#but i think its the kind of familiar she needed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrcmoni · 5 hours ago

Text

ೃ❀࿔ sweet surrender ೃ❀࿔

MASTERLIST

synopsis: so…basically you and billie fuck, but like sweetly. ( i don’t feel like writing a proper synopsis)

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 11.2k….it goes up every post i swear😓

warnings: cussing, soft switch! reader & soft switch! billie, nicknames, fingering (both receiving), cunnilingus/oral (both receiving), scissoring, talk of orgasm/cum, aftercare..i think that’s it lmk if i missed something.

authors note: your weekly bedtime story is here…why this kinda eat hold on🫦, who wanna recreate this with me🤨 (jk jk…unless)

soft light spills into the living room, a warm, flickering glow from candles scattered like secrets in the dark. their flames whisper, gentle and alive, from the coffee table and shelves. the scent of vanilla and sandalwood curls through the air, weaving into billie’s perfume— grounding, familiar, like home found in a person. the tv glows faintly, its screen casting soft shadows as it flickers with old reruns of i love lucy— a memory stitched to your childhood, to moments spent with your grandparents. the grayscale images shift and shimmer, the faint crackle of audio tugging you back, making you feel like you’re sitting in the past.

you’re stretched out on the couch, body languid and unwound, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, cradling your head. your legs sprawl lazily across billie’s lap, the fuzzy fabric of your socks brushing against each other in a slow, absent rhythm. the anklets on your right ankle sway with each movement, their gold bands catching the light like small constellations. her thumb traces soft, looping patterns against your bare thigh, the warmth of her hand seeping into your skin. her touch is unhurried, deliberate, each stroke sending quiet sparks through your nerves, grounding you in this fragile, perfect moment.

billie leans further into the cushions, her black plaid button-up hanging loose over a white undershirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to her elbows. silver chains and dog tags glint faintly against her chest, their edges catching the candlelight. her rings shift and gleam as her fingers move, the brim of her cap tilting forward, shadowing her face. but you see her, clear as day— the way her lips curve into the smallest, softest smile, the kind that speaks of quiet contentment, like she’s found something she didn’t know she needed.

you’re dressed in something equally soft— a low-buttoned teddy brown colored cardigan draped over a spaghetti-strap tank, paired with fluffy shorts that skim your thighs. the contrast between you two is striking: her laid-back edge against your cozy simplicity. but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. this is your space, your sanctuary, and all that fills your mind is how perfect this feels. how the air between you hums, tension so palpable it feels like the room itself is holding its breath.

her gaze shifts, and you feel it before you see it— the weight of her eyes settling on your face, studying you with the same intensity you’d reserved for the tv moments ago. turning your head, your eyes meet hers, and the world narrows. her gaze is deep, blue oceans pooling with something that feels too heavy for words. it’s the same look she gave you the night you met, six months ago, in some dimly lit club in l.a. where the music was too loud and the air was too thick, but none of that mattered.

you remember sitting in the corner, a drink in your hand, your feet aching from dancing too long. and then she walked in— quiet, unassuming, but magnetic in a way that pulled all the air out of the room. her presence was effortless, the way she carried herself a study in contradictions: cool and commanding, yet soft and inviting. you’d noticed her almost immediately, the dark fall of her hair brushing against her cheekbones, the way her eyes swept the room like she was searching for something. and when her gaze landed on you, it was like being found.

she crossed the space between you two with purpose, her voice low and steady as she introduced herself. there was no pretense, no false charm—just something raw and real. her dark hair fell into her face as she leaned closer, her words slipping through the noise like a secret meant only for you. and just like that, the thread between you tightened, drawing you closer without effort or explanation.

what started as late-night conversations and quiet companionship turned into something you couldn’t define but couldn’t let go of. it was soft nights spent in each other’s company, your laughter mingling with the sound of her playlists, the kind of intimacy that feels like breathing. and then, one night, everything changed. it was quiet, like the shift of the tide— a hand brushing too close, a glance lingering too long. and when her lips found the curve of your neck, the world tilted. the air sparked, the room blurred, and all that existed was her. that was the moment it became inevitable. that was the moment it became everything.

now it’s become a regular thing, these quiet nights wrapped in each other’s presence, existing in a rhythm that feels almost too easy. no schedules, no expectations—just the way you both fold into each other, however and whenever you want.

“ricky! you can’t be serious!” lucy’s exasperated voice bursts from the tv, the laugh track bubbling up to fill the room, the sound bouncing off the soft glow of candlelight.

you smirk, turning your head slightly. “are you even trying to watch the show?” your tone is teasing, but there’s nothing sharp in it—just warmth, just the comfort of familiarity.

“why would i want to do that,” she murmurs, her lips curving into the faintest smile, “when my girlfriend is right here?” her fingers squeeze gently against the plush of your thighs, the cool metal of her rings biting against your warmth. the contrast is startling and grounding all at once, like her touch is meant to anchor you here, in this moment.

“you comfy?” she asks, voice softer now, almost like the question is more for her than you.

“wouldn’t be sitting here if i wasn’t.” your fist curls under your head as you shift, propping yourself more comfortably. the action presses your body further into hers, the space between you almost nonexistent now. a soft smile tugs at your lips as your gaze meets hers fully, your eyes locking in a way that feels heavier than it should.

she lets out a low groan, the sound rumbling in her chest and spilling into the quiet. “you’re always talking, huh? why can’t you just say yes like a normal person?”

you shrug, the teasing glint in her eyes pulling a soft chuckle from you. “where’s the fun in that?”

her hand slows, her touch shifting from absentminded to something more deliberate. her fingers slide from the outside of your thigh to the tender skin on the inside, her movements light but intentional. her gaze drops to watch the path her fingers trace, her focus sharp and quiet, like she’s lost in her own thoughts. faint whispers fall from her lips—soft, incoherent murmurs that seem to spill out without her even realizing.

and you’d be lying to yourself if you said her touch didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t make the air feel just a little heavier.

“huh?” your voice breaks through the haze, low and teasing. “i need you to speak up, my love.”

her hand stills, her thumb pressing just a little harder into your skin, the faint pressure pulling a spark of heat up your spine. she looks up at you, and her gaze is different now—something deeper, heavier, like the weight of an unspoken truth. her thumb resumes its path, slow and deliberate, but her eyes remain on yours, studying you in the dim light.

it feels like she’s memorizing you—every curve, every shift in your expression, every shallow breath you take. and in the quiet hum of the room, you feel it again: that thread pulling tighter, wrapping around you both, binding you closer than words ever could.

“you’re so unfair, you know that?” her voice drops an octave, thick with something unspoken, the sound wrapping around you like velvet.

your eyebrows lift, a subtle quirk that dances between curiosity and teasing. “i am?” your voice is soft, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

her head dips in a slow, deliberate nod, the silver of her chains swaying faintly with the motion, catching the warm glow of the candles. shadows flicker across her face, her expression unreadable but her eyes speaking louder than words.

“how so?” you breathe, your playful smile blooming fully now, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

her free hand moves, fingers grazing the side of your knee, the touch light as air yet impossible to ignore. her fingertips trail back down, her movements slow, deliberate, like she’s mapping every inch of your skin. “you sit here,” she murmurs, almost to herself, her words dragging in the air between you, “looking like that… looking at me, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

her voice sends a spark straight through you, a thread of heat winding itself tight in your chest. a laugh escapes before you can stop it, light and airy, your body jolting with the sound. “what am i doing, baby?” you ask, your voice dipping into something soft, sweet, and maddeningly coy.

her hand lifts, leaving your skin cold in its absence. she drags it up to her face, her palm covering the flush that spreads like wildfire across her cheeks. your voice—the way the nickname falls from your lips, slow and deliberate—undoes her. it’s the low tilt of your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips, the ease with which you say it, like you know exactly what you’re doing to her.

a deep groan escapes her, muffled by her hand, her body sinking further into the couch like she’s trying to hide from the weight of it all. your laugh spills out again, fuller this time, bubbling over as her flustered state only seems to grow.

her eyes cut to you, sharp but soft, like she’s annoyed and enamored all at once. her hand slides down her face slowly, the motion deliberate, landing softly beside her. she exhales, her head tilting back slightly, her cap casting shadows across her flushed face. “you’re impossible,” she mutters, the words carrying no real bite, just the lingering weight of her vulnerability.

and you smile, a warmth spreading through your chest as you take her in—the way she tries to compose herself, the way her gaze softens despite the tension in the air. because in this moment, with the light flickering and the world quiet, it’s just you and her. and that’s all it ever needs to be.

your stomach tightens at the way she looks at you, with longing and desire etched so plainly across her face. her voice curls around her words, low and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. but you hold your composure, tilting your head slightly, letting your cardigan slip further off your shoulder. the exposed skin feels cool against the air, but the weight of her gaze sets it alight. your eyebrows lift, an unspoken challenge lingering between you, as you wait for her answer.

before she can speak, her hands find the underside of your calves, her grip firm yet gentle. you let out a surprised yelp as she pulls you closer in one smooth motion, dragging you across the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your thighs slide against the fabric, your breath hitching as her hands settle there again, warm and commanding. the sudden proximity leaves you breathless—your faces so close you can see everything: the deepening blue of her eyes, their edges dark with lust, the faint constellation of freckles scattered across her skin, like stars glimmering faintly against a quiet sky.

you notice the way her lips part, soft and plush, glistening slightly as her tongue darts out to wet them. she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it briefly before releasing it, her gaze locked on yours. she exhales sharply through her nose, the sound low and ragged, her breath fanning warmly against your face.

“you’re so pretty,” she whispers, her voice thick with a quiet ache that sends a shiver down your spine. “it’s not fair. you’re driving me out of my mind.”

your lips twitch into a teasing smile, the heat rising to your cheeks impossible to ignore. “yeah?” your voice is soft, a little breathy, but still teasing as your hand moves up to cup her cheek. your thumb brushes gently across her skin, and you keep your eyes locked on hers, unrelenting, daring her to close the distance.

“yeah.” her voice is barely above a breath now, her face tilting ever so slightly as her lips press into yours.

her kiss is slow at first, deliberate, her lips moving against yours like she’s savoring every second, every taste. her hand slides further up your thigh, her grip tightening just enough to send sparks racing along your nerves. the weight of her free hand against your face steadies you, her thumb grazing the edge of your jaw as she pulls you closer, deeper into her.

your hands find their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the soft strands of her hair, your thumbs brushing the skin behind her ears. you tug her closer, her groan reverberating through you, a warm, low sound that seems to settle deep in your chest. her hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you into her lap, the shift effortless, like you were always meant to be there.

your legs straddle her hips, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of her as her hands find your waist. her thumbs draw lazy circles there, the light pressure grounding you even as her kiss grows hungrier. her teeth graze your bottom lip, tugging lightly before her lips crash back into yours, leaving you breathless.

your fingers tighten against the nape of her neck, nails dragging lightly against her skin, and she shudders under your touch, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. the sound makes your heart race, the heat between you two building, the world fading into the soft glow of candlelight and the quiet hum of your shared breaths. nothing else exists but her—the weight of her hands, the press of her lips, and the quiet intensity that burns between you, igniting something you can’t name but never want to end.

the taste of her is intoxicating, the faint trace of mint on her lips mingling with something sweeter, deeper—something that pulls you under, leaves you wanting more. every kiss feels like a promise, slow and deliberate, building into something that leaves no room for air, no room for doubt. her hands find the hem of your cardigan, slipping beneath it, the cool press of her rings on your skin like tiny shocks of electricity that ripple through you, making your breath hitch.

her lips part from yours, trailing a path of warmth and want from your cheek to your jawline, each kiss deliberate, unhurried, like she’s memorizing you in pieces. when she reaches your neck, she pauses, breathing you in, the scent of your laundry detergent mixing with the soft trace of vanilla candles and the rich warmth of your body butter. “mm—mama, you smell so good,” she murmurs, her words vibrating against your skin before she presses another kiss there, teeth grazing lightly.

your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck, nails grazing her scalp, earning a low, drawn-out moan from her. the sound alone makes your stomach flip, heat blooming low in your belly. she bites down, just enough to make your breath stutter, her tongue soothing the sting, but before the bruise has time to settle, you pull back.

her hands are quick, catching you instinctively, clasping behind your back as though to steady you, to keep you close. her brows furrow, the expression subtle but telling, her lips swollen and slick from your kisses. she’s looking at you like you’ve just shattered a moment she wasn’t ready to let go of, confusion pooling in the depths of her blue eyes.

“what’s wrong?” her voice is low, threaded with concern, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath.

a grin spreads across your face, slow and teasing, as you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the laugh bubbling up in your chest. “we’re not fucking on this expensive-ass couch, babe,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the lilt of your voice light and teasing.

she blinks at you, a beat passing as your words sink in, and then the corners of her lips twitch upward into a grin, crooked and lazy. “seriously?” her tone is laced with amusement now, the sharp edge of desire softened but not gone. “you don’t trust me on your couch?”

you shake your head, the grin still playing on your lips as you make a small sound of disapproval. “not in this outfit, i don’t.” your fingers find the flannel draped over her frame, brushing the fabric lightly as you fluff it out, your touch featherlight and deliberate.

she laughs, a low, throaty sound that rolls through you, her messy brown hair swaying as she leans back slightly, her hands returning to your hips like they belong there. the tension between you shifts, still heavy but now threaded with playfulness, the kind of ease that makes your chest feel lighter. “ you really don’t wanna stay out here?”

“um…no,” you say, letting your gaze flick around the room before meeting hers again, your eyes glinting with mischief. “besides, i’m just saying, if we’re gonna fuck, i’m gonna need more space than this, babe.”

her grin widens, crooked and endearing, her eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“dead serious,” you reply, your voice steady, your expression a mix of challenge and amusement.

