#but honestly just feels like a hunger for more content

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Seeing people say that we never see the Doctor and Ruby talking for more than 30 seconds makes me think 73 Yards and Dot and Bubble has just clouded their memories because the first four episodes of this era are almost nothing but the Doctor and Ruby talking and bonding.

Yeah, the Doctor-lite episodes meant we haven't had as much lately, but so many are going on as there's been none at all, as if every episode before 73 Yards was like Rogue where they were mostly separated in their own plotlines.

[thesecondhandwoman]

GILDED WARMTH

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Ambessa could tell that you have been wearing yourself thin lately, so she decides to help you by allowing you to both bathe with one another.

A/N: I honestly just needed to write a moment with this woman because omg.

The night hummed with the low murmur of distant city lights and the faint clang of metal on metal. Noxian evenings were never quiet, but within the grand villa of Ambessa Medarda, the world outside felt like a far-off dream. Warmth radiated from every corner of the marble-clad bathroom, the glow of soft amber sconces dancing against the stone walls. The scent of sandalwood and spiced vanilla lingered in the air, curling like a lazy ribbon of smoke.

You stood at the threshold, gaze flicking from the large, sunken bath filled with steaming water to the imposing figure at its edge — Ambessa. Her eyes, sharp as ever, tracked your every movement, a predator’s focus softened only by the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. She wore a loose robe of crimson silk that hung lazily off one shoulder, her bronze skin kissed with the glow of the flickering lights. Power and elegance radiated from her in equal measure, her presence filling the room as easily as the rising steam.

“You’re just going to stand there gawking, little one?” she asked, arching a brow. Her voice was smooth but edged with mischief, like velvet draped over steel. “Or do I need to come fetch you myself?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes as you stepped forward. “You like making me squirm, don’t you?”

Her laugh rumbled low in her chest, a sound rich with amusement. “Of course I do,” she admitted, reaching out a hand toward you. “But tonight, I’m feeling indulgent. Come here.”

You took her hand, and in one smooth pull, you were drawn closer, the warmth of her body a stark contrast to the cool air. She tilted her head, gaze softening as she looked you over. Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles over your knuckles.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, haven’t you?” she murmured, her golden eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny. “I can see it in the way you carry yourself.”

You shrugged, eyes flitting to the bath behind her. “I’ve been fine. Busy, but fine.”

“Mm,” she hummed doubtfully. Her other hand lifted, two fingers brushing tenderly over your cheek. Her touch was gentle, but there was no mistaking the command in her voice. “No more of that tonight. Undress.”

Your heart skipped, your breath hitching just a fraction. Her gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. It wasn’t a demand—it was a gift, a kindness disguised as command. Slowly, you nodded, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

Her eyes never left you.

There was no shame in the way she watched. No hunger, no impatience—just a quiet appreciation as if you were a canvas she intended to study every inch of. As you stripped away the last layer, goosebumps raised on your skin from the cool air, but Ambessa’s gaze burned hotter than any flame.

“Beautiful,” she said plainly, like it was a fact of nature rather than a compliment. Her eyes met yours, unwavering. “In every way.”

Heat bloomed again—not embarrassment, but something warmer, deeper. You glanced away, biting back a grin. “You flatter me far too much...”

“Only when the truth demands it,” she replied, her voice rich with sincerity.

With a gesture, she released the knot of her own robe, letting the fabric slip from her shoulders like a silk waterfall. Her body, all carved muscle and sharp elegance, was unashamedly on display. A living monument to strength. She stepped into the bath first, the water rippling around her as she sank to a seated position with a contented sigh. She leaned back, arms stretched out along the edges, her eyes half-lidded with the sort of satisfaction that only comes from absolute control over one’s own world.

“Come,” she said again, her voice softer now but no less firm.

You followed, carefully lowering yourself into the water. It was hotter than expected, but the heat quickly eased into your muscles. A sigh escaped you unbidden, your eyes falling shut for a moment. Warmth curled around every inch of you, like being embraced by sunlight after a storm.

Before you could fully settle, Ambessa’s hands were on you—large, steady hands guiding you to sit between her legs, your back pressed to her chest. Her skin was slick with heat, and her arms wrapped around you with the certainty of a shield.

“Better?” she murmured against the shell of your ear, her breath warm on your skin.

“Much,” you admitted, letting your head fall back against her shoulder. The steady thump of her heartbeat echoed against your spine. For a moment, you let yourself be still. No deadlines. No tasks. Just this. Just her.

Her fingers moved slowly, languidly, dragging through the water to find your arm. She lifted it, her fingers massaging the muscles with care. Firm but gentle. Purposeful. She worked her way from your shoulder down to your fingertips, every knot of tension she found undone with practiced ease.

“You’re always so stubborn,” she muttered, pressing her thumb into a particularly tight spot in your forearm. “Always carrying more weight than you should. It’s a foolish habit.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you shot back, peeking at her with a raised brow.

Her grin was all teeth. “A fair point,” she allowed, pressing a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. The heat of her lips lingered long after.

She continued her work, lathering sweet-scented oils onto her palms before running them down your arms, over your shoulders, and across your back. The glide of her hands against your skin was slow, deliberate. Each touch was a reminder that you were here, that you were seen. She worked the oil into your scalp next, her fingers threading through your hair, her nails scratching lightly at your scalp. It was intoxicating, the feel of her hands, her presence.

“You’re mine,” she said softly, like an oath. Her lips brushed the side of your temple. “Even if the world takes you away from me for a time, you will always return, hm?”

Her words settled into you, their weight heavier than stone, but not unwelcome. You tilted your head, letting her see the fondness in your eyes. “Always.”

For a while, the two of you stayed like that—your body melting under her ministrations, her strong hands never ceasing their gentle work. The water grew cooler, but the warmth between you never faltered.

When at last she stirred, it was with a soft hum of discontent. “Come, little one. Before the cold finds us.”

Reluctantly, you shifted, letting her rise first. Water streamed off her form in rivulets, and she stepped out of the bath with all the grace of a lioness on the prowl. She grabbed a thick towel from a nearby rack, turning back to you. Her brow raised expectantly.

“Do I have to?” you whined, still soaking in the warmth of the bath.

Her eyes narrowed playfully, but she said nothing. Instead, she held open the towel, arms wide, gaze fixed on you with patience sharpened by affection.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, lifting yourself out of the water. Cool air prickled your skin instantly, but before you could shiver, she wrapped you in the towel, her arms encircling you once more. The scent of her filled your senses—cedar, white musk, and something unmistakably her.

She rubbed the towel over you with slow, deliberate movements, drying every inch of you with care. Her lips pressed light kisses to the crown of your head, to your cheek, to the soft space just behind your ear. You melted anew, every ounce of tension gone.

When she was satisfied, she draped a second towel over your shoulders, like a queen bestowing a royal mantle. Her gaze swept over you with approval, her hands resting on your waist.

“You are mine, little one,” she said again, leaning down until her forehead touched yours. Her eyes locked with yours, golden and fierce. “And I take care of what is mine.”

Her lips met yours—not with hunger, but with certainty. A claiming kiss. A promise.

And in the quiet glow of that room, the world outside ceased to matter.

The weight of everything could wait.

You were hers.

A/N: I know this is kinda short, but I hope it wasn’t too bad. It was a kinda-in-the-moment-but-I-need-that type of mood.

[worldlxvlys]

A CHRIS X READER THAT IS POC I BEG YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BUT YK HOW THEY DID THAT COLLAB WITH SAM AND COLBY, TARA, JAKE, LARRAY AND JOHNNIE

BUT DURING THE COLLAB CHRIS WAS BEING REAL TOUCHY WITH THE READER LIKE WHEN SHE BENDS OVER HED PUT HIS HANDS ON HER CROTCH BUT NB SEES IT AND THEY EVENTUALLY F*CK PLS

last time

chris sturniolo x poc! reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, cursing, unprotected sex, cream pie, choking, poc! reader, sexual jokes

a/n: writing for this friend group was so funnn

enjoyyy<33

“wait, ok chris! let me get up!” i exclaimed, laughing as chris squeezed his arms around me tighter.

we were currently at the triplet’s house with his brothers, jake, johnnie, tara, larray, sam, and colby.

when the entire group agreed we were hungry, i offered to make us something.

“so, what’s on the menu?” colby asked, eyebrows raised as he clapped his hands together excitedly.

“nothing, if chris doesn’t let me get up to make it” i spoke, causing him to glare up at me and squeeze me even tighter.

upon hearing the words, the entire group yelled at chris to get off of me, the hunger beginning to make them cranky.

“fine” he grumbled as he let go of me, allowing me to stand up.

i began to make my way to the kitchen when tara spoke up, “wait! i’ll help you” she smiled as she walked over to me.

once we got to the kitchen, which happened to be just out of earshot from the couch that the rest of the group resided on, she began to speak.

“so, you and chris aren’t together, right?” she asked.

i raised my eyebrows at her suspiciously at the statement, squinting at her. “why?”

she lightly chuckled at that, “i just noticed you guys are really touchy, but i don’t wanna assume anything” she said, raising her hands in defense.

i laughed at the gesture, “no, you’re ok. i don’t know what we are, honestly. i mean, we’re really close, probably closer than friends should be. but, neither of us are ready for a relationship, you know?”

it was true, chris and i had done some questionable things for just being friends.

it’s not like we had sex often, we just happened to get caught up in the moment once or twice.

…and a few times after that…. and a few more after those times.

but other than that, we had a completely normal friendship.

we were both aware of each other’s feelings, but we were content with where our relationship was at.

why risk messing everything up when we’re both happy ?

“so you guys don’t want to be in a relationship, you just want to act like you’re in one?” she pointed out, “that logic seems a bit flawed to me”

“you do have a point, but honestly? change is scary, and i’m not willing to completely dismantle mine and chris’s relationship because i got greedy” i spoke.

she tilted her head, squinting her eyes, “is that not what you’re doing right now?” she deadpanned. “you’re not worried that fucking around will ruin your relationship first?”

my eyes widened at the statement, “when did i say we were fucking around?” i defended, taken aback at how quickly she was able to figure it out.

“so y’all are? i knew it!” larray joined in, suddenly appearing next to me.

i quickly shushed him, not wanting chris to hear the conversation from his spot on the couch.

“keep your voice down, he’s right there! and where did you even come from?” i asked.

i glanced over to chris to determine whether he had heard the conversation, only to be met with his eyes already on me.

“you think he knows we’re talking about him?” tara whispered to us, catching his gaze on me.

“i don’t know, but girl he’s eye fucking the shit out of you right now” larray told me.

my jaw dropped at his words, a light giggle falling from my lips.

“oh our girl’s getting dicked down tonight” tara joined in.

“y’all have to stop” i spoke, the two collectively laughing at my flustered state.

suddenly, chris got up from his spot, beginning to walk over to the kitchen.

“oh shit, he’s coming over” i whispered to them.

“okay girl, go get your pasta and lobster” larray spoke, beginning to walk away.

“you got this!” tara whispered, walking away with him.

before i knew it, chris stood in front of me, a light smirk growing on his face.

“you guys talkin about me?” he asked, his hands finding their way to my waist.

“no” i denied, despite of us both knowing it wasn’t true.

"mmhm, you tell them how good i make you feel?” he asked as his fingers ran over the skin under my t-shirt.

“chris” i spoke, swallowing harshly.

“how you act all innocent in front of everyone else, but in bed you’re a freak?” he whispered into my ear.

“chris!” i scolded him, lightly slapping his chest. “what’s gotten into you?”

“what do you think? you’re walking around in this skirt, showing off your thighs. all i can think about is shoving my head between them” he spoke, his hands running down my body.

just before they could make their way to my thighs, a voice made us pull away, “you guys are real cute and all, but i’m hungry! chris, please just let her make our food” jake yelled from his spot.

his words caused tara to smack him upside the head, his face contorting into a wince at the feeling.

“what are you making anyway? we have, like, no food in our fridge” matt spoke up.

“oh, i know. i was just gonna make pizza rolls” i answered.

“we don’t have any pizza rolls” nick spoke, brows furrowing in confusion.

“yeah, we do” chris spoke, pulling them out of the freezer, “i bought her some”

i smiled bashfully at the statement, mouthing a “thank you” to chris.

he lightly nudged me with his shoulder in response, a smile of his own growing on his face.

“you two make me sick” colby spoke, “don’t be jealous, it’s not my fault no one buys you pizza rolls” i defended.

his eyes widened at that, taking offense to the words.

“ok, but wait, you said you were cooking something. this entire time i thought you were actually making us a meal” nick said, the group making noises of agreement.

“listen, y’all ! i’m not, nor did i ever claim to be a chef. i don’t know what you thought, but you were wrong” i spoke playfully.

“and nick, you know there’s no food, this is your house. where did you think i was getting ingredients from?” i asked as i placed the pizza rolls on a sheet.

“girl i don’t know, but pizza rolls aren’t gonna fill anyone up, those are like appetizers”

“ok then don’t eat any” i shrugged as i finished emptying the package.

“y’all can order something if you want, i’m really just craving pizza rolls” with that the group began to have a conversation about what they wanted to order.

“i’ll have some of your pizza rolls” chris spoke from beside me.

“good” i smiled up at him, before grabbing the baking sheet to place in the oven.

i bent over, pulling the oven open to place the sheet on the rack.

when my skirt rose up slightly, chris didn’t waist a second in placing his hand on my ass.

he quickly dipped his fingers into my panties, rubbing my heat.

he used his free hand to pull my front half back up, quickly covering my mouth with the palm of his hand.

“hmphhh” i lightly moaned into his hands, as his fingers explored my wetness, collecting my arousal on his fingers.

before i knew it, his fingers left my body, as he turned me around to face him.

he placed his fingers, which were now coated in my juices, into his mouth.

i watched intently as his tongue swirled around each finger, lapping at them like a starved man.

“hm, just needed a taste” he spoke, smirking at my shocked state, “you should probably close that”

“close what?” i asked him as i blinked rapidly, attempting to recover from his actions.

he nodded towards the oven with his head, “i don’t know how well they’ll cook if you leave the door open” he raised his eyebrows at me.

he was having the time of his life right now.

“uh- yeah, yeah you’re right” i spoke as i quickly closed the oven door.

“need some help with that?” chris asked as he stared down at my thighs, which were involuntarily clenching together.

i was doing my best to hold it together, but his actions turned me on far more than i’d like to admit.

“i’m fine” i spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t point out the fact that i was obviously lying.

but he, being chris, would never give me the luxury of sparing me from his teasing.

“really? you don’t look fine. you look like you need to be ruined” he whispered into my ear.

“chris, i’m not gonna have sex with you with all of these people in the house”

“really? don’t think that’s stopped you before” he spoke cockily.

“we said that the last time was gonna be it, remember?” i reminded him, placing my hand on his chest.

“yeah, you’re right, we have to stop. so we’re done doing this” he nodded his head at me.

“yup, that’s it. it’s done”

well, it was done. until-

“fuck, chris! yes, yes, yes ! right fucking there, holy shit” i did my best to keep quiet, as chris pounded into me from behind.

“one last time, just one last time” he whispered to himself while he drove himself in and out of me like his life depended on it.

“if this is the last time, i’m gonna make sure you remember that no one else will ever fuck you like i do” he whispered into my ear, chest pressing against my back while my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

“ you got that? can you say it back to me, princess? “

“i- no one, no one will ever fuck me like you do” i heaved out, fisting his sheets as continued to push himself deep inside of me.

“damn right” he rasped, as he gave my ass a slap, eliciting a moan from me.

“god, what did i do to deserve you? you’re so fucking good for me, holy shit” his head fell back as he moaned out.

“you feel so good in me, chris. don’t want anyone else, just you” i spoke back to him.

“yeah? am i making you feel good, baby? that’s all i ever want, just want you to feel good” he whispered, his fingers digging into my waist.

“you always do, baby. always feel so good with you” i moaned back.

my mind grew fuzzy as he went from giving sharp, quick thrusts to slow and deep ones, allowing me to feel every inch of him.

“love fucking you hard, but i gotta show you how much i care bout you” he spoke before burying his nose into my neck.

he placed a sweet kiss to the skin, before pulling it between his lips.

he sucked on the skin until it became darker, making it known that he had been there.

his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his body as his cock stretched out my pussy.

“i don’t- fuck chris, it’s so good” i choked out as he continued to leave kisses against my skin.

“love seeing you like this, all fucked out under me. you’re so fucking beautiful, can’t believe you’re even real” he whispered.

“all yours, chris. you’re the only one who gets to see me like this”

i pushed my hips back into him, grinding on his dick, as he wrapped a hand around my neck to choke me.

“god, oh my-” he whined out his dick twitching inside of me.

“you gonna cum for me, chris?” i asked as i felt myself on the brink of my own orgasm.

“yes, yes, please cum with me” he whispered, head dropping to the crook of my neck as he shot his seed inside of me.

he continued to thrust into me, the coil in my stomach snapping as i coated his cock in my pleasure.

coaxing me through my orgasm, he gave a few more sloppy thrusts, before gently pulling out of me.

“did so good for me” he mumbled, pressing a light kiss to my shoulder.

“was that good ? did i hurt you?” he asked as he went to lay down next to me.

“of course it was good, chris. and i’m okay” i told him, cupping his cheek.

“good, let me clean you up and we can cuddle?” he asked, a grin taking over his features.

“yeah, sounds good“ i spoke as i heard my phone vibrate on chris’s nightstand.

when i opened it up, i was met with unopened text messages:

THE ULTIMATE CROSSOVER ❗️(10 MEMBERS)

matty b 💁🏻‍♂️ 9:01 pm

SHUT THE HELL UP ! WE CAN HEAR YOU ALL THE WAY OUT HERE

nick 👑 9:01 pm

oh great you guys pissed off mat

(i agree w him)

johnnie 🧛🏻 9:02 pm

i’m just waiting for my food

jake 🕸️ 9:10 pm

CHRIS STOP FUCKING AND TELL US WHAT U WANT SO WE CAN ORDER OUR FOOD

tara 👅 9:10 pm

YOU SHOULD’VE GOTTEN IT BEFORE THEY DISAPPEARED TOGETHER

TF WERE U EXPECTING DUMBASS

larray 💅🏽 9:15 pm

🍝+ 🦞

if it’s not snowing she ain’t going y’all

sam 👻🌝 9:34 pm

update: we ate your pizza rolls

colby 👻🌚 9:34 pm

we’re still hungry hurry up

y/n ⭐️ 9:41 pm

MY PIZZA ROLLS ???

FUCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF U HOES

IMMA FIGHT Y’ALL 🤺🤺

chris 🦌 9:41 pm

oops

my bad guys

nick 👑 9:42 pm

chris come do the walk of shame out here so i can beat your ass 🙂

TARA 🧚🏻‍♀️ 9:20 pm

🌀🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturnssx @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[pitchsidestories]

lovers II Keira Walsh x Williamson!Reader

masterlist I word count: 2468

a/n: Hi, we realized that it's our 100th oneshot which sounds absolutely wild, so enjoy. For the readers who wait for the Emily Fox fanfic it will come out next. <3

You were in love with Ibiza.

In love with the beaches and the sunshine, the palm trees and the blue of the ocean.

You were in love with the clubs and bars, your sister and her friends took you to.

