#godblooded: alana bloom.

[pessimisticsarc]

@godblooded

•your name: dr. alana marie bloom •your age: 48 •your perfect date: with you. •make out in private or in public: this is uselessly discriminatory. just pick both. •do you like to cuddle: yes, please. •tell me something about you: valentine’s is unironically my favorite holiday. it’s nice to have a day where the act of loving isn’t suspicious. •why do you want to be my valentine?: because i’d like to kiss you in both public and private.

#[the way shes so charming I could die.]

"Sayin' that your perfect date would be with me is a little kiss-ass—y'could do that in public or private, too."

"D'y'have any preferences? Or can I surprise you? I can come up with somethin' if you clear your agenda."

[mrscoultxr]

@godblooded || i present to you: pain

Worn, muddy, hard leather boots clacked against the sidewalk rhythmically, heavily, a thudding like a stampede of exactly one. They carried her harder and faster through the streets, the golden monkey no more than a blur of golden fur at her side. As she swung around corners, he leapt from the walls and tore down awnings and crates to obstruct the path left behind. Blood pounded in their ears, the slight spray of fresh and salt water in the air as they passed the Thames stung at their eyes and lungs. She heaved each breath, both alive and dead as she ran through the streets of London. Another few quick turns and darts, and she slipped down into a tuck away, hiding from the men chasing her; stragglers from the battlefield who recognized her. She’d have to get a move on and collect her things before they swarmed her old place and took away all of her research.

Marisa glanced up at the tall building that held her penthouse apartment. If Lyra had been able to climb down it, and the Gyptians had been able to climb up it, then she certainly could scale it on her own. She hurried her way up the fire escape and leapt from trellis to window where the stairs stopped. With her daemon helping point out footholds and places to put her hands, she climbed and climbed, high and into the night, until she had made it to the balcony of her place. There she swung down low and crept as silent as a mouse to the door, the golden monkey hiding in the deepest shadows he could find. Even if she had outrun the men on the ground, there was no telling if they were already waiting for her here. And she knew better, she absolutely knew better than to assume the Magisterium would simply let her go.

She had taken down the regent of Heaven. Her daughter had released God from his captivity and put an end to death as it had always been known. She was persona non grata number one for them. Well, number three, but they didn’t know Asriel was dead and Lyra, she hoped, was somewhere far away still or at least under some protection.

But Marisa had nothing. 

Well, now that wasn’t entirely true. She did have something – a huge something. Alana Stark. But in the midst of her churning emotions, her mind darting in a thousand directions, she hadn’t stopped to consider that perhaps Alana had waited for her. Or perhaps had even had a funeral for her. So hellbent on survival was she that she hadn’t really thought about who she had left behind. 

So when she finally entered her apartment with a pick of the lock, she nearly fainted in shock at seeing Stark there. Marisa’s breath caught in her chest and she slammed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, from crying out in joy. Stark was here! Stark was okay! Marisa had been gone so long she was sure something might have happened—

[stagstalked]

❝ Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ❞

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 :  @godblooded ( Alana )

[monstresvictimsxvengeance]

Alana Bloom as portrayed by @godblooded.

[soddenshroud]

Wounds That Time Won't Heal.(closed to @godblooded )

(The "case file" that I made up for Danny for this thread can be found here.)

They lead Danny to the cages, shackles on his wrists and ankles. He's certain that he'll never be used to it, the feeling of being a beast in captivity. As much as he appreciated the opportunity to stretch his legs and spend time out of the confines of his cell, what use was it if his motion was restricted? If he would soon be sitting in a much smaller cell? Speaking to yet another psychiatrist, to boot.

How many more of these shitheads are they going to make him speak to? Didn't they get it by now, that he wasn't going to "open up" and "share his feelings?" What a fucking joke… And, from what he's heard, this one was recommended by the last windbag he spoke to. Chilton… Danny can't think of a word strong enough to express how pathetic that one had been.

By this stage, Danny just wants to be left alone. He doesn't want to talk about the Entity, or its realm. He feels angry. Betrayed. He had been its favorite, then suddenly, he was discarded. The bitter irony being that the Entity was the reason he had been safe from capture for a quarter century, only to be the reason he is here now.