“you’re such a diva, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are,” you shoot back, the smirk tugging at your lips impossible to hide.

she groans, loud and dramatic, but the spark in her eyes betrays her excitement. her black hat tilts slightly as she stands, her movements easy and fluid. “lead the way,” she mutters, her voice still low but threaded with anticipation.

you slide off her lap, your hand slipping into hers, fingers lacing together as you tug her to her feet. her grip tightens, grounding you for a moment before you turn, the soft patter of your feet against the floor the only sound as you lead her to your room.

you smile, the energy between you two shifting again, this time in a direction you both have grown to know so well. every step carries the weight of the unspoken tension that’s lingered between you, each echoing softly in the quiet as the anticipation coils tighter. when the door clicks shut behind you, the atmosphere thickens, the air charged, electric. it feels like stepping into a new world—one that belongs only to the two of you.

you turn to face her, letting your eyes rake over her frame, unhurried, deliberate. really looking at her feels like a privilege, like witnessing art up close. billie stands there, her plaid button-up shifted slightly askew, the white crop top beneath clinging to her in all the right ways. the silver chains around her neck glint softly in the low light, catching your attention like they’re daring you to touch them. her rings shimmer as she flexes her fingers, the subtle movement making you want to trace their paths over her skin. she stalks closer, slow and measured, the faintest smile curving her lips, but her eyes give her away—darkened with desire, the hunger in them mirroring your own.

you toss your head back with a groan, overwhelmed by the way she looks at you, by how effortlessly she owns the moment. “oh my god, you’re so fine. like, what the actual fuck,” you whisper, half to yourself, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

billie’s lips part as though to respond, but you don’t give her the chance. instead, you close the distance, your lips colliding with hers in a kiss that’s urgent, desperate, all-consuming. her hands find your waist almost immediately, the heat of her touch burning through the fabric of your cardigan as her fingers trace the outline of your frame with a reverence that makes your knees weak.

your own hands slide up her chest, palms pressing against the cool press of her chains, the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. your fingers reach the buttons of her shirt, and you work them loose one by one, savoring the soft hitch of her breath with each undone clasp. her lips never leave yours, the kiss deepening with every second, every layer of fabric removed between you adding fuel to the fire.

when the last button falls free, her shirt slips open, revealing the soft curves of her stomach beneath the hem of her crop top. your fingers ghost over her skin, tracing the faint lines of muscle, dipping lower to the curve of her belly. your touch brushes against the delicate silver of her belly piercing, the small charm swaying lightly, catching the light. the sight of it, the subtle movement, makes your breath catch.

billie lets out a soft moan, the sound rippling through you like a wave, her body trembling beneath your hands. your nails scrape lightly against her skin, just enough to make her gasp, the sharp intake of air like music to your ears.

your hands move upwards, palms grazing the curve of her chest before sliding even higher, finding their place on her shoulders. your thumbs brush back and forth over her exposed collarbones, the motion slow, deliberate. her breath hitches, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly, giving you an unobstructed view of her face. the way her brows knit together, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the faint sheen of sweat gathering at her temple—it’s all so breathtaking, so unguarded.

you can feel her body reacting to every touch, her soft moans and sharp gasps filling the space between you, grounding you in this moment. her hands find your hips again, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to leave you craving more, her touch equal parts grounding and electrifying.

your hands wander down her back, tracing the planes of her body, mapping her with a devotion that feels almost sacred. every dip, every curve, every inch of her feels like it’s yours to discover all over again. her skin trembles beneath your touch, her reactions beautiful and raw, each sound she makes wrapping around you like a melody, pulling you deeper.

you marvel at her—at the way her body responds to yours, at the way her moans become softer, more desperate as your fingers glide lower again. there’s something intoxicating about the way she melts into you, like you’re the only thing that matters, the only thing tethering her to this moment.

but billie being billie, she’s always so impatient. “oh my god—” she breathes, her voice trembling as her hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, pulling you into another searing kiss. it’s hurried, electric, but beneath the urgency lies something deeper, something tender. her lips press against yours like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the heat between you.

her hands find your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your cardigan as she moves, never breaking the kiss. step by step, she guides you back until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs, sending you tumbling softly onto the mattress. billie follows instantly, her body hovering over yours, the weight of her pressing you gently into the bed as her lips trail back down to your neck.

she takes her time, scattering a mix of hickeys and featherlight kisses along your skin. her lips drag over the curve of your throat, her breath hot and uneven as her teeth graze you ever so slightly, each nip leaving a trail of heat in its wake. her hands are everywhere and nowhere at once, fidgeting with the buttons of your sweater. but her frustration mounts quickly as the fabric refuses to cooperate, her movements becoming more frantic with every passing second.

“fucking hell—” she mutters, voice low and husky, her breath hitching as she sits up slightly, straddling your hips. her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, grounding herself as her fingers tug impatiently at the stubborn clasps.

“what?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to see what’s wrong, your own breath catching at the sight of her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

“these damn buttons, babe. why did you decide to wear a sweater?” she grumbles, her lips pressing into a thin line as her fingers fumble. the frustration is written all over her face, but there’s a fire in her eyes, a hunger that makes you ache in the best way.

you bite back a laugh, your heart swelling at how adorably flustered she looks. “hey, be gentle. this is my favorite cardigan, okay?”

her hands pause for just a moment, her gaze flickering up to meet yours, lips parting as if to argue. but then she groans, a soft, almost desperate sound escaping her. “i don’t care. i’ll buy you another one—just take it off,” she whines, her voice trailing off, heavy with need.

her yearning is palpable now, written in the tension of her shoulders, in the way her fingers twitch against the fabric, in the way she looks at you—like she’s starving, like you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy her. but there’s something more behind her frustration, a depth to her longing that catches you off guard. it’s not just about the physical connection; it’s about being completely, utterly yours in a way that words could never fully express.

you take her hands gently, stilling their restless movements as you guide them away from the buttons. “relax, babe,” you whisper, your voice soft but teasing as you take matters into your own hands. your fingers make quick work of the buttons, sliding them free one by one with practiced ease.

billie watches intently, her gaze flickering between your hands and your face, her breathing shallow as the sweater falls open, the fabric slipping from your shoulders to reveal the fitted spaghetti-strap tank beneath. the hem of the top has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of your stomach and the tiny diamond piercing that glints in the low light. her eyes darken as they trail upward, lingering on the curve of your breasts peeking over the neckline.

“see?” you murmur, your voice soft and playful as your eyes meet hers. “you just have to be gentle sometimes.” a small, knowing smile tugs at your lips, and for a moment, all the tension eases, replaced by something sweeter, something that feels like an unspoken promise.

billie swallows hard, her lips parting as if to respond, but the words don’t come. instead, her hands move back to your waist, her touch gentler this time, almost reverent as her thumbs trace slow circles against your skin. her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her gaze fixed on you like you’re the most captivating thing she’s ever seen.

“i guess,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper before grabbing you once more, pulling you into another kiss. it’s softer this time, slower, but no less intense. your fingers thread through her hair, the strands silky against your fingertips as you accidentally knock the baseball cap from her head. it falls behind you, landing on the comforter with a soft thud.

without breaking the kiss, you reach back blindly, your hand swatting around until your fingers brush against the cap. grasping it, you pull it forward and carefully place it on your own head, twisting the brim backward in one fluid motion. it’s a small gesture, playful and unassuming, but the effect it has on billie is immediate.

her breath catches, a sharp inhale that seems to echo in the quiet room. her hands tighten on your waist, gripping you as though the sight of you in her hat has stolen whatever composure she had left. her lips part, her pupils dark and blown wide with desire as she stares at you like you’ve just set her entire world on fire.

“you… fuck,” she breathes, the words spilling from her lips in a low, shaky exhale. her voice is thick, raw, dripping with something primal, something almost desperate.

you don’t miss the way her hips press into yours, the way her entire body reacts to the simple act of you claiming her cap like it’s yours now. it’s intoxicating, the rush of power and intimacy swirling between you like a storm neither of you can control.

her hands are on you again, roaming your body with renewed urgency as she tugs at your cardigan, sliding it off your shoulders with a rough but measured pull. your undershirt follows shortly after, the fabric soft as it glides over your skin, leaving you in just your bra.

your own hands are anything but idle, sliding beneath the hem of her black-and-white flannel. your nails skim her skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake as you work the shirt off her arms. the flannel slips to the floor in a quiet heap, followed by the white crop top she’s been wearing. the cotton clings briefly before you pull it over her head, her chains catching the light as they fall back into place, swaying gently against her chest.

the air is thick with the weight of the moment as you both stand there, stripped down to bras and pants. the silver of her chains glints with every rise and fall of her chest, her breathing heavy and uneven. the cool metal contrasts sharply against the flushed heat of her skin, a juxtaposition that feels almost poetic.

her hands slide down to your thighs, her palms warm as they press into your skin, urging them apart. her body fits perfectly between them as she lowers herself, her lips returning to your chest. she trails kisses over your collarbone, her mouth soft and deliberate as she works her way downward.

her fingers glide up your torso, slow and steady, until they find the clasp of your bra. with practiced ease, she slides the hooks free, the tension releasing as the straps slip loose around your shoulders. she hooks her index finger beneath the center of the fabric, the touch deliberate and teasing as her lips venture lower, kissing a steady path toward your navel.

your breath hitches as you feel the cool metal of the ring on her finger. it drags down your sternum in a maddeningly slow motion, the chill of it sharp against the warmth of your skin. she pulls the bra along with it, the fabric slipping away to leave you completely exposed.

billie’s lips don’t stop, their pace shifting between urgent and languid as if she’s memorizing every inch of you, leaving no part of you untouched. her hands follow the curve of your body, reverent and hungry all at once, like she’s trying to make up for every second she’s ever spent without you.

“you think it’s cute to play with me like that?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, though the hunger in her tone is unmistakable, wrapping around you like smoke.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you reach down, fingers grazing the cool metal of her chains, the links warm from the heat of her skin. they clink softly as your touch trails lower, over the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her chest, down to the subtle rise and fall of her abs. her muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and you deliberately let your nails drag lightly, just enough to leave a tingling path in their wake.

“i think you love it,” you whisper, your voice soft yet edged with challenge, your lips curling into the faintest smirk as you look up at her.

she doesn’t dignify the statement with words; her response is instant and all-consuming. her lips crash against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs in a kiss so searing it sets every nerve in your body alight. her hands grip your hips with a desperation that makes you dizzy, pulling you into her as if she can’t get close enough. the weight of her body presses against you, grounding you, tethering you to this moment as your fingers slide up into her hair. the strands are soft against your skin, and you give a gentle tug, earning a throaty groan that vibrates against your lips.

“fuck,” she breathes when she finally pulls back, just enough to look at you. her chest heaves as she takes you in—the way your bare chest glows in the soft light, the hat perched on your head backward, your lips kiss-swollen and parted. her blue eyes burn as they trace over you, drinking in every detail like she’s trying to commit it to memory. “you’re so perfect,” she murmurs, her voice raw, almost reverent. “you don’t even know.”

her lips find your neck again, moving with purpose. she lingers at your pulse point, where her teeth graze your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. the sting is fleeting, soothed almost immediately by the warmth of her tongue, and the combination sends a shiver down your spine. your back arches involuntarily, pressing you closer to her as a soft, unbidden moan escapes your lips.

her hands explore you with a sense of ownership, gliding over your body as if she’s mapping you out, committing every curve, every reaction, to memory. her touch is deliberate, possessive yet achingly tender, like she’s determined to make you hers in every possible way.

when her lips descend lower, trailing a line of heated kisses down your neck and over your collarbone, your breath catches. the anticipation is electric, each kiss leaving a spark in its wake until she reaches your chest. she pauses there, her movements slowing as her eyes flick up to meet yours. for a moment, the world stills. the vulnerability in her gaze is raw and unguarded, a quiet question unspoken between you, and your heart stutters in response.

slowly, she leans down, pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your breast. her lips are soft but purposeful, the contrast making your body hum. when she finally takes your left nipple into her mouth, the warmth of her tongue against your skin sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. your gasp is sharp, filling the room, and you feel her smile against you.

her hands knead your thighs as her mouth continues its deliberate exploration, the cool metal of her rings biting into your skin in the most delicious way. she takes her time, savoring every reaction, as if each gasp and whimper from you feeds something deep inside her. every touch, every kiss feels like a promise—silent but unbreakable, binding the two of you together in a way that words never could.

“billie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your left hand pressing against the bed behind you, propping yourself up as your right grips the back of her head, guiding her where you want her.

she hums against your skin, the vibration seeping deep into your bones, a shiver running down your spine like a whisper of fire. “say it again,” she murmurs, her voice dark, smooth, commanding, drawing out every syllable as if it’s a secret just for you.

“mm—billie, baby,” you repeat, louder now, desperate, the words tumbling from your lips like a prayer, and it’s enough to drive her further, spurring her on. her lips continue their slow, relentless descent, teeth grazing, biting in all the right places, leaving marks that will linger into tomorrow. she revels in the thought of you carrying her with you, a part of her left behind even when she isn’t there.

by the time she reaches the apex of your thighs, your body is trembling, every inch of you electrified, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. billie pauses, her lips brushing against the soft skin just below your hip bone, and you feel the tender press of her breath, her hands gently coaxing your legs wider. she looks up at you, and the sight of you—skin flushed, chest heaving, her cap still perched on your head—makes something fierce stir in her. her voice is low, rough, as she speaks, the words laced with a hunger that matches your own. “sweetheart, you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

you’re too far gone to respond, but the way your fingers tighten in her hair, tugging just enough, says everything she needs to hear. her hands knead the inside of your thighs, her touch light, teasing, before she slides your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion, discarding them carelessly. a sharp gasp slips from you as the cool air brushes against your skin, the dampness of your pussy already betraying your need.

her middle finger hovers over your slit, teasing you just enough, before she presses a kiss just above where you ache for her. the soft, teasing pressure pulls a frustrated whimper from your lips, and billie smirks against your skin, her own desire too fierce to be denied for long. without warning, she gives you exactly what you’ve been begging for.

her lips press against your clit, light, teasing kisses that send shivers through you. then, her tongue darts out, slipping between your folds with a slow, deliberate motion, tasting you. the sensation causes your back to arch, a soft cry escaping your lips as her hands slide down your right leg, propping it over her shoulder, opening you up further. the taste of you, mixed with the soft jangle of your anklets brushing against her ear, makes her moan, the vibrations sinking into your pussy, intensifying the pleasure.

her mouth moves with a rhythm so perfect it feels like she’s made for this, her lips and tongue working together in a dance that makes every nerve in your body hum. your hand drifts down to the side of her face, fingers brushing against her cheek as you tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. she lays her head on the inside of your thigh, leaving one last lingering kiss on your clit before her fingers take their place. her middle finger teases your entrance, slick with your essence, and she spreads it gently through your folds, rubbing you with a slow, sensual rhythm.

the room fills with the sound of your soft cries and her low groans, the air thick with the need building between you. her hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you writhe beneath her, your body trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “my girl’s so pretty…” she murmurs, her voice dripping with lust. “gonna cum for me, mama?”

you nod, the wordless answer spilling from you as you can barely form coherent sentences. “yea—‘m gonna cum—fuck…”

“yeah?” she teases, her voice thick with pleasure, as she removes her fingers from you, making you whine in frustration. but she’s quick, taking her middle and index fingers—both slick with you—and tapping them lightly against your clit before thrusting them inside. your eyes roll back, the sensation overwhelming, and you shut them tightly as a moan rips from your throat. the cold metal of her rings against your skin, the sight of her inked angels curling around her fingers, is enough to make you gush, your body trembling beneath her touch.

“uht uht gotta look at me, baby.” her words are hot against your thigh as she pumps her fingers inside you, your cum dripping down onto her digits. you struggle to open your eyes, the pleasure so intense it makes it hard to focus, but when you do, you meet her gaze—her blue eyes darkened with lust, locked on yours through the fluttering of her thick lashes, her stare searing into you with an intensity that makes everything else fade away.

your hands reach to the back of her neck, fingers trembling as you try to pull her face back to your cunt, guiding her with the desperate urgency building in your chest. billie doesn’t hesitate, her fingers curling inside you, flexing in a ‘come here’ motion, and the sensation makes you moan once more, a string of curse words tumbling from your lips, breathless and broken.

without missing a beat, she places her mouth back on you, her tongue lapping at your juices in long, slow strokes, her fingers moving in tandem, creating a rhythm so perfect it threatens to unravel you completely. each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, the euphoric feeling almost too much to bear. your hands scramble for something to hold onto, your fingers desperately clawing at her skin as you start to break, your body trembling under her touch.

your release comes like a tidal wave, crashing over you with such intensity it leaves you gasping, your body shaking as billie fucks you through it, her steady pace never faltering. “my sweet girl, doing so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice low and possessive as her mouth pulls away from you. you watch, breathless, as the taste of you drips from her chin, glistening in the dim light like a mark of ownership.

but she doesn’t stop, not until you’re completely done. her fingers remain inside you, caressing you softly through the lingering tremors, her touch almost reverent as you come down from your high. through hazy eyes, you watch her lift her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste you, her eyes fluttering closed as she moans softly at the sensation, savoring the taste of you like it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever experienced.

billie watches you as you slowly return to yourself, your body still trembling lightly, chest heaving with each shallow breath. the sight of you—flushed, glistening with sweat, her hat still perched on your head, tilted just enough to give you an air of control—makes her heart race in her chest. she swears she could combust from the sheer magnetism of you, the power in your presence, the way you hold her with just a glance.

you catch your breath, a lazy smile curling on your lips as you gaze down at her, fingers trailing lightly over the smoothness of her neck before you grasp the chains, tugging her up until your faces are barely inches apart. “your turn,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with desire. the words send a shock straight through her, and she swallows hard, nodding with a hunger that matches your own as you push her back onto the bed.

billie’s breath hitches as you straddle her hips, her hands instinctively finding purchase on your thighs, gripping them with a tenderness laced with urgency. the weight of you on top of her, combined with the dark intensity in your eyes, ignites something deep within her, setting her whole body on fire. you lean down, your gold necklace glinting between you, and let your lips trail along her jaw, kissing her in a slow, teasing rhythm that makes her shiver beneath you.