But above all, you were in love with your sister’s best friend.

The afternoon sun painted the hotel room in soft golden light as you slipped into a short dress. You could still feel the salty air and the sun from earlier that day on your skin as you began applying mascara to your eyelashes. Except for a bit of hunger, you felt fully content.

“Ready for dinner? You look gorgeous by the way.“, Keiras voice said from behind you.

You hadn’t noticed her coming in.

You flinched, almost stabbing yourself in the eye with the mascara wand.

Keira smiled apologetically at your reflection in the mirror.

You watched as her gaze started to travel down your body, taking in every curve in your tight-fitting dress.

With a smile you turned towards her and bridged the gap between the two of you.

“Are you kidding? Look at you… Your curls are so pretty and soft.“, you whispered, gently running her fingers through her reddish brown hair.

You loved the way the salt water had restored Keiras natural hair texture.

“My curls? I just didn’t straighten my hair.“, she laughed.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, barely visible through the light sunburn on her skin.

Completely enamoured, you beamed at her: “I love it.“

You were about to lean forward to kiss her when someone cleared their throat behind you.

Your heart stopped while you pulled apart. You ran through possible explanations for this situation in your head, just in case you would turn around to face your sister.

Instead, Alex Scott watched the two of you with a knowing grin.

“You do? Oh hi, Alex.“, Keira greeted the former football player.

“Little Williamson is right though. She could have done something with fashion but…“, Alex said without finishing her thought.

You rolled your eyes, she had always tried to convince you to work in the fashion industry but you wouldn’t trade your job as an English teacher in Barcelona for anything in the world.

“She chose to teach people English in Spain and honestly, it was the best decision ever.“, you finished for Alex.

Keira laughed: “I agree with that.“

Leah appeared next to Alex in the doorway. Subconsciously, you tried to put more distance between yourself and Keira.

“Of course, you do, Kei. Because that way you can talk to someone in your mother tongue almost every day. How did the Catalan interview go again?“, your sister teased.

Her best friend released a tired groan: “Don’t remind me.“

Alex changed the subject, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder: “Now that everyone’s dressed up, let’s get some dinner in before we go clubbing.“

“Sounds like a good idea.”, you agreed in a good mood, the sea air made you hungry.

At the restaurant Keira studied the menu thoroughly before looking at you with an innocent smile on her lips.

“Everything here sounds so good, do you want to share?”, she asked.

“Sure.”, you replied happily. Above your heads the fairy lights were switched on and you could hear the waves crashing on to the shore in the background.

The romantic atmosphere was quickly disturbed by your older sister.

“Excuse me? I thought you’d share with me!”, she pouted, sending glances at the Barca player which could kill.

“What about your girlfriend? Doesn’t she want to share with you?”, Keira asked in return, cheeks flushed.

“Yes, Lee, no need to be that dramatic about it.”, Alex Greenwood intervened laughing.

“I’m not dramatic.”, Leah countered smirking.

“That’s just how she’s.”, you explained cheekily.

“Why don’t we order food for the table so we can all share?”, your girlfriend suggested hoping this would calm the Blonde Arsenal defender down.

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’m in.”, the two Alex’s declared grinning.

“Same, you too, Leah?”, you turned around to investigate your sister’s face, waiting for her reaction.

“Sure.”, she nodded, sounding much calmer already.

 “What about a first round of cocktails?”, Jess wanted to know.

“Please.”, Leah answered.

A few minutes later the drinks arrived at your table, beaming you toasted with her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”, she responded grinning.  

The sweetness and the alcohol sparked the desire in you to touch your lover’s curly hair again.

“Stop it.”, Keira demanded giggling.

“I’m not doing anything.”, you remarked in a not guilty tone.

“Yes, you’re. Stop it.”, she bit her lip nervously.

“Fine.”, you sighed defeated, quickly finishing your cocktail.

After the last sip you stood up smiling delighted at the other girls. “Girls, are we ready for the club now?”

“Let’s go.”, Alex Greenwood chirmed.

The sun was long gone now, the moon and the stars shown brightly as you and your sister former and current teammates joined the Ibizan night life.

Something your sister and you both shared was the passion for music. While Leah preferred to sing you would take every chance you could get to dance. Before Keira your first love has been rhythm and beats.

“Come on, Kei.”, Alex nudged the red-haired woman who admired you from the distance.

“I don’t dance. I’m here for the drinks.”, she waved the sports journalist off.

“But I do. Come on, Alex.”, Leah remarked cheerfully.

“Coming.“, Alex laughed and let the defender pull her into the direction of the dance floor.

The other Alex jumped up as well, following closely behind: “Hey, wait for me.“

You caught Keiras eye from across the room and danced your way over to her. You were not ready to stop yet but you also didn’t want to leave her alone.

Keira reached for your wrist with a laugh: “Stop twirling around, y/n.“

“Why?“, you asked, spinning out of her grasp.

“Just because.“

You stopped for a moment, studying her face. There was something serious and pleading in her eyes that you didn’t understand. You only wanted to continue dancing with your friends. “Keira…“

You interrupted yourself, taking in a sharp breath in surprise as two hands laid on your hips and spun you around.

A man in his mid-thirties and clearly drunk grinned at you. His gaze traveled down to your neckline while he asked you something that your brain didn’t seem to comprehend. Apparently he wanted you to dance with him but everything about him made clear that he had other things in mind than just dancing.

You froze in place, not sure if you felt disgusted or disgusting.

Just when you were about to say something, your sister squeezed between him and you and pushed him back: “Sorry, no. That’s my sister!“

“And she’s already taken.“, Keira added. You hadn’t noticed that Keira had gotten up from her seat as well.

Leahs head whipped towards her best friend: “What?“

“Uhm…“, you mumbled as you watched the man retreat with his hands raised in surrender.

You desperately tried to find a good reason to change the subject but you just couldn’t come up with one.

“Who is it, y/n? One of your colleagues or one of the Barca girlies?“, Leah asked, her voice tinted with anger.

“It’s…uhm…“, you started and forced yourself not to look at Keira. Lying would be so easy right now. But did you actually want to keep hiding?

Your sister got impatient: “Just tell me.“

“Keira.“, was all you could get out and prayed that you made the right choice.

The two best friends looked at each other. Keira nodded slowly: “It’s me.“

“Wait, you?! When? How? She’s my little sister!“ Leahs eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Keira shrugged, trying to keep her voice calm: “In Barcelona… it just happened.“

Your sister turned towards you with her jaw set: “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning!“

She stormed off without waiting for an answer and you quietly wondered where she would go.

Keira and you ended the night there and went back to your hotel room.

You walked out on the balcony overlooking the ocean, Keira followed right behind you.

“She’s really mad.“, you said nervously into the night sky.

The midfielder wrapped her arms around you and rolled her eyes: “She can’t be mad about this.“

You knew she had a point.

“No, Lee is more upset about the fact that we didn’t tell her.“

“Still. I can talk with her if you want me to.”, Keira offered while you kept watching the waves come and go which was scarily similar to your older sister’s temper. Deep down you knew she would eventually calm down.

“No, I’ll do it, it’s fine.”, you assured the Barcelona player before kissing her temple softly.

For a moment she closed her eyes under your touch. “She’ll be fine.”, the midfielder whispered in a convinced tone as her lips touched yours in a heartfelt kiss.

“What was the kiss for?”, you raised an eyebrow at her curiously.

“For good luck.”, Keira replied smirking.

“But she said tomorrow so maybe we could just go inside and..”, you begun rambling.

“You think that’s a good idea?”, your girlfriend interrupted you with a doubtful look on her face.

“No, I’ll do it now.”, you sighed, knowing fully well that some things shouldn’t be put on hold. Although you’d miss the comforting hug of the midfielder who pretended to hate them but always made an exception for you.

Cautiously you stood at the entry of the hotel room your sister and her girlfriend were staying in. “Lee, can we chat outside?”

Without a word the older blonde got up and put on her shoes, signalling that she was ready to talk to you outside.

For a while the two of you walked silently on the sand which felt still warm under your naked feet.

“So, you and Keira, huh?”, Leah broke the silence, sounding more curious than mad this time.

“Yeah.”, you answered timidly.

“Since when?” the defender continued asking.

“We got closer when she came to Barcelona.”, you confessed.

“That was forever ago.”, she noted slightly hurt by your reply.

“Yes, but we just started dating a few months ago.”, you added quickly. This much was true. Undoubtedly, you always had a soft spot for your sister’s best friend. The more time you two spend together, the more it became obvious that there was more than just friendship.

“And you didn’t tell me.”, Leah swallowed hard through that realization.

“You didn’t ask me.”, you reminded her.

“If you’re dating my best friend? How was I supposed to know.”, she retorted.

“No, in general, it’s mostly about you when you call me.”, you countered.

“I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry. But I thought you’d tell me such things.”, the defender apologized, her skin despite the tan turned pale.

“It’s okay. I guess we weren’t great sisters for each other recently.”, you admitted guiltily.

Leah nodded in reluctant agreement: “I guess we weren’t.“

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, not uncomfortable but thoughtful.

“But we could do better now.“, you said determinedly,

Your sister stopped walking. You only realized that wasn’t on your side anymore after a few more steps.

You turned towards her and caught her staring at you.

“Y/n?“, she asked.

“Yes?“

“Are you happy?“

You smiled at her: “Very.“

“With Kei?“

“Yes.“, you confirmed again.

Leah studied your face for a moment, searching for any indication of a lie before she finally nodded once: “Okay.“

“Okay?“, you echoed with hopefulness in your voice. You didn’t want to fight with your sister. You wanted her and Keira in your life.

Leah kicked up some sand with her shoe: “Yes, okay. I think I can live with that.“

“Good.“, you beamed and slowly continued your walk, waiting for your sister to take her place by your side again.

You thought your talk was over when your sister suddenly spoke up again: “Y/n?“

You looked at her, signalling her to continue.

“Just because you live a life outside of the public eye doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your life or I’m not proud of you.“

Her words caught you by surprise. You frowned at her in confusion. “Wait, you’re proud of me?“

“Why do you sound so surprised? Obviously I’m proud of you.“

You stared down at the fine sand under your feet: “Sorry.“

Another break in your conversation arose. Apparently, struggling to express your emotions properly ran in your family.

“Not everyone has the bravery to go abroad for work… I would not.“, Leah continued.

You looked back up at her: “Really?“

She nodded slowly: “You know how much I love home. And Arsenal. I just couldn’t.“

Hearing this filled you with pride but at the same time, you had to suppress a smile because you really couldn’t imagine your sister anywhere else.

“True, you’re such a homebody.“, you laughed.

Your sister smirked and gave you a small shrug: “See, we’re just very different.“

“Yes, but that’s okay.“, you assured her. You could feel the tension dissolve slowly.

Leah raised an eyebrow: “I will still have to talk to Keira though.“

You let out a groan: “Oh no, not the big sister talk.“

“Oh yes, even for my best friend.“

“Fine, but try and be nice, okay?“, you asked innocently.

“Of course.“

“Thank you.“

She reached over and ruffled through your blonde hair: “Anything for my little sister.“

You tried to get revenge. You two were laughing like children while you chased her down the beach.

You never heard anything about their talk. Both Keira and Leah refused to tell you anything and stubbornly maintained their silence. You didn’t care anyway. They seemed closer than ever and that was all that mattered to you.

The next days were spend at the beach, enjoying the sun and the refreshing coolness of the sea.

“No. I’m not going into the water.“ Keira shook her head determinedly. She had spend the morning straightening her hair but to you, that was not a reason to miss out on swimming.

“Come on.“ You impatiently pulled at her arm.

Leah appeared on Keiras other side, pushing her forward. “You better go now.“

Together you barrelled towards the sea, falling over each as soon as you reached the water. The rest of your friend group burst out laughing,

Keira pushed her now wet hair back. It started to curl at the ends already.

“I hate you Williamsons!“, she laughed.

You kissed her cheek: “No, you don’t.“

“Not really, no.“, Keira admitted and pulled you towards her by your waist to kiss you.

Leah grimaced in disgust: “Okay, but you don’t have to kiss in front of me.“

“Stop complaining.“, you rolled your eyes.

Keira grinned at her: “You better get used to it, Lee.“

[k0yaz]

IMAGINE HELPING MIZU BATHE

LIKE HEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHE

kissed by her impurity.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, none really, honestly this is more of a massage bro, lazy writing cause no time and I didn’t feel like passionately writing today but still felt like writing, girls kissing [demon emoticon idfk], wuh luh wuh, short fic, lil attachment issues idk cause mizu deserves so much better, someone give my girl a better life, i love her sm, i wont stfu once season 2 comes, not proofread.

A/N: heyyy so I started this a while ago but I paused it for my other mizu fic so the quality dropped also I’m a bit busy today so this is VERY rushed no emotion or symbolism for this one sorry :( but ig it’s kinda more calming and steady than my usual fics so enjoy <3🕯️

“Mizu..hold still damn it..”

Mizu’s shoulders hunched at the sensation of your fingertips slithering down the ridges of her shoulders, the bottom half of her body fully submerged in the water. Ripples of the stream flowing from the cascading waterfall beside her emanated from her shoulders in small ring shapes as she leaned back against you, head tilting comfortably onto your clothed body.

Her own clothes were discarded atop a nearby rock as you could observe, her water patterned obi sprawled out atop her kimono in a messy fashion. Clearly enough, it was quite relaxing to Mizu to be out of her formerly masculine clothing for once, taking comfort in laying completely bare as her raw self in an eased fashion. Despite always being so tense, constantly rocking on edge detecting any trace of death lingering close, finding solace in her worries being drowned away as her mind went blank.

Nonetheless, your company was strangely welcome especially in these moments—shocking even you when she initially beckoned you to reside with her while she bathed, as you knew that she wasn’t the biggest fan of others’ company. Head tipping back, Mizu sighed out a content hum as your warm breath grazed over the shell of her ear from behind, palms flat against her shoulder blades.

Seeing her in such an unguarded state, hands clear of anything that could puncture your skin or knock the wind out of you..it brought a sort of soothing comfort to you, knowing that she trusted you enough to allow you to even go as far as touching her while she bathed. Considering her life where she remained alienated, treated as nothing but a outcasted stray with nobody but a blind swordmaker to take her in.

Mizu exhaled a heavy, contented sigh as she slumped back against you, the prolonged swish of the waterfall penetrating through the lake’s pre-existing waters continuing to echo in your ears as the only sound surrounding the bushy clearing. Your fingers threaded through her raven locks, massaging the water pooled between your palms into her scalp while she proceeded to sink deeper, allowing herself to be engulfed within.

Small flicks of droplets from the waterfall gently pattered against your cheek as you kept your hands firmly pressed against the bony surface of her back, each minuscule swish grazing your skin periodically while Mizu lay back with all her worries washed away. Clearing your throat, you shifted your gaze over to her slumped form, causing her eyes to shoot open and trace over to you behind her.

You couldn’t help it. Those eyes of hers alone fixated on you, no matter how stern her glare was, you couldn’t help but be rendered unable to suppress how your heartbeat quickened whenever she looked at you, knowing full well that her sights were fixated on you. No matter how many had ushered you away from her, claiming that her blood stemmed from a devil’s ravenous hunger to kill, you just felt strangely drawn to the woman like an unfathomable magnetic force.

It was like touching a burning fire while kissed by a biting cold. You’re told not to touch the fire for warmth, yet once you do, the pain only overtakes you if you don’t hover by the flames safely. Whenever you were with her, you were kissed by her impurity.

Mizu’s breath hitched with each movement of your fingertips working into her skin, rolling her shoulders back as you kneaded them between the bone with each movement. Your subtle pushes were enough to make her swallow back her tense front, letting out gentle exhales to signal her enjoyment of your hands massaging her. She deserved it honestly after the hell she had been through all her life, clearly requiring a moment to relax and let go of everything as she bathed.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mizu tilted her head back once more, finally speaking up. Her breath seemed to hitch in her words, a small shiver running along her lower lip from the freezing temperature of the waters.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

You shrug in response.

“You tell me.”

“I asked you a question to answer, not to respond with a quizzical statement back.”

“Get used to it, Mizu. You have someone that loves you now.”

She paused, torso slightly pivoting around to be able to turn her head toward you. An unfamiliar warmth seeped its way into her stomach, her soft blue gaze tracing up to meet your own eyes. For the first time, Mizu’s body seemed far less tense, muscles relaxing from not only the lake pooling around her, but also your words, swaying her like a gentle breeze.

You couldn’t even process what had occurred following the instant your hands found themselves tangled in her wet hair once more, head tilting as your lips parted to lock with hers. Time itself seemed to freeze up for the two of you as you leaned forward into the water, grasping tighter into her hair as your lips were practically glued to Mizu’s the sudden kiss throwing you off guard the second you pulled away, despite being the one that initiated it.

However, Mizu seemed completely unfazed, turning her back to you once more as she reclined back to lean against the rocky edge. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you returned to massage her joints, fingers curling at each spot in your overwhelmingly joyful mood now.

“Swear it then. Swear you won’t leave.”

“I swear, Mizu.”

A/N: I’m way too exhausted to add an authors note gn and merry Christmas / happy holidays-

[k-dokja]

If you've caught to lookism, do you think Eli has changed.... Can you write something on Eli pleaseeeee

Help why they posed him like this

Anyway! Honestly, I feel like Eli has been static even before his arc ended, supposedly with the forgiveness of Heather’s mom. But he doesn’t really change or anything, he’s just more chill now.

…

“Eli, enough.”

There is a whimper from the base of his throat that reminds you of the whine puppies make to get what they want. Eli further proves the point by glancing up at you with those selfsame eyes, refusing to budge down from you even for a centimetre.

“You’re uniquely difficult today,” you huff but fail to resist the urge to rub the back of his head, making him pure in contentment.

“It’s cold, I don’t want to let you go,” he presses a kiss down on the valley between your breasts, his warm breath sends a delicious sensation down your spine. You know he’s not ignorant to the effect he has on you when he gets clingy. It makes you almost miss the day when he was drowned under by self-doubt, unable to be bold around you. The skittish Eli of back then would’ve never asked for anything you weren’t willing to give.

This one, however, has learned to test your boundaries, even if he seldom wields that forbidden knowledge. “Stay for a little longer,” he murmurs, “you can even sleep over, we can go to school together tomorrow.”

“I’ll get into troubles because of you,” you deadpan, tugging his hair enough to earn a slight growl from the base of his throat.

“Please,” he props up on his elbows, but the meagre spaces you’ve received from him is taken away when he buries his face into your neck. “We both know you wouldn’t have been here this often if you’re really worried about getting into trouble.”

Eli nuzzles into your skin, inhaling the scent he has always confessed to loving in murmurs and whispers. His hand trails down to your side, leaving trails of heat everywhere he touches until he stops at your ass and grabs a handful.

“Mhm, please,” he pulls you even closer against him, if that’s even possible. His craving grows in his every touches, and you find that it is impossible to push away his overwhelming hunger for you. Not when he lifts his head and gazes at you with that animal look in his eyes. “Just a little longer…”

Well, maybe that can’t hurt.