When he had been released, he was rendered unconscious. His mask was gone, though the rest of his outfit remained, which wouldn't have seemed out of place in the cold weather of Baltimore. In fact, as strange as it was to be placed here and not in Florida, from where he had been taken, it would have benefitted him. If he had just been able to come to before someone found him, he would have been able to do what he had always done best: adapt, blend in, and craft the next story. Sure, it would have been an adjustment after over two decades gone, but he would have managed.

Unfortunately, his luck had run out. Some good Samaritans had stumbled across him in the park and called for help. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in a hospital bed, handcuffed to one of the side rails. Evidently, one of the advancements made within the last twenty-five years had been in DNA testing. Chewing on the back of his pens had always been one of his bad habits.

Now, he finds himself in front of one of the small cages in the large visiting area of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, where he now resides. He enters the cage, which has always reminded him of the kind used to observe sharks in the ocean, and he waits for his shackles to be removed and the door to be closed and locked. Once they are, he takes a seat and waits for whomever he's meant to speak to today, looking ahead at the empty chair they have set up for them.

[selfinflicts]

"it's a thorough spread."

no amount of guns had stopped michael from salvaging himself from the fire. no amount of guns could've saved her from corey or from the people of haddonfield or from her own self. she doesn't delude herself into the belief that anything can be the lock and key to her safe passage besides herself—one of the differences between herself and grandmother, she thinks. it's why she's here and not in haddonfield. here with alana, who fits so easily in her arms that it's almost a marvel.

a hand comes up to thread through dark hair, feels some of it stick to the lip balm she'd shellacked on an hour ago. she pulls back to press a kiss against alana's temple, greedy for affection and touch as she is, and she pushes that hair back and away from alana's face.

it's an easy excuse to cup her cheek, to let her thumb swipe over her cheekbone.

"don't apologize. i don't need context."

both hands slide into alana's back pockets. god help her, but she can't quite help herself, a sly but simultaneously earnest smile spreading over her features. it's an easy way to pull her closer, impossible of a feat as that may be.

"— i guess i can put them away. make the spread less thorough."

“you know, my ex is hannibal lecter. your gun collection? couldn’t be more comforting, frankly. mmmmmmmmm is that questionable to say as a psychiatrist? i like to think it’s more productive to be openly fucked up than falsely moral.

—maybe i’m just slightly unnerved by the spread you’ve created.”

head cocks, tilts, and nose brushes the edge of a jaw with an affection that does not truly know name. it is, instead, unspeakable affection, fluttering along the curve of the other’s jaw like a kindness. it’s almost bestowed, nearly given. she leans her head comfortably in the crook of a neck, finding simply the place that she deems her own.

she loves with an exceptional ferocity and never considers it a mistake. for all the deadly game it was to love hannibal, did not it create her heart, and give her poetry and song and dance? for the damage that’s so been wrought, is it worth it to have a heart so capable now, simply because it knows what it is to be loved with hands soaked in a lifetime of arsenic? she’s always afraid he’s handled hers too much and she’s poison now, too.

but she tries not to think about it.

“i think i’ve seen too many things. i think i just felt my trigger finger itch and somewhere i fire four bullets upstairs where no one can see. and i remember how i was sure will would shoot me because why else would he have the gun — “

her lips purse and her eyes narrow at the sure and she pauses, blinking herself back to where she’s paused in her words.

“you have no context for the words i just gave you. sorry. i really wish i had better coworkers.”

[priscus]

below are the details of my main verse as established with @godblooded. interactions will generally be set somewhere within the timeline of this verse unless plotted/requested otherwise. please note that this verse roughly follows the timeline established by the more recent xmcu movies beginning with x-men: first class, with extensive alterations based on events in our shared canon.

in 1962, charles xavier and erik lehnsherr establish the first team of x-men. together, they interfere with the hellfire club’s attempt to push the united states and the soviet union into nuclear war during the cuban missile crisis. when the assembled humans turn on the x-men, erik attempts to destroy them; inadvertently wounding charles when charles tries to stop him. with their respective ideologies split, erik leaves with mystique and the remnants of the hellfire club, forming the so-called brotherhood of mutants. most of them are killed or imprisoned within the first year.

erik is implicated in kennedy’s assassination in 1963 and is captured. a decade later, in 1974, charles; wolverine, beast, and quicksilver break erik out of imprisonment to help prevent mystique from killing boliver trask. later, erik attempts to kill trask and president nixon before he is stopped by charles and mystique. erik again is forced to go on the run. however, wolverine’s presence has permanently altered the timeline, ensuring that trask’s mutant-killing sentinels are never built. (without this alteration to the timeline, erik would have never met alana.)