“keep the hat on,” she breathes, her voice trembling, breaking slightly as anticipation clouds her every word. “please.”

you smirk against her skin, the corners of your lips curling with a mixture of mischief and adoration. your fingers graze over the silver chains around her neck, following their curve before sliding lower. her bra clings to her, damp with sweat, and you take your time peeling it off, savoring each moment, each inch of skin exposed to you. her breasts, her toned stomach, the glint of her belly piercing, all draw you in. billie groans when your nails trace lightly over her nipples, a shudder running through her before your hands travel lower, gliding over her abs, the sensation making her grip your thighs tighter.

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmur, voice thick with awe, your fingers brushing delicately over the piercing. you dip your head, placing a kiss right above it, before trailing your lips back up her chest. billie lets out a soft curse when your mouth finds her skin, kissing and nipping along her collarbone, your lips moving with reverence as your hands roam across her body.

the rings on her fingers clink softly as she grips the sheets beneath her, trying to stay grounded, but it’s impossible when your nails graze her chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, or when the ink on your skin brushes against hers, creating an electric contrast to the softness of your lips. her head tilts back, a low moan escaping her, your name falling from her lips like a whispered prayer as you continue to worship her, exploring every inch of her with maddening focus, leaving no part of her untouched.

and then you lean back slightly, hands settling on the waistband of her jeans, your gaze locking with hers in a silent question. billie nods quickly, lifting her hips to help you slide them down. the sight of her—bare, vulnerable, completely at your mercy—makes your heart race in anticipation.

your fingers trace the contours of her tattoos as you kiss your way down her body, moving with purpose, savoring every sound she makes, every tremble of her muscles beneath your touch. your nails brush lightly over the dragon inked into her skin, a sensation that sends a shiver through her, while your tongue lingers on the cursive “hit me hard & soft” tattoo, tasting her, each movement slow and deliberate.

when your lips finally reach her most sensitive spot, billie’s back arches off the bed, a low groan escaping her as her hands fly to grip your hair. her movements falter when she sees you—hat still perched confidently on your head—looking up at her like this, all control and hunger in your eyes.

“jesus christ,” she groans, her voice breaking, the words barely coherent. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the sound of her surrender only spurs you on. you let your nails trail lightly up and down her thighs, teasing her, your touch languid and calculated. with a satisfied smile, you pull back, a thin string of her slickness attaching itself to your lips. billie watches, her eyes hazy but still alert, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. you shake your head gently, crawling back to her, your lips capturing hers in a kiss, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

a moan slips from her as she savors the moment, her hands pulling you closer. you shift your position, straddling her, grinding your body against hers as you break the kiss to adjust the cap on your head, the motion subtle but commanding.

a small, playful smile spreads across your face, a light laugh escaping you as you take her in, her face glistening with your essence. her eyes, clouded with desire, wander over you as you hover above her, your lips bending down to nibble and lick at the skin of her neck. your bodies align, a slow and deliberate grind causing a wet, audible sound as your slickness meets hers, the sensation of your clits kissing sending electric shocks through both of you.

billie’s hands leave the sheets, finding purchase on your body, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other skimming the curve of your back as you move against her, slow and deliberate, savoring the intimacy of each motion. each shift sends a jolt of electricity through both of you, the friction of your bodies igniting a deeper craving with every passing second.

the pressure builds, subtle but undeniable, as your clits brush against one another. the sensation is intoxicating, the heat of her body against yours becoming a drug you can’t get enough of. her fingers slip into your hair, gripping the roots, tugging gently to pull you from the sensitive spot on her neck, forcing your gaze to meet hers.

you whine softly, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to focus, the sensation of her pussy against yours overwhelming you. the feeling of her so close, so perfect against you, makes you ache, your body begging for more, even as you’re already on the edge of losing control.

“i need you to look at me,” billie breathes, her voice a soft plea, but you’re too consumed by the rush of sensation to fully register her words. your body is a storm of fire and need, and it’s all you can do to hold on.

she tugs your hair again, harder this time, and the sharp pull makes your eyes snap open, catching the intensity in her gaze.

“there she is,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, “need my pretty baby to look at me, okay?” the words break through the haze of pleasure, and you nod, your breath coming in short gasps, teetering on the edge of your release.

“oh… billie…” your voice trails off into a soft whimper, your body trembling under the weight of it all.

“i know, mama, come on. cum for me sweet girl” she coos, her hands moving with purpose now, one finding the side of your throat, the other gripping your hips, guiding your movements with steady pressure. the cool metal of her rings presses against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding your body. her tatted hand caresses your neck, her thumb gliding along your jugular, a rhythm that mirrors the frantic beat of your pulse, squeezing lightly every so often, grounding you in the moment, urging you closer to the edge.

both of your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound thick with need and the pull of release. your movements are rhythmic, steady, as you bring her closer and closer to the edge, her rings catching the dim, sultry light with each twist of her wrists.

and when she finally falls apart, her body goes rigid, every muscle tense, before she lets out a long, drawn-out cry, her release crashing over her in waves. you don’t stop. your hips rock back and forth, chasing your own high, each thrust a mix of need and pleasure, the sensation of overstimulating her clit pushing you further. her name spills from your lips like a prayer, each syllable a whisper of devotion, and you feel yourself unravel, your own release flooding over her, warm and consuming.

when billie finally collapses back against the pillows, her body trembling beneath you, she pulls you with her, your weight sinking into her as her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. her hair sticks to her damp forehead, but the dazed expression in her eyes quickly melts into one of pure adoration. the softness in her gaze is all-consuming, making you feel like you’re both in this space where time has stopped.

you sigh, your chest still heaving as you bury your face into the crook of her neck, the cap brushing gently against her jaw. her fingers find their way to your back, scratching lightly, grounding you as you try to catch your breath. your fingers trace shapes over her collarbone, the coolness of the chains brushing against your fingertips, dragging them back and forth.

her touch sends a tremor through you, and as she turns her head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, you feel anchored, her love a steady force that calms you. she holds you close, and for a moment, everything else fades.

you smile softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, the motion tender. “you okay?” you murmur, your voice gentle as your fingers trail down her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding you.

you roll yourself over, your body shifting to settle against hers, your chin resting on her chest. the soft rhythm of her heartbeat lulls you, a soothing pulse against your skin. your fingers graze the sides of her neck, the touch absentminded but intimate, each stroke of your nails a quiet reassurance, offering comfort in the stillness.

she nods, a lazy smile tugging at her lips, her hair tousled, sticking up in places, a wild mess of strands framing her face. her blue eyes are still hazy, but they sparkle with adoration, that soft, tender look that makes your chest ache. “more than okay,” she whispers, her voice a quiet murmur, as though she’s still lost in the moment. “you?”

“never better,” you reply, your voice low and warm, bringing her down for a gentle kiss, your movements slower now, more deliberate. your hands cup the sides of her face, your thumb brushing gently over her lips as you try to erase the remnants of the passion you shared, as if it could all be wiped away with the lightest of touches.

a hearty chuckle bubbles up from her throat, the sound rich and warm, filling the space between you. the vibrations of her laughter send a current of heat through your body, and you fight your own smile, not quite managing to keep it at bay. “stop laughing at me,” you say, your voice a teasing whisper, though it holds no true reprimand. “you’re so pretty…” you trail off, your thumbs now wandering over the delicate curves of her face, brushing over her smooth skin, memorizing every inch of her softness. her eyes follow your movements, wide and full of affection.

“oh, is that why you were screaming like that?” she teases, her voice playful, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. your smile falters, and you stare at her, blinking, trying to process her words. the playful shift catches you off guard, and in an instant, you quickly remove your hands from her face, sitting up sharply.

“okay, cause see, now you ruined the moment,” you grumble, but there’s no true bite to it. you can’t suppress the giggle that rises in your chest as she laughs. her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back toward her, her fingers locking behind you, caging you in, and you instinctively grab onto her biceps, the muscles flexing slightly under your touch. you steady yourself, feeling the solid warmth of her, the strength beneath the softness.

“you were all like, ‘oh billie, please—fuck me.’ ” she fake moans, her voice high and exaggerated. your eyes roll back, and you can’t help but laugh at her poor attempt to mimic you, the mockery both endearing and ridiculous.

“oh, shut up! i was not. besides, don’t act like you weren’t worse. as if you weren’t loving it,” you retort, your tone playful but full of truth. you jab a manicured nail lightly into her chest, the sharp point making her flinch slightly, before you press the flat back of the chains against her sternum, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth between you.

“i wasn’t, it was mid. i’d rate it a 7.5,” she says, her shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. the glint in her eyes tells you she’s just playing, enjoying the way your attention sharpens on her every word.

your eyes widen in exaggerated shock, and you lift the cap off your head, fingers brushing against the brim that’s now facing backward. you point to your hair, the strands sticking up in all directions, messy and unkempt. “so who did all of this? hm? baby, tell me?” you tease, your voice soft but full of challenge.

she licks her lips, the slow motion of it drawing your gaze, and her eyes flutter closed briefly as she takes in the way the nickname rolls so easily from your tongue. “i don’t know, but it definitely wasn’t me,” she says with a playful tilt of her head.

“it wasn’t you? okay, bet.” you place the cap next to you, feeling a small sense of humor bubble up. leaning down, your body hovers halfway over hers, your arms stretching out to the side to grab whatever article of clothing you can find. you return with her plaid button-up in hand, the fabric soft in your fingers as you shrug it on, its warm scent wrapping around you like a reminder of her.

“what are you doing?” she asks, eyes following your every move, her fingers instinctively tightening around your waist. it’s a subtle sign, but one that doesn’t escape you—she doesn’t want you to leave.

“i’m taking my 7.5 ass somewhere else,” you say with a grin, your voice light but purposeful. you reach behind you, trying to unlock her hands, but she holds tight, not giving an inch. “…girl… the fuck—let go of me, you heathen.” you tug once more, and with a small sigh, she releases her grip, though you can feel the reluctance in the gesture.

billie groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with a hand draped over her face, hiding from you as if the drama of it all could somehow shield her. you laugh, grabbing the cap and tossing it playfully at her, the hat landing perfectly on her face, obscuring her vision of you. with a last glance, you rise to your feet, your body lingering in the moment, letting the warmth between you both settle before you finally make your way to the door.

she sighs contentedly as she removes the hat from her face, knocking it lightly to the side before pulling your comforter around her. the soft, plush fabric wraps her up like a cocoon, the weight of it a comforting embrace. her head sinks into the fluffy pillows, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she reaches out, grabbing the remote on your dresser. with a quick click, the tv flickers to life, a random cartoon playing softly in the background.

time passes slowly, the quiet moments stretching on, and soon enough, she realizes you still haven’t returned. “babe!” she calls out, but there’s no reply. she calls your name again, louder this time, her voice cutting through the stillness of the room as she waits for you to respond.

“no, billie! leave me alone,” you drag your words, the irritation clear but fake, she can tell. a grin plays at the corners of her lips.

“hurry uuuup,” she mutters, her voice muffled by the pillows as she rolls over onto her stomach, pressing her face into the softness. the fabric feels cool and feathery against her skin, and she closes her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment.

she senses you walking back into the room before she hears the jangle of your anklets, the soft sound alerting her to your presence. the quiet clattering of objects against your nightstand follows, the rhythm familiar, like a soft heartbeat in the background. she hears you move toward the bathroom, the water running as you clean yourself off, and then the sound of drawers opening.

after a moment, you walk over to your dresser, the creak of the wood under your fingers as you grab a fresh pair of underwear and bottoms for yourself. she can hear the rustle of fabric as you grab the same for her, along with a black wife-beater tee she had left over a while ago, the soft cotton now carrying your scent, familiar and comforting. it makes her smile softly to herself, the mundane moments with you somehow making everything feel right.

shuffling over to the bed, your hand traces the curve of billie’s back, fingertips brushing against the inked lines etched into her skin, the swirls of tattoos a story in themselves. your nails leave a faint trail, and the goosebumps that rise on her bare skin are a silent response to your touch. the warmth of the rag in your hand contrasts with the coolness of her skin as you gently lift her face, tilting it just enough so she faces you. the rag meets her face with a light dab, and she sighs softly, the heat from the cloth making her eyelids flutter closed in contentment. you’re careful, gentle, as you wipe away any remnants of the moment that clung to her skin.

when you’re finished, your thumbs move to her cheeks, coaxing her eyes open slowly, her gaze still soft and clouded with affection. they find yours, blinking a few times before she’s fully focused, the warm affection clear in her eyes.

“roll over,” you murmur, voice soft, coaxing, and she responds with a low whine, reluctant but not unwilling.

“billie, move. i need you to roll over,” you say again, your voice taking on a slight edge as your fingers slide from her back to her stomach, gently pressing against her ribs. with a soft grumble, she shifts, her body moving slowly, obediently. you reach for the covers, pulling them down her legs with delicate precision. the fabric slides like silk under your hands, and you move the rag to a new spot, gently wiping any trace of slickness from her skin.

you close her legs softly, your touch lingering for a moment as you toss the rag aside. your hands move to her arms, guiding her to sit up, your fingers brushing over the smoothness of her skin, trailing down her arms like a whispered promise. you hand her the clothes with a soft gesture, the fabric cool to the touch.

billie looks at the clothes for a long moment, her expression thoughtful, before her gaze shifts back to you. you’re already standing, dressing yourself with slow, deliberate movements, and with a sigh, she does the same, pulling the clothes on with the same quiet grace. there’s a calmness in the air, a quiet intimacy shared between you both.

turning around, you move toward your desk, the sound of your footsteps barely audible against the soft hum of the room. you grab her signature blue water bottle and your own, the cool plastic in your hands a brief contrast to the warmth still lingering between you both. a charcuterie board filled with light snacks follows, the delicate arrangement of cheeses, fruit, and crackers a comforting touch. you place them carefully on the nightstand, the soft click of the items settling on the wood the only sound that breaks the silence.

stepping in front of billie, you watch her as she works the tee over her shoulders, the fabric sliding smoothly against her skin. her fingers move to adjust the chains, making sure they lay perfectly over her shirt. she does the same for you, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck as she tugs at the necklace, positioning it just right over your collarbone. the gentle touch makes your pulse quicken, though she’s unaware of the effect she has on you in this moment.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and full of affection. she presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips, her fingers slipping between yours, the warmth of her hand settling against yours like it belongs there.

you lean down, grabbing her jug off the sleek nightstand, handing it to her with a soft, knowing smile. “of course. now drink up,” you say, the words light but the meaning behind them deeper than either of you can put into words.

billie raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. her lips twitch, pulling into a mischievous smirk. “bossy,” she teases, her voice a soft lilt.

“okay, and?” you challenge, a small grin tugging at your lips as you meet her gaze. the look you give her is enough to make her snicker, the sound light and carefree, filling the space between you. she takes the bottle from your hand, her fingers brushing over yours before she lifts it to her lips.

she drinks slowly, her throat moving in rhythmic swallows. you can’t help but watch, entranced by the sight of her. when she pulls the straw from her lips, she suddenly collapses back onto the bed, dragging you along with her, the movement fluid and easy. your head falls against her chest, the steady beat of her heart like a comforting lullaby. her hand rests against your side, moving slowly up and down, tracing patterns on your skin that send a shiver through your body, just as it did earlier. the intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, soft and warm like the glow of the room around you both.

