucked your lips around her tongue. Your mouths met again; your fingers tangled in her hair.

No, the girl beneath you couldn’t be stolen, her lithe body, her finding fingers, her soft lips. You couldn’t imagine her ever being anything but that – anything but her. The heart you could almost feel through her clothes, the clever eyes, the playful smirk. A thing so alive could never die.

You rolled your hips onto Ellie’s thigh, sighing at the feel of it against your pussy. Her hands slid up your back, fisting in your shirt like she wanted to pull it off.

The growls grew louder, bounced against the wood of the door.

Ellie turned her face, her lips dragging against yours. Her breathing was ragged as her gaze roved over the only thing between you and the things, hesitantly.

You placed a kiss on her cheek, brought your mouth back to her ear.

“We just have to be quiet.” You murmured, the vitality of her cushioning your worries. “First one to moan loses.”

Her head leaned into yours as you slathered kisses beneath her jaw.

“First one to moan attracts a pack of infected that’ll rip us apart.” She mumbled, her voice caught between annoyance and arousal.

You smiled. The infected didn’t stand a chance. And neither did she.

“Chance to redeem yourself. Scared you’ll lose?”

Fingers tangled in your hair, brought your face back to hers. Her other hand roamed up your torso, cupped your tit and squeezed.

“You’re funny.” Ellie breathed sanguinely, then her lips were on yours again.

Your hand dropped to her jeans, tugged them open, slipped inside. You smoothed your fingers past the mound of her pubes, down into the folds of her pussy. Her breath trembled at the contact of your cool fingers, her hand lowering instinctively to mirror your movements.

The first swipe of her fingers against you was reverential, sweeping down to collect your wetness before moving up to the flesh above your clit. The pressure of her fingertips stayed there, her wrist tugging against the fabric of your pants as she dragged her hand back and forth teasingly. You sucked in a breath at the way it made your insides tingle, sliding your own fingers over the silky plumpness of her labia.

Ellie’s fingers moved lower then, stroking your clit as her other hand moved to your jaw. You sighed against her mouth, had to inwardly remind yourself to be quiet. It felt like she was touching the very soul of you – you could feel every ring of her fingerprint, every caress awakening your body, your blood warming in your veins, your heartbeat echoing, your brain wholly focused on her.

You brought your fingers to her hole, drew circles around it mindlessly. It was almost impossible to concentrate on kissing her and teasing her with the simmering pleasure rolling from your core.

Once you felt her growing wetter you circled her more firmly, massaging the slick flesh around her clenching hole and reaching your thumb up to drag a wide ring around her clit. Ellie let out a strained breath, her lips pausing on yours.

She sped her hand, bumping into your clit in a ravaging rhythm. Your stomach clamped down, your head falling into her neck as you grit your teeth. Your hips bared down against the friction, your nails clawing at her shoulder.

You moved your glossy fingers to her clit finally, working light circles over the swollen bud. Ellie’s breath hitched, her thigh shifting beneath you as she parted them, her hips bowing up. Even as sparks flashed beneath your eyelids, even as the muscles of your abdomen coiled up, you didn’t speed your fingers. You stuck with the feather-light touches, sucking at her neck as she shuddered below you. Your teeth grazed her skin.

“Are you even trying to win?” Ellie mocked; voice thick with prurience.

You resisted the urge to grin, detaching your mouth from her neck.

“It just feels so good.” You lied.

Her fingers rubbing over your swollen clit did feel mind-numbingly amazing, but that wasn’t why you were toying with her. You were playing the long game, knew how to make her need it so bad she’d crumble. So, you stayed with your crawling pace, light caresses.

But you nearly lost it when Ellie started trailing her fingers up and down your neck, the ones on your pussy grinding down harder. You shivered, biting down on your lip until it hurt, anything to distract from the torturous pleasure of her hands.

She was starting to crack. Her hips rolled into your hand, her breaths quivering. She wanted more. You didn’t give it to her. You dropped your fingers back to her hole, resumed your teasing movements.

“You’re so wet.” You whispered, the creamy gloss of her arousal coating your fingers almost too much to bear, the slick sound of her pussy so loud in the quiet. You squeezed your thighs around her hand, couldn’t even trust yourself to breath without giving in to the groans threatening in your chest. God, she was ruining you.

“Yeah, you think?” Ellie bit out, her hand wrapping around your thigh and pulling you open again.

A shaky sigh slipped from your lips as you drew a single finger over her clit, achingly slow. Her body trembled, a breath stuttering from her lips. You let your finger trace her in lingering, delicate circles until her hand tightened painfully on your thigh, her hips pushing up against you.