[s1lu3s]

WELL-DESERVED REST, zayne.

warnings: suggestive content +18, oral (fem receiving), masturbation. pairing: zayne x y/n notes: GUYYSS OMGGG WE REACHED THE 150 NOTES WHAT THE HELL?! i also wanna thank you for all the reblogs 😭🩵 just wanted to thank you very much, this means a lot for me, bc i honestly thought that i would never reach something like this sooo in order to celebrate, i write this one about our lovely doctor, hope u enjoy it the same as the rest <3 credits for the banner of mdni to roseschoices.

Christmas was always a very bad time to visit Zayne at work. No matter what time of year it is, no one stops having incidents because of it. In spite of everything, you don't stop going there to see him so he can rest even if it's just for a few minutes.

Your poor boyfriend has to deal with all kinds of people and you just want to make his workday a little more pleasant. So you take the bag of food from his favorite restaurant, add the dessert from the best place where they make the best popsicles and leave it on the passenger seat.

Today you wanted to surprise Zayne with a nice dinner even though he told you to stay home because of the cold weather. But you can't sit still and do nothing when he's going to work day and night no matter when it's his shift.

So you park your car on a street a little further back from the hospital so he won't see it and walk over there. Since you warned Greyson about your plans, he gave you just this once a key to enter by the back door of the hospital, which can only be used by the staff. You would return it to him. Or not, if Zayne continues to work the same way as he is. 

When you finish climbing the eight flights of stairs, you end up with irregular breathing. Instead of using the elevator, you've had to use the only alternative left to avoid all chances of your boyfriend seeing you here. But it will be worth it, you assure yourself, because you plan to have this Christmas dinner even if it's not at home. 

So before knocking on his office door you finish controlling your breathing, stretch your back and tie your hair up to give it some grace and movement. You knock a couple of times and manage to hear a low “come in” before you cross the threshold of the door and close it by subtly turning the knob.

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Zayne.” Just the first of your words was enough for him to recognize you and raise his head from the pile of papers scattered on his desk. It must have been a very hard day for him to have his desk like this.

You observe without saying anything about his reaction and how he frowns when you place the bag with the food on one of the chairs in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” He asks in his usual dry tone.

“Can't I bring dinner to my boyfriend? “You bite your lip as you approach his chair. “Besides, I also brought your favorite dessert.” You smile playfully, pointing to the bag with the popsicles.

“I expressly told you not to come.” He replies warily, not taking his disapproving gaze away as you settle in and give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“And are you going to do anything about it, Dr. Zayne?” You bring your lips to his as you start playing with the buttons of his shirt.

“For the moment, I don't know. You like being close to the edge too much, though.

“What can I say, anything to help my boyfriend unwind from work.” You chuckle.

“Hum.” He sighs, as he rests his head on your chest and moves his arms over your thighs, tightening his grip on you. He lingers a few seconds too long, breathing on your breasts and spreading his soft breath through the thin fabric of the dress you wear. You feel your nipples perky.

“Zayne?” You call out, but he ignores you. He slides his hands down your legs to your buttocks. Your breathing hitches and you feel your pulse quicken. “Don't y-you want to have dinner?”

“I don't have that kind of hunger right now.” He replies flatly, as he stands up with you in his arms, pushing the contents of the table aside, “Or you prefer not to continue?”

You know from the gaze he gives you that you are incapable of saying no to him. Not when his eyes yearn to devour you and even less when you have him like this, caressing your skin.

“It 's okay.” You answer breathlessly, especially when his hands rest on your knees and he gently spreads your legs to slip between them.

“What am I going to do with you?” He sinks his head into the crook of your neck, smelling your vanilla scent.

He moves one of his hands from your hip to your back to unzip your dress. The fabric slides gracefully down your skin, leaving you naked from the torso. He helps you finally remove the dress, which falls to the floor.

And you're left in heels with your underwear.  

“I should deny you this, because it's not the first time you've completely disregarded what I tell you.”He whispers, kissing your neck and tightening his grip on your thighs.

The only thing you are able to hear is his heavy breathing and your heartbeat, sure that he is able to hear them too.

“But in turn, I should reward you with it, because if not for you, my life would have become an absolute mess.”

He pulls the thong up, rubbing against your already wet slit. You sigh in anticipation, clinging to his shoulders.

“Zayne…”

He unties your bra and pulls it back. His mouth moves down to one of your nipples. He circles it with his tongue and bites down gently. He kisses it again before turning his gaze back to you.

“It's impossible for me to keep my hands off you. Especially if you look this... tasty.”

He wraps the edges of the thong around his fingers and pushes down slowly. Your skin bristles and you shiver from the cold. He has once again let out his Evol. 

“So... what should I do?” He stammers. His husky voice makes you even wetter if that's possible. “You don't say anything now?”

He rests his hands behind you, making you lean back slightly.

“I guess as long as you put work aside, anything's fine for me.” Is the only witty reply you can think of.

Zayne smiles slyly at your failed sarcastic comment.

“You're damn stubborn... You know that, don't you?”

You just giggle.

“You still like me though.” He looks back at you.

“I do.” He offers, before kissing your shoulder again and bending down to you. Kissing and licking your skin, Zayne crouches down before you. He holds your left leg and continues to leave a trail of wet kisses down to your knee.

You sigh, throwing your head back.

You don't even dare to move a muscle when Zayne finally slides his tongue shallowly over your needy slit. Her warm breath moistens it even more, something that makes you shudder and makes your stomach tingle slightly.

“Don't forget to breathe, darling.” He smirks condescendingly, holding your leg tighter. You blush more.

His gaze meets yours before he runs his tongue along your folds again, this time going over you thoroughly from top to bottom.

A sweet moan escapes your lips as he continues to devour you relentlessly. He thrusts his tongue as far in as possible, teasing you and turning you on more as he makes room at your entrance and plays with it. Your thighs are trembling, so he spreads your legs wider and immobilizes you so he can taste you better.

“Z-Zayne...” You babble senselessly. The heat of his mouth on you consumes you in the most exquisite way. You arch your back and press his face to you, pulling at his hair.

“I like order, but seeing the chaos in you every time you're about to come is absolutely awesome.” He looks at you with a look of adoration and devotion in his eyes that makes you tender. He kisses your inner thigh and his mouth comes back to rest on your clit, circling and caressing it. His torrid tongue finds its way into your folds and continues to lick, up and down, without pause, but either not as quickly.

You gasp again as he inserts two of his fingers and begins scissoring them. You feel yourself getting more and more on edge and along with it, Zayne's mouth keeps licking everything you give him.

“Your taste is so addictive... so sweet.” He dives back between your thighs, sucking, licking and feeling you cling tightly to his fingers.

“P-please...” You whisper. You feel your vision blur as he continues to push his fingers and rub your clit delicately.

Your consciousness becomes fuzzy as you are caressed and filled. So you feel somewhat empty as he pulls his fingers out of you, licks them and looks at you with his desire-filled eyes.

“Forget about the damn popsicles. You are definitely my new favorite dessert.”

[sordidmusings]

Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give the Beckman lovers some content because it is devastatingly scant and he’s quite the treat

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous fun in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment. 

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced. 

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever. 

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly. 

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment. 

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock. 

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway. 

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you. 

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good. 

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands. 

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body. 

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole. 

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give. 

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too. 

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

[hollowdeath]

i recently came across your blog and i’m literally in love

i’m here because i can’t stop thinking about (adult) soft dom harry that tries to stay gentle but can’t hold himself back :(( brainrot is real

honestly do what u will with this i’m just happy to share it

AAA now you're speakin my language here !!! i will GLADLYYY sit here all day n think abt this one…

content warning: smut!!!! oral sex, penetration, 18+

word count: 750

soft dom harry who wants to let you know he's in the mood by asking you if you'd like a back rub, a foot massage, anything where he can just get his hands on you…once he does he can't help but let his hands wander, his lips following soon after, and he'd quickly get carried away and have you covered in bites before you even realize it…

harry would be so eager to get your clothes off he'd nearly rip them off you as you giggle, telling him to slow down with a teasing voice. he'd be a bit ashamed at first, apologizing with a shy smile before being more careful with you, savoring the feeling of taking your clothes off of you. but if your panties are in the way, he feels no remorse in roughly ripping them off of you to get what he wants.

everyone already knows how i feel about harry and oral…he'll be soooo teasingly slow with you at first, loving the way you squirm and beg for more just before he completely loses himself in your pussy. he'll overstimulate you after you already came to the point of desperation, practically having to push him away from you just to get a moment of rest. he'd still want more, sometimes even convincing you to let him keep going despite your exhaustion. but it's okay because he lovesss to tell you just how much of a good girl you were afterwards, praising you endlessly while holding you close to him to calm down your trembling body.

or, if you gave harry oral, he'd hold your face with his hand as you got started. "so pretty," he'd tell you, encouraging you with his moans and praise. soon he'd get lost in the pleasure, his hand traveling from your cheek to your hair as he starts gently moving it out of the way for you. before long he has all of it completely wrapped around his hand, using it to push your head a bit faster and deeper onto him. his hips would thrust into your mouth out of desperation and cause you to gag. pulling your hair back, he'd carefully make sure you were okay, really okay, before pushing your mouth back onto his cock with the same force as before.

harry being afraid to hurt you as you adjust to his cock inside of you, carefully watching your facial expressions as he slowly pushes deeper into you, the hunger in him growing the longer he looks at you. after you start moaning, whimpering, grabbing for harry's shoulders, he knows you're enjoying yourself and starts to let his guard down, thrusting at a consistent pace before pulling you in for a heated kiss. from there he just falls apart, his grip on you bruising the skin, his thrusts aggressive and sloppy, his teeth sinking into your neck in the most vulnerable places. he's like an animal just chasing his high, using you for his pleasure.

you try not to whimper too loud because then harry comes out of his state of bliss, realizing how aggressive he's being with you before slowing back down. you'd always beg him please, please harry, it's okay, because you secretly love how overcome with lust he gets with you. but he really doesn't want to hurt you, so he tries to stay focused, but we know he just can't help himself…as soon as his eyes droop closed you know he's desperate again, burying his head in your neck as he practically growls into your skin. "fuck, [y/n], feel so good…"

it's not long before harry's pounding into you, waves of pleasure taking over his body. sweating, gasping for breath, hands digging into your hips as he warns you that he's about to cum. sometimes he's aware enough to pull out and finish on you, but other times he's truly so lost in the moment that he cums inside you, his hips flush with yours as you savor the sensation. though he's always a bit flustered afterwards, making sure to ask you plenty of times if you're okay, or if he hurt you, or if you need anything. once he knows you're good, he'll instantly start getting ready for round two because he just can't get enough of you.

[thankyouthankyouthankyou for sending this in, this is pretty much exactly what all of my daydreams of harry consist of lol]

[rivendell-poet]

May I request a SFW Alphabet for Legolas? Regardless, thank you for feeding us well <3

Of course you may! Thanks so much for the compliment, hopefully this helps feed the hunger as well <3 (And thank you so much for the request!)

*･༓˚✧❝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 - 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « SFW Alphabet »

Wordcount : 2.7k (not including questions wordcount)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Legolas is fairly affectionate, he loves you and very much wants you to be aware of that, but he doesn't show it in obvious ways. His main way is spending time with you, simply being next to you and listening - staring at you with a quiet focus mixed with adoration. He also does a lot of little gestures, like getting up ahead of time to order breakfast for the both of you because he knew you wanted something hot. Or not getting out of bed at all, and staying put for hours because he knows you've been having a rough few days and you seem to get less nightmares when in his arms.

Does also do traditional shows of affection like giving you gifts (either very extravagant or literally a flower he found that was pretty).

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Legolas doesn't have too many friends, so when he has you you're very dear to him. Very much becomes a ride or die for you - and is willing to do a lot of things for you. Slightly concerning at times. You'll mention something almost impossible as a joke and he'll get his plotting face on, and you have to reassure him that the plot to usurp Elrond is just a joke.

Very much wants you and Aragorn and Gimli to like each other (if you don't) but doesn't understand that he's supposed to socialise with the three of you once he's introduced you guys. Just stands in the corner and stares at you anxiously because he's scared you won't like each other. You and Aragorn coax him back into socialising.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Somewhat foreign concept to him, elves aren't big on physical touch, so he doesn't initiate at first - simply because he doesn't know what they are. Once he's learnt what they are he'll occasionally initiate cuddling, but generally just comes near you and you have to pull him over.

More enjoys just lying in you, honestly. Is very happy to simply lie next to you and snuggle closer, although the two of you debate if this is a 'proper' cuddle.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Settle down in the way that you'll always be together and know you both love each other until the end of the world? Because he wants to do that. In terms of having a home and living there forever? Legolas does want a home, but he sees 'home' as less of a specific house and more a general location - Mirkwood is home to him, and he doesn't feel the need to be more specific. He enjoys the aspect of wandering and doesn't want to be tied down (also knows you'll both go to Valinor eventually - so what's the point in building something here?) If you really want to settle down he will, and he's content as long as you let him go off on a small adventure every now and then.

Legolas is not incredible at the act of cleaning itself, but is nothing if not determined. He will clean up that stain using nothing but water and his own shirt, even if it takes too long. Cleans up if he wakes before you. Also, his very presence seems to repel dirt - so you've got that covered. He's decent at cooking, not incredible but works well with a lot of ingredients and it tastes good. Excelles in recepies that require patience, can stand there and stir whatever needs stiring for ages. (If he's bored he has been know to watch food cook, claims it's more interesting than you think.)

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Elves only fall in love once, so he truly doesn't want to do this. He will stick with you through thick and thin, would walk through fire for you. The only way I can see him ending it is if the relationship became abusive, because he would try to solve and problems the two of you have.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Again, his love for you is the one love he'll have in his life - he is very committed. Will be with you, and probably be committed to an unhealthy amount. To him, marriage isn't necessary but a show of commitment. He's always wanted to get married to you, but he wants to save proposal for that special moment. Also understands it's a much slower affair in human culture. (Bonus : His wedding outfit is a slightly more extravagant version of the outfit he wore at Aragorn's coronation.)

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Legolas is very gentle physically, he's generally quite gentle but takes extra care with you. Is very relaxed around you, so a lot of the time when he hugs you or holds your hand it's with almost no force at all. Is very light, so enjoys being able to lay on you without crushing you. Emotionally he leans to gentle, but it's not a conscious choice as he's naturally very caring so doesn't want to upset you. Also sees no reason to not be himself around you, so doesn't try to tone himself down.

Knows he's not great with human emotions, so cares very deeply about learning them. Will sit down with you every now and then to check how you're doing, and if you're happy. Tries to learn your different faces and tells as well as what emotion goes with them. He does pretty well, as he is a very observant person. (Is secretly proud of himself for correctly identifying a lot of your moods.)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Legolas is fine with hugs, but prefers a little warning. Doesn't like it if you hug him really tightly and pin his arms in your hug - it makes him feel trapped and vulnerable. Plus he can't hug you back. Is good with tight hugs if you let his arms free, although he can never master giving them quite tightly enough. Can never quite master hugs in general, to be honest. You can feel when he hugs you because it's always a very timid start. You have to teach him it's ok to hug you tighter as well, and he does get it eventually. Likes putting his head in the crook of your neck, regardless of your height dynamics.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Accidentally confesses it by calling you 'melleth nîn' while he's complimenting you. You pick it up and question him about it, and he's just like 'yes?'. Of course you're the love of my life, I'm courting you. So of course I love you. Doesn't understand the big deal until you explain it to him. Is apologetic, but confirms he means it. (This is also how he realises that proposal is actually a big deal, and he should make sure to have it be romantic and at an appropriate time.) Will still use it very liberally however.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) More jealous if someone is having a lot of physical contact with you than if their flirting with you, simply because he views it as more intimate. Still, he isn't a very jealous person by nature as he's confident you love him - you're his one and only, so he's your one and only. If he does get jealous he simply inserts himself into the conversation and slowly becomes more and more obvious by dropping hints. (Will plead he doesn't understand human culture the first times he does it.) If it's in a setting where it allows, he sometimes does over-the-top tricks to show-off for you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Enjoys gentle but long kisses, so that's the kind he tends to initiate. These are on the lips, and you can always tell he wants one because his eyes will slowly focus more and more on your lips before looking to your eyes, as if asking permission. Sometimes if he's feeling mischevious he'll sneak up on you and announce his presence with a soft, very light kiss to the neck. Always in the same slightly unusual but specific place so you know it's him. He enjoys the kisses he likes to give, although a good way to make him slow down and snap him out of him overthinking is a kiss on the cheek. He'll stop and gently put his fingers to it before smiling at you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Is very good at impressing them with fancy tricks, is less good at actually interacting with them. He just hasn't seen many kids so they're a very new phenomenon to him that takes some time to figure out. You have had to stop him giving knives to small children so they can try and replicate his tricks. You know he won't actually let them come to harm, but you don't want him to give their parents a heart attack. Ocassionally, if a child has done something especially odd he stops and blinks at them, processing whatever they've done. This face never fails to make your laugh.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) As an elf, he needs to sleep a lot less than a human so gets up earlier than you almost all the time. If you're a heavy enough sleeper he'll often get out of bed a little before you wake up to freshen up the house, make you coffee/tea if you like that in the morning. If you've expressed preference for a particular food he might cook that. However, he almost always comes back to you before you wake up so you can wake up together. If you're a light sleeper he is more than happy to wake up and simply spend hours in your arms, very occassionally falls asleep in them so when you wake up you have a half-asleep elf cuddling you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Often a bit more energetic than you, but enjoys simply sitting down and relaxing without the need to do anything. Will drag you out to look at the stars if they're pretty enough, although gets pretty good at guaging whether or not you'd want to that specific time. If you're a heavy sleeper he gladly goes to bed with you, if you're a light sleeper he joins you most nights but every now and then stays up a little later. Is very concious to be quiet so you aren't awoken.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Doesn't really occur to him to tell you a lot about himself. Will gladly talk if it comes up, and every now and then you have a few hours where you ask questions about him and he answers them. Even with things he struggles with he is very open, although more reserved and probably wouldn't say until a few months into dating. The times he talks about himself without prompting are usually stories he thinks you'd enjoy hearing - likes to do this while it's quiet and there isn't anything going on.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) He's waited thousands of years to fall in love, he's very patient with you. Happy to talk you through steps a third or even a sixth time without complaint, the instructions just as clear as the last time. The only things that really anger him are when you act recklessly, although that's born out of a fear of losing you rather than anything malicious. Will go over and talk to you instead of bottling up his anger, and is transparent about it.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) It depends on what the topic is. Some topics, like that specific boque you liked with these flowers that had a certain scent and the third rose wasn't in full bloom, he remembers very well. Also good with your armour and personal details. However details that are more 'human' or not very important to him he sometimes struggles to remember. Is still enthusiastic and engages when you share these things with him, however. He just doesn't always remember them as well. If he feels their slipping from memory he sometimes randomly asks you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) He remembers your first day in Mirkwood, and how amazed you'd been by everything. His favourite part of the day was when he realised how bright the stars would look to you after you'd been in Mirkwood's night. The two of you had gone to the top of the trees together and stargazed in each other's arms as you tried to identify the constellations in such a different place. He loves it because it was the blending of the most important things in his life, and your willingness to love him even when he does stuff like this.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He's grown up for a lot of his life surrounded by guards, so he understands the annoyance of having several people around you everyday. Which is why it's just him! But seriously, he sees the duty of being a guard as an honour - so does enjoy being near you and being prepared to protect you. However, he's good at going into combat so isn't as much 'on guard' as he is simply spending time with you, only a thought in the back of his mind of him doing this to keep you safe. He's most vulnerable when sleeping or trying to go to sleep, so very much appriciates you being there - even more so if you hold him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Is very good simply because he has the time to do so, and the patience. He's going to be awake for a few hours without you, so why not use those hours doing something for you? Pretty original with this gifts and dates, as he has the means to get variety and the best of the best. Isn't a super craft-y person but you can tell he's really thought about you when he presents you with a gift he's brought. Legolas isn't the best at everyday tasks, although that's more because he had them done for him most of his life. He does try.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) He was a prince, so there are some aspects in which he's slightly spoiled. Although he could do a lot of basic tasks, and tasks that are needed in the wilderness, he does sometimes struggle with more basic things. He's also confident that he'll figure it out, so often doesn't tell you and just keeps struggling. Very occassionally forgets he needs to do things himself if he wants them done, so will leave something out and then be confused why it hasn't been fixed before remembering.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Quite concerned with his looks - he's an elf. A small part of him thinks elves are mainly known for their beauty, and if he doesn't keep it up you'll lose a lot of love for him/he won't be the elf you married. Cleaning and braiding his hair is often how he tries to regulate his emotions. If he's particularly stressed he'll spend a lot of time brushing and re-braiding his hair, sometimes to an obsessive amount.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Would not feel whole without you. When he fell in love with you, he gave you a piece of his heart forever - and that piece will always be with you, even if you break up. There's a piece of him missing when you finally pass away, and he'd much rather have Luthien's gift than be without you for all eternity.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) After Gimli introduces him to them, Legolas becomes enamoured by crystals. Collects lots of them, knows how they form and what they symbolise. Has a 'crystal of the week' which he puts on a special black velvet stand and admires it. His reasons for crystal of the week are very cryptic, and he doesn't seem to have particular likes. Will point out random crystals that 'remind him of you'.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) Needs someone who appriciates greenery. You don't have to go on hikes with him, or be gardening, but when he shows you something incredible he wants to see that look of wonder in your eyes. Especially when his whole life he's been trying to turn Mirkwood back into the beauty it is after Sauron's defeat, it's an important part of himself that represents healing to him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Not a heavy or a light sleeper, although he seems aware of his surroundings - even in his sleep. Sometimes goes to bed later than you if you're a light sleeper as he doesn't sleep as long, and he doesn't want to wake you when he gets up. Will happily stay with you just before you wake up for early morning cuddles, however.