“aww, you made a little charcuterie. you’re so cute.” she says, her voice softer now, the teasing lightness replaced with something deeper, more affectionate. she looks down at you, her eyes warm with tenderness. you shy away, half-laughing, as she peppers kisses all over your face, each one a little sweeter than the last. “oh my god, billie, why are you like this?” you mutter, half-embarrassed, but the affection in your voice betrays you.

she pulls back, her gaze never leaving yours, filled with nothing short of adoration. you can’t help but notice the way the soft light catches in her eyes, making everything around you feel like it’s fading away. it’s just her and you, in this moment.

you meet her gaze, your heart doing that stupid little flutter thing it always does when she looks at you like this, when she makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to her. “because, i love you,” she says softly, the words falling from her lips like they’ve been waiting to be spoken for so long.

a bashful smile weaves itself onto your lips as you bury yourself further into the warmth of your bed, the soft sheets and blankets wrapping around you like a cocoon. “i love you too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, but it holds everything — all the things you’ve never had the words to say.

billie smiles, her expression softening even further as she leans forward, the distance between you vanishing in an instant. her lips press against yours, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t. it’s a promise, a reassurance, and in that single moment, you both know exactly how much you mean to each other without needing to say another word.

the two of you drift off slowly back into your normal routine, wrapped up in each other, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment. you pick at the snack tray, the small, comforting bites feeling like nothing more than an excuse to keep touching, to keep sharing this quiet space. conversations flow easily, from the silliest of things — the kind of random banter that only you two could share — to deeper thoughts that weave between the cracks of the mundane. there’s a moment when the two of you spill tea about the latest gossip, laughing so hard your sides ache, but even in those lighter moments, there’s something grounding in the way you fit together.

the earlier passion, still lingering like a sweet ache in your bones, gives way to something quieter, more intimate. the heat fades, leaving room for a tenderness that wraps around both of you like a soft blanket. the love you share, now resting in this peaceful space, is just as powerful, but it moves with the calm of a river, flowing beneath the surface, steady and unshakeable.

this, you think, as she holds you close, her breath warm against your skin, the rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat a lullaby in your ear — this is what home feels like.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

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schrijverr · 15 hours ago

Text

I Mean, You Love Him, Don’t You?