over the next few decades, erik comes into conflict with the x-men multiple times. he’s an internationally wanted fugitive and considered to be public enemy number one. in 2014, the united states government attempts to pass the mutant registration act, which brings erik out of hiding. he again clashes with the x-men but is successful in preventing the registration act from being signed into law.

on the run from the government once more, erik breaks into the house of dr. alana bloom, a forensic psychiatrist and fbi profiler. while looking for money and other essentials in order to disappear, erik is confronted by alana. after almost killing her, alana offers to shelter erik until the government manhunt is over. over the next year, alana begins having erik assist her with fbi cases involving mutant activity; at which point it becomes apparent that alana is also a mutant despite being unaware of her powers.

in 2015, alana is asked to help the fbi profile a killer known as the toothfairy after a series of brutal murders. erik provides alana with assistance unbeknownst to the fbi. when erik and alana draw close to discovering that the toothfairy is francis dolarhyde, hannibal lecter sends dolarhyde after alana. alana is brutally attacked before erik manages to stop dolarhyde, sparing his life only because alana begs him to. however, alana is horribly wounded, and erik is forced to turn to charles and the x-men in order to save her life. after a few months spent recovering at the school for gifted youngsters, erik and alana return home. where their feelings for each other soon become more than apparent and alana ends up pregnant with twins.

not long after they find out alana is expecting, apocalypse is resurrected in cairo and subsequently kidnaps alana, forcing erik into serving as one of his “four horsemen.” with a united effort between erik, charles, mystique, storm, and the new generation of x-men, apocalypse is eventually defeated before he can destroy the world. as a result of his aid in the battle, erik is pardoned for his previous crimes, and he and alana are permitted to establish the mutant colony of genosha.

[ataviisms]

in my verse with @godblooded's alana bloom, waylon and alana are married and living in gotham. he's a stay-at-home dad to their three kids: toussaint, beau, and remy.

[ofhumanvoice-a]

@godblooded sent: “ the trap is set and it waits for its prey. “ doc bloom for O’Hara

Eleanor's teeth worried at her lower lip. "I don't want to insult your intelligence in the least, but are you sure you know what you're doing? From what you've said, this man is the most cunning person you have ever met. How can you be certain you can entrap him so easily?"

She wouldn't be as concerned if the madman that is Hannibal Lecter had only been after her. But he has made subtle threats towards her son as well, which simply cannot be tolerated. It is those maternal instincts that drive her fear regarding something going wrong with Alana's plan.

"It isn't that I'm not willing to put my life in your hands, Alana darling, but Arthur's is also at stake. So are you entirely confident we shouldn't be calling your former contacts at the FBI after all?"

[thegreatestjournalistofalltime]

One of the reasons I'm so bitter about Fuller completely retconning Will's S1 characterization is that S1 Will did so much to help me on my path to self acceptance on a lot of things. Don't get me wrong, I still have a hard time with it all, but S1 Will Graham made me feel seen. I remember crying to a friend (shout out to @godblooded ) talking about how it helped me to see someone as lost and struggling as much as Will was, but who still had people around him that cared about him. That would go to bat for him. It was awesome to see S1 Will, someone struggling as badly as he was, still be able to have a job. To still be able to function at all, even at his level of dysfunction. Also, fun fact, S1 Will Graham is the reason I figured out I'm non-binary. I wanted to dress as him for Halloween back in 2014. During the process, I tried to look into binders. Because they were too expensive, I found a sports bra that had a ton of reviews from trans men, and in reading those reviews, something broke inside of me and opened up floodgates of realization... And the costume gave me my first feelings of gender euphoria I've ever had. I'm still trying to find a way to be properly screened for Autism, but there's almost no way I'm not autistic and I do have diagnoses for two things that are super comorbid with autism. Which is a roundabout way of saying that I'm super neurodivergent regardless. And I related so much with a ton of Will's struggles.

So, yeah. I'll always be angry at Fuller for being all "lol he was faking in S1 and the dogs were so people would like him" after the fact.

I might love and write for Freddie Lounds (and Frederick Chilton over at @b1oodandchocolate ), and Alana Bloom might be my favorite character overall, but man... I fucking adored S1 Will Graham. I still mourn the loss of that character. He was so important to me.