A/N : Thanks so much for requesting again! And again, hope you enjoyed! Also, special thanks to you Xiao - both one of my first requesters, but also one of the first people who interacted with my works <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧wish to be tagged?

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦𝔦

summary. a train ride to one's demise alongside an addict and a capitolite. only to be followed by a flowery attempt at beautification as to be flaunted like cattle to your soon-to-be butchers. what a lovely way to go, though, right?

content warnings. mentions of addiction, abuse, exploitation, nudity, and murder.

total wc. 10,802

notes!! i'm gonna so honest rn: i rewrote this entire chapter 5 different times. my writers block did, in fact, return after writing last chapter. surprisingly, the push it took to get my thoughts flowing again was getting drunk for new years. so! yay for alcohol! (im kidding) (no im not) anyway. once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

21:23.

DISTRICT FOUR’S TRAIN.

Seductive. Smart. Dull. Funny. Strong. Fragile.

There are infinite ways one could present themselves to the Capitol prior to the Games. The catch, however, is that whichever of these facades is chosen must be completely reliable; mustn’t be a doubt whether the tribute can withhold the mask. Usually, this is something that the tributes’ mentor is burdened with — figuring out how best to please the Capitol. But your mentor is Ruben and, seeing as you’re not exactly on talking terms, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands. Plus, nobody knows you better than you know yourself. This should be easy.

Except it’s not. You’re good at wearing masks in front of authoritative figures. You’d done it all your life for your mother. So it’s really just a matter of which of these facades will work best. And you’re coming to realize you don’t know yourself at all. How could you, anyway? To perceive oneself is nonviable. You know how you look and where your mind resides on certain topics, sure, but you’re oblivious as to how others deem you. You’d never really had friends, what with your parents’ belief that other children will taint you. Do people think you’re funny, attractive, strong? You haven’t a clue.

You tear yet another piece of parchment from your notebook, balling it up in your fist. 

I’ll come back to that later. You tell yourself, despite knowing you won’t be doing any such thing. 

The room you’ve been given is rather remarkable, considering it’s on a train. You have your own private bathroom and dressing quarters. The space is smaller than your bedroom at home, but you honestly prefer it this way. You don’t feel nearly as suffocated, despite the irony of the size to tolerance ratio. 

The floors are hardwood, perfectly cleaned by virtue of the Avoxes aboard. The wallpaper is tan with floral designs, small metal windows providing evidence to how unnaturally fast the train is moving. Though you’ve long since shut the curtains, as the speed made you dizzy. You’re currently sitting at a wooden desk, a plethora of papers and notebooks flooding the surface. Your thoughts are running at a speed of which rivals that of that train. You’re trying to puzzle everything out within one night, think it best to have a plan laid out. 

You pick up your pen once more, tapping it against the newly blank page as you ponder on where to redirect your attention. There’s so many things to be solidified — how your stylist will dress you for the parade and interview, how you’ll manage to survive the arena considering, what to think of what Ruben told you regarding the other tributes, what life you’ll lead after returning back home. Will you get married or will you remain a Capitol diamond all your life, forever single in order to remain desirable to them?  

You’re about to resume your mental mania when a knock is heard at your door.

With a heavy sigh, you push to your feet and head toward it. You open it only a few inches, just enough to poke your head out. Alice Reymond is standing in the hallway, a plate of food in her hands and a freakishly white smile on her face. 

You open the door wider to allow her entry. She saunters in, nosily peering around as she takes in the sight of your current living quarters. Her nose is upturned in judgement of the mess, though she doesn’t dare utter a word. Instead, she moves to place the plate atop an open book on your desk. You grimace at the sight of the steaming dish resting on the delicate pages.

“Oh, I hope the meal is up to your standards. I’m sure, as a L/n, you’re fed only the best Four has to offer.” Says Alice Reymond as she begins an unprompted spiel about, well, who knows what. The assumptions she makes about you cause you to bristle, though you remain silent. “I gave very strict instructions to the Avoxes, informing them to make sure the food is as perfected as possible. Though you can never trust an Avox. I mean, they’re made into silent servants for a reason, yes?”

She falls into a tangent following that, one that entails elongated complaints regarding the Avoxes and the loathing she holds for them. You’re forced to bite your tongue so as not to shout at her for withholding such ignorance. But you should’ve expected such idiocy from a Capitolite of ehr standing.

You find yourself tuning her words out, smiling and nodding as she practically talks to the wall. Her chatting flows from one topic to the next like a never ending river of panache. All the while, your meal grows cold with neglect atop your residually blank notebook.

You’re only brought consciously into the conversation when she speaks Ruben’s name. Your head snaps up, now deeply invested.

“—I’ve worked with him for years, you see.” She says. You suppose that’s true as she’s the escort to his mentorship, the two of them working as a pair to train the yearly tributes and attempt to bring them home. Frankly, you haven't a clue how Ruben can tolerate her when she talks so fucking much. “I think I’ve come to know him rather well, due to this. But, in all the lovely years spent in his company, I’ve never since witnessed such seclusion. He’s hardly eaten since the Reaping and prefers to hole up in his room rather than speak with me as he usually does. He’s not taking care of himself and I’ve begun to worry.”

“He’ll come around.” Is all you can think to say in response. 

For some reason, her claim to know him oh so well sparks a sense of irritation in your chest. You’re aware that your irascibility is due to more than her mere claim of rapport with your brother — it’s due to the Reaping, to your mother, and to your lack of ability to do everything yourself. 

But gall is a creature of impulsivity, rearing its head in the most accessible direction possible. And, at the moment, the easiest target is Alice Reymond and her lack of affinity. It takes everything in you to hold that tangible feeling back, gritting your teeth as you bite your tongue. Though, like the dull magnate she is, the woman continues on, completely heedless to your rising temper.

“Perhaps.” She hums, though it’s evident that her worry for Ruben’s recluse remains ceaseless. What she says next plucks the final thread that’d been holding the leash around your animalistic gall. “At times, he feels like a brother to me, y’know? That’s the kind of relationship—”

“Get out.” You interrupt, the tether snapping like a twig. The sharpness to your tone mocks that of your mother’s, only further fueling your rage as you scowl at the Capitolite before you.

Her overly large eyelashes blink dumbly, “What?”

“I said, get the fuck out.” You repeat, lip upturned with disgust as you take a threatening step toward her. Her eyes grow comically wide as she registers your words, surprisingly hasty to put the pieces together.

“Oh, dear,” She bleats, “I didn’t mean—” “Out!” You shout, voice reverberating off the metal walls of the train. You sound so similar to your mother that it makes your stomach churn. You vaguely wonder if Ruben had heard you, possibly mistaking your voice for hers.

One good thing comes out of it, though, and that’s Alice Reymond’s swift exit. She shrieks, turning on her heel and quickly traipsing out the door. 

A week. You’re expected to live like this for a week.

Not always in the train, of course, but always in the company of three people — First of which being Ruben, your mentor, who you’ve yet to speak a single word to. The heavy tension between you two is nigh palpable whilst surrounding your proximity, albeit rare. Second being Alice Reymond, the nosy escort who can’t seem to mind her own damn business. In the past two hours, she’s asked you about fifty questions regarding your family, your financial decisions, and your relationships with certain people. And lastly, Remy Wilson, your fellow tribute. He’s, admittedly, the most tolerable of the bunch. You pity him greatly due to his being Reaped at such a young age. And, despite having nothing in common and not having said a single word to one another, you’re pretty sure the two of you have come to form an alliance of some kind. Wordlessly, of course.

See, after being separated from Ruben in the Justice Building, you and Remy were led to District Four’s train station. There, hundreds of cameramen were buzzing around the both of you, trying to get the clearest shot for the Capitol news. They reminded you of bugs; pestering and obnoxious. Not to mention their appearances. It’s kinda funny, the way the Capitol treats the people of the Districts as less than human when they’re the ones that look like monstrous deformities.

Under the flashing lights, your mother’s voice rang through your mind. “Back straight, chin high, eyes level, brows set.” She’d repeatedly told you this, slamming her cane into your spine to ameliorate your posture. You had been so occupied trying to recall each technique your mother had beat into you that you nearly failed to descry Remy. He was hiding behind your dress. He’d done so with such subtlety that nobody else noticed, this act being made especially easy when you were unintentionally taking up most of the reporters’ attention. 

You glanced back, catching sight of his watery eyes and rapid breathing pattern. For a split second, a voice in your head told you to shove him away. Catering to a kid would be a look of weakness, of vulnerability. But nobody was even looking at him; they’d be unable to deem you weak if they hadn’t seen the act to cause it. Plus, the voice in your head sounded oddly like your mother. And you’ll be damned if you abide by her senseless rules in her absence. 

You then flicked your dress, flashing the gemstones on your waist. The cameramen gobbled it up, taking a million more photos. Though, unbeknownst to them, you’d only done so in order to fully shield Remy from their sight.

Knock knock knock. 

You’re broken from your thoughts at the sound of a second visit to your bedroom.

You’d just begun eating, having returned to your prior endeavor of mapping out every plan for the Games possible. You’re not very hungry, though, so you hardly mind the interruption in regards to dinner. But you’re still irritated at Alice Reymond and don’t particularly wish to see her so soon after your last interaction. Not wishing to stand up again, you simply call out for her to enter. 

But it’s not her whose voice reaches your ears. It’s Ruben’s.

“Alice sent me to tell you that the Reapings are about to be aired.” He says, voice uncharacteristically rough. Perhaps he hasn’t been taking care of himself. “She claims that the two of you got into a ‘squabble’ of some kind.”

You spin your chair to face him. There are bags under his eyes, his lips chapped. Worry settles in your chest at the sight. Though the moment you recognize it, you squash it beneath feelings of distaste.

“I’ll be out in a bit.” You reply, surprised to hear how steady your voice is.

He pauses, appearing as though he wishes to ask you something more. Probably what you and Alice Reymond could possibly have argued over. But he never voices it, instead giving a curt nod before shutting the door.

Upon his exit, you release a heavy breath.

You don’t hate Ruben, despite how much you sometimes wish you did. Frankly, you don’t think you could ever hate him. When your parents were abusive, Ruben protected you. He raised you. And for that, you’ll forever be in his debt. 

When you were six and Ruben was eleven, your father was Reaped. He won his Games, as expected, and thus began the lush life of a diamond. He still lives in District Four, but he’s a full-blown Capitolite in every other sense. He became so obsessed with the life of wealth and riches that he never returned to normalcy.

The closest you’d gotten to having a conversation with him is watching his interviews on the television — which you did a lot as a kid. He was presented to the public as a sweet man and a loving father, wearing that mask so well that you nearly believed it in spite of how he’d treated you.

You and Ruben lived with your mother for two years. She trained you two so strictly than it was more rare to go to sleep sweaty than it was to not. From dawn to dusk, you’d train. Just in case you two were Reaped. This was the height of your relationship with Ruben. You only had each other. 

You’d sneak into his room at night, loathing the vastness of your own bed. You’d stay up until midnight, laughing into the darkness. Then, at dawn, you’d be woken together by your mother and made to train as one. Whether you got food depended on how well you’d performed. If he were to be punished, you’d sneak some bread into your pocket and give it to him when you’d slip into his room at night. And vice versa.

Though that relationship didn’t last long. When Ruben was thirteen, it was his name to be pulled from the bowl. You screamed and cried, the cameramen gobbling up the image of an eight year old sobbing over her big brother’s sealed fate; of a L/n showing such raw emotion. Your mother, however, was not pleased. She threatened to forbid you from visiting him in the Justice Building. Though, as it turned out, she had at least a small ounce of morality in her heart because she ended up allowing you to say goodbye.

“Don’t leave.” You’d pleaded, crying into his chest as his shirt became soaked with your salty tears.

“I’ll come back.” He promised. “You know I will.”

He hadn’t lied then. He did return, though he wasn’t the same. Never again would he be the same. He was distant and oftentimes thrashed out on you when you tried to be around him. One night, two months following his return, you were sleeping beside him when you awoke to a pair of hands around your throat. Ruben was choking you. Luckily, your mother intervened before he could kill you, though you were left with bruises around your neck for a week. 

He was a child; you both were. He could hardly be blamed for having nightmares considering all he’d been through during the Games. To have been forced into killing people at such a young age… it’s no shock what befell him. 

You insisted you’d forgiven him, but he never forgave himself. Because, after that, he moved out of your family home and into his assigned house in the Victor’s Village. He was only fourteen, living all alone in that mansion of a building.

He’d visited home often, though that dwindled as well over time. Then, when his Victory Tour rolled around and he’d visited the Capitol, that’s when he officially became a diamond. They loved him so much, infatuated with all he entailed. And, due to having been so young and so deprived of love from his own parents, Ruben became just as obsessed with the lush life as his father before him. The more time he spent with Capitolites, the more he mimicked their etiquette and behaviorisms. And, at some point along the way, he became addicted to Capitol-enhanced drugs at a young age. One of his creepy “friends” made the drug specially for him, to rid him of memories regarding his traumas.

Nothing that happened was his fault and you know that. 

But you were a child yourself, left all alone in that house of horrors. Alone with your mother, given no explanation to why your beloved brother left so abruptly. To be nine years of age and abandoned twice is no small feat. Not to mention the way your mother spoke of Ruben and your father, cursing them for having left. It gets to a child’s head. And, eventually, you came to resent him.

Whenever you saw Ruben on TV, he was smiling and talking about how much he adored the Capitol. And all you could think of, in those moments, was how vehemently he’d once hated them for having stolen his father away. No, your father wasn’t a good man, but he was still your dad. Even more so to Ruben than you. Due to this, Ruben should know better than anyone how badly his own absence would affect you. 

And that’s what hurt most — he knew leaving would ruin you, and he did it anyway.

“There she is!” Alice Reymond grins as you enter the living room.

Everyone else is already settled in, three couches surrounding the television. Two single chairs and one triple cushioned sofa. Alice and Ruben sit in the chairs, postures perfect and movements impeccably graceful. Your mother would be gushing over her son’s flawlessness. The thought makes you frown. On the larger couch, Remy sits alone in the fetal position. His legs are hugged against his chest as he peers over his knees at the TV. He looks every bit the helpless child that he is. You move to sit beside him, leaving an entire cushion empty between you two.

You seem to have arrived at the perfect time because the Reapings begin playing just as you settle down. They begin with One, going through each of the other Districts until ending on Twelve.

Ruben hadn’t mentioned the tributes of One, causing you to assume they’re unimportant. Oh, how wrong you’d been. Anthea Solace is the first name to be called. A small girl, sixteen years in age, walks up to the stage. Her hair is dirty blonde, her face contorted into one of wonder as she overlooks the town square. Next to be called is Thalia Thatcher. You know who she is the moment you see her as she looks exactly like her older sister, Thea, who was the victor of the 68th Games six years ago. Thalia appears absolutely elated to be Reaped, a viscous grin on her face.

The screen cuts away from One and moves onto the next District.

Ruben told you about the tributes of Two — Lev and Yara. Siblings. Yara is called up first, walking onto the stage with a raised chin. She appears even younger than Anthea Solace from One, though she stands with such valor. This bravery quickly fades when her younger brother’s name is called. Her face drops as he walks up to the stage, taking his place at her side. They look absolutely distraught to have been Reaped. The Capitol must hate that, their humanity. This assumption is proven correct as the program flicks to District Three the moment Yara begins to shout in protest. No shock there, the rush to get away from the pain that the Games induce.

You were informed of Three as well. Sam and Henry. Another pair of siblings. Their Reaping is far more peculiar than Two’s, though. Sam’s name is called and Henry volunteers for him in a heartbeat. Sam screams for his older brother as he’s yanked onto the stage. Though, right after, Sam’s name is called a second time, something unheard of. To have one’s name called twice in a single Reaping? It’s outlandish. Henry’s act of volunteering proves futile by Sam’s second name call. Henry’s eyes are wide with horror as Sam walks onto the stage. The cameras are cut off just as Henry begins screaming at the escort who Reaped them both.

Next is Four. Your District. You watch as Remy’s name is called, the boy beside you hiding his face in his knees as he refuses to look at the screen. Your name is pulled next, the entire square going silent as you walk up to the stage. From this angle, you’re able to see the trepidation that floods Ruben’s face as you exit the mass of people. You hike up your navy dress as you ascend the stairs, careful not to lift the hem above your ankles. As you turn to the crowd, you’re rather pleased to see that your expression is blank, appearing more bored than anything. Good. Had you cried or screamed, the Capitol would know of your agitation. You relish in knowing that they’re clueless to how you feel at this moment.