Divergence from chapter 31, where Shannon sees the bombing on TV and immediately realizes (or thinks she does) what is happening; what has happened without her there. However, upon arriving at the hospital, she realizes it’s a little more complicated than that.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, referenced emotionally abusive parenting

~~~

Shannon is at home by herself when she sees the news. Ever since fleeing El Paso and the death of her mother, she’s been working on herself. She’s going to community college at night and has a pretty okay job as receptionist.

The dating game is something she’s been out of and she only has a few friends, but she tells herself that she isn’t lonely. That she’s doing okay.

Though, maybe sitting alone on her couch and mindlessly watching TV isn’t the best way of proving that to herself.

However, it works in her favor, because otherwise she wouldn’t have seen the breaking news segment interrupting the game show she was starting to find annoying. The bomber that’s been terrorizing LA blew up a firetruck and is holding a bunch of firefighters hostage.

“If you’re just joining us, witnesses are reporting that this LAFD ladder truck, belonging to station house 118, was hit by some kind of an explosive as it was making its way to a call. Now, you can see there’s a firefighter pinned under that truck.”

The camera pans and Shannon drops her tea cup as she gasps: “Evan?”

She thought of Evan from time to time after she left, the boy that she couldn’t love that she used as an escape from the boy that couldn’t love her. She wondered what happened to him, after she left Chris with him, a thing she still feels guilt about. Wondered where he went after. What job he worked. If he got out of there like she did.

To see him after all these years and in these circumstances is shocking. He did get out. He’s been in the very same city as her. He has a different job now, probably a whole new life. And he’s being held hostage!

Her hands start shaking and she starts reaching around, as if there is something she needs to grab or do that will change the situation. But she can’t. She’s sitting on her couch and he is on an intersection somewhere pinned by truck and some jackass with a bomb.

On the screen, you can see some commotion to the side, before someone is running. The journalist reports: “This is unexpected. A civilian now confronting the young man with that vest. We’ve got no details on this man’s identity.”

As they continue to speculate and report on what’s happening, Shannon is on the edge of her seat. She has always wished Evan nothing but to best. To see him like this now hurts way more than expected.

After what feels like forever, the man that walked onto the scene tackles the bomber. There appears to be somewhat of a scuffle, but then more police, bomb squad looking people are moving in and the reporter on the scene tells them the bomber is taken into custody.

Shannon lets out a sigh of relief, sagging slightly and allowing herself a thankful gaze to the heavens. She hasn’t moved her eyes away ever since she first recognized Evan and she’s pretty sure the tea will stain her rug and her couch.

God, that was super stressful. She doesn’t think she can handle anymore revelations like that today, she thinks to herself.

“Well, that firefighter really appears to have taken the brunt of all of this. That’s an entire ladder truck that you see there. We can only hope for the best at this point.”

She sits back up, wanting to at least keep watching until Evan is freed and on his way to the hospital, maybe even send him a card or something. Then, naturally, because the universe loves to fuck with her, another revelation gets thrown in her face when she looks back to the screen. The camera zooms in on the firefighters helping and she spots a very familiar silhouette among them; Eddie.

Holy shit.

She rubs at her eyes and blinks a few times, before squinting at the screen. She has half convinced herself she’s imagining things, but no, that is still very much Eddie.

From the angle and distance, she can’t make out many of his facial features, but she doesn’t really have to. The way he’s kneeling beside Buck, hand continuously running over him again and again, while his counterpart medic doesn’t, tells her enough.

There is a desperation there when he looks up to the man that rushed in earlier to talk down the bomber. His shoulders are both tight and slumped. He almost looks a little like he did during the last glance she send to him, before she was whisked away by doctors during her birth.

The thought makes her swallow and a pit grows in her stomach when the man responds and Eddie almost collapses in on himself, only held up by the steel in his spine that has been forced in there by his father.

Shannon claps her hand to her mouth, nearly choking on her tears. She can’t have just been forced back into this sphere she left behind just to face another tragedy. She can’t watch as Eddie loses another person dear to him after her. She doesn’t even want to begin to think what it would mean for Christopher.

“Now, look at this. Bystanders stepping in. They're gonna help out. This really is an amazing scene that’s unfolding. What an incredible show of support and gratitude.”

Oh thank God. Bystanders are indeed stepping in, running over the blockade to help and lift the truck off of Evan. The tears now truly start to fall and she can only feel gratefulness towards everyone there, who stepped up and helped.

She watches as Evan is lifted on a stretcher by the woman who was helping Eddie earlier and another man. Eddie is also there, but he doesn’t appear to be helping, instead holding Evan’s hand as he disappears into the ambulance.

Despite following along every moment, it doesn’t all register until the camera pans away from the disappearing ambulance.

Shannon tunes the journalist out, who is babbling about beautiful moments of support, instead again realizing that, holy shit, Evan and Eddie are in the same city as her. Christopher is probably in the same city as her. Evan and Eddie still know each other. Work together.

When she left Christopher with Evan, she did so, because leaving him anywhere else would invite questions that would crumble her resolve. She always felt bad about it, but she never questioned what that would have meant. Now, she understands that her leaving the way she did, forced Evan and Eddie into each other’s orbit.

She has always assumed that after a while, Evan would leave El Paso too. That he would have saved up enough and leave that shithole town behind like they both always wanted to. In a way, he did, though he didn’t leave it alone.

Or he ran into Eddie again at work and this is all coincidence.

However, Shannon has a hard time believing that. She remembers Evan clearly no matter how many years have passed, the way he was always ready and happy to help, delighted in watching Christopher, showing him all the chickies. Seeing them together still, it doesn’t feel unreasonable to her that he stayed when she left. That he kept offering to help.

A part of her feels like she should be surprised Eddie took the offered help. When she was still there, he wanted nothing to do with Evan – the boyfriend – always making sure she did drop off and pick up when Evan watched Christopher.

But she doesn’t find it weird. Evan is so open and earnest and Eddie must have been panicking when he found her gone. Guilt stabs through her again. She can totally believe that he would have been weak to those baby blues just like she was, especially when she divorced him for the reason she did.

Yeah, sure, Eddie never confirmed she was right and resisted her more delicate way of bringing it up, but he signed those paper without too much protest, and looking at him now, even tiny on that television screen, she can tell he nearly lost the love of his life.

She needs to find him.

She knows it sounds crazy, because she walked out on not only him, but their child soon and she never turned back. After all she did, she is probably the last person he wants to see. Ever.

However, he just went through something ginormous and he needs people to lean on. Shannon might not know anything about accidents, but that looked bad, and she does know what it’s like to have hospitalized and dying loved ones. You need people to prevent you from drowning. Eddie needs someone right now. A friend.

Before she got pregnant and responsibility took them down – something much bigger than they could prepare for tying them together – they had been friends. Good friends. They’d spend hours driving around, talking, laughing, sharing things they never shared.

If she hadn’t become pregnant, Shannon believes that even though they wouldn’t have worked out in the end as partners, she would have had a lifelong friend in Eddie.

Besides, if her theory about what happened between them is correct, then Christopher just had one of his dads be severely injured. If wanting to support her child, even if Eddie won’t let her see him directly, isn’t a good reason to at least try to find him, she doesn’t know what is.

So, she spends some times trying to figure out where the truck bombing happened, before finding nearby hospitals, driving to the wrong one first, before finding the right one.

Shannon is a little anxious, just as she was the first time, when she gets out of her car, but pushes through anyway. She’s been running for long enough from this. The people that were once her family need her, she isn’t going to abandon them again.

She is glad she gathered herself in the car, because she runs into Eddie a lot quicker than she thought she would, finding him slumped on the ground next to the ER entrance. His knees are up to his chest and his head buried between his knees.

Her stride pauses for a second, unsure how to get his attention. His shoulders are shaking a little and it hits her that he’s crying. She can’t recall ever seeing Eddie cry before. Not when he left for boot-camp, not during the birth, not after that doctor’s visit that got Chris a diagnosis. Not when they fought and not when they divorced. He always seemed so strong, so perfect, so much more in control of himself than her.

It’s almost odd to see this version of him, but it humanizes him too. He isn’t the perfect parent that she could never be, the good son to her bad daughter. He’s just a man. And right now he is alone. Everyone just walks past him, letting him cry by himself.

After hesitating for a moment longer, she takes a deep breath and makes her way over to him, sliding down the wall and sitting down next to him. She doesn’t say anything or touch him, just sits close enough so that he can feel her presence.

“Are you going to be disappointed at me again?” Eddie asks after a moment, voice rough and raw. He doesn’t look at her when he says it, she isn’t even sure he knows who he’s talking to.

“Why would I be disappointed in you, Eddie?” she asks, proud of herself when she doesn’t waver when she talks to him. She is also curious at the answer, wondering why that’s what he expects anyone that is here with him to be with him.

Eddie’s head whips up at the sound of her voice. His eyes are red-rimmed, wide in their shock, and his hair is an absolutely mess. He gapes a few times, then almost seems scared as he softly asks: “Shan?”

“Hi, Eddie,” she smiles crookedly. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“Wha- what are you doing here?” he asks, scrabbling back a little.

A part of her withers in her chest. She didn’t expect a warm welcome, but this is also a little extreme, though to be fair, she did ambush him slightly. So, she tries not to take it to heart as she explains: “I saw what happened on the news. First recognized Evan, then you. I kinda guessed what might have happened, since I left. I wanted you to not be alone.”

Eddie stares at her as if she’s an alien, clearly trying to find his wits and failing slightly. She might not know him well anymore – maybe she never did – but she knows his overwhelmed face from miles away.

“I know being alone sucks,” she says, when he stays quiet, wanting to give him more context. “I never meant to stay gone. Never meant to leave the way I did. I just didn’t know how to come back. This kind of felt like a sign, I guess?”

“Signs aren’t real,” Eddie tells her, almost instinctively. He startles a little at the sound of his own voice, then blinks himself into the presence and frowns: “You didn’t know how to come back? Maybe pick up the phone? Call? Send a card? Or a text? Hell, even a telegram or a fax.”

She can’t help the humorless chuckle that escapes her and she shakes her head: “It’s not that easy, Eddie.” He is about to protest, but she cuts him off: “I am sorry. I am. So incredibly sorry. You have no clue how guilty I’ve felt all these years. I want to make it right. Make it up to you. To Christopher. But right now, I just want to be here for you. Are you okay?”

With the way he looks, Shannon would have thought she slapped him, instead of merely asking a question.

Then he glares at the ground, as if his eyes can burn a hole in it. There is a small tremble in his lips, but he bites down harshly, pushing it all down. “I’m fine,” he grits.

Watching him now, she wonders how much he pushed down when they were together, how much of his hurt she didn’t see, like he didn’t seem to notice her hurts. God, they had just been stupid kids, hurting themselves in doing something neither of them wanted to.

She nudges him and waits until he is looking at her again, before she gently says: “It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know. I mean, you love him, don’t you?”

His eyes go from a mild glower to a wide eyed stare and he lets go of his bottom lip to gape at her. For a few moments, he’s silent, then he says in a hushed whisper: “Oh my god, I love him.”

“Did you- did you not know that?” Shannon asks, almost cautious. Maybe her assessment that they ran into each other and it was a coincidence was more correct, but then how long have they been working together for Eddie to fall for him the way he has?

“Yeah,” Eddie squeaks. Then he looks panicked as he asks: “Does this- Am I… am I gay?”

Shannon freezes, unsure if it is considered rude to answer yes to that. Finally she settles on saying: “Do you think you’re gay?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie yelps. “Do you think I’m gay?”

“Uh…”

“Oh my god, you totally think I’m gay.”

“Well, you just agreed that you love a guy, pretty sure that’s kind of gay,” Shannon exclaims, hands fluttering about awkwardly. “And, like, I kind of thought you were… when I divorced you. But you can say you’re not.”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t know that,” Eddie says.

“You didn’t?” Shannon can’t help but ask.

Eddie groans and buries his head in his hands, but she can see his ears have turned pink. Embarrassed he asks: “Was I- Was I that obvious about it?”

“A little,” Shannon winces apologetically. “But I only noticed after Chris was born. Too caught up in it all before that, I suppose.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs. “I- I wasn’t a great husband.”

“No, you weren’t,” Shannon sighs. “But I don’t think either of us were great at being married. God, remember how we fought?”

“Yeah, that got bad,” Eddie says, uncurling slightly and managing a small smile. He is relaxing again, seeming slightly more grounded than when she first arrived and accidentally made him question his whole identity. Them being able to joke about their marriage won’t fix everything and there is so much she still has to make up for, but it feels like a good first step.

With them on more solid footing, she feels a bit of curiosity burning, both at what happened with Chris after she left as well as with Evan and Eddie. Slightly suggestive, she asks: “So… you and Evan.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “He goes by Buck.” Then he blushes at the correction that seems to come almost instinctive.

“Okay,” Shannon nods with a smile. “So… you and Buck.”

The blush get worse and he curls in on himself. “It’s not like that. We’re best friends. He probably doesn’t even like me like that. He’s just so good and nice. Too nice.”

Shannon can recognize that. She can still remember the way she said the same thing to him. It hadn’t been a compliment then, not entirely. But the reproach was mostly directed at herself. How she didn’t deserve his kindness.

Eddie rubs his face and groans again: “God, he is so fucking nice. And sweet. And good with Chris. He loves that kid to death, you know.”

Vaguely she thinks, that maybe her first assessment was right, except the being in love together kind, but just that Buck stayed to help. That realization, though, gets overshadowed by a stab through her heart at the words. At the knowledge that someone else is good with her kid, that Christopher has a bond that she was supposed to have with someone that is not her.

However, she knows that she can grieve the feeling of a lack of connection to Christopher, but it’s her that walked out. So, she swallows it and with a wobbly voice, she says: “I’m glad Christopher has him.”

“Me too,” Eddie says, voice tight. “Fuck, I don’t even know how I’m going to tell him about this. What can I even say to him? Do I bring him here to wait for Buck to wake up? Or do I wait until Buck is out of surgery? Let Chris sleep tonight and burden him tomorrow, but risk him feeling like he missed out on being here for Buck or – god forbid – saying goodbye to him?”

Shannon’s breath catches and she almost doesn’t dare to reply. She hesitates, wondering if Eddie is actually asking her on advice about raising Christopher again, if he trusts her with that, or if this is just him ranting.

Cautious, she asks: “Would the security of knowing Buck is okay later be better for him or the ability to be here for him now regardless of the situation?”

“The- the last,” Eddie finally decides. “He’d want to know. He’d want to be here.” He nods to himself, then goes to fish his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. “Hey, Carla. Did you see the news?”

She has no clue who Carla is and tries to remember if it’s anyone from Eddie’s vast extended family that he mentioned when they were married, but no one comes to mind. It sits wrong in her chest that she doesn’t even know the person who is with Christopher right now.

“Yeah, he’s in surgery. He’s probably going to live, but his leg- it’s bad. Really bad. Uh, can you- can you bring Chris to the hospital? I- I want to tell him myself. In person. And I can’t just leave Buck alone here,” Eddie’s voice snaps her back to the conversation.

When he replies to whatever Carla said, he sounds like there is something stuck in his throat. “Thank you so much. I- I don’t know what I would do without you.” Then he quickly hangs up, clapping a hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes closed.

She pulls his tense form into her side. Her ass is cold and kind of numb from sitting on the ground outside, but she doesn’t care. She’s run so long from this. Not just from El Paso, her in-laws or Christopher, but Eddie too. They had never been there for each other, no matter how much they tried to be. If she wants to come back, that has to change too.

So, she holds him, lets him tuck his head into her neck and feels the way he cries. Even now, he is restraining himself, shoulders tight to prevent them from hitching and cries silent, only felt as hot tears hit her skin, not heard and carefully hidden from view.

Still, despite his restrain, he doesn’t succeed in stopping himself from crying and it takes a few minutes before he stops himself.

Once he does, he pulls away from her. He roughly rubs his tears away, frowning as if annoyed with himself that they’re even there. Before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders.

Shannon just watches in a weird sort of fascination as a mask gets pulled on, then realizes with a start that mask is more familiar to her. She wonders if she’s a stranger to Eddie too. Wonders if they were ever anything other than two strangers pretending they weren’t.

“I need you to go,” is what he finally sees when he has gathered himself completely.

“What?”

Her heart constricts, cracks and gets folded in on itself to punch her in the gut. She knew not to expect a warm welcome, but she thought she at least broke the ice somewhat, opened herself up, apologized, and it seemed like Eddie accepted that somewhat. But now that is undone and he is shutting her out, like he always does.

The instinct of all their years together is to fight, to get angry, but she suppresses it. Eddie is not her husband anymore and she gave up the right to call herself Christopher’s mother. It’s up to Eddie to let her in again, to let her make it right. It crushes her that he doesn’t want her to, but it’s not on her to force this on him.

So, she swallows the bile that comes up. The taste of broken hope foul in her mouth.

However, then it seems Eddie’s words register in his own mind and he waves his hand around kind of panicky as he says: “Oh, no, not- not like that. I just- For now.” He pinches his own brow and takes a breath, then steadier he says: “I need you to go. For now.”

“Just for now?” Shannon asks, unable to help keep that vulnerably hopeful note out of her voice as she does.

“Yeah, just for now,” Eddie assures her. “I- I can’t- Right now, I- I have to worry about Buck and- and Chris and our- our job. Fuck, I- I only just realized I love him. I can’t- I need to process that, be here for Chris, for Buck. I can’t deal with you being here on top of that. I need to talk to- to Buck first.”

“Of course, yeah, no, I get that,” Shannon immediately says. She can’t even begin to imagine how tonight must have been for Eddie. Her showing up was a gamble and it paid off, but not right now. Not in the midst of all this.

Still, she is going to do it right this time, not abandon Eddie to his fate like she felt abandoned. It’s a terrible feeling, trust her. So, she checks: “As long as you’re gonna be okay. Are you alone here? Will you have anyone here other than Christopher? Someone you can lean on?”

She almost asks after Carla, but stops herself. It sounds jealous even in her own mind, even though it’s not meant like that. God, what if Carla is Buck’s girlfriend? That would make this whole thing even more of a mess.

“I’ll- uh, I’ll have Carla? Maybe,” Eddie offers. “She’s an at home care aid, watches Chris. That’s something.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Shannon breaks kindly. “Is there anyone you can call? Didn’t you get here with coworkers?” She’s pretty sure she saw more people on the news.

Eddie winces at the mention of coworkers and he says: “Uh, they all kind of hate me right now.”

“What? Why?” Shannon frowns. She now remembers how their conversation started, how Eddie thought there was someone there to be disappointed in him. She can’t imagine why someone would be in these circumstances. Unless Eddie somehow caused the accident, but that seems unlikely.

“Uh, they all found out me and Buck are married,” Eddie mumbles, not meeting her eyes as his cheeks flush once more.

“You’re married?”

The flush only strengthens and Eddie ducks his head, still refusing to look her in the eyes. “Yeah, we, uh- we are. Marriage of convenience. So, Buck could adopt Chris and watch him while I re-enlisted. I- I didn’t want my mom to take him. She might not have given him back.”