He gave me hope that, maybe, I had a chance to make something of myself, after all.

Rewatching Hannibal again and thinking about when I watched it for the first time 5 years ago and how I related so much to Will but couldn't understand why. Then cuts to me almost 4 years later, being diagnosed with autism

[serialsurvivcr]

godblooded sent:   ❛  17 .   a  kiss  last  thing  at  night . ' i love ! doc bloom and sid!

The nighttime sounds of a small suburban neighborhood could be heard through the silence between them.  Crickets chirped.  Distant cars drove by,  accompanied by an occasional tire squeal or a honking horn.  Alana and Sidney stood in the quiet,  just inside the front door.  Sidney's heart was hammering away in her chest,  but she was calm and collected on the outside.  She wanted to ask Alana to stay,  but she wasn't ready to deal with the potential rejection.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"  Her brow furrowed and a small smile rested on her lips,  her expression matching the hopeful tone in her voice.  Sidney couldn't recall the last time she felt this way about someone.  It made her feel warm in all of the best places,  and it stirred the butterflies in her stomach.  She was doing her best to stall,  but her mind had finally drawn a blank as to how she could further extend this evening.  Finally,  her mind stopped working so hard,  and Sidney relented.  She placed her hand against the doctor's cheek and leaned in,  closing the distance she'd wanted to for most of the night.

The kiss lingered for several moments before Sidney pulled back.  Slowly,  her hand returned to her side.  Her other hand,  already resting on the doorknob,  turned it and pulled the door open.

"Goodnight."

@godblooded​     /     meme     /     accepting.

[pessimisticsarc]

@godblooded​:​ Tough talker asked for it, so he’s getting a big old kiss and a hug from doctor bloom.

Rust is very talkative, that's true, and on many occasions, this behavior has been met with eye rolls, sighs, or different ways of saying "shut the fuck up."

She has a different approach, however, to his pleas and demands. Instead, he's met with a warm embrace, arms encircling his waist in an embrace that pulls him closer and bends him slightly, happy to oblige with the kiss that follows.

"Thank you."

He knows when to thank her, seldom getting his way but, between them, he gets the feeling that he's not the only one who wanted this too.

[mrscoultxr]

a kiss to wake your lover up in the morning . // 🩵 STARK. they deserve it.

@godblooded || kiss & tell meme

What a terror these past few days had been. Between the calculations for the holding mechanism being just a 20th of a degree off to the right, thus resulting in a scrap of the material they had already soldered together in favor of building an entirely new chamber; to the rash of chemical burns Marisa had sustained up her arms as she worked diligently in the lab --suffice it to say, Marisa was exhausted. One arm flung over her eyes to prevent the sun from proving the new day had come, her other curled around her daemon's tail as he lounged by her knees. She was splayed out upon the bed, barely rousing, reluctant to get up even an inch.

But then, oh, what pleasure! What sweet, sustaining life given upon her lips. It is gentle, it is warm, it is dazzling. One touches the corner of her mouth, another her cheek, and once more on her lips, and she can taste Alana just barely even through the chasteness of such a kiss.

Marisa hums and removes her arm, blinking upon brilliantly blue hues to stare into Alana's own periwinkle gaze.

"Good morning, my love," she says with a smile in her voice. Her hand comes to cup her lovers cheek, brushing thumb over cheekbone lightly.

[eurosleazarchive]

🐐 🐐 🐐 one for kitty and one for the good doctor and one for Camille.

send me a 🐐 and i will forcibly assign your muse a the mountain goats song. / @godblooded.

kitty - up the wolves

i'm going to get myself in fighting trim / scope out every angle of unfair advantage / i'm gonna bribe the officials / i'm gonna kill all the judges / it's going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage

alana - damn these vampires

god damn these bite marks / deep in my arteries / crawl 'til dawn / on my hands and knees / god damn these vampires / for what they've done to me

camille - absolute lithops effect

i am breaking open / my insides are pink and raw / and it hurts me when i move my jaw / but I am taking tiny steps forward / and i feel sure that my wounds will heal / and i will bloom here in my room.

[afraidofchange]

[ APPROACH ]  our muses haven’t been intimate yet and receiver finally broaches the subject to sender.  DOC BLOOM AND SHEP PLS.

@godblooded | Alana/Alice - smut meme. ( accepting ).