Ruben told you about Five’s tributes as well. Best friends, Ariadne Evans and Selene Jones. They both seem to be around the age of eighteen. Ariadne is called up first, a woman with jet black hair and bright green eyes. She ascends the stage with a set jaw and darkened gaze. Selene is the polar opposite with platinum hair and brown eyes that glint with something akin to hope despite the situation she’s been thrusted into. They’re the face of perfectly balanced dualism, yin and yang. Though they’re both wise enough to keep their emotions shielded from the cameras.

District Six you heard of as well. They’re the ones in a relationship. Archie Bardot and Roland Jennings. The two men stood side by side in the crowd, hands clasped together. Archie’s name is called first, his eyes wide and glossed over as he’s yanked to the stage and away from his boyfriend. Roland screams, the sounds guttural and ringing through your ears; pure agony, fear. The escort utters not one syllable of the second tribute’s name before Roland is volunteering in their place, yearning to be with his lover despite knowing the pain it’ll bring them both. 

It’s horrible. It’s absolutely horrible that they’re put in this situation, that anyone should be put in this situation. Though, before you’re able to fully register the awfulness of Six’s Reaping, the program moves onto Seven. 

Ruben told you about this pair as well. Another duo of best friends. Riley Abel is called up first, her coiled hair tied back into a low bun at her nape. Her gaze is condescending as she approaches the escort. You recognize the expression all too well; this girl is pissed. Whereas most tributes exude fear, sadness, or even avidity, Riley is irate. The next name to be drawn is Ellie Williams, a girl with short auburn hair done half-up. Her eyes are light green, mocking the hue of Seven’s leaves. Freckles fan across her tanned skin. She’s wearing a wrinkled linen shirt and a pair of worn out jeans. You almost laugh at the sight of such laxity in her outfit. Ellie walks onto the stage with wide eyes, a faraway look to their viridescence. It’s not long before Riley grabs her by the hand and lifts it into the air. 

You instantly wince, knowing exactly the intentions of such an act. To others, this may look harmless. But it’s the very opposite. Tributes are meant to be enemies. Duos are being called together this year, likely in hopes that they’ll turn on each other and provide the Capitol with a good show. But Riley doing this is a direct defiance against the Capitol, a clear way to say ‘Fuck you, your plans to separate us are idiotic.’ It’s smart in the fact that only certain people will understand its gravity. But it’s impulsive and thereby foolish.

The cameras cut quickly after the show of repudiation, flicking over to District Eight. 

The first name called up is Raven Hansley, a girl with frizzy brown hair and doe shaped eyes. She looks so small on stage despite clearly being older than you. Ashley West is the second tribute, a girl with fiery hair done into a braid down her back. She wears something strange on her ear. You only realize what it is when a ginger man — who you assume to be her father — turns to her and does something weird with his hands. Sign language. She’s Deaf. Your heart drops in realization that they’re Reaping a Deaf girl. Is that not immoral? Ashley seems rather strong, though, as she nods curtly to her father and then walks up to the stage with a hardened expression. Frankly, she looks more resilient than half the other tributes. 

District Nine Reaps Elliot Delcan, a blonde boy with circular glasses and dopey hazel eyes, and Whitney Sato, a girl with a slick back bun atop her head. Whitney is quick to shove something into her jacket when her name is called. It looked almost like a game system, though you’re unsure how someone from Nine would get their hands on that.

From Ten comes Nolan Barlowe and Violetta Yaxley. Nolan is huge in the muscular sense of things. His shirt appears too tight for his biceps as he walks to the stage with a wicked grin. Violetta, on the other hand, is nigh impossible to read. She looks terrified when her name is called, though she looks bloodthirsty once she’s on the stage. Perhaps she changed her expression for the camera? Or maybe she truly did have such a hasty change of heart? Who knows.

Eleven offers two children. A small boy named Cooper Whitlock and an even smaller girl named Dahlia Hart. Dahlia has poofy black hair that form two buns atop her head and big brown eyes that are glistening with tears. Her hands fumble together in front of her as her bottom lip quivers. The mentor for their District, who you believe to be named Dina Woodward, reaches forward to comfort her. The show of humanity causes the scene to be cut short.

District twelve, last but not least, Reaps two old men. James, who has a scar down his face and a heavy beanie atop his head, and David, who had a thin beard and huge red nose. You briefly wonder why Twelve Reaps such old men, as they appear to be in their forties, then you see that the crowd is mostly middle aged people. Twelve is the lowest District and thereby the poorest. They barely have enough food to scrape by; it’s no shock if they simply don’t have any kids to offer up.

The program ends with the anthem playing solemnly.

The room is silent for a long time, none of you knowing exactly what to say. There’s so much to address — the amount of pairs, the vicious boy from Ten, the Deaf girl from Eight, the show of defiance in Seven, or, most hauntingly, the two lovers from Six.

With so much to take in and process, one thing rings through your head loudest. The Capitol wants a show this year.  And with who they’ve Reaped, it’s no doubt that they’re sure to get one.

22:00.

DISTRICT SEVEN’S TRAIN.

The program hadn’t even ended when Riley stood from the sofa and stomped off to her room. Eleven’s Reaping was being aired and, upon the sight of such young children being drawn, Riley left. Ellie can’t blame her for this, of course. Seeing such a display of cruelty is rather hard to stomach. 

But, the thing is, Riley has been acting off for a while now. In fact, she hasn’t yet spoken a single word to Ellie since the Reaping. And, considering they now only have each other, this act of neglect is infuriating. What with Cat’s departure and Marlene’s peculiarity, Riley was supposed to be the break in that. The calm to the chaos. Instead, she’d done nothing but add weight to the burden on Ellie’s shoulders.

Ellie only realizes she’d missed the entirety of Twelve’s Reaping when Joel powers down the screen with a huff. 

Joel Miller has proven to be a strange man. He’s easily irritable and drinks a lot — though he claims that he always remains sober enough to do his job as a mentor. Ellie’s not so sure that’s true. Setting alcoholism aside, he’s not too bad. He’s got a country drawl, the Millers having come from the deep South before the formation of the Districts. He’s not talkative, but doesn’t shut down conversation when it’s offered to him. Ellie can’t tell if he hates her or not.

“Fuckin’ Four.” He curses under his breath, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a scoff. “‘Course one of them had t’ be Reaped this year.”

“And Ruben’s sister, no less.” Chimes in the escort — whose name Ellie has found to be Tilly Reymond. The Capitol woman huffs, nose upturned in displeasure. “Oh, I’m sure my sister is rapturous beyond her wits about this. Not that she has many.” 

Ellie has no clue who Tilly’s sister is, though she doesn't dare ask when both she and Joel appear so vexed.

“Alice is always pleased when one of ‘em is Reaped.” Joel points out, leaning back in his armchair with a distasteful expression. He crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. “Only adds t’ her inestimable mountain of wealth.”

The two continue to complain about Four’s tributes, speaking without providing context. Ellie finds herself swimming in lack of information, completely lost on what they’re talking about. Tilly’s sister, some guy named Ruben, some girl in a navy gown, etc etc etc. It’s dizzying. After a few more minutes of cluelessness, Ellie finally cuts into their conversation.

“Okay. What the hell is so special about Four’s tributes?” She asks. She’d watched the same program they did. Though, to her, all she saw was some rich girl and a teary-eyed little boy.

The two of them face her with mirrored expressions of shock. Joel is the first to speak, tone laced with annoyance. “Don’t play dumb, kid. We ain’t got the time for this.”

“I’m not playing dumb!” Ellie exclaims, her own annoyance spiking.

He scowls at her before pushing to his feet And, without another word, he exits the room. Ellie continues to seethe, sitting on the sofa with a glare despite the person of cause no longer present. She scowls at the doorway he exited through.

Tilly turns to Ellie with comically wide eyes. Her hair is green, done up in a star-shaped braid that balances crookedly on the top of her head. Her eyes look upside down, having only the bottom row of lashes made three inches long. A Capitolite, she is. And, even more so than that, she’s terrifying. All of them are, having been shifted into humanoid concepts of people rather than natural beings. The Capitol always has a new style trend, each more insane than the last in terms of unattainability.

“The tributes Reaped from Four are Remy Wilson and Y/n L/n.” Tilly explains. Her voice is so gentle that Ellie nearly feels bad for having judged her for being a Capitolite. “Remy isn’t the one that causes such fret. It’s the girl. The L/n.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of the family.” Ellie brushes her off. “Dunno anything about them aside from the fact that they’re crazy rich.”

“You don’t know why they’re rich?”

“Nope.”

“Oh dear,” Tilly hums, lips thinning as she ponders on how exactly to explain. “The L/ns are Capitol diamonds, you see. Reaped more commonly than any other family in the country, they’ve built a long line of tributes in the Games. The catch, however, is that they’ve all come out victorious.”

“All?” Ellie questions, finding this hard to believe.

“All.” Tilly confirms with a solemn nod. She then holds up a hand to her side, counting on her fingers as she lists off your esteemed relatives. “Ethan L/n, victor of the 32nd Hunger Games. Cassiopeia L/n, victor of the 38th Games. Emiliana L/n, 42nd Games. Lysandra L/n, 47th. Penelope L/n, the oldest of their living lineage, victor of the 50th Games — the second Quell. The Capitol adores her. Yasmin L/n, 54th Games. Elina L/n, 57th. Then, for the 60th Games, Y/n’s father was victorious. Two years following his victory came his son, her brother, Ruben L/n, for the 62nd Games. Theodore L/n for the 64th. And now, for the 74th Hunger Games, ten years after the last one of them was Reaped, there’s Y/n L/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, her mind struggling to keep up with Tilly’s unprompted history lesson. Truly, all she managed to process just then is that this family has a lot of kids. She shoots Tilly an incredulous look. “And you’ve memorized them all?”

The woman simply shrugs, “They’re diamonds, Ellie. Everyone has memorized them.”

“Not me.” She points out.

“Well,” Tilly tilts her head, “You’re the only one.”

God, these Games are even more insane than Ellie has initially deemed them to be. She knew they were malicious, everyone knows that, though some people choose to ignore it. Children are killed and starved for entertainment. Nothing should shock her considering that. But here she is, mind unable to keep up with even more lunatic information thrown her way.

An entire family tree memorized by almost the entire country purely because they’re inherently skilled at murdering people. What the fuck? But yeah, Ellie’s the weird one for not having all of their hundred children known by heart.

And what’s worse is that one of these crazed L/ns will be tossed in the arena with her. With Riley. Does Riley know about this? She probably does, but that doesn't stop the worry from seeping into Ellie’s chest at the thought. Had Ellie not known of this, she’d likely have not thought the navy woman to be any different from everyone else. She would likely have died for her lack of care for the Capitol. Perhaps that’s the point. 

Before she can spiral further down the rabbit hole that is her mind, a soft gasp escapes Tilly’s lips, pulling her attention back to reality. The woman moves toward the window of the train, her upside down eyes impossibly wide as she looks outside. She pulls the window open with a loud thud. She attempts to poke her head outside, though her hair is too large to fit.

They’re in the Capitol now, crowds of people swarming the tributes’ trains as they coast down the tracks. Despite Ellie’s loathing for the Capitol, her curiosity gets the better of her and she ends up walking over to the glass alongside Tilly.

It’s gorgeous, the Capitol. Skyscrapers stretch high above the clouds, built into a plethora of colors, the entire city bursting with vibrance. Below the skyline, is a huge crowd of people. They’re all just as silly looking as Tilly, their hairstyles larger than their heads and their makeup reminding her of  clowns. Their clothes are industrialized, some people wearing literal paper or leaves or other unfathomably odd fabrics.

“Wave!” Tilly says, placing an excited hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie shrugs her off with a scoff, wordlessly refusing to do such a thing. Tilly frowns, “They’re here to see you! One wave or one smile could go a long way, y’know.”

Ellie looks back out the window, scowling at the mass of people. “They’re here to see me before I’m in a casket, you mean.”

Tilly groans, “Is it so hard for you to be pleasant?”

“Yes.”

“They’re clueless, you know.” Tilly says, tone far more somber than that of before. “They’ve been conditioned to enjoy this. Just as you’ve been conditioned into loving the woods as a person of Seven; just as those in Four are conditioned to love water; just as those in Twelve are conditioned to fight for scraps. Everyone is equally as controlled by the president’s thumb.”

“Yet the effects of such control vary in morality.” Ellie points out harshly. “Capitolites are controlled into enjoying the death of children and eating feasts until they puke whereas Districts are controlled into offering their kids to the Games and be well off with eating only a crumb. There’s a colossal difference between the two.” 

Tilly says nothing for a while after that, only frowning. Then, after a few minutes of silence, she says, “Y’know the word Capitolite is offensive,” and walks away.

Her lack of reprimanding in response to Ellie’s entire spiel speaks more than a lecture would have. In her last six words of acknowledgement, she manages to point out yet another thing that Ellie has been ‘conditioned’ into. Something harmless to her yet the opposite to others. Everyone in Seven refers to them as Capitolites. Since when was that offensive? Perhaps it’s always been, Ellie oblivious to it just as they’re oblivious to their malice. 

But she can’t process it. They love the Games, gathering ‘round the television to watch twenty-four innocent people fight to the death. They relish in the gore of it all. Something like that can’t be controlled, she feels. Something so malicious can be altered if one cares enough to do so.

But they don’t. 

8:33.

REMAKE CENTER.

Tributes are to meet their stylist today for the Chariot Parade. Ellie, however, already knows who Seven’s is to be this year. 

For the first time ever, she dreads seeing Cat’s face.

“No need to be so nervous!” Tilly says kindly, taking notice of Ellie’s fidgeting fingers and weary expression. Beside Ellie stands Riley, her face hardened. They still haven’t spoken. “They’re just going to make you nice and pretty. Then you’ll be paraded around as an introduction to the Capitol.”

They're currently in a building called the Remake Center, though it feels more like an asylum than anything. The walls are white concrete, the floors and ceilings both made of shiny tile. There are two rooms on either side of the one they’re currently waiting in. Behind one of those doors is Cat, waiting.

Joel is nowhere to be found, though Ellie supposes that’s a good thing. He’d probably manage to get into an argument with the stylists about one thing or another.

“So you’re saying we’re to be flaunted about like cattle?” Riley asks dryly. “Makes fucking sense.”

Ellie says nothing, her hands continuing to pick at the skin around her nails. Marlene would always tell her to drop that habit because it made her fingers look dirty, but the stylists will probably create her new ones anyway. 

“See, that’s what we’re not going to say.” Tilly replies pointedly. 

Though, before she could say anything more, Riley and Ellie are being pulled into separate rooms by their respective designers. As she’s being led away, Ellie looks over her shoulder. A small ounce of her hopes that Riley will be looking back as well. But she’s not. 

“Here, here,” Says a male voice she doesn’t recognize, “Have a seat.”

The man gestures behind him where a metal table resides. A mini mattress is placed atop the table, pure white in color with a thin, crinkly sheet embodying it. It adds a hospital-like effect to the entire situation, making Ellie a bit uncomfortable. Despite this, she obliges and sits on the mattress. The room is exactly like the rest of the Remake Center, white in every place, made of tile and concrete.

The man stares at Ellie, looking her up and down with intense eyes. It makes her feel like some sort of animal to be tested on. She supposes, in his eyes, she likely is.

“Ah, sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable!” He apologizes. His hair is bright blue, matching his vibrant makeup. “I’m Clay, your designer, aka your stylist’s helper! She should be here shortly. I’m going to prep you, and she’ll dress you.”

Ellie nods, a bit dazed by it all. “Yeah, okay.”

“Perfect.” He chirps, clasping his hands together with a kind smile. “Now, now, get undressed.”

“Excuse me?” She blurts out.

“Hm? Oh! No no no.” He chuckles as he pieces together the reason for her defensive tone. “No need for modesty, Miss Williams, I mean nothing indecent by it. My job is to help you look perfect for the parade! Nothing more than that shall be done. You have my word.”

But Ellie doesn’t trust his word. She doesn’t even trust him. “I’m keeping my underthings on.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable!” He smiles. “That’s fine until you get into the bath. Then, I’ll have to see you at least a bit.”

Ellie does not like this, but she has no choice but to agree. The Capitol has no issue with nudity, they deem it normal. Tributes strip in the arena all the time to bathe, change, or get out of old clothes. Nobody minds. So, she knows this is normal to Clay. He thinks not a thing by it. But, as Ellie is not from the Capitol, she loathes it.

She eyes Clay, taking in his build. He’s thin, his clothes hanging off his shoulders. It comforts her to know she’ll be able to fight him if need be. Ellie vaguely wonders about Riley — is she arguing with her designer or is she silent and abiding? 

It’s driving her crazy. The disregard, the lack of communication. She used to know everything about Riley, knowing her better than she knew herself. And yet.

“I’ll turn away while you bathe.” Clay offers.

Ellie’s grateful for this, though it’s the bare minimum. God, how do other tributes do this? Nobody mentions these parts of the Games — the people she’s expected to just trust. She’s putting her life in Joel’s hands by trusting him with gaining her sponsors, she’s trusting Tilly to manage her schedule and meals and everything else domestic, and now she’s trusting Clay to see her nude. It’s maddening.

She bathes quickly, scrubbing her skin harshly with the floral scented soap. The aroma of the wash is so strong it makes her nose hairs sting. It’s a good smell, though way too pungent for her preference.

When she steps out of the tub, she wraps herself in the robe Clay provides her. His hands remain over his eyes as he passes it to her, though it’s clear he’s unused to doing such a thing. 

She ties the robe around her waist and follows Clay into another room. He does his job within that space, then leads her into another. Then another. Then another. 

By the end of it, Ellie is sure she doesn’t have a single strand of hair on her body. It makes her feel vulnerable, the lack of it. In Seven, where she hunts year-round, body hair is useful in cold weather as it provides an extra layer of warmth. Plus, nobody there gives a damn if you have hair. It’s normal. In fact, Ellie had an abundance of it — much to Clay’s distaste.

Her brows are shaped, her nails are filed, her legs are waxed. She feels like a plucked bird, ready to be roasted and feasted upon. It’s unsettling, the way she’s being prepped for death. The arena would be the equivalent to the butcher shop, the other tributes being the weapons wielded by the president to kill her. 

“You have so many scars.” Clay comments bluntly, once the entire ordeal has been completed and she’s sitting atop the thin mattress once more. “I tried to hide the one in your eyebrow since it’s on your face, but some of them can’t be covered. You have tons on your legs and back. It’s—”

“It’s fine.” She finishes for him.

He nods kindly, though it’s evident he doesn’t necessarily concur. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s— Uh, it’s human.”

She gives him a condescending glance, “Exactly.”

Clay shifts from one foot to the other as he tries to think of what else to say. He inhales deeply before deciding on his next course of action. “I think you’re ready to be dressed, don’t you? Yeah, I’ll go fetch the stylist. You’re gonna love her.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, leaving Ellie in naught but a robe and lack of hair. In fact, it feels like he’d ripped off at least three layers of skin when he waxed her. She didn’t make a single noise of pain nor complaint, refusing to show any sense of pain to the Capitolites people of the Capitol.