That is a loaded sentence and Shannon needs a moment to process every part of it.

Firstly, marriage of convenience? Does Eddie mean to tell her that these two idiots got married, because it was useful and it’s taken him until now to even realize he’s in love with the guy? That he’s fucking gay? Really?

Secondly, Buck adopted Christopher. She doesn’t know why that feels like a punch in the gut. She already knew that Buck has a prominent spot in his life, that he took over for her after she left. But hearing that he has a legal claim on him, while she gave up hers, makes it real in a way that tears her up inside.

Thirdly, they did that to prevent Helena from taking Christopher. Out of everything, that’s the easiest to absorb. Helena has wanted to raise Christopher on her own from the moment he was born, even before that too. If it wasn’t a federal crime, Shannon maybe would have snapped at some point and just taken Christopher and ran across state borders to get away from her.

Once everything has settled, she has to pick what to focus on, finally deciding to say: “Only you, Eddie, only you.”

“Uh, thank you?” Eddie replies, horridly awkward in a way that reminds her of the eighteen year old she fell in love with once upon a time.

She giggles, unable to help herself, the laughter only growing stronger as Eddie squawks and gently pushes with a pout.

“Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” she smiles. “It’s just very you. Bet it was your idea to lie about it to your coworkers.” He blushes. “Oh my god, it totally was.”

“I said shut up!” Eddie exclaims, but there is something lighter about him when he does.

Shannon holds her hands up in defeat as she smirks: “I will, I will.”

“Good.” Eddie eyes her suspiciously, then pouts: “It wasn’t meant to get this much out of hand. We just started lying and then we got in too deep and couldn’t get out anymore.”

In a way, the words remind her of what he did with her. The way he convinced himself that he loved her, kept going and going until they had a child, a marriage, a home, and he couldn’t get out. How both of them got trapped in his lie.

This time, he has a different lie, however. This time he probably kept telling himself it wasn’t that deep, that it was just convenience and didn’t mean anything. That no one had to know, because then no one could tell him what he was doing meant something. Then no one could force him to see what he’s been ignoring for so long.

Her chest constricts for him and she squeezes his shoulder. “I hope it works out well for you this time, Eddie.”

He frowns for a moment, probably confused how she got to that response, then smiles crookedly: “Me too, Shan.”

“Tell them they need to be there for you, yeah? And let them,” she asks, because she’s sure Eddie won’t let them, even if they extended an invitation. He has always been stubborn like that.

In response his face contorts and he doesn’t meet her eye as he says: “Maybe,” which is probably all she is going to get from him now, unless she wants to push, but she doesn’t.

As predicted, Eddie decides he’s had enough of this for today, because he hauls himself onto his feet and holds his hand out to pull her back up. A part of her feels like maybe she should call him out on it, but he’s probably has had a hard enough day. Plus, he still has to break the news to Christopher. She wishes she could be there for that, but knows it’s too soon. It wouldn’t be good for Christopher and she refuses to be a horrible mother. So, she lets Eddie pull her up.

Eddie pauses for a moment when they stand there, clearly hesitating for a moment. His spine straightens with resolve and then he quickly wraps too arms around her, squeezes her for a moment, before letting go and stepping back. “Uh, thank you. For coming.”

The bashful little look he gives warms something inside her and for a moment, she remembers the moments like this one that made her fall in love with him all those years ago.

However, she’s older now. Wiser too. The warmth is no longer the flutter it used to be, instead it’s a nostalgic fondness. A love she used to feel, now whittled down into something else, something more friendly. She likes that that still exists too.

“Of course,” she smiles. “Is it too early to make an in sickness and in health joke?”

“Probably,” Eddie snorts loudly at that. That stupid snort he always did when he genuinely found something funny. God, she missed that. She missed the friend she had.

“Then I’ll wait with that,” she grins widely. A little more timid, she asks: “Will you call me when you have news on Buck?” and news on if I can ever see my son again, she doesn’t say, though she’s pretty sure Eddie picks up on it.

He sends her a sympathetic look, but it doesn’t make her feel pitied like it used to do, even if Eddie has his mother’s face. “I will,” he promises. To add a bit of lightness to it, he jokes: “Does that mean you’ll unblock me?”

Shannon lets out a short laugh at that, though it’s more of a wet chuckle if she’s honest with herself. “I will,” she promises too. Both promises feel like more than coordinating an update.

For a moment, they just stand there, next to the ER entrance. Silently. Then Shannon jerks with her thumb in the general direction of her car and says: “I guess, I should go now?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie agrees, obviously feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. “Uhm, goodbye, then, I guess? For now.”

“Yeah… Goodbye. For now,” Shannon nods. She hugs him again, then quickly walks away before she can find another excuse to stay. Christopher has to deal with this first, before she can come back. She isn’t going to be a horrible mother. Not again.

So, she leaves.

Well, she goes to her car. Then she sits behind the wheel, telling herself to turn the key and drive away, but finding herself unable to do so. Before tonight, she thought she would never see Christopher again, that he was halfway across the country. But now he’s in the same city as her. Almost at the same building. So incredibly close.

Which means that Shannon sits right there. Unable to move, eyes trained on the ER entrance Eddie disappeared through moments earlier. She isn’t going to talk to him. She just wants to see him.

After fifteen minutes, there he is. He’s walking with an Afro-American woman, who is leading him gently. He’s dressed in his pajamas and looks a little sleepy, but he’s walking easily with his crutches, glasses firmly in place. He looks okay. Happy. Healthy. So big.

A breath catches in her throat and without her permission a tear slides down her face. It’s immediately followed by another, then another one, until she’s crying in her car. Alone.

It’s not even an entirely sad sort of crying. It is a little, but it also isn’t. Sure, she is sad because the baby she once held is now a little boy, easily standing on his own too legs and no longer tripping over his crutches and it aches, because she missed so much. But he looks okay. He lived. She didn’t irreparably fuck him up for life and that’s a relief she didn’t see coming, until it suddenly hits her now, sitting in her car, watching him.

She waits until he’s inside, then sits there for a few minutes longer. It’s a Herculean task, but she turns on the ignition and manages to drive away.

At home, she falls into bed feeling exhausted. She is anxious about how tomorrow will go. If Eddie will ever contact her again, if Buck will let her back in Christopher’s life, or if he’ll block her return while Eddie would have let her back in. If she will ever see Christopher again. If he will still want her there.

It gnaws on her. Her mind keeps running and sleep alludes her until the late hours. In the end, she finally manages a few hours fitful sleep.

However, she shouldn’t have worried, because when she finally wakes up the next morning, it is to a series of texts from a number she hasn’t had contact with in years. The contact name is still Edmundo, which she had done to be petty after the divorce. She changes it back to Eddie, before opening them.

Is a hospital a weird place to confess?

This is Eddie, by the way.

Chris took the news about Buck as well as he could.

Buck is okay too.

We’re with him now.

Might take a while to bring it all up.

A knot unclenches in her stomach and a smile comes on her face. It’s not perfect, it will be a while for her to be allowed back in, but Eddie isn’t pulling back and Christopher and Buck are both okay. She couldn’t ask for more.

So, she decides to be hopeful instead. She’s been working on herself. This is a good step for her. It’s maybe even a first step to getting some semblance of a social life, because when she’s honest has been a little lonely.

With a shit eating grin, she texts back: A hospital is a great place to confess

Hug Christopher tight from me?

Would it be ok for me to send Buck a card?

A/N:

Does this AUAU primarily exist to fuck with people that check the titles for this fic on tumblr to trick them into thinking the reveal wasn’t happening in chapter 30? Mayhaps. However, I am happy about bringing Shannon back for this, just to let her know what happened in her absence, since that will always be iconic to me, because that is wild from her POV

I am sad I didn’t bring Shannon back in the main verse, but you can’t bring her back without having to deal with all the messy emotions that come with the way they split up and the insecurities and whatever and that isn’t what the main fic is about. And if I brought her back, that is what it would have become about. However, dipping my toe in it through these AUAUs is very fun :D

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gabrielleyueerrrrr · 21 hours ago

Text

Rain Lilies - AVA/M

Word count: 2,165

CW/TW: - Canonical character death, if you survived AVA 11, you can survive this :)

Characters: Victim, Mitsi, Agent

Relationships: VictimxMitsi, Victim&Mitsi, Victim&Agent

Addtional tags: It gets better before it gets worse, Victim has speech impediment, Mitsi my beloved is trying her best

Summary: Mitsi and Victim grow some flowers.

»»———— ❋ ————-««

A brown paper bag rested on the table, slumped slightly under the weight of its contents. Inside it were small, teardrop-shaped bulbs, their surfaces covered in delicate, dry papery layers.

Victim frowned at it. “M-Mitsi... d-did you double-check our g-grocery list? We d-don’t need this m-many... sh-shallots, do we?”

The familiar stammer clawed its way out of him, and frustration curled tight in his chest. He should have learnt to speak properly by now-

“Hmm?” Mitsi’s head appeared from the kitchen, her ponytail swaying as she turned toward him. She followed his gaze to the bag, then broke into a delighted giggle. “Oh, Vicky, no! These aren’t shallots—they’re flower bulbs!”

Victim blinked. “Fl-flower bulbs?”

“Yep! The auntie at the flower shop gave them to me for free, as a thank-you gift for fixing her radio.” Mitsi hopped over and reached for Victim’s hands, her slender fingers wrapping warmly around his. Victim stiffened, but she didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she didn’t care. “I thought we could plant them in the front yard! Imagine—a little garden of our own. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” Her eyes sparkled, bright with excitement.

How she can find joy in every little thing around them, Victim could never understand.

Victim tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “W-why would you want to do th-that?” he asked, his voice slow, hesitant. “It’s not like they c-can b-be eaten... or, or turned into s-something useful.” He flicked his gaze to Mitsi’s face, bracing for the impatience or annoyance he’d come to expect from others. But all he found was her usual gentle smile, as if he hadn’t stumbled over every word.

"B-but if you like, like flowers, we c-can always buy some..." His voice grew smaller and smaller.

“Well, sure,” Mitsi said breezily, giving his hands a small squeeze. “But what’s the fun in that?”

“I d-don’t see the ap-appeal in handling dirt all, all day.” Victim muttered.

Her smile widened, and she leaned closer, a playful glint in her eyes. “But have you ever tried gardening before?”

“…N-no?”

“Then how do you know it’s not fun?”

“I…” Victim opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. With a reluctant sigh, he nodded, defeated.

Mitsi laughed, the sound light and clear, like the tinkling of silver bells. “Come on, Vicky! I know you’ll love it.”

»»———— ❋ ————-««

“Y-you know I can just…use my tools to make a h-hedge, right? Much q-quicker and sturdier.” Victim crossed his arms, glancing down at his partner, tone unimpressed. Mitsi sat cross-legged on the ground, humming a cheerful tune as she stitched together pieces of branches with straws.

“Yes, but I want to do it this way,” she replied, testing the durability of her handiwork before driving it firmly into the dirt.

Victim sighed and leaned his full weight against the makeshift hedge, pressing it deeper into the soil. “I d-don't know why you insist on doing e-everything by h-hand,” he said, his voice breathless from the effort.

“Well…” Mitsi paused to wipe the sweat beading on her forehead. “It feels like cheating to use quick and easy solutions for something like building a garden. Kind of takes away the magic, don’t you think?”

Victim shook his head, watching as she moved on to another piece. “I d-don’t think I get it, but…” He crouched beside her, meeting her expectant gaze. “Show me how you w-want it d-done.”

Remove all the grass and weeds.

Loosen the soil to a depth of 2-3 inches.

Plant the bulbs 2-3 inches deep, with the pointed end facing up.

Water the bulbs thoroughly.

Finally, add a layer of mulch on top of the soil.

By the time they finished, the sun was setting, casting their small garden in a honey-colored glow.

The two of them collapsed onto the ground, shoulder to shoulder, panting as they admired their work in silence. The soft chirping of crickets filled the air, and the tiny patch of earth in front of them looks tidy and full of promise.

"Oh, Vicky, hold still-"

“Hm?” Victim turned, only to feel Mitsi’s fingers brush against his cheek, wiping away a smudge of dirt.

“There.” She smiled, her eyes reflecting the warm hues of the alpenglow. For a moment, she looked at him like she’d uncovered some hidden treasure.

And although every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion, and his back was sticky with sweat, Victim thought that maybe, gardening wasn’t so bad after all.

»»———— ❋ ————-««

For the next few weeks, their garden thrived. Baby-green shoots emerged first, sharp as needles yet tender as silk. The shoots grew, unfurling slender, elegant leaves that swayed gently in the breeze. Two months after planting, small, tightly bundled buds began to form at the tips of the stems. Despite himself, Victim often found his gaze drawn to the window, secretly hoping to catch their first bloom unfurling under the sunlight.

Spring faded, its warm, floral breezes giving way to the heavy stillness of summer. The days grew hotter, quieter, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

Then, without warning, the storm struck.

The sky turned a bruised gray, and rain fell in relentless, bullet-like drops that battered the earth. Their little house shuddered under the force of the wind and rain, its wooden walls groaning like an old ship at sea.

Victim paced fretfully back and forth in front of the window, his gaze fixed on the blurred outlines of the garden. The rain fell too hard, too fast, obscuring everything. The thought of their flowers—exposed, their delicate leaves tearing and stems snapping under the storm—made his chest tighten.

“Vicky, what’s wrong?” Mitsi’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, but this time, her touch didn’t calm him. He shrugged her hand off, his stammer spilling out faster than usual.

“I-it’s all my f-fault,” he cradled his head, shaking it in frustration. “T-the flowers… I-I should’ve… s-set up a canopy, or… or s-something. I-I should’ve kn-known this w-would happen.”

“Oh, Vicky…” Mitsi cupped his face, her hands firm yet gentle as she lifted his head to meet her steady gaze. “It’s not your fault. No one could’ve seen this storm coming.”

“T-the flowers, they’re p-probably all r-ruined…”

“They’re not,” Mitsi said softly, her tone sure and unwavering. “Storms happen all the time in the wild. If wildflowers can survive, ours can too.”

“H-how can you…be so sure?” he asked, his gaze flickering between her eyes and the rain outside.

“I'm not,” she admitted with a small smile. “But I choose to believe.”

Victim’s eyes widened. Mitsi wrapped her arms around him, she smelled of sunlight, dried wool, and machine oil. “Our flowers are strong, Vicky. Stronger than you think.”

He stayed still for a moment, then nodded slowly, leaning into the embrace. “…W-what should we do now?” he asked.

“We eat lunch,” Mitsi said, her voice steady and comforting like a weighted blanket, “And we wait for the storm to pass.”

»»———— ❋ ————-««

The rain ended as abruptly as it had begun. The sky slowly lifted, a thin ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds to bathe the ground. Everything felt freshly washed, the world damp and drowsy. A great silence settled in, broken only by the soft drip of water falling from the roof tiles.

The front door swung open with a gust of wind, and Mitsi darted outside toward the garden, Victim following closely behind, clutching the back of her jacket. Their footsteps splashed through puddles, sending droplets scattering. A frog, startled by the sudden movement, leaped from the middle of the road and vanished into the tall grass.

But then Mitsi stopped, making Victim nearly bumping into her. Wordlessly, he slipped her jacket over her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes, wide and bright, was fixed to the garden in front of her.

“Look!” She said in a hushed voice.

Victim took a small step to the side, his breath catching as he mentally braced himself for the worst.

“Ah…” was all he could manage.

Countless newly bloomed flowers peeked out from a sea of green leaves. Dew drops rested lazily on their delicate petals, reflecting the sunlight with a mischievous glint. When the wind passed through, they twinkled like stars—white, pink, and yellow. “Hello, hello!” they seemed to sing, "Hello, hello!"

“Rain lilies,” Mitsi whispered softly beside him, “They bloom after a storm.”

Victim’s hand found hers, his grip tight, “T-They made it,” he said, his voice trembling, a shaky laugh escaping him. “I can’t believe they made it.”

“No, Vicky!” Mitsi turned to hold both of Victim’s hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked at him then—more beautiful than he’d ever seen her—her face radiant with untamed joy. “We made it!”

With that, they spun in circles together, the cool, muddy earth squelching beneath their feet. Mitsi laughed a pure, contagious laugh, one that Victim would try to remember all his life. Their shoes were soaked, their trousers splattered with mud, but they couldn’t care any less.

And if a rainbow appeared above them, arching over their garden as though the heavens themselves were smiling down on them, well… that was just a bonus.

»»———— ❋ ————-««

“Sir, you need to rest.”

Victim didn’t respond. His fingers, stiff and numb, pressed the replay button again. The screen flickered to life, Agent’s memory recording lit up the dark room.

Fire, debris, the deafening screams. Mitsi running toward a citizen trapped under a collapsed wall. Mitsi struggling beneath the rubble while bombs of fire rain down upon her. Mitsi, swallowed by the explosion.

Three days after the destruction of Newgrounds, Victim sequestered himself in the memory machine room. He replayed the scene over and over, watching it until his eyes burned like acid, until his head felt ready to explode, until the diabolic face of the black hollowhead, Mitsi’s killer, was seared into his mind, his nightmares, his soul.

Agent crouched in front of him. Behind his sunglasses, his best friend’s eyes were bloodshot, full of pleading.

“Vic, please.” Agent’s voice shook, and Victim had a sudden image of him teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Slowly, Victim stood, his joints stiff and protesting. He trudged toward the office he and Mitsi had shared, feeling the weight of Agent’s gaze on his back, a ghost haunting his every step.

Inside, the office felt strangely large and hollow. Mitsi’s big armchair faced away from him, as though it would turn at any moment to reveal her—smiling, teasing him across the desk. “And where have you been, my second-in-command?”

A horrible, broken sound tore from his throat, he swallowed it, covering his face as he walked quickly to his own desk.

But it wasn’t empty like he expected.

A gift box, wrapped meticulously in grey ribbon, sat in the middle of the desk. His heart skipped a beat. He recognized the handwriting on the tag.

For Vicky.

His hand shook as he opened the gift box, careful not to damage it in the slightest. Inside lay a flower crown, its glossy green leaves shimmering faintly. Inlaid among them, were—

When the wind passed through, they twinkled like stars — white, pink, and yellow.

—rain lilies.

Tears blurred his vision as he held the crown against his chest, cradling it as if it were the last piece of his girl left behind.

Beneath it, he found one last thing: a folded card.

He opened it slowly, reverently, like it was made of butterfly wings.

To my dearest Vicky,

Happy 4th anniversary of Rocket Inc.! I’ve always wanted to give you something special for this day, and I know you’d probably prefer something practical, but please don’t be mad at me for this flower crown instead! It took me forever to make—the flowers keep falling out—but I hope you’ll still like it. :)

Do you remember our garden? The rain lilies we planted? They’re my favorite flowers, you know. And I think they’re perfect for you, because they always bloom after a storm. I’ve always thought of them as a symbol of new beginnings. No matter how wild the storm, the rain lilies still bloom—stronger, more beautiful than before.

When we first met, you were hurting, Vicky. You were lost in your own storms, troubled by things I couldn’t even begin to understand. But I saw you change, little by little, bit by bit, you grew stronger. More confident. Happier. It’s hard for you to see, but I saw it. Every day.

You’re like our rain lilies, Vicky. You’ve faced your storms, even when you thought you wouldn’t survive them. But here you are, blooming. And I’m so proud of you. So, so proud.

I hope this flower crown helps remind you of that strength, of everything you’ve already overcome. And whenever you feel like the storm is too much, just look at the rain lilies. They’ll be here, just like me.

I’ll always be with you.

Yours, M ♡

#alan becker #animator vs animation #ava victim #ava mitsi #ava agent smith #ava fanfic #animator vs minecraft

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littlxpxtal · 2 days ago

Text

Homemade Dynamite

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lines

Seeing me rolling, showing someone else love

Dancing with our shoes off

Know I think you're awesome, right?

March

”Here, take this” Sabrina hands me a purple gummie.

”How much are they?” I take it out of her palm and inspect, giving it a quick whiff.