* [ CAREFUL ] one muse is recovering from minor injuries,  so the other takes charge and makes them stay still while they have slow,  sensual sex. | DOC BLOOM PLUS SHEP. alana's got a fake fucking hip and every so often it dislocates. is it a horrible, painful bitch of a thing to recover from? yes, but she doesn't know ho to calm down if they're gonna be -like that-.

  “How... do we wanna go about this? I mean, I don’t wanna overdo it. Again.”

Shepard’s easy smile spreads across scarred features, eyes bright and eager as Alana reaches out for her hand with both of hers, enclosing around her fingers. Without so much as missing a beat, she squeezes her hand, reassuringly.

 “Just... take it slow. I’m not going to let it stop me. Or us.”

 “Okay,” Alice nods, and adjusts herself to welcome Alana in her arms, drawing her up close amid the pillows and freshly washed sheets. The week prior, in the heat of it all, the sudden lurch of dislocation had put an end to any activity - she’d even helped her partner down the stairs, carrying her very carefully, praying to whatever entity out there to keep herself from tripping with her prosthetic bearing her weight.

Thankfully, they’d made it and could try again. Gentler, this time.

Slow, languid kisses and soft moans take up the space between them; Alice’s fingers play with Alana’s delectably soft hair, running it through them before gently rubbing at her shoulder, careful to lower the strap of her bra to her arm before reaching behind her smaller frame to undo the clasp. She herself rests in just a tank top and sweats - comfortable, now, in Alana’s presence to dress down after staying over all day. She smiles when Alana sinks into her more, allowing herself the pleasure of tending to each breast, face pressed up against her chest with kisses and a hand that gropes but not rough, thumb teasing one nipple while her tongue teases the other. She groans a little when Alana’s nails rake at the back of her scalp, tugging at her hair as a form of encouragement to keep going, just like that. 

Soon, that tank top is pulled up and over her head, only keeping them apart for mere seconds before lips and hands and teeth and tongues all come together. Keeping it slow is no longer an option when the ache between her thighs almost becomes too much with how Alana cups her sex through the fabric of her pants. Thankful, at least, she’d had half a mind to remove her prosthetic before getting into bed, shimmying out is a hell of a lot easier, lifting her hips and kicking them off the bed. Left only in black boxer briefs, Alice moves herself carefully, to be above her girlfriend with her weight braced on her hands, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. 

 “You tell me if it’s uncomfortable,” She says beneath her breath, lips brushing against one another. Alana steals a kiss between sentences, lingering with teeth tugging her lower lip. “And don’t fight the pain if it’s too much, okay?”

“I know, you don’t have to worry so much,” she answers but focuses more on pulling off leggings and underwear bit by bit; Shepard lends a hand, still upright and above, but keeping balance on her knee. Still enthralled by the sight below, she adjusts herself to be more on her side - to avoid any accidents of losing her balance and falling on top of Alana, or worse, off the goddamn bed - before her fingers tease along the soft dip of her lover’s stomach, between her thighs.

“Do you?” Shepard grins teasingly, and Alana scoffs playfully, gently pushing against her shoulder, forcing out a laugh from the former Marine. “I didn’t mind carrying you out but... I wanna make you feel good not... in pain.”

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Alice please. Just.. touch me.” 

Obliging her finally, Shepard teases the length of her sex with the tips of her fingers, working her up for a while before giving in to demand, met with that familiar warmth. She can feel Alana lift her hips a little, wanting her more and she gives in, but not without worrying just a little. “Hey, don’t exasperate the problem,” she teases in a breathy whisper but finds herself pulled into another heated, passionate kiss - finally, giving in to Alana’s want with pressing against her clit, circling around it with various pressure until she feels her partner tense with just the right kind of stroke. So, she continues, just like that. 

[afraidofchange]

godblooded​:

doctor alana marie bloom has always had a very complex relationship with sex. for one, being bisexual is a complex thing in and of itself, even if her leanings are always toward the feminine. her first relationship was with an abusive, possessive man and her first meaningful relationship was with a nonbinary mess who’d abandon her if the wind blew wrong. but the thing was– it was wild and passionate and when it was good, it was good, it was the kind of good that you could only get paired with the lowest bad. the first boy she ever slept with was out of spite in her parents’ bathroom, and he had been her brother’s best friend.