Without warning you quickened your pace, felt Ellie’s head fall back, a gasp breaking from her throat as her muscles tensed up beneath you. You whirred your fingers faster, pressing hard, and her body jerked, hips bucking up. Her free hand flew to your bicep, fingers curling in. A guttural moan curled from her chest.

You panted a laugh, lifting your lips to her ear.

“I win. Again.”

She didn’t respond – the hand in your underwear faltered, fingers twitching, stuttering. You pulled back just enough to watch her.

Her neck arched against the wall, those heady brows knitted, blush lip caught between her teeth. The dim light carved shadows along her face, pooling beneath the jut of her freckled cheekbones. She was trying to hold it in – you saw it in the way her breath stalled, the sharp exhales that broke free in uneven bursts. The way her eyes screwed shut, lashes trembling. The way her body jolted subtly with your movements.

“This what you needed, baby?”

Her stomach spasmed, hips arching into your hand as a low, desperate hum caught in her throat.

“Like being spoiled, huh?” You murmured, delighting in your victories but delighting even more in the euphoric set of her features, how she crumbled for you.

You were the spoiled one, the ruined one, the stolen one – the one pressing pecks to her sallow neck, the one making her shiver with rapture, the one haunted by her hallowed hues and sonorous voice, morphed by her presence into a thing you didn’t recognize.

Ellie pressed a palm into the floor to steady herself, her mouth widening – little breathless uhs falling out. You rocked your hips into her hand, chasing an answer to the swell threatening in your core at the sight of her, the feel of her delicate flushing skin beneath your fingers.

You looked down to the bulge of your hand in her jeans, stretching the fabric, revealing her toned v-line, the auburn hair in its midst trailing to the mouth of her wanting. Your fingers roamed down again, prodding into her pussy, her hips swirling as you teased. Her wetness leaked onto your fingers, a kiss of warmth, a beckoning promise.

You slid yourself inside finally, her tight walls swallowing you to the knuckles and clenching. Her eyes rolled, blissful white between dark, fluttering lashes.

“Shit...” Ellie choked out lowly, resting a forearm over her face as you curled your fingers and massaged the puffy flesh within. Her lips pulled into an inviting parted pout, her voice higher now, more desperate, with a whispered, “h-holy shit.”

You pounded your fingers harder at that, the length of your thumb slipping between her lips, up and down over her clit with the movement. Ellie was writhing now, her chest heaving and vibrating with cut-off moans.

You pushed her arm off her face, tipped her chin until that pretty pout was flush with your own. Her hand shifted to cup your pussy, dragging back and forth lazily like it was more for her own pleasure than yours. You ground into her palm, letting hushed moans of your own spill into her mouth.

Her thigh squeezed in as her viscid walls shuddered, eyes opened half-lidded to meet yours – blown-out and needy. Her wetness soaked your fingers, dripped down your hand. You applied more pressure with your thumb, flicking over her clit with vicious precision. Her eyes flicked to the door as she shivered.

“Oh... God. Fuck,” Ellie’s hand wrapped around your arm, “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” Her rumbling voice shook with urgent plea, her restraint fracturing.

Your own need made your head swim, hips rocking faster into her hand as the pleasure coiled up in your stomach. Your hand slid to her jaw, forced her gaze to stay on you.

“I got you, baby, go ahead.”

Her face scrunched with the ache of trying to stave off the ecstasy her body was so carnally craving. Her pussy clamped down around your fingers, hips twitching.

“I can’t-” She trembled, mouth widening, brows knotting together as her muscles locked up – the thigh beneath you straining – so clearly on the edge. “I can’t, I’m gonna...”

“Just look at me,” you breathed, “focus on me, I got you, I promise.”

Her glazed eyes on you, her palm pressing up into your pussy, your teeth snagging your lip. Your skin burned, that ardent swirling flooding your gut so good. Nothing else existed but the girl below you – hauntingly lodged in your mind – and your fingers lodged in her.

“Good fuckin’ girl, Els.” You purred, thrusting through the tautness of her walls and knocking into that gummy spot that made her eyes roll from you again, her clit pulsing under your thumb. Ellie shuddered, sucking in a sharp gasp as the weight of her head lolled into your hand.

“Oh my... god.” She mewled, perhaps too loud, but you’d ignored her warning. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She was babbling now; half-formed, whispered words spilling from her lips. tangled with gasps and curses. Her abs tensed beneath the fabric of her shirt, muscles flexing as she came, her thigh jolting into yours in a desperate, involuntary motion. Her hand found your back, clutching, pulling, needing you closer. You pressed soft, adoring kisses to the corner of her mouth, tasting the syrup of fruit on her heavy breaths, feeling the shudders wracking her body as her orgasm ebbed and abated.