”Like 10mg. You can take two if you want.”

”What if we both take one and a half?’ I ask, reaching for the bag she pulled it out of.

”God I love your brain.” She smiles widely and pops her pink gummie into her mouth. I take a bite it of a green one and pass her the other half.

“How are you feeling about tonight?” She asks, brushing her hair infront of the mirror.

”Well, I need to get out of the house. So I’m feeling pretty good. I just hope Noah isn’t there.” I murmur the last part and she glances over her shoulder at me with a sympathetic look.

”And if he is, we don’t have to stay. Or we can get topper to kick him out.”

I sigh and finish zipping my boots up.

“I’ll be fine. As long as he leaves me alone, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

”And what are you going to do if Rafe is there?” I freeze in place and try to act as nonchalant as possible.

“I don’t know. Say hello I guess” I let out a fake chuckle and start to walk around the room looking for my purse.

“You’re not going to escape to a bathroom with him?”she jokes. I roll my eyes and walk over to the mirror with her, pulling out my lip liner.

“You’re hilarious you know that right?” She smiles brightly back at me and places the brush down.

“Alright, I think im ready.” She declares. I finish applying my lipgloss and turn to her.

”Let’s rage.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“These boots are NOT made for walking in the sand.” I complain to Sab as we walk through the sand to reach the party.

”I swear I thought it was going to be more in the house, since it still kind of chilly, Sorry girl”

As we approach the bonfire and makeshift bar, we run into many familiar faces, including Noah.

I ignore his group of friends, leaving Sab to chat with some girls from our grade to get a drink.

”Is it possible for a gal to get a sugar free vodka red bull” I say, leaning over the bar. Topper, who was bartending for the time being, smiled at me when he heard my voice.

“Y/N!” He yells. “I feel like I haven’t seen you out in a while. “ he reaches over the bar and gives me a makeshift hug. I giggle into his shoulder as he pats my back.

”One sugar free red bull coming up.” He says with a big smile.

“Looks like the pogues have officially set up camp.” I hear Kelce’s voice grumble behind me. I turn and give him a glare. His face goes from annoyed to shocked.

”YN, didn’t know you would be making an appearance.” He gives me a side hug and goes behind the bar with Topper.

“If pogues are here, Y/N is here.” I hear Noah’s voice grovel beside me. I ignore him as Topper hands me my drink. He flashes a look between us, and gives me a look of worry. I shake my head and turn on my heels, walking away without even looking at him.

I walk out to see where the pogues are, and see a small fire a few yards away, closer to the water.

“Hey” I call out. I watch their heads snap around in defense mode, everyone’s stiff until they realize its just me. JJ is the first one to run over.

“No fucking way, the kook princess makes an appearance.” I scoff and accept his embrace.

“Hey loser” I mumble into his shoulder. The rest of the boys join our group hug as the girls giggle from behind.

”WHAT?” Pope shouts out. “We lost the coolest member of our group. Sue us for being excited”

I chuckle at this declaration and give the girls individual hugs.

“I’m still not over being called a kook princess.” I say as I release Sarah.

“At least they’re calling you that and not me. I’m sick of that nickname” She says, placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

“I missed you guys” I say to the group, and they all lift their cups to the sky.

”To Y/N” John B says.

”TO Y/N” they all shout.I giggle into my cup and take a sip.

“So what trouble are we getting into tonight?” I ask, sitting down on a log next to Kie and Cleo.

”Remember when I said we had a plan for those losers that were at the scene of the crime?” Cleo asks me. I shake my head yes and they all snicker around me.

”Well we may or may not have messed with one of their kegs… you see its a simple prank really, but I brought backup use in case.” JJ says, flashing a gun in his waistband. My face holds still and I can hear the fire crackle.

“JJ, you wouldn’t actually use that would you?” I whisper, barely enough that the group can hear me.

“Just for backup, like I said.” He says, with an unreadable face. I shift uncomfortably and look back to Cleo.

”The prank on the keg is funny. I'm excited to see how that goes.” She gives me a smile and clinks her red solo cup against mine.

”Me too girl”

After catching up with the boys, I notice my drink is empty, and the edible is hitting. Hard.

“I need to find Sab and get another drink” I mumble to the group before using Kie’s shoulder as a crutch to stand.

“JJ would you ..” I hear Kie say to JJ. He shoots up and walks over to grab my arm.

”Let’s get you some water little lady.

”’m not little Jay” I grumble. Feeling the weight of the sand i'm standing on, the vibrations through my fingertips and the disgusting taste in my mouth. We make it up to the bar, and a new group of guys, probably sophomores at Kook academy working the bar this time.

“Can we get some water? And a few beers?” He asks. The boys glare at him, but they seem to recognize me enough to still get the water, neither of them addressing JJ, and passing the cup directly to me. He leaves the rest of the beers on the bar, and JJ reaches over dramatically to grab them.

“Thanks” I mumble turning to face JJ.

“Let’s go back to the water eh?” He starts to grab my arm and turn me before I halt and push against his chest.

”Said I wanted to find Sab.” I state, looking him hard in the eyes.

”Alright lets find Sabrina. Where would she be?” He asks, still holding onto my arm.

“With Top” I grumble, trying to take a step and falling into JJ.

”Alright, and where would Topper be?” He asks, holding me upright and looking around nervously. I felt bad. This situation probably looked bad. I was a mess, at the height of the edible, al I wanted was to find my best friend and giggle, but im no fucking help as to where she would be.

“Wait, what if I call her?” I say, pulling out my phone from my jeans.

“Good idea, lets go over here”

he pulls me to a corner of the party that isn’t heavily populated, the phone rings a few times before she finally answers.

”Sab where are you?” I ask frantically.

“Inside…. but we’re with rafe.” She whispers the last part and I grit my teeth.

”Where?” She tells me the room and how to get there, and I drag J by his arm through the crowd of people to reach the room.

“Give me that” I say, ripping one of the cups of beer out of his hands, chugging it as fast as I possibly could before tossing the cup. He stands there, shocked, and in his time of weakness I grab the other, chugging it fast as well. I continue to drag him up the stairs. We were a few feet away from the door before a hiccup escapes my lips and I turn to face JJ. He stops dead in his tracks so he doesn’t run into me.

“Sab is in there, but we gotta be careful, I’m not sure what we’re walking into” that was my best way of telling him rafe was behind the door and was going to absolutely hate seeing us together.

“Is it okay if im going in here with you?” He asks, scratching the back of his head.

”You really give a fuck? You brought a gun anyways” he shrugs his shoulders and follows behind me closely.

”Before we go in, can you promise me you wont use that, unless its extremely necessary. Like life or death?” I beg, holding onto his arm.

”Life or death only.” He promises. I look him dead in the eyes for a moment before turning the doorknob.

When we enter the room,it's filled with smoke, and a bunch of random people that probably knew the owner of this house better than me. What was his name again?

I look around, trying to find Sabrina in the cloud of smoke. I spot her across the room, on Topper’s lap, right next to him is Rafe, leaning over the glass table, snorting a line.

”Right right” Jj says, sighing and giving me a look before I drag him over to the other side of the room.

“Y/N!” Sabrina shrieks before jumping off of Toppers lap to give me a hug.

”Hi mama I was missing you” I exclaim, hugging her back tightly.

“Hi JJ” she says, and he responds back with a head nod.

My eyes trail off to the left of Sabrina to see tha rafe is completely avoiding eye contact with me, rubbing the tip of his nose and lifting his hips up to pull out his phone. I roll my eyes and look back at Sab, leaning into her ear

”It’s hitting.” I say,smiling big and giggling

”Dude me too im fucking fried” she says back into my ear, giggling back

“Why don’t we go play in the water” i say, grabbing onto her wrist. Her eyes widen.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all fucking night” she shouts, turning to topper.

”We’re going down to the beach. You comin?” She holds out her other hand to him, he exchanges a look with rafe, then topper looks at me, JJ, then back at sabrina

”Yea I’ll come.” He softly states. He taps rafes shoulder and nudges his head at us. I don’t look long enough to see Rafes reaction, I just turn to JJ, as he leads the way back to where we were outside with the pogues.

Once we reach them, I finally turn around to see Sabrina and Topper following right behind, with a fucked up out rafe trailing behind. I could always tell when he was coked out, not because of his pupils, but he stood a certain way. His legs when he walked were a lot more straight, like he was focusing on each step he made. He ran his hands through his hair a lot, which is exactly what he was doing right now.

I was disgusted with both myself and him for knowing what he was like when he was doing coke. I always wondered if he was embarrassed too.

we reach back to the edge of the sand, and I lean over to take my boots off.

”Wait you were serious?” Sab asks, Lookin to topper, her head leaning against his bicep.

”Dead serious” I state. Pulling off my socks before running towards the water.

The cold water against my toes runs a chill up my leg and I squeal out.

“FUCK ITS COLD” I shout back at the group watching me, all the pogues, plus Topper and Rafe.

“Could’ve told you that!” Sarah exclaims, leaning down to touch the water with her hands. I walk further down into the water, getting my jeans wet. I couldn’t help myself from venturing down enough to my calves. I needed the feeling to wake me up. Before, I could feel myself getting hazy, but this was waking me up.

“Alright y/n, I think that’s enough” Kie calls out,walking into the water. I could tell she was shocked by the cold at the way her body tensed.

”You guys are so boring” I mumble before turning back to the open water one last time. I took in a deep breath, and turned back, walking back into the sand.

“Let’s go back to the fire” Sarah says, holding onto my shoulder. We get back to the fire and I noticed that topper and rafe still stayed with us,

I look across and see rafe, his face hard and cold.

I furrow my brows and take my phone out to see that I had a missed text from him

The fuck are you dragging JJ around like that for?

and now you’re about to drown in that fuck ass ice cold water.

I roll my eyes and text him back

not like you would’ve saved me anyways

I look back up to see him, his face still the same. Before I could read the rest of his demeanor, I hear topper raise his voice. Rafe and I break eye contact to look over to see Topper smack the red solo cup out of JJ’s hand.

“Oh no” Cleo hissed, backing up.

“Fuck did you say to me you dirty fucking Pogue?” Topper seethed. JJ had a sly smirk on his face, and I watched his hands raise. Fuck.

He shoves Topper, and all hell breaks loose. Multiple punches are thrown between the two, JJ trying to knock Topper off his feet. Rafe starts running towards them and I scream out

”DON’T” he whips his head back and looks at me with a pleading face.

“Don’t” I whispered. My pleas were ignored when John B started punching Topper, which made the fight unfair. It was only right that Rafe joined. I knew the rules of the jungle far too well. It would be all downhill from here. The boys keep shouting profanities at each other, as we stand in a circle watching and pleading them to stop. The closer we get, the deeper into the water they go. Before I know it, John b slips and falls, his head dunking under water. I scream out and run to the edge. My head felt light and my vision blurred. I couldn’t tell what was happening, it was so dark, the waves were crashing, and I was fucked up.

Before he could keep his head above water for more than a few breaths, a figure dunked his head under again, holding it down with force.

”WHAT THE FUCK STOP IT HE CANT BREATHE” I screamed, a pair of arms holding me back. I didnt know who it was, but they dragged me back for enough that my feet were no longer touching the water, just wet sand.

“STOP IT. STOP IT.” I heard Sarah screaming. I think at this point I was on the verge of blacking out. The rest of the next few events came in a blur.

“Somebody do something” I half whispered and half screamed.

I watch another male figure stand behind the man with a dark object in his hands. There’s a click, and he points it at the man who was still holding John B underwater. It had to be JJ. I feel tears streaming down my face and I can barely breathe.

“Yo HES GOT A GUN”someone from the crowd hollers out. a cry escapes my lips as I lunge forward, still being held back by a stranger.

“JJ! Kiara screams out. I recognize her voice, but don’t see where it came from. My legs wobble and I struggle to keep myself up. I was terrified John B was going to die and someone was going to get shot.

“Yeah YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS” I hear JJ shout.

“JJ PLEASE” I cry out, my voice hoarse.

“What’s that princess?” He calls back. I’m taken aback and try to run after him again, slightly getting out of the strong grip against me, before I see Sarah running over to them.

”SARAH NO” Kie and I shout in unison.

I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen. Every breath felt like an eternity. I couldn’t imagine how John B felt, his arms were still flailing. God I hope that’s not rafe.

The person that JJ was holding a gun to raised his arms in defeat, and John B lifted his head up gasping for air. The pair of arms finally let me go as we all ran after to make sure he was okay. Before we could reach him though, JJ turns around and raises the gun in the air.

“OKAY EVERYONE LISTEN UP. GET THE HELL. OFF MY SIDE OF THE ISLAND.”

The last thing I remember are gun shots going off.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: @ltristessedureratoujours @davinashifts333 @tomholland792

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musubiki · 8 months ago

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hello! quick question, i know this is very soon after you posted the comic of young lime trying to bully mochi, and i’m sorry if a question like this has been asked before, but when mochi sees the candy bits and is able to recognize what spells they could be used in and the effects they have, is that from studying magic a lot or is it like a natural identification ability/instinct that she has? thank you!! i hope you have a good day :)

oh thats a great question actually!!!! it comes from studying!!!!

as a kid she was already trying to be a very diligent witch-to-be!! she would spend a lot of time with her mom while she was making spells, so between reading a lot of spellbooks + hanging out when her mom was making potions + wanting to be like her mom, shes good at spotting things that could be used in spells even from an early age!!

(that being said, as a kid she still messed up a lot on the right ingredients. shed bring home random items and be like "I got us spell ingredients!!" and tiramisu would be like "Oh!! Thanks sweetie!!" and didnt have the heart to tell her that whatever she brought home was some useless piece of grass or something jkldj)

#i guess nothing is really USELESS to a witch but there are items that are like. dont really grab those #either cuz theyre abundant enough that you dont need to collect them or the effects are so weak its not worth it #baby mochi had such a passion for magic and was so excited to be a witch and have magic one day #but when she gets magic and works with it she gets hella discouraged #she frequently wishes she had the mind of her 5 year old self who was so full of enthusiasm #but she messes up so much as a witch and its so exhausting it becomes more like a chore #like how you have a childhood dream of being an astronomer or artist something #but once you grow up you face so many struggles pursuing it you lose the love for it #magic burnout is mochis character arc #she finds herself again eventually and becomes confident in magic #but in a more mature way that uses it responsibly and loves it for what it really is #and less like her baby self that wanted to make cookies and fireworks appear out of thin air #the tags got serious but the question was cute #i hope you have a good day too!!!!!!!!!!!#new thing i never touched on: mochi character arc #you see hints of it in the webtoon though. its rough for her starting out. pom was not easy on her #but i think its the kind of familiar she needed

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dbphantom · 7 months ago

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maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

#when i was in middle school i used to use red and black pens + spit for blending to make it look like the backs of my hands were torn open #i can't believe it's almost 4am. i just spent 5 hours typing up an essay about MM's erik that i just fuckin privated bc i was embarrassed #AND I STILL NEVER SPELL HIS NAME RIGHT THE FIRST TIME AAAAAAAA #i was right but im going to save all my points for the fanfic im currently planning out and promptly NEVER GOING TO ACTUALLY WRITE #I say shoving my plans for my h2o s3 rewrite off the table #yes i skipped from s2 to s3 i had a BRILLIANT idea [season 3 h2o spoilers ahead be wary my mutuals who are still watching]#okay so you know how lewis goes to the american institute of marine bio in the middle of 3? since this is tied to my s2 rewrite fic i wante #to actually finally reasonably re-introduced dr denman to the story because i never liked that she just fucked off at the end of s1 #despite WITNESSING the moon pool magic. so i made it so she runs into lewis while doing a presentation for the college and they have a chat #(because her JAW paper plays an important part in my s2 rewrite bc i imagine lewis is the kind of guy who SAYS he deleted every copy of #it... but ACTUALLY he secretly printed himself out a copy to study in private to compare to his own notes bc #[lewis voice] come *on* guys just THINK of the progress that he could make with this! [grabby hands in front of chest])#so yeah they have a chat and Linda kind of gives Lewis the opposite dilemma in s3 that Louise gives him in s1 about science and magic #since SHE knows about the moon pool and has been biding her time and she knows Lewis knows and Lewis is like ah... uh oh.#it will eventually tie into the idea it's not about forcing science and magic together or separating them #its abt respectfully and responsibly utilizing both to see their fullest potential. which lewis learned in s2 and Linda has... not.#BUT #later on she gets a call from 1 (one) ryan who is like 'hey so i heard u did environmental studies on mako for dr bennett a couple years ag #and i was wondering if you've seen anything weird there as im currently doing a-' and she's immediately like 'YOU SON OF A BITCH IM IN'#and he's like 'wha-' and she's like 'i have already booked my plane tickets we're going to have a great time we have lots to talk about :)'#and wheeee now they have someone who knows about mermaids on their team and it's the perfect way to bring lewis back to relevancy in s3 :D #it also gives me reason to have two bad bitches (linda and sophie) meet and get to know each other which is not a dynamic ive seen in #any of the H2O fics i've ever read so im very hyped to delve into how they'll play off each other #also charlotte is there so technically three bad bitches (only in my au Charlotte never lost her tail and is part of the gang she just move #because she felt like she needed to leave to really be able to find herself without being in her grandmother's shadow but she comes back bc #well... it's season 3 mako is sounding the fucking emergency alarms everyone is showing up sdkghkfjhg)#im also so so so hyped to show u guys who's coming back in the s2 rewrite because it ISNT denman and i think everyone thinks it will be :3c #(i said she when telling ppl to look forward to a familiar face... but can u blame me for getting hype she's one of my favorite characters!#i love u H2O #cruddy rambles

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mephisto-reporting · 1 month ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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theglamorousferal · 3 months ago

Text

Immortal Everlasting Trio who have been exploring the Infinite Realms for the last few centuries. The three of them are flying, braiding their paths as they make their way through the Realms.

“How do you think Ellie is doing in her current incarnation?” Nightshade asks of her partners,

“Hmm probably well, she was exploring the galaxy this time right? I could always check?” Pharaoh responds, a keyboard made of sandstone appears at his fingertips.

“She feels content.” Said Phantom, soothing the worries of the other two. The stars that are freckles on his face brighten with the comment.

They swirl around each other in lazy patterns, unknowing of the passage of time, when Phantom feels a tug at his core. The trio circle up, his partners noticing the shift in mood.

“I don’t recognize this one.” He mutters to himself, placing a hand on the center of his chest. “It’s none of the family, but it is a bit familiar.” He furrowed his brow, trying to trace the sensation to its source. He closed his eyes and felt the pull of magic. “It doesn’t feel malicious, there’s desperation and curiosity for sure, but I feel no ill intent.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to follow it. I want to know why this feels familiar”

Nightshade formed a purple bloom and tucked it behind one of his ears and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Be safe.”

Pharaoh gently took his hand and kissed it, bestowing a glass bangle to his wrist. “Don’t make stupid decisions,” he smirked, “without us.”

Phantom laughed and in a flash of bright white light he was gone.

* * *

With a flash of light so bright it temporarily blinded, Phantom appeared in a summoning circle. The room he now occupied was large, a massive sofa made up a good portion of the room and there was a kitchen off to the side. Turning around, there was a large screen with even larger windows behind it. He turned back and now saw the people in the room.

One was green with a unitard on, one was sitting criss cross in front of some candles, a book and a small cauldron, one was floating and had a mass of bright pink hair, one was a cyborg of some kind and stood at the ready with a cannon for an arm and the last was shielding his eyes with a black cape.

“Who summons me?” Phantom asked in a far quieter tone than the teens apparently expected.