The Chariot Parade isn’t something she’s exactly looking forward to, either. It’s where each pair of tributes are stuffed into little carriages and shown to the Capitol. If the tributes don’t stand out, the Parade hardly matters. Though, if they do, it can be a great way to gain sponsors before anyone else. For as long as she can remember, Seven’s tributes are always dressed in odd tree-like gowns or suits of paper. However, since Cat’s rise to diamondcy, the game has changed a bit. She branches out more into unexplored territory — using designs inspired by leaves, wood, textile, and other things that a Capitolite wouldn’t think to use. But, as someone from Seven, Cat appreciates the trees more than the past stylists did.

The one good thing that’ll come out of the Parade, though, is the fact that she’ll be able to catch a glance at all the other tributes. After being dressed, they’re all stuffed into a room together. It’ll only be for a few minutes while the chariots are being set up, but she’ll make the most of the time. She can analyze them, get an idea for each character and their structures. She hopes to analyze everyone, of course, but most of all you. The infamous L/n of whom she’s heard so much. Will you be modest or will you flaunt your wealth and predetermined fame? Will you be kind or rude to the child you were Reaped alongside? 

“Miss Ellie Williams!”

Before she can even turn her head to the sound of Cat’s voice, she’s being hugged. Ellie is taken aback by this, the public show of affection not exactly Cat’s forte — even if it’s only in front of one person who she works with.

But then she’s whispering something in her ear and the odd behavior suddenly makes sense.

“We’re being recorded, don’t say anything about our relationship.” She whispers, speaking fast and almost frantically. Almost like she’s in danger. “Act as though you’d just met me.”

Cat pulls back, hands on Ellie’s shoulders and a wide smile on her face. Worry instantly shoots through Ellie’s chest, but she’s quick to play along.

“You must be my stylist.” She speaks, slowly removing Cat’s hands from her shoulders as though the action makes her uncomfortable. Despite, in all honesty, wanting nothing more than to pull her closer.

Cat laughs, her arms falling to her sides, “Yeah, sorry, I’m an affectionate person. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get a look at you, shall we?” Cat says with a smile. She looks over her shoulder at Clay, wordlessly telling him to leave the room. He abides by this, quickly exiting the space and rendering the two alleged strangers alone.

Ellie takes this time to examine Cat. She’s wearing another Capitolistic outfit, dressed in silver head to toe. Her dress has one strap, thick on her right shoulder, and is tight around the torso before turning into a muffin shape past the hips, ending at her knees. Her shoes are just as blindingly shiny, their tall heels adding a significant difference to her height. Her makeup is all silver as well, her eyeliner forming an artistic wing of metallic lines. 

“Remove the robe, please,” Cat asks kindly.

Considering their history, Ellie wouldn’t hesitate. Cat has seen her body too many times to count. But with the knowledge that they’re being watched, Ellie feigns defense. She pulls the cloth closer around her body, scowling at Cat in a way she’d never do outside of peering eyes. “No.”

“I just need to see what I’m working with, ma’am.” Says Cat. “You can cover your chest and private area with your hands, if you’d like.”

Ellie pretends to think on this, considering the thought before nodding in agreement. She unties the robe and quickly moves her hands to shield her body. Cat pretends to examine her, though they both know she doesn’t need to.

“Okay, you can put your robe back on.” Cat says. “Follow me.”

Ellie obliges, trailing behind Cat as they enter a new room. One that Clay hadn’t taken her into. It’s large, the all white interior now feeling more fancy than stifling. There are two couches at the center, clothes strewn about everywhere. Cat sits on one of the couches, crossing her legs elegantly. She looks like she belongs here, among such wealth.

Ellie moves to sit on the sofa opposite her, surely looking far less comfortable than Cat. She fidgets with her hands, looking around the space. She can feel Cat’s eyes on her, raking up and down her body. Had they not been in this particular situation — broken up and forced into roles of formality — Ellie would probably be flustered out of her mind. But she knows Cat’s only analyzing her like this for work, to imagine certain pieces on her for the Parade.

“I’m thinking of putting you and your partner, Riley, into something that matches.” She says. “To highlight the show she’d put on at the Reaping.”

The words are innocent enough, but Ellie knows the passiveness to Cat’s tone. She recognizes it from all the times Cat would curse Riley for her impulsive defiance. Ellie can tell that Cat is pissed. Well, until she sees a hint of something else in her gaze. As though her irises caught the light, her eyes sparkle with something Ellie can’t quite place — amusement, admiration, mischief? But that can’t be right. Cat isn’t defiant. To the Capitol, she’s loyal to a fault.

“What’re you thinking?” Ellie asks casually, trying to hide the way her mind is reeling with confusion.

“Well, as you likely are aware, the Chariot Parade is meant to introduce the tributes to the Capitol. You’re to be dressed in something that relates to your District, rather than to you yourself. That is saved for the interviews.” Cat explains, talking with her left hand as her right reaches for a wine glass sat on the glass coffee table between them. She holds it between her fingers as she continues on. “I hope to bring attention to Seven in a unique fashion, whilst simultaneously making you and Riley to be deemed a pair. An unbreakable duo.”

Ellie thinks back to all the past Parades for Seven. A few years back, the tributes were rendered completely naked, covered only by paint to make their skin resemble the bark of a tree, their hair dyed green to mock the leaves. In short, most Parade outfits are hideous. People expect them to be because they mirror Capitol fashion — which is, well, hideous. 

The catch, however, is that it’s Cat this year. Not some random elder.

“Sounds good.” Ellie agrees shortly, still attempting to maintain a facade of distrust.

Cat smiles kindly, professionally. She takes a sip of wine before standing from the couch with a flourish. It’s unsettling how she moves. The very way she places down her glass and crosses the room is sickeningly Capitolistic. 

Ellie loves Cat, she likely will for a long time following their disbandment, but she’s beginning to see things she’d not noticed when she was blinded by adoration. Like the sharpness to her gaze, the fluidity to her actions, the rise and fall of her voice — all traits of the Capitol. But then again, perhaps she’s only doing these things to keep up their act. Ellie can’t tell and that irks her.

“Come, come,” Cat beckons her toward one of the many overflowing closets. 

And within a half hour, Ellie is dressed. She’s adorned in a suit-like outfit. It’s far too tight around her thrtoat and she feels as though she’s being suffocated. Her pants are forest green and flow around her legs so, at certain angles, it might appear to be a skirt. She’s wearing a blazer, which fits snugly on her shoulders and neck. It’s the color of Ellie’s skin with black lines that mimic tree roots, these lines coming out to cover her chest. It gives the appearance that she’s hardly wearing anything, though she is.

Cat positions her in front of a full-body mirror, asking for her opinion on the outfit. Ellie doesn’t respond, though. She looks like herself well enough, just accentuated oddly. Her face looks too symmetrical, her hair pulled into a half-bun to highlight her cheekbones. Cat is quick to pick up on Ellie’s hesitation to respond.

“You’re an attractive woman, Ellie.” Cat tells her, though her tone remains casual, conversational. She places her hands on her shoulders from behind, a friendly act between strangers. Ellie visibly stiffens at it. “The Capitol loves an attractive tribute. Take Ruben L/n for example, do you think he’d be nearly as successful if he weren’t so hot? No. So, in my choice to dress you like this, I provide the Capitol with thinking they’re seeing your bare skin, whilst also providing you with the consolation of knowing that they’re not.”

Well. Ellie definitely hadn’t viewed it that way initially. She’s right, though. If the Capitol finds a tribute to be appealing, they’ll have a much easier time obtaining sponsors for the Games. This way, everyone gets what they want — the Capitol gets to exploit a young woman and Ellie gets to know that she’s tricking them. In knowing this, Ellie actually kind of likes the outfit. 

She gives Cat a nod in the mirror, “I like it.” She grins, “Oh, I’m glad! Come now, Kenyon Clampitt should be finished with Riley.”

Cat leads Ellie out of the room. As they exit, Clay spots them. His eyes widen with glee as he sees the design. He compliments Cat on her work, trailing behind them as they continue on their way to the bottom floor of the Remake Center where all the tributes will be loaded into Chariots for the Parade. Clay doesn’t stop talking the entire way down, Cat kindly nodding and indulging him.

The bottom level feels like a horse stable, everyone lined up by District as their mentors, escorts, and stylists assist them in readying their chariots. Ellie instantly spots Riley. She’s wearing a long green dress, the same color as Ellie’s flowy pants. She wears fingerless gloves that are the same material as Ellie’s top, root designs tracing up her arms, stopping at her elbows.

Tilly holds out a hand, offering her help to Riley up. Though, expectantly, she declines the offer and hoists herself into the chariot on her own. 

Ellie and Cat near the carriage, Clay in tow. Joel is the first to notice their presence, eyes widening at the sight of Ellie’s outfit. He turns to Cat with a deepened scowl, pulling her aside to reprimand her style choice. 

He speaks lowly, though Ellie can still hear his words. “That’s way too showy!”

“It’s not actually her skin, Miller.” Cat argues back. “She’s completely covered, the fabric is just the same color as–” “It doesn’t matter!” He exclaims. “Fake or not, the Capitol’s reaction’ll be the same. Exploitation. She may be an adult, but she ain’t old enough for that shit!” That’s when Ellie tunes them out. She vaguely wonders if they’d ever met formally before, though the answer is obvious. No. Joel is the mentor, assigned to pass the tributes off at the Remake Center to the stylist. He then waits by the chariot on the bottom floor until the tributes are brought to him, then the stylist leaves without making much conversation. Sometimes, if the tributes come to like their stylists, they can visit their suites in the Training Center. Ellie wonders if that’s ever happened. She can’t imagine it, though. Joel, Tilly, Cat, Clay, and two tributes all eating dinner together. She almost laughs at the mere thought of it. The awkwardness.

Ellie hops into the chariot, standing beside Riley. Riley says nothing, expression hardened as she overlooks all the other tributes. Ellie decides to do the same thing.

She recognizes everyone from watching the Reapings. The people who stand out most to her are Thalia Thatcher, who is the younger sister to the 68th victor; the pairs of siblings — Lev and Yara, who stand shoulder to shoulder, then Sam and Henry, where the latter is giving what seems to be a pep talk to the former; Ashley West, the Deaf girl who is signing with a translator as means to communicate with her mentor; the couple, Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot, who appear to be inseparable and always touching in one way or another; and — who everyone else is already staring at — you.

You’re dressed in a pirate outfit. You’re wearing an overly large linen blouse, a corset atop it that’s a blue so dark it’s almost black. An abundance of belts are secured around your hips, adding layers to the look. Below them resides a few layers of skirts — ranging from light blue to navy. The back of the skirt reaches the floor, the front coming to your mid-thigh. Combat boots are on your feet, heeled to add a few inches to your height.

It’s clever, Ellie thinks, to take such a unique approach to your District’s fishing fixation. Most past tributes of Four wore odd outfits of flowing blue tunics or, three years ago, they wore nothing but seashells to cover their chests and crotches. As it turns out, most stylists yearn to have attractive tributes because they can exploit them to the Capitol and be praised for having as little clothes on them as possible. Ellie is, admittedly, shocked you’re so covered. Not that she finds you attractive or anything personally, it’s just a fact. You’re good looking. Everyone knows it. It’s more than just your body, though, it’s your eyes and hair and— 

Yeah, okay. Moving on.

A young boy stands beside you in your chariot, two feet shorter than you. He’s wearing a pirate hat and a linen shirt the same color as yours. As he’s not wearing a bodice, his pants are the dark blue shade that your corset is. His outfit is much less complex, though still gives off the same piratey feel to it that yours does. 

“Don’t stare at her.” Riley’s voice takes her by surprise, Ellie’s head snapping to face her. “Her ego is probably inflated enough as is.”

“Nice of you to fucking speak to me.” Ellie snaps, unable to help her irritation.

Riley scoffs, not saying anything more. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Ellie turns her attention to where Cat and Clay are retreating back into the building. Joel watches them leave, standing with his arms crossed in disapproval regarding their conversation. Ellie looks around for Tilly, unable to find her. But when she does, she sees that Tilly is speaking with Four’s escort, your escort. They look similar, actually. They have the same bone structure, mouth shape, and stand the same way.

Realization smacks her in the face. That’s Tilly’s sister. That’s why she was talking about her sister being happy for a L/n being Reaped. Because she gets to escort you. Fucking duh. Ellie suddenly feels stupid for not having realized earlier.

Ellie watches the back of your head, not at all heeding Riley’s words. Your head is chin held high, shoulders back. You exude power, wealth, and confidence. Anyone would be a fool not to sponsor you. Ellie’s sure she would, had she been a Capitolite person of the Capitol. Well. For logical reasons, not personal preference. Of course.

Just then, a blinding light stings her eyes. The front wall opens up like a door, allowing the sounds of cheers and screams to pass through the opening. The crowd is already lined up, anxiously waiting to see this year’s tributes. The mentors and escorts back away from their respective carriages, allowing the horses to pull the chariots out. 

First to leave is District One, Anthea Solace and Thalia Thatcher. Directly behind them, Two comes out. Lev and Yara. Then Three, Sam and Henry. Ellie finds it rather odd how many sibling and friend duos there are this year. She’d recognized the peculiarity to it, though she never gave it much thought, as she was preoccupied with other concerns such as Cat and Riley and the fucking Hunger Games. 

Her attention is snapped back forward as the crowd goes wild. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they’re cheering so loudly for. And, when she looks up, she realizes her assumption was correct. Four’s chariot is being pulled out. Yours and Remy’s faces flood the screens overhead, all cameras pointed in your direction. Ellie watches from within the building as you wave at the crowd, smiling brightly. She wonders, briefly, if it’s fake, your elation. She doubts it. Someone who grew up in the spotlight has to love it. Right? God, you’re probably eating this up.

Before long, Seven’s chariot is being pulled forward. The crowd cheers, cameras now turned to them. Cat was right, the Capitol is loving Ellie’s outfit. They whoop and clap, and it makes Ellie feel sick. They’re cheering, yes, but for what? For their excitement to see her tossed into the arena to be killed?

She then feels Riley grab her hand. Ellie has no time to react before Riley is hoisting it into the air, a carbon copy of what she’d done at the Reaping. The crowd goes wild, loving their show of amity. But now that she’s aware of what it symbolizes, Ellie can’t help the way her stomach churns. Marlene’s words ring loudly through her skull. 

“I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.” 

She wants to drop Riley’s hand. But she can’t, not when the cameras are zoomed in on their clasped fingers. So she simply puts on a mask, just as she’d done with Cat. She lifts her chin, mimicking the way she’d seen you do it. She hopes desperately that she exudes that same air of confidence that you had. She’s dressed to be attractive so her personality must match that, yes?

Ellie adjusts her expression as to appear more alluring — a sharp gaze that she’d learned from Cat, set shoulders that she’s learned from you, and parted lips that she’d learned from Riley. Ellie isn’t sure how to naturally look a certain way. But she’s observant. She’s able to use people like puzzle pieces to form her own image. Taking features from those she finds most appealing, she’s able to concoct that puzzle of hers. And, when put all together, she looks beguiling. The crowd loves her.

The commotion dies down only when the carriage comes to a halt, Riley releasing Ellie’s hand as she peers up at something. Ellie follows her gaze to see a building that holds people of status — Capitol Diamonds, early victors, and the president himself. His first name left unknown, President Fedra is the puppeteer pulling the strings behind every malicious act that happens within this country. The Games, the deaths, the wars. It’s all him.

The look of hatred within Riley’s gaze is evident as she scowls up at President Fedra. Ellie kicks her in the ankle, subtle enough nobody aside from her would notice. In an instant, Riley has managed to tone down her loathing, though it’s still painfully obvious.

Fedra rakes his gaze over the tributes, all twelve chariots stopped in front of the building for examination. His eyes go to Four first, as expected, analyzing you harshly. Ellie doesn’t fail to notice the way your jaw clenches under his gaze. She wonders if it’s due to nerves, pride, or if you loathe the president as vehemently as she and Riley do. Afterall, you’re a pawn in his games as well, Reaped just as unwillingly.

Then, Fedra gazes at the other tributes, pausing for a brief moment on Riley. Ellie prays that he’s not taken her hatred as a threat, though it definitely is one. 

And, with that and naught more, he turns and walks away from the window he’d been peering out of. As though the tributes matter no more. As though they’re already six feet under his expensive boots.

Following his sudden absence, the carriages pull forward to complete one more circle before retreating to the Training Center. Ellie watches your chariot as it pulls away, your hands holding onto the rail tightly. Beside you, Remy has wide glossy eyes.

It takes Riley kicking her in the ankle to pull her gaze away.

[post] notes!! ellie’s top for the parade is heavily inspired by the root designs that zuhair murad explored in fall of 2013 for vogue. specifically the back of the red velvet dress (idk who the model is, i've been searching for hours & can't find her name). anyway yippee for me FINALLY getting this goddamn chapter out. i feel like i just fought goliath (he definitely won).

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.     @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @kirammanss.  @dsybouquet.   @serraphinm.   @smellovie.   @sakiigami.   @opt1mistic.   @spacecinnamonbuns.   @clouded-whispers.    @sappicarribean.   @corpsebridenightmare.     @jaliyah-s.    @pixiec4t.    @chappellroankisser.   @mxquelo.    @vahnilla.     @moshuka.    @cupidluvzz.    @elliewilliamssrealgf.    @h4-rt3s.    @tmbpyv.     @prwttiestbunnies.    @jinxtheplanet.   

[10thmusemoon]

Title for the ask game!

"Good Graces"

lmao prim why does this feel like I'm seeing beyonce at the grocery store??? i love your fics!

okay hm content warning for angst, major character death, bad end

Shenbros that grow up alongside YQY and that somehow makes everything worse.

YQY still makes the unforgivable mistake of saving Shi Wu, Shen Jiu still steps in, but now he has Shen Yuan attached to him too. The two get taken into the Qiu household, QJL still develops an obsession with torturing Shen Jiu but now uses Shen Yuan as collateral.. If he doesn't behave, if he isn't perfect, well then, QJL will just see how his little brother does instead. Throughout this all, the two grow even closer, SJ doesn't let the resentment fester because SY is the only thing he still has, the only thing that keeps his sane. SY bandages his wounds in the night, holds him close, brings him into QHT's circle of safety with clever words whenever possible. He is the only good thing in the world now that Qi-ge is gone. They just need to wait for him to come back, and things will be fine.

And surprisingly, he does! This universe smiles down on SJ for once and shows him mercy. YQY looks like a prince standing behind his shizun, regal in his fine robes, and handsome in the way that well fed nobles can be. SJ tries to focus on the negotiations, but his eyes keep drawing back him yqy's face, awe and hunger at war. It's because of this that he misses the way SY goes stiff, head swiveling between the cultivators in silently growing horror.

The negotiations are easier than SJ ever thought they would be, his and SY's lives are traded from one hand to another like any dirty coin. The only difference being now they are indentured servants, their contracts having an actual time limit, the conditions of which only require them to be CQMS disciples until YQY becomes the new peak lord.

Which is...fine. More than fine, even! SJ is convinced that if he really wanted to, he could convince YQY to runaway with them afterwards. When he tells this to SY he's shocked by his insistent refusal.

"No, we have to stay at CQMS. No matter what."

Whatever.