there are dark things she doesn’t mention because sometimes, she thinks, sarcastically, she knows few queer individuals without their own shades. things she keeps quiet and tucked away. the boxes of all those things are in the attic of her damaged brain, the one that can sometimes hardly hold onto reality. but so little of that matters when reality is alchemy; it is not but a vapor, it is alchemy. it translates into a magic unknown and becomes perception. people are magic in and of themselves. for all the dark things there are, too, the beautiful things. which is integral because this moment is nothing but light. 

she turns a darker shade of pink. the tips of all those extremities follow suit. alana’s pallor is expected: skin as white as, lips as red as, hair as dark as. it all falls very neatly into place. her toes curl and the thank you is unexpected and leaves her breathless, almost perplexed, but it brings out her own little smile. twitch, radiant in its softness, somehow. alana’s smile doesn’t have to be anything but there to be warm. 

the ragged scythe of a scar is a thing scooped from her hip all the way to a dip in her lower back. her spine looks as though she could unzip out of it, leave behind a suit to be worn or hung up at the front door. it’s how she feels sometimes. but the little glass scars litter every inch of her– the bite at the ouroboros is prominent, clearly healed poorly. she’s perfectly cracked in a way that makes her both self-conscious and unable to recognize herself. she groans in a sound that’s a low flutter and if she swears, it’s in indelicate french that replies to that reverence. the sensitive feel of breath and the tickle along skin. it is not quiet by any means, and she is not good at being quiet. she squirms, and her reactions are visceral, always, pressing to bear down against a mouth with a shuddering, evident deluge of sincerity. she’s a terrible liar physically. 

head presses back against that elegant, antique, chestnut headboard meant for just this, she thinks, and if she has hands they’re looking for something to grip, searching with small, prodding fingers. something to hold onto that’s more grounding than the nothing of her empty palms. she’s not great at freefalling. she’s superbly terrible at sticking a landing. her jawline has the cut a grecian god would’ve gifted with the stroke of a finger to shape it. 

she makes a statement, but it’s insensible french and it’s probably translatable to no one, matters far less than the language spoke between her thighs in the lap of alice’s tongue. if it’s french, it’s maybe, kind of, also english, and it’s a breathy, quick, fuckyourewonderful that tumbles to the floor in that attempt at conveyance. 

Shepard isn’t religious. Though, if she had to pinpoint some kind of belief, it would be in the arms of a lover, finding ‘heaven’ in the shared love and adoration of one another - a far cry from a soldier who’s seen war and other horrific sights that no person should. It reminds her of Ashley who always said ‘there are no athiests in foxholes’ and while, at that time, she’d been right, praying to God to see them through as survivors - not victors - but survivors, she thinks little of that and more of her as an ex-lover, and what that meant in a time when openly worshipping another woman was forbidden by law. It’s an era gone by, but one that cements a belied in sapphicism - evident now, in how Alice looks up with a longing, yearning gaze between Alana’s tender thighs.

“Mmm,” Shepard hums against her sex, prominent nose just resting against the curve of her mound as her mouth begins to move in time with her tongue. Strong, calloused hands find purchase along tender hips and waist, sprawling long fingers spread against pale scarred skin only a shade or two different than her own. She doesn’t dig her nails in; rather, she simply holds her lover in place - inadvertently trying to keep Alana from re-injuring herself again lest they have a repeat of last week. In the very least she hopes to give her an orgasm before they have to stop.

Ears tinge bright pink through her own mussed dark locks; the bittersweet taste drives Shepard on, despite the start of an ache in her jaw and the sweat at her temple from burying her face between her thighs and hardly coming up for air - except, when she absolutely needs to with a sharp gasp, keeping herself still very close. A wide smile of big white teeth follows, ear to damn ear. “You... taste so good,” She says with breathless wonder before diving back in, and it’s then that slur of words she does not understand comes to fruition - it acts only as encouragement, praise of the highest order to keep going, to continue with the act of her tongue stroking her hardened clit, over and over.

From below, she flicks her gaze upwards again, striking blue between stray strands of hair hanging in front of thick brows. She could do this for hours if Alana would let her. She watches, lets her hands gently massage at her sides, and even reaching up as far as she can, palming at her chest, just desperate to feel her, all of her that she can from this position. This worked up, Shepard presses her hips into the mattress, well aware of the effect pleasing her lover has on herself.

Sparing another look, she breaks for another momentary pause, chin damp with a blend of her warmth and spit together, licking at her swollen love-ridden lips. “Hold on to me, baby, just hold on...”