The one who appeared to have done the ritual stood and spoke first. “Mighty Phantom, we seek your assistance in dealing with a massive threat to our world. The demon Trigon looks to the Earth as his next conquest.” They took a breath and looked down. “He intends to use my power to do it, and I do not have the strength to stop him.”

Phantom settled his feet on the ground and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Peace young one. Why don’t we start with introductions? As you know, I am Phantom, he/him, now who has managed to summon me?”

“I am Raven, she/her, the rest here are my team the Teen Titans.” She turned to her team, they all seemed shocked. “I apologize for them, usually they take things in stride a lot easier. This is Beast Boy, he/him, Starfire she/her, Cyborg, he/him, and Robin, he/him.”

“Hmm, may I see the text you used to summon me?” He gestured to the book on the floor. “I was not aware of anything that could summon me in this realm. It is familiar to me though, I can’t place why.”

Raven raised the book into his hand. He leafed through it humming to himself before stopping on a photo of a note that looked familiar. He smiled to himself, remembering the time a century ago to him that himself and his partners helped a small civilization and they left a way for the leader to contact them if they needed help. He skimmed the next few paragraphs and then laughed and closed the book.

“I’ll help. In fact, my partners and I will help. It’s been a long while since we were in a mortal realm. I will return in a week’s time your time to discuss what we need to do. This will work to summon us if we forget or if your danger arrives early.” He magicked a paper with a seal on it and handed it to her. “I must discuss with my partners and will do research on this Trigon. Thank you for calling us, we’ve been aimless for too many decades. Have a good night.” He vanished in another flash of light.

* * *

Phantom appeared in a flash of light cackling as he tumbled across the chess board his partners were playing on, scattering the flowers and sandstone pieces across the green sky.

“Beloved you know not to do that,” Nightshade gathered the giggling king into her lap, Pharaoh moving to lean against her shoulder and push the hair from the eyes of Phantom, “but what has you laughing so?”

Phantom mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “Remember that civilization we helped out a century ago? Well apparently a few hundred years have passed in that world and the people we helped revered us as gods. A sorceress summoned us for help defeating a demon. They were so cute, little teenage heroes like we once were.” He sighed and settled into the arms of his lovers. “Have either of you heard of Trigon?”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #everlasting trio #immortal everlasting trio #everlasting trio has powers

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hcneymooners · 8 days ago

Text

⋆ beg until i'm in.

ambessa x wife!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are estranged wives, but are you really estranged if she refuses to divorce you, and every time you see each other, you can't help but fall into bed?

cw: light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, getting back together, top ambessa medarda, dom/sub, dom ambessa medarda, she has soft spot for you, pleasure dom ambessaaaaa, just for you though, strapping, rough sex, rough body play, hair-pulling, name-calling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, she is strapping you down, you will not be walking, cock worship, blow jobs, the strap is the cock in question no men i swear to god, mommy kink, praise kink, mating press, age difference, older woman/younger woman, marriage, she does not play about you, realizing this might have slight primal play, orgasm edging, begging, spanking, impact play notes: i am a FREAK about this woman. also i wrote this for @sheloveschai because she has been bringing me joy through their work and i want to do the same.

“she thinks i’m a monster.”

the words hung in the air, dense as the afternoon heat, heavy as ambessa’s head in your lap. how you’d ended up here—her armor gone, her weight so familiar—felt like one of those moments you’d look back on, trying to pin down the thread that led you here. you couldn’t.

your lives were separate. estranged wives, that’s what you told yourself. she wouldn’t divorce you, and you weren’t exactly rushing to draw up the papers. but estrangement was such a tidy, convenient word like the absence between you both was clean and intentional. it wasn’t. she blurred the edges every time she showed up unannounced, stepping into the space she left behind like it still belonged to her. and maybe it did.

she came today, her arrival marked by the low hum of her car pulling up the dirt road. the ranch was still, caught in that honeyed pause between afternoon and evening. the house she’d bought for you sat perched on its patch of green, neat but unpretentious—a porch for watching storms, white siding that seemed to glow in the late sun. the kind of place that felt like it had existed long before you arrived, waiting for someone to live in it properly. around it, the land stretched wide, unbroken except for the fences hemming in the garden you’d built with your own hands.

you were out there, barefoot and stubborn, locked in a battle with the soil. a carrot clung to the earth like it had something to prove, your hair slipping from its tie as you yanked at it, dirt smudged across your face from an earlier showdown with a deer that had dared to challenge your lettuce. the dress you wore—white, soft, and loose—shifted around you like a second skin, its ruffled straps falling to kiss your shoulders. it was stained at the hem, caught on brambles, but it moved with you, romantic in its simplicity, something that could’ve been borrowed from another life.

ambessa watched from the car. you didn’t notice her at first, too busy flailing after some audacious bit of wildlife, but she noticed you. her eyes followed the sway of your dress, the way the sun painted gold onto your skin, how your body moved with a kind of rawness that had always undone her. she waited because ambessa always waited. but there was a tension to it, like watching something she didn’t want to admit she needed.

hours later, she was here, sprawled in your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. her hand rested against the fabric of your dress, her breathing slow but uneven. you stroked her hair without thinking, staring out at the horizon. the horses were grazing, lazy against the emerald sprawl. the ranch, her gift, felt heavier than it had in a while.

“at one point in time,” you said finally, the words tasting of truth, “every daughter views her mother as her monster.”

her hand stilled. you could feel her thoughts shifting, coiling like a tide just out of reach. she didn’t say anything, but the silence was loud, charged. you didn’t press her.

“you were always so hard on yourself,” you continued, your voice quiet but steady. “you can be… strong, stubborn, cruel. i’ve felt it. i know it. so much of your decision-making is absolute like the world is this black-and-white chessboard you’re determined to win on. there’s no room for anyone else in that kind of thinking. it can be stifling. but—” you hesitated, fingers idly brushing the hem of your dress as you tried to hold her gaze.

“love is always the basis when it comes to the people you care about: mel, kino—”

“you,” she interjected softly, her voice barely audible but so certain it almost startled you.

you hummed in agreement, the corners of your mouth tugging into an easy smile.

“me,” you admitted, your chest tightening at the confession. you sighed, the sound carrying years of ache. “your problem is that you don’t believe we can love you back. not really. you think we can’t be safe with you. so you send us away, like that’s protecting us. you decide things for us—these big, sweeping decisions—and suddenly we’re standing outside looking in, strangers in our own lives with you.”

you paused, thinking of her daughter. “mel’s a teenager. she’s going to buck against you because that’s what teenagers do. you have to let her. you can’t control everything, ambessa. we don’t learn any other way.”

ambessa watched you, her face unreadable but her eyes dark and intent. her voice was indescribably tender when she spoke.

“you’re such a wonderful stepmother.”

the word made you scoff. you pushed her—gently but firmly—off your lap and rose to your feet. she let you, though her eyes lingered on you. she could never let go entirely.

“don’t let her hear you say that,” you muttered, shaking your head.

mel had not taken your marriage to her mother well. and really, who could blame her? you were more than half ambessa’s age. you’d once been mel’s peer at university, brushing shoulders in the same circles without a clue that your lives would one day intertwine like this. to make matters worse, mel hadn’t even learned of the relationship from her mother or you. no, she’d found out by walking in on the two of you in a position that still made your cheeks burn to think about.

what followed was relentless: the icy distance, the sharp words, the careful avoidance. love, for you, had always been hard, but this was a different kind of difficulty. you’d tried to explain yourself to mel, fumbling for words that didn’t sound hollow. you told her you loved her mother simply because you did. it wasn’t about their wealth or their influence. you’d come from nothing—a small town with a crumbling church, miles of barren land, and a quiet resignation to a life of struggle. you were used to living hard and mean, to fending for yourself.

but ambessa… she had swept into your life with the force of a storm. she needled at you, chipped away at your shell until you were belly-up and tender, soft between her teeth. you were an easy kill in her hunt, and she was ruthless, selfish, and she could be so fucking mean. but none of that mattered.

you loved her with the kind of blind devotion that defied reason, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. being her wife was your greatest pride, and tending to her was your guiltiest pleasure.

mel couldn’t understand that, and the rift between you grew wider with each passing day. then came the public’s growing animosity toward the medarda family, the rising tensions, and ambessa made one of her absolute decisions. the separation blindsided you. you’d cried so hard you blacked out in the hall, and when you woke, you left without looking back. you thought mel wouldn’t care.

which is why you were shocked when ambessa brought you mel’s request for your perspective.

you turned toward the stove, busying yourself with the rhythm of dinner prep. it was easier to focus on the small, manageable things—chopping vegetables, lighting the flame—than to meet her gaze.

“she doesn’t hate you, [name],” ambessa said suddenly, her voice calm but insistent.

you froze, the knife hovering mid-air before you carefully set it down and turned on the stove.

“you staying for dinner?” you asked carefully.

you heard her shift behind you, felt the warmth of her body as she closed the space between you. her arms circled your waist, firm but gentle, and you shivered, instinctively leaning into her. god knows you were never the strongest soldier. she pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering just long enough to make you melt.

“i admit,” she murmured, her voice low and quiet, “i had other motives for coming here.”

“bessa,” you began.

ambessa held you tighter, her lips brushing against your temple, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. her silence stretched just long enough for you to grow uneasy, but then she spoke, her voice low and thick with emotion.

“they’ve been asking for you,” she said, her hands smoothing over your waist.

you stiffened slightly, unsure if you’d heard her correctly.

“who?”

“mel. kino.” she pressed another kiss to your temple, then let her forehead rest against the side of your head. “they’ve been pleading with me to bring you back. they won’t admit it outright—god forbid they ever say they were wrong—”

you shot her a look.

“—but they’ve missed you. and they hate the way i’ve been without you. they say i’m different when you’re there.”

your breath hitched, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

“they don’t even like me,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

“that’s not true.” ambessa’s tone softened, her grip on you tightening like she was afraid you might slip away. “they’re too proud to say it, but they’ve developed a soft spot for you despite everything. they miss you as much as i do.”

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of her expression—open, raw, and devastatingly honest. by instinct, you lifted a hand and cradled her face. you hated it when she was sad.

“oh, bessa.”

“i’ve realized,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “that i am nothing without you. i thought i was protecting you by letting you go, but i was wrong. i’m tired, my love. tired of waking up alone. tired of pretending i don’t need you. i do. god, i do.”

you felt a weight lift from the depths of your body. you’d waited so long to hear this—to feel wanted, needed, like you weren’t just a fleeting chapter in her life. tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and fat.

ambessa turned you in her arms, her hands coming up to cup your face as you began to cry in earnest.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “don’t cry. please don’t cry.”

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you choked out between sobs, clutching at her arms like she was the only thing keeping you upright. you pressed down on the thick cords of muscle, pleading with the strength of your grip. “i don’t want the house or any of this shit. i’m so tired of taking care of myself, ambessa. i just want to come home.”

her expression crumpled, and for a moment, you saw a vulnerability in her that she rarely let show.

“i’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight. “i’m so sorry, my love. i never should have let you go. i’ll make it right—i swear to you. i’ll spoil you, take care of you, and keep you forever. you’re mine, [name], and i’ll never let you forget it again.”

you sobbed harder, your face burying into her chest as her arms enveloped you completely.

“i know, baby. you did so well. i’m so proud of you,” she murmured.

she continued to whisper soft reassurances, mantras of “sweetheart,” “my sweet girl,” and “my sweet baby,” until the tears slowed and your breathing evened out. you shuddered against her, refusing to remove yourself from where you were pressed tightly against her chest. she shifted, and you jolted—fingers splaying desperately across her body.

“shh. i’m just making us more comfortable,” she told you.

the two of you moved, a single weeping entity across the floor of the kitchen into the living room. ambessa settled you on the couch, continuing to trace a hand across the landscape of your back.

“come back with me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your hair. “let me take care of you. let me love you the way you deserve, hmm?”

you nodded against her, your hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline.

“that's all i want. i never stopped loving you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i know,” she said, tilting your face up to hers.

the kiss she gave you was desperate and all-consuming, a culmination of every time you had woken and found yourself alone. her hands roamed over your hips and your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was unbearable. you gasped into her mouth, and she deepened the kiss.

“i’ve missed you,” she murmured against your lips, her voice low, rough with hunger. “did you miss me?”

you shivered, your body instinctively pressing into hers.

“yes. yes, i did. i swear, bessa,” you insisted, your voice trembling.

“shh, my love,” she said, her lips trailing down your jaw to your neck to soothe you. “i believe you. a sweet girl like you wouldn’t lie to me.”

with a groan, she lifted you, guiding you toward the bedroom, her hands never straying from your body, her kisses growing more frantic. when your back hit the bed, she hovered over you, her gaze dark, possessive. a hand came down to cup your cunt, firm and promising.

“yes or no?” she asked.

she only asked out of respect. ambessa had long ago perfected the art of taking what she wanted. you found you didn’t mind. it was easier this way, surrendering to her because she knew your body—your needs—better than you ever could. in her hands, the pressure of choice vanished. you trusted her to always know what was best.

suddenly, you were reminded of when she proposed. you felt the same now as you had then—wide-eyed, carnivorous. gently, you pulled her closer, brushing your lips against hers. the room smelled of apple blossoms and her intoxicating scent.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

satisfied, she lowered her mouth back to your neck. at that moment, you could have mistaken her for a vampire—hunting for your pulse, for that line of forever-promised blood.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“ambessa.”

“hmm?” she answered, her hand tightening where it reigned on the nape of your neck.

she had you face down with your ass up, her other hand holding you at the small of your back as she thrust into you. you let out a high moan as she began to move faster, her cock moving deeper as you bore down on her.

“you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. so tight and sweet for me. it’s almost as if you haven’t been touched in a long while.”

“bessa—” you choked out, and she let out a laugh.

“oh, baby. i know that’s not true.” bending forward to brace herself on the bed, she began to pump into you. “you were always so hungry for it, so eager. i know you’ve probably stuffed yourself every single night since i’ve been gone.”

you whimpered, drool beginning to spill from your lips.

“but it didn’t feel like this, did it?”

“no,” you answered, squealing as ambessa brought a hand down on your ass. “no, baby. i can’t take care of myself like you do.”

“no,” she agreed. “you can’t. you just get so stupid when you’re fucked. you have no chance of doing this alone. not well, at least.”

“bessa, please,” you mewled.

with a bored sigh, she tightened her grip around your band of hair and yanked your head back, pounding into you with predatorial precision. you moaned as she began to focus on your g-spot, pulling your head back roughly to further increase her control.

“shit, bessa. fuuuuuck.”

“yeah?”

all thoughts were being fucked out of your head. you managed to get a hand on your clit, rubbing furiously to add stimulation.

“uh, uh, uh. oh, fuck. holy shit. ambessa, fuck. please, baby. please don’t stop.”

for a moment, she paused, and you remembered how cruel she could be. tenderly, she turned you over on your back and slid back in, placing your hands on the back of your thighs so that you were holding yourself open. with a grunt, she sunk deep until her hips were once again clapping against your ass.

a strong hand came down, fingers hooking into your mouth and tugging till she could see your teeth. you felt like an animal.

“stop fucking talking,” she told you, and you nodded, spit slicking all over your mouth and her fingers. “good girl.”

the praise settled on you, and you moaned weakly. her next thrust hit you like a line of coke. she was pressing into you, working for something. you weren’t sure what, but you could feel the way she was aiming to break you in.

“come on,” she murmured, retracting her fingers to grope roughly at your tits. “say it.”

your brow furrowed, and she came to a slow, gradual stop. sliding out, ambessa crawled onto the bed and placed a hand on your chest. you watched her, eyes large and glittering with tears. her breasts hung heavy over you, ripe and full with age. you wanted to suck and bite her nipples till she was shaking on the bridge of your nose, pussy-deep into your throat.

carefully, she slipped the holster from her hips and removed the girthy dildo from where it sat, slick with your heat and arousal.

“maybe this will jog your memory,” she said, and you didn’t have a moment to think before her cock was in your mouth.

you choked loudly, but she paid you no mind. with a few circular motions of her wrist, she made you deepthroat every inch, her eyes darkening as you audibly gagged and sucked on it. you ran your tongue over the artificial veins, getting it as wet as possible.

you were tasting yourself, strawberry sweet with a hint of bitterness and slight musk. you could feel your cunt pulsing, fluttering as ambessa’s eyes grew darker. she prohibited you from letting your legs down, and your thighs were burning, sweat garnishing your skin with a light sheen.

you felt so exposed, so debased like this: holding yourself wide and open while gagging like a well-trained whore on the toy.

“remember now?” she asked, and you breathed hard through your nose.

you were trying, bless you, to remember, and she dropped a kiss on your cunt for the effort.

“look at this pussy, sweetheart. fuck, baby.” ambessa lifted from where she’d been dragging her free hand through your folds. her fingers were soaked. “you’re rinsing me.”

something about her tone jogged your memory, and suddenly, you knew what she wanted to hear. in your excitement, you whined, and she met your gaze. she considered you and then removed her cock from your mouth.

“mommy,” you breathed, and she smiled, her face warm and rivaling the sun.

“that’s it,” she said, pride drenching the words. “good job, sweet girl. you deserve a reward.”

you beamed and wiggled your pussy in silent demand. ambessa laughed at your eagerness, bending to kiss you. her lips trailed lower till she was mouthing over the sopping mound of your count. around and around, her tongue wet, her teeth softly grazing your clit. you snapped upward, letting go of your legs and clutching at her braids instead.

“goddamnit, ambessa! fuck!”

she continued to eat you out, shaking her head and sucking loudly. still, she found time to pinch the inside of your thigh in reprimand.

“that’s not my name, sweet girl. i won’t tell you again.”

“fuck. fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, mommy. just—please.” your voice cleaved in the middle. “please, i need to cum. i want to cum so bad for you, mommy. let me. please just let me—”

with a wet pop, ambessa broke away from your swollen pussy and looked at you. you breathed heavily, eyes caught on the way she gazed at you from between your legs.

“nothing is stopping you, my love. do what pleases you.”

she lowered down again and spat right into your cunt. you let your head fall back.

“i told you,” she said. “i plan to spoil you. this will only be your first.”

and with that, she suctioned her mouth around your rosy pussy and sucked, pointing her tongue and slipping inside of you. you came with a high wail, legs clamping around her head as you bowed over her. you felt light-headed, slit open, and destroyed.

and true to her nature, ambessa never stopped.

#ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #wlw #sapphic #lesbian #wlw smut #arcane smut #mine ; 🐎.

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