For 15 solid years, SJ's life is good. He stakes his claim on YQY as soon as he realizes there are people interested in him, shamelessly making himself at home by his side. SJ excels at QJP, determined to be the one YQY can rely on. If SY insists on staying at CQMS, then SY will just have to make it theirs.

(years down the line is experiences gleeful joy at seeing people's face twist when it's revealed he's yqy's spouse.)

SY in all of this, is living in crisis mode! His brother is the scum villain and is going to get qi-ge killed! Why the FUCK did Airplane never mention any of this!!??? No matter how badly he wants to fuck off to the beast peak, he doesn't! He stays firmly on QJP, taking on all the duties that deal with the new disciples to keep them as far as fuck as he can from Shen Jiu's clutches!! When YQY and SJ finally ascend as peak lords, naturally he continues handling any responsibilities of SJ's that deal with one-on-one contact with kids. And honestly? That's the ideal! SY's cultivation has never been as strong as SJ's, he's not the one meant to be the protagonists' narrative foil after all! He can coast by on teaching the fundamentals!

In SJ's eyes, SY continues to be his filial younger brother, taking on the burden of the tasks SJ hates. He spoils him, when possible, in the way only SY and YQY ever seem to understand. They are the only two good things that have been and always will be his. He doesn't need anyone else.

And then NYY arrives, and no one is more surprised than he is that he looks forward to teaching her the guqin, delights in how quickly she picks up the erhu. He doesn't understand why SY looms nervously whenever she's near, is irritated when he starts to suspect why. It's their first huge blow up.

And then the boy arrives.

He can't explain why this particular disciple is so repulsive. Why the dirt seems to stick to him, no matter how clean he is. Filthy fingerprints on grasping hands. Wretched thing has a certain look in his eye, a hunger SJ knows will be ruinous, insatiable. Just the way he trails after SY is enough to make him spit! And SY has always been a soft-hearted idiot, falling for the urchin's sob story! Just as obsessed! If they don't nip it in the bud now, they'll be rumors about them. The kind of things that pull righteous cultivators down from the heavens!

YQY listens to all of this indulgently, combing oil through SJ's hair and kissing his temple. As always, no matter how hard SJ tries to hold on, yqy always manages to pull him from his mood.

"What's wrong with having a favorite?" "It's not the same and you know it!" "He's just a child, if you let Liu-shidi back on QJP, it won't even be an issue."

Lots of grumbling about toads wanting swan's flesh. They both know the root of the issue is just that SJ can't let anything that's his slip out of his grasps. His love is all consuming, kept close to his chest in the fear that it will be stolen away.

LQG is not allowed on QJP, instead, SJ starts to teach more. Tries to test LBH relentlessly, waiting for him to fail so he can prove a point. This makes things worse between the brothers, more and more arguments come up until they resort to childhood tactics of wrestling across the floor of the Bamboo house and ripping out hair. SY breaks a hair pin he knows YQY gave him, SJ tears one of SY's manuscripts on abyssal fauna in half. The fallout is ugly enough that Binghe and NYY run all the way to QDP, breaking past the sect leader's chief of staff about the impending death of YQY's husband and/or brother in law.

Kneeling in front of an amused yqy, bruised and with bald spots, both brothers Shen explain their case, each threatening YQY not to show favoritism to the other. The proposed solution is to have LBH spend some time on Qiong Ding Peak, at least until he's qualified to go on night hunts on his own. SJ is fully convinced he's won, is ready to smugly denounce any comments about Qi-ge's blatant favoritism.

Neither expect SY's eyes go wide, for him to lean forward until he's crawling to yqy's side in excitement. Luo Binghe's praises fall from his mouth like honey. SY's running to his room for a brush and paper, outlining lesson plans and tasks LBH can take on to learn about all the good CQMS does for the realm. To SJ's revulsion, SY badgers YQY until he promises to include one on one lessons. QDP already has a head disciple, there's no harm in it, right?

In Shen Yuan's eyes, a light from the heaven's has shined down on him. Invisible to all, the system flashes an exclamation point above yqy's head, offering an alternative option to saving the sect.

[MISSION OBJECTIVE: SHIBOS GOOD GRACES]

[DO YOU WISH TO ACCEPT? Y/N ?]

It's perfect! No matter how much SQQ hates LBH, the combined forces of SY and YQY will stand united against him! The sect will be saved and SY will never see his white lotus darken! Maybe, and he's nearly salivating at this point, LBH might even consider staying at the sect and becoming the next QJP lord! It will take, of course, years to soften up SJ to that point. But really, when has he ever said no to SY when it truly mattered? He just needs to suck up and live in Shen Jiu's pocket for a little, it's fine! This will be easier than the time he accidentaly came back with several short haired monsters after a mission with LQG and needed a place to keep them! And now they farm them for brushes!

SY sleeps soundly for the first night in years, comforted in the knowledge that LBH's work ethic and stubborn tendencies will surely endear himself to YQY eventually. And then, one day, he knows with certainty, that if he's not there to protect LBH, YQY surely will.

The Immortal Alliance Conference is as disastrous as it was always going to be. There is a countdown floating ahead of Shen Yuan that only he can see. Sweat is pouring down his face as he fights his way after demons he once dreamed about. SY lost track of his brother ages ago, the two separating to different crisis points to save as many disciples as possible. At the three minute mark, bright blue laughing kaomoji offer their congratulations, informing him that the inmun requirements for SHIBOS GOOD GRACES have been met.

SY nearly collapses with relief, his steps slowing down a fraction, just enough to catch his breath. Fuck teaching the fundamentals to scholars nerds did not help him retain cardio! The times is in it's final seconds when he makes it into a clearing, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief when he passes Xiu Ya embedded into the forehead of a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python's skull. Then, just further ahead, Shen Yuan's heart falls nearly out of his chest.

There are tears streaming down Luo Binghe's face as he tips backward off the cliff. The huadian beneath his messy hair shines a bright red, the soft glow reflecting off Yue Qingyuan's black pauldron. The sect leader, his da-ge, is slumped against Luo Binghe, arms in a tight embrace, an unfamiliar sword piercing him in the back as the two tumble towards an abyssal rift.

The wail of a dying beast pierces through SY's stupor, SJ stands with a blackened hand outstretched, only steps away from following the only man he's ever loved. Shen Yuan moves faster than he ever has before, half blinded by notifications he's never seen before. Something about heartbreak points, swords, and narrative foils. He doesn't care! He doesn't care! SJ is writhing in his hold screaming like a madman, over his shoulder Luo Binghe is getting smaller and smaller, Yue Qingyuan's robes fluttering around them like broken wings. Screams echo through the clearing long after the rifts have closed.

"I'M SORRY I'M SO--"

"QI-GE YOU BASTARD! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T LEAV-"

-

Five years later, Luo Binghe returns to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, notably missing the great Xin Mo sword. The protagonist kowtows in the bamboo house, forehead touching the floor and arms extended out to present a mahogany box of bones and a long sword with a plain scabbard before an alter. Shen Yuan kneels next to him, chest shaking with labored breaths, he follows suit with is forehead pressed to the floor. From his peripheral, he can see the way Binghe's shoulders have started to shake, a puddle of tears collecting just beneath his face. A tally of points starts to flash above the boy, Shen Yuan closes his eyes, another useless apology passes through his mind.

"Gege was right, Qi-ge came home."

[thatlotuscookie]

hi👋 could i have something with dabi x reader when he's sick and his personality changes drastically. and all he wants is to be in bed, cuddle, make out, sleep and have reader play with his hair

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hi riri!! i appreciate the request, thank youuu<3 this is adorable and honestly so like him. i just wrote something short and soft. let me know if you'd like something longer next time! :<

✧ Title: ✧ Fevered Affection ✧ ✧ Characters: Sick!Dabi x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: Dabi isn’t one to show weakness, but a nasty fever leaves him vulnerable and in desperate need of comfort. You’re there to care for him, and as his defenses drop, he reveals a softer side that he rarely lets anyone see. ✧ Content/Tags: Sickness, Vulnerability, Light Teasing, Soft Dabi, Sick!Dabi ✧ WC: 805 words // 4.5k chars

Dabi wasn’t one to show weakness. Hell, he hated the idea of relying on anyone for anything. He had built up walls so high and thick that even a hurricane couldn't bring them down. But today, something much simpler than a storm had him practically bedridden—a nasty fever that turned the League’s usually sharp-tongued, brooding arsonist into a lethargic puddle of exhaustion.

You’d noticed it a few days ago. His usual snarky comments were less biting, his responses delayed. You chalked it up to a bad mood, but when you found him barely able to stand and refusing to get up from bed, you knew something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled when you tried to help him sit up. His voice was raspy, and the usual fire in his eyes was dimmed. He wasn’t fine.

“No, you’re not,” you said softly, sitting beside him on the bed. “You’re burning up, Dabi.”

He didn't respond—just lay there, blinking slowly as if the world had slowed down with him. It was odd to see him so…vulnerable. But as his fever climbed higher, his usual gruff exterior melted away, leaving behind a Dabi you had never seen before—one that craved affection and comfort.

It started with the smallest of requests.

“Stay,” he mumbled, reaching for your hand with more desperation than you’d ever expect from him. “Just… don’t go anywhere.”

You stayed. And as the day wore on, it became clear he wasn’t interested in anything but being close to you. He barely moved, except to adjust himself so that his head rested in your lap, his face nuzzled into your stomach. His body, usually so stiff and guarded, had relaxed completely into your touch.

“Is this really Dabi?” you teased gently, running your fingers through his messy black hair. “The same guy who acts like he doesn’t need anyone?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into your hand as you scratched at his scalp. “Feels good…”

The day slipped by in quiet moments—Dabi, wrapped in your arms, letting his fever-ridden body give in to its needs. He was clingy in a way that surprised you, his usual distance replaced by a hunger for comfort. He pulled you down into the bed with him at one point, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he curled his body around yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “Never knew you could feel this good…”

You smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You’re never like this when you’re healthy.”

“Maybe I should get sick more often,” he muttered, his lips brushing your neck in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. He pulled back slightly, his fever-bright eyes locking with yours. “Wanna kiss you…”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded, his hand gently gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a slow, lazy kiss. It wasn’t like the usual kisses with Dabi—this one was sweet, almost needy, like he was asking for something more than just the physical connection. Like he wanted to lose himself in you, just for a moment.

When you pulled away, he sighed contentedly, leaning back into the pillows. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close again, his head resting on your chest this time.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, his breath warm against your skin. “Just wanna stay here… forever.”

You chuckled softly, running your fingers through his hair again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s how the rest of the night went—Dabi, sick and vulnerable, wrapped in your arms, content with nothing more than your touch and the quiet comfort of being together. His fever might have stolen his usual fire, but it brought out something softer in him, something you cherished in those quiet, stolen moments.

The next morning

By the time morning rolled around, Dabi’s fever had broken. You woke up to find him still in your arms, but this time his usual sharp gaze was back, though softened slightly by the remnants of last night’s vulnerability.

He stretched lazily, glancing up at you with a smirk. “So… how was playing nurse?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re a terrible patient, you know.”

He chuckled, sitting up and running a hand through his now-messy hair. “Yeah, but you loved it.”

You shoved him playfully, but before you could say anything, Dabi’s hand caught yours, pulling you back down into his lap. His lips brushed against your temple, his voice low and almost… affectionate?

“Thanks for taking care of me, baby.”

Your heart swelled. Maybe being sick had its perks after all.

[blackdollette]

"tearing around in my fucking nightgown." | s. reid

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, but i have it. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: you were hardly at fault. spencer had taken a late shift, and you needed to settle your nerves somehow...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords

female!reader x spencer

word count: 1.2k

contents: spencer takes the late shift at work, masturbation, cunnilingus (flashback), no proofread

you had been tossing and turning in your disheveled bedsheets for minutes that seemed like hours.

your hair laid in a scruffy mess on your head, your silk nightgown clinging to your flesh in an awkward fashion. it was a few minutes past midnight, and because of spencer’s absence, you were beginning to lose your mind. you were somehow sweaty in the bedroom that was always just a touch too chilly, a sticky film coating your skin.

you rolled over once again with a groan, wishing that spencer hadn’t taken the night shift. you couldn’t see anything in the blackness of the bedroom, with the exception of the sparse streaks of moonlight that seeped in from the window and the monotonous flicker of the time that flickered on the small digital clock beside you, seeming to be mocking the same sensation that played in your mind.

you’d gotten so used to the feeling of spencer’s big arms cradling you to keep you warm during the night. you longed to feel his body pressing up against yours as he shifted and mumbled in response to whatever he was dreaming about.

you tossed in the sheets, stretching out your arm to grab your phone off the bedside table. honestly, you were surprised that you were able to keep yourself together for so long. you thought you were going to crack hours ago. you scrolled down your call list, landing on the name titled with a heart symbol. you clicked the call button and waited for the recipient to pick up.

the phone rang once, twice, and many more times until you went to voicemail. frustration began to coil in your gut as you tried to call back, each time resulting in the same outcome. you couldn’t begin to explain this pathetic feeling of hopelessness and desperation that had overtaken you. 

you mindlessly scrolled through your old messages with him, missing him more than anything. you sat up in the bed holding your knees to your chest as you reread your texts with him. a smile tugged at your lips each time he said something corny in response to something provocative that you said. 

you stumbled upon an image that he had sent you from his office. he had positioned the camera from a higher angle, capturing his leaned-back position and a sneaky hand that pulled the waistband of his trousers down just enough to give you a sneak peek of his boxer briefs. he had a cheeky little grin on his face, his fluffy hair falling in perfect tufts over his forehead. the picture seemed to be crafted by the gods, from the lighting to the slight surge of lust it filled you with. it was perfection.

you felt a familiar heat pooling in your core as the image filled your head. your breath hitched as hunger began to fill the empty void in your mind. a switch flipped inside of you quickly and your hand had already found its way to your lacy panties.

you were almost surprised at how needy you had gotten so quickly. you were practically clawing at the skimpy material of your nightgown. 

your mind was flickering with images of him and you on your most intimate nights. him having you lying on your back as he pumped two fingers in and out of you, his soft words as smooth and sweet as honey…

“y-yeah, right there, spence…” you whimpered out as his slightly calloused fingertips brushed against your cervix. “oh yeah..? well… how does this feel..?” he began to curl his fingers ever so slightly, making your breath hitch as he rubbed slow circles onto your puffy clit. you rolled your hips against his hand, eager to feel him in every part of you. the simple act brought a smile onto his face, letting him know that he was doing something right.

he pressed his fingers against your bladder, making your whole body jerk. startled, he chuckled. “how does that feel?” you tried to formulate audible speech, but he began to pick up the pace, taking pleasure in the way you drooled and stammered. your pussy mimicked the lewd noises of your lips, the sticky sounds of your cunt almost too good to be true. “yeah… listen to that, baby…”

your fluids of arousal dripped along his fingers, trailing down his veiny hands. the folds of your pussy fluttered around him, greedily swallowing his digits. you pressed your legs together as that unmistakable band began to tighten in your stomach, but he pushed your legs open, letting his hand rest on your inner thigh. “c’mon, baby. i’m not done with you yet…” 

you were falling apart, the rapid beating of your heart syncing with the way your cunt pulsated. a stupid little grin was plastered on spencer’s face the entire time. he loved the way he could make you go dumb for him, the way you turned into silly putty with a few pumps of his fingers. the inside of your sticky walls felt like velvety silk around his fingers. 

he couldn’t take his eyes off of your puffy lips and tear-glazed eyes. to him, there was no greater pleasure than making you feel on top of the world. 

you bit your lip hard, the iron tang of blood filling your mouth as he connected his lips to your cunt just as your orgasm was on the way. he flicked his tongue on your swollen pearl, mumbling mindless praises into your core. 

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he found the perfect rhythm between his tongue and fingers. he grabbed a handful of his hair, grinding your hips against his face. he groaned deeply into your body. “t-that’s it, honey… use me…” you shuddered each time he swirled his wet tongue across your folds.

the weaker you became, the faster he went. the room filled with the hungry sounds of the base of his hand slapping against the entrance of your hole as he fingered you at lightning speed. his chest heaved up and down, your overstimulated moans becoming louder. “o-oh my gosh, spence… i-i… i can’t take anymore..!”

his mouth was already filling with the delicious taste of your cum, but he wanted to maximize your orgasm to its fullest. he dug into you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he buried his face into your body, not even taking a second to breathe. his tongue hungrily ran up and down your slit, making the band in your stomach snap. “s-spencer, i’m cumming..!”

~

you snapped back to reality from the feeling of your body convulsing around your fingers. you panted rapidly, looking down and seeing the wet, sticky mess that you created all over the bedsheets. beads of sweat rolled down your forehead as you looked around the room as if you had just woken up from a nap.

your eyes landed on the clock, reading the time. 12:48am. you sighed deeply. you hadn’t meant to get lost in the overwhelming feeling, but you just couldn’t resist it. it had almost felt as if spencer was actually there. but something good had come out of it.

you found your eyelids getting heavy with exhaustion as you slipped back under the covers, pulling the blanket over your warm body and setting your head onto your pillow. you looked at spencer’s side of the bed, taking in his absence. lifting up your head, you switched your pillow with his, setting your head back down and inhaling the heart-warming scent of him, finally being blessed with the gift of sound slumber.

author's note: i'm sick :((

[lawchwan]

love alphabet (sanji)

summary: just another alphabet for our favorite perverted romantic chef

disclaimer: there are some spoilers of skypiea and Whole Cake Island in some alphabets so be warn with that. and obviously some alphabets have nsfw content. Also some alphabets have fem terms, which was not my intention, i’ll edit them once i have the free time.

crossposted on ao3

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

You are talking to the king of PDA. If you’re someone who cannot handle pda, then you need to start handling it with Sanji. He loves to be hands-on with you, literally, declaring to the entire world how much you mean to him. This man just outright loves you, and he’s not shy of showcasing it.

Bonus: he loves to be extra in front of Zoro, just to rub it in his face, only to get a groan and an eye roll of disgust from him (and the entire straw hats really, even Luffy couldn’t stand it)

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“Oh, you want babies? Say less, ma’am, I’ll throw all the condoms and contraceptives away. When and where and I’ll give it to you” he says, with heart eyes and nosebleed as you mentioned in passing about babies.

In all seriousness, Sanji does have a soft spot for kids. He is a very gentle man and often really caring towards kids. If you remember at the end of enies lobby, the way he handled Chimney with such care after her exclaiming about how hungry she is how I imagined he’d be with his own kid, and maybe even extra doting and caring. Also chopper and Sanji’s interaction during skypiea… I don’t think I need to add more… (Although Chopper is 17 years old/was 15 during skypiea, it still applies)

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

Oh that man loves to cuddle. He may not be the most fleshy, he does however have the warmth that can counteract as a blanket and that’s enough of you. He, like law in my previous love alphabet, loves to be the small spoon, except he is more open about and doesn’t care about one says about it.

D = Darling  (Pet names) 

He’ll throw in any affectionate nicknames that he could think of at the top of his head and will say it with no shame. But I do think he’s the type to say “darling,” “my love,” “my sweet,” and “angel.”