Ellie slumped against the wall, spent and boneless, her cheeks flushed. A contented sigh ghosted past her lips as you finally freed your fingers, the heat of her still lingering on your skin.

Her attention – hazily, hungrily – shifted back to the hand in your underwear, her fingers fondling through your swollen folds.

Then, it was her turn to spoil you. Her digits on your clit, back to their lewd caresses, dragging tear-jerking bliss through your veins. Your body curved into her, hands roaming her chest and kneading the perky flesh of her tits. You panted into her skin, her other hand skimming up and down your back.

You felt her pause.

“Wait, you hear that?” She whispered, her hand slowing, face turning to the door.

You didn’t care if the things were halfway through it – the tension wracking your body was so close to snapping you were dizzy with it, your hips moving instinctively, chasing the tug.

“Don’t stop, Ellie, please.” You whimpered. “I’m so close.”

She sighed, that familiar resignation or awe, you couldn’t decipher.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy, you know that?” Were the words that followed, purred low and raspy, awe abundant for sure.

“Uh-huh,” you sobbed as her pace accelerated back to an eye-rolling rhythm. Your nails tore into her clothed shoulders, dampened forehead resting fitfully on her neck. “Uhh, you love it.”

An amused huff warmed your hair, her hand trailing up to cup the base of your skull.

“Love this pussy, wish I could eat it like you been wanting.”

Your thighs clenched, her words flaring the sparks of ardor flickering through your core.

“Maybe I’ll let you.” You huffed out. “Next time’s my call, you lost.”

Ellie’s chest buzzed as she hummed.

“You cheated.”

“No, j-just smarter.” You sighed.

The side of her face pressed into yours, pinning your head in the crook of her neck. Her voice came honey-smooth, yet edged with something rougher, something possessive.

“Well, I like you better like this. All dumbed-out and making a mess on my fingers.”

The tone hit like a spark to dry kindling. White flickered behind your eyes, carnal heat snapping through you relentless, washing the fight from your brain. Your lips parted in a silent cry; whimpers muffled against her sweat-slicked skin.

Your release crashed into you, ecstasy barreling through your body, the knot of your muscles unraveling in deep, pulsing waves of throbbing pleasure. You tremored atop her, wracking with after-shocks, thighs twitching where they pressed into her own.

Ellie worked you through it, fingers teasing, coaxing, milking every last shudder. Her free hand slid up, cradling the back of your head, thumb stroking soothing circles against your nape as you sagged into her.

And then, with that familiar cocky drawl, she chuckled.

“Do I at least get a consolation prize?”

She pulled her hand from your pants, fingers glistening, smug satisfaction etched across her face.

“The things I do to you when next time comes will be your consolation prize.” You promised breathlessly, still catching your bearings.

Ellie’s gaze roamed your face – interest piqued and thoughts surely wondering.

You gave her a slow, taunting smile in return, rising on unsteady knees to zip your fly. She reached for your hips, fingers digging as if to pull you back down, but something in her expression shifted.

Her gaze flicked to the door.

“What?”

Her lips flattened, eyes flickering with something sharp like suspicion.

“It’s been quiet.”

You broke out of her grasp and turned to your bags, made sure everything was tucked safely inside – ready to sling over your shoulders.

“Good, they must’a got bored and went back downstairs. Now we can bounce.” You said, handing Ellie her backpack.

“Yeah, I guess.” But she shook her head, wet her lips. “It’s just – earlier I thought I heard...” She squinted.

“What?”

She shushed you, eyes still on the door, her head twisting as she strained to listen.

A second passed. And then another.

Your ears caught it then. A noise, soft, muffled – but there.

The hair on the back of your neck rose as footsteps thudded on the carpet outside the door. Slow. Unhurried.

Your spine prickled with ice.

“Heard what, Ellie?” You urged.

She glanced at you, and in her expression, the same apprehension you felt curling in your chest.

“Music.”

The apprehension fled your lungs, chased away by a surge of adrenaline. You stood, eyes latching onto the door just as the handle began to turn.

“It’s not infected.” You snapped.

The door creaked open an inch, and you were waiting. Stepping back, you lifted your knee and slammed your boot into the wood, hard. The door crashed open, knocked something flying backwards into the office beyond.

Your someone thudded to the carpet like his boots, with a resonant groan and a hand splayed on his face.

You were already moving – gun in your palm, aimed at the face beneath the aged hand, finger twitching on the trigger as you stalked forward.

Deep brown eyes peeked from behind a finger before he dropped his hand. His face was aged too, lined and scarred like the tree trunk, worn but not menacing. Even as he drew his gaze up, scanning the length of your body, he seemed more amused than alarmed – or hungry.

“Shoot first, ask questions later,” that dulcet voice chirped, his chin dipping, “I like it.”

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