He also has more pet names/nicknames in the bedroom and calls you goddess/god and mommy/daddy. He one time slipped up and called you mommy/daddy in front of Zoro, and Zoro mocked him for all eternity until you confronted him… : )

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

It's Sanji we’re talking about… this man will lay his eyes on any woman and he’ll fall head over heels. But when it comes to you, there’s a slightly subtle change. While he still maintains his chivalry and flirtatious act, he does put in extra effort with you. If he makes Nami and Robin a parfait, then you’ll get extra toppings and flavors of your liking. Honestly, their food—still being better than how he would serve his male crew—would start looking underwhelming next to yours, but it's not that they’re complaining. Matter of fact, they, mainly Nami, thank you for having reciprocal feelings since Sanji hasn’t been going at either woman.   

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

The first time Sanji cooked for you was special. You were sitting in the kitchen, alone with him, as you happened to catch a case of “midnight hunger,” and there he was, a handsome cook cleaning the dishes as he hums to himself. When you made your presence known, the blond man turned with his usual charismatic smile and turned the sink before doing so.

“hey, (y/n) darling, what are you doing here?”

He seemed genuinely to be ecstatic to see you in the kitchen, even though it was god-awful late at night, he didn’t seem bothered for some reason. You were about to mention how hungry you were, until the grumble of your stomach spoke for you, only for you to look away, flustered. Sanji simply chuckled as he stated sweetly, “I guess I know why…”

And there you were, as much as you didn’t want to wear him out, he was very insistent and ended up cooking up something upon your request. You just sat there, ogling at the cook as he worked his magic. You stare at his hands, veins popping up handsomely due to the force he is exerting, whether through cutting vegetables or holding onto the sizzling pan, as you place your head onto your hand. You didn’t say much to not distract him, but, man oh man, was he attractive just cooking for you.

“oh, how I wish those hands were on me…” you thought to yourself as you began analyzing his physique with your eyes wandering from his blond locks to his tiny yet built waist, down to his thick ass. Your head was heading to perverted places where you might need a quick shower afterward.

He seemed to have noticed that you were staring at him, so as he finished with his finishing touch, he began declaring, “Voila!”  as he handed you the dish. You were brought back to reality after he spoke up, and you looked down at your dish.

“Oh, wow does that look good,” you say, softly yet excitedly. He just shrugged and hummed with a confident smile before handing your utensils. As you had your first bite, you closed your eyes as you moaned in glee; you truly never doubted him when it came to food because that was perhaps the most delicious dish you ever had. He simply just looked at you admirably, as he mimicked your look towards him when you saw him cook, even down to the head-on-chin position.

Once you were done, you sighed and let out a phew due to your fullness. “How’d you like it?” Sanji spoke up with a smile as he took your plate.

“That was amazing, Sanji… Thank you so much,” You say with gratitude as you hold his face with one hand, and he leaned against it. He mirrored you, only this time he leaned in before he wiped the corner of your lips the remaining sauce while he maintained eye contact.

“Missed a spot,” he whispered to you before licking his finger, winking, and taking the plate to the sink. He then had his back to you with a smirk while you looked at him in awe.

God, does this man drive you crazy…

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

You best believe that you’ll be getting your morning kisses daily from him. If he wakes up before you, he’ll just lift himself and stare at you with love sparkle all over his blue eyes, he’ll probably even run his fingernail against your skin before kissing you awake. He’ll paint that beautiful smile as he says with his gentle morning voice, “Good morning, sunshine.”

That’s on his lazy days though, other days, however, he might just wake you up with breakfast in bed. He’ll set aside the tray before he gently shakes you until you wake up and informs you that he made you breakfast.

He is such a romantic, it warms one’s cold heart.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

His hugs are so warm… I don’t know what else to add. He just adds a layer of comfort to him, just like his cuddles.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

He’s an absolute mess and honestly, you might have considered kicking him out during delivery. It’s not that he’s a dick about it or whatever—matter of fact, poor dude’s just trying to help—, but he’s acting like he’s the one giving birth due to his nervousness and is making you feel worse about the situation. If he wasn’t your love and/or the father of your child, you’d have kicked him out and had Zoro or Robin fill the role for support (you’ve thought of Nami as well, but she’d probably be squeamish and leave the room).

And once that child’s out, he’ll probably cry at the sight of your beautiful creation and kiss you on the top of your head while he praises you and compliments the beautiful bundle of joy.

“You did it… You’re so amazing,”

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

And the winner of the most hypocritical individual award goes to; Blackleg Sanji. You might have to beat him for it, because how the fuck is he allowed to flirt with other women, yet he beats men whom you’ve given the same energy?

All jokes aside, this man will probably glare at the person who’s attempting to get closer to you. He’ll probably start causing chaos if anyone were to lay a hand on his partner and he doesn’t care, he’ll stop when the one who gets the beat down promises he won’t look at you again.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

You finally understood the addiction to nicotine when you first pressed your lips against his. No matter a peck or a full-on passionate, his lips were simply addicting and you just crave them every time you look at him. He places a cigarette on his lips, and you envy the tip of the cigarette for it is covered by his lips when it should be your skin that is covered by his lips.

He kisses you very often, maybe a little bit too often, disgustingly often. But he’ll tone it down if you ask, and he’ll give you kisses throughout the day, he can never leave a day with no kisses for you.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

Contrary to popular belief—and the jokes I’ve been making earlier—, Sanji’s pretty loyal. Sure, he may flirt with multiple women, which is a bad habit, but he never thought of sleeping with them now that he’s with you. He mainly claims it as just acts of chivalry, but truly he never intends on coming off as overtly flirtatious nor does he have any intentions of cheating on you, and he will always find a way to prove it.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

The first time you declared your love for him. Underneath that charismatic aura, Sanji’s a broken man who believes that love is not by his side. Sure, he is aware that he has platonic, or rather familial love from the straw hat crew, Zeff, and the workers at Baratie, but he never would have thought that he’d find genuine romantic love and he was on his journey of accepting that.

Until you came along and ruined it, and Sanji couldn’t have been more grateful that you did. When you two happened to be kissing each other after an intimate session, you held him and uttered those three words, only for him to be gasping and widen his eyes in astonishment.

“What?”

You looked at him with a loving smile and holding onto his delicate face, “I love you, Sanji…”

You made Sanji’s heart flutter as he looked at you with glossy eyes and he laid on your chest and you began stroking his locks. You didn’t want him to respond if he didn’t want to, you simply just wanted to let him know, only for you to hear a whisper,

“I love you too…”

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

Never mention his biological father, and don’t you ever try to reunite them. Sanji considers Zeff as his real dad, he taught and treated him like a father would to his son, so if you’d reunite them, he’d be over the moon. Reunite him with Judge and Sanji will feel betrayed that you would put him in a room with his abuser.

No amount of “but you guys are family” will cut it.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

Sanji’s the type to apologize through meals. He’ll obviously talk to you, but no matter how mad he is/you are, he’ll not leave you hungry. You two will start apologizing to each other and admit your mistakes. The one thing you love about Sanji is that he respects you too much for you to be upset, even if you’re in the wrong.

So you’ll simply just talk it out and kiss afterward… which may lead to more action if you get my drift.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

Sanji loves to call you goddess/god, no matter if he’s domming or subbing. He just loves the thought of worshipping you and gliding his tongue all over his skin.

He also enjoys giving you oral or fingering you, doesn’t matter where you guys are, he’ll always find a way to have a taste of you, claiming “It’s the best flavor I’ve ever tried.”

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

The perfect wind-down for Sanji is simply cuddling in bed or cooking alone with you. Sure, it may seem very cliché, but Sanji’s a cliché man and he knows it, especially when you call him out on it, but he doesn’t care.

What better way to spend some quiet time than when you have your partner with you, am I right?

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

When you value him and remind him how loved and important he is. Given his childhood, it is easy for him to slip through the mindset of self-loathing and ending himself, which resulted in his sacrificial personality. While you were never a cure for it, you did help him ease through those tough times, and he grew to appreciate you for your effort and how you don’t perceive the way others do.

Your overall love and appreciation for him means so much to him, thus resulting in making him happy.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

Oh, he hands down believes in soulmates. First off, he’s a Pisces, and every Pisces I’ve met believes in soulmates. Secondly, he is a romantic at heart, soul, and body so he believes that there’s someone out there that will complete his soul.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

Cooking, of course, and also shopping. This man will go broke for you and he’ll be happy to go into debt for you, as long as you are happy and content, please, by all means, make his pockets hurt (but you won't because you love him too much to ever go through that).

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

Sanji will karate kick them on their way out. “How dare you to try to meddle in OUR perfect. Beautiful, loving relationship?! Who gave you the absolute right to try and take my sweet partner away?! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Sanji would exclaim as he proceeded to ambush the person who tried to interlope.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

Sanji would not be as vulnerable as you’d think when you first met. Sure, he’s very emotional in tune and can hold you days on end when you just want to cry out about whatever’s bothering you, past or present.

Just like Law, once he gains trust, that’s when the floodgates are open and he starts becoming vulnerable and talking about his trauma. Please hug him and promise you won’t throw him under the bus with all of that, he needs emotional support and love.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

He’ll make sure he’ll make your wedding a day you won’t ever forget. I imagine your guys’ wedding being extravagant yet still intimate, inviting only the straw hat crew—yes including Zoro—, Vivi, Zeff, and most of his workers of Baratie from his end. He made sure you had some cake testing before the wedding and was mostly in charge of the catering, despite it being his wedding day.

Despite you were the bride, Sanji was more of a bridezilla than you were, and you had your fair share of freak outs, but not to the extend of Sanji’s to which you had to calm him down. Eventually, however, everything was settled—thanks to you and the rest of the straw hat—and you had a beautiful wedding by the beach.

(idk he seems like someone who would want a beach wedding.)

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

He’d act the same with interlopers when it comes to your ex, especially if that ex had done unimaginable heinous things to you.

Meanwhile, his exes might have to run away because otherwise, he’ll start acting “too friendly,” and may slip up a few details about their previous relationship, which results in you being insecure.

He eventually apologizes, genuinely avoids his ex, and never interacts with them.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

Another pillow sniffer and clothes (panties) stealer. Yup, that’s it, nothing else to add there. Just read my law’s one and just switch law with Sanji and you’ll get the same effect.

While he’s always snatching your pillows and clothes when you’re away, whenever he’s in the kitchen, he’ll even cook your favorite food to remind him of you. Even though he cooked it himself, he can’t help but be reminded of you and your sparkling eyes of joy when you see him cook your favorite meal.

NSFW

 He loves your enthusiasm so damn much, and God does he crave to see it again, especially when you have that similar sparkle when he undresses in front of you and showcases his pink-tipped cock to you.

Where were those panties when he needed them?

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

He loves it when you guys are in spooning positions. While he prefers being the small spoon, he loves to wrap himself around you with your chest on his. The feeling of you being snug beside him makes him feel like he can protect you and there’s no better feeling than that.

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[har-rison-s]

fear or endearment | coryo snow x fem!reader

a/n: hello people of tumblr. yes, i'm getting on the train of writing for coryolanus snow (save me). he's just so writeable before the 10th games, i feel. after that i lose any touch with him, honestly, idk. bad man. welp! enjoy this little short blurb i thought of while i was at work yesterday (no connection, tho, just day dreaming). happy reading &lt;3

warnings: none except snow's manipulative, calculating personality; this is pre-10th games snow btw

word count: 1,894

gif credit goes to owner &lt;3

���you only like me because i bring you free stuff,” she says, her lips wearing a smile that holds the sadness of the half-joke she just made. it’s only an ironic way of saying the truth, and she thinks him a fool not to admit it. her hands get busy with carefully emptying the messenger bag full of food leftovers and pastries that the kitchen in her house deemed as unworthy for her family.

“not true,” coryolanus says with a gentle shake of his too-perfect head, eyes looking at her instead of raking over the gifts she’s brought. they’ll keep him and his family away from hunger for a week at least, if they plan carefully, “i like you regardless of that.”

she shakes her head with more conviction. it’s one thing to lie to himself about it, it’s another to tell the lie to her face. her face that has seen the brutal truth in people, her eyes that can see through any facade. it’s the reason she doesn’t watch television unless she absolutely necessarily has to – the facade built up around the ugly truth makes her sick to her stomach. “oh, yes, and my dream is to become a peacekeeper.” her sharp tongue responds.

coryolanus considers her words and the sarcastic look on her face, the faint grin she wears. he doesn’t like being confused, and yet she makes him feel that way very often. sarcasm is her companion in every conversation, and coryolanus suspects he might be one of the only people in the world she shows her bare soul and heart to, and even then she shows very little. her rebellious nature, though, is what makes him worried for her. sometimes he thinks he ought to follow her in her ways, even though it wouldn’t be easy. it would also be going against everything he’s fought so hard to have, and would continue to fight for.

coryolanus shakes his head in confusion, his cheeks blushing just the faintest tone of pink and curls trembling along with his head movements. she laughs fruitfully at knowing she made him confused, her head hanging back for a moment. she closes her bag, its contents emptied on coryo’s kitchen table, and looks down on them. “i know you wonder why i say things like that,” she looks up at him again, and coryo nods, his lips bit back in a faint smile, “can’t help it. must be some security mechanism in me, to joke or draw irony in serious matters.” she shuffles herself onto the table’s surface, now getting the view of coryo in front of her instead of having to wring her neck around every time to just look at him standing beside her. coryo nods again and smiles wider. “sometimes i want to shut up, but i just can’t seem to. and that tends to get me in trouble quite a lot. you know that well.” 

ah, yes, her rebellious nature that gets in the way of her education and reputation up-keeping. he might just be her only friend at school, because no one wants to associate themselves with such a rebellious girl as her. sejanus has been nice to her, but coryo guesses he lacks the courage to talk to her. coryo makes a grin and takes a step closer to her. her genuine eyes find his again and she searches them for some bit of truth. it’s hard for most people to guess what he’s thinking, but not for her. “i like you for that,” coryolanus tells her, and she furrows her eyebrows because by looking into is eyes she knows it’s the truth that he’s telling.

“hmm,” she just hums in surprise, “i know it upsets you, too. and that you worry about me, and that’s why you get me out of trouble, even if you don’t have to. you and your perfect attendance and grades, perfect attitude.” she counts off, and it almost sounds like she despises him for all these things. coryo shakes his head, eyelids fluttering while looking at her still.

“you of all people know how imperfect i am,” he says, “look where i have to live,” he gestures around the kitchen. but her smile drops, “it’s almost nothing compared to your place.” 

“where we live doesn’t say much about us,” she responds, “so many people at school think i’m this spoiled princess of the capitol living in my great mansion with mother and father.” she rolls her eyes. “only thing perfect about me are my grades, and even they are being pulled down because of my attitude.” she sighs. coryo nods, understanding, and stays close to her. “i’m really a rebellious child whose parents hardly have patience for. it’s not like i try to get into trouble, it just so happens that my opinions don’t go well with everyone else’s. i know i’m not the only one, but i might be the only one with guts to say those opinions.” she shrugs. “you know that associating with me can get you into trouble, too.”

coryo nods. “but it hasn’t this far,” he responds with a kind smile as the two of them look at each other. she wishes she could respond with a smile half as true as his current one, but her character has been beaten down. her eyelids flutter and she looks down at her hands. 

“why do you get me out of trouble, then? why do you worry about me?” she asks quietly. “we both know you shouldn’t.” 

“you don’t believe me when i say it,” coryo says, reminding her of the beginning of their conversation. she looks up at him again, chin raised. he’s wounded by her disbelief. 

“what?” she asks in half a whisper. coryo tilts his head, his facial expression saying that his answer should be obvious. his hand hesitantly reaches out to hers in her lap, gently coating her intertwined palms. she’s almost forgot how to breathe. he’s never touched her hands before. it’s always a hand at the small of her back, on her shoulder, arms around her. never the hands. it almost seems like he was saving them for... something.

“i like you,” coryo says just as quietly, hand over hers and eyes looking at her, this intense emotion suddenly between them in the air, “not just for the free stuff. it’s the depth of your heart and kindness,” one i know i’ll never have, “and your courageous nature.”

she smiles. “you have courage, too, coryo,” she tells him quietly, and finds herself lost in him now that he’s so close to her. his ice-cold heart warms at her using the nickname for him. she intertwines their fingers now, raising the formed knot higher between them, so that it would enter their line of vision. coryo looks at it, and his heart lurches in his chest, making him feel nearly on the point of fainting, “you do,” she says again, “you just need to... channel it in the right direction.” she utters in a the quietest of whispers. 

coryolanus doesn’t dare a make a noise even though his throat is dry and he needs to clear it, but he fears anything louder than a whisper might ruin everything, even his heart feels like it’s hammering too loud in his chest, “like this?” he asks in a faint voice, and she furrows her eyebrows at the weird question, but doesn’t get to doubt it because coryo is pressing his lips to hers, adding even more value to their moment together. 

for a person who is always able to calculate things to come, she is surprised because this she didn’t calculate at any point. but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t waited for him to do this, to take a next step, for at least a few weeks now. her courage faded away any chance she had to do the same, to be the one who takes the first step. 

she grips his hand between them even harder, and her other hand goes to cradle the side of his face, but after the first few kisses their hands untie and she uses both of hers to hold his face, while coryo is too shy to touch her. she pulls away, both of them out of breath, and they look at each other. stunned. thrilled. without words to say about what they just did. 

“yeah, like that,” she finally breathes in response, always having something cheeky up her sleeve, “only...” she takes both of his hands in hers and places them on her waist, where they fit nearly like a magnet. coryo breathes a quiet sigh of relief, it was where he thought of embracing her, but somehow lacked the guts to do so. looking at each other, she nods at him and coryo makes a small smile. “i know you like me now,” she says quietly, and coryo even chuckles, “you wouldn’t be so nervous about me otherwise.” 

he nods, succumbing to the defeat of her cracking him, and stands between her legs that dangle off the side of the table. his hands on her fit right in place, both of them feeling that they’re always meant to be there. “sometimes, uh...” coryo shakes his head, a little nervous to say what he wants to, but she urges him on with her hand on his cheek serving a comforting touch, and he blushes when he looks at her, “sometimes i don’t know if i like you or i’m scared of you.” he admits.

it makes her laugh out loud, as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard someone say. her head hangs low, and then rests against his chest once her laughter has started to subside. coryo feels embarrassed that he admitted that now, but he wraps his arms around her nonetheless. he knows she means no harm. 

she looks up at him, hands on his chest, and gets real close to his face again, “you better figure it out real soon, coryo,” she tells him, “i don’t want to be with someone who’s scared of me. i want them to be with me because they like me.” she says truthfully and coryo nods. he’s never really been around a girl or woman who’s made him feel like she has. it’s hard to explain, but her rebellious nature, her unpredictability are what scare him, but also what endear her to him. make him like her so much. makes his heart jump out of his chest when she speaks against a professor or simply flees a classroom. 

“i like you,” coryo assures her, “and i’m glad you want to be with me, too.” he says and they smile at each other. she nods at him and leans into his chest into a long embrace neither of them really want to get out of. 

coryolanus is scared of the consequences of her actions, scared for where it will make him end up. but life with her has colour. he doesn’t exactly want to give that up because he might get in trouble. he finds a way out of it with his wit and charm, anyhow. whatever problems she could get him into by being herself he can easily get out of, so maybe taking risks isn’t that deadly of a thing. not for her.

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part 2