#smudged red ink

[smudged-red-ink]

Picrew chain

I found this and it's adorable, so--

No pressure tag:

@igotthisaccountunderduress @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @smallgear @halcyon-and-elysian @clever-naming-convention @clavateur @holdmyteaplease @shadows-in-sunlight @juuzou-rei-suzuya-13 @hansenesque @holdingamelody @the-ellia-west @hachi-qo @keysandopenmind @rainsleeper @bargainbincheese

[smudged-red-ink]

I am so hungry, anyone want to make these for me? Pretty please?

[birdsong-warriors]

My nephew requested a Firestar for his birthday today, and this is what I could do with the limited markers and paper I had. He seems happy with it, at least!

[aimless-aimz]

GAZE OF THE DESTROYER

practice with ink nibs. a few mistakes here and there, but i think the messiness gives it its charm!

[smudged-red-ink]

It is, unfortunately, not, but I shall reblog anyway

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

my besties

[rainsleeper]

best life advice, go.

Honestly, not a very good life advice person.. uhm... do the homework as soon as you get it?

[localgardenweed]

Bringing back my silly Hetalia AU again

[smudged-red-ink]

You'd think Dinsey would've learned to listen to Brittney Lee's designs by now. She nailed Frozen, she was on the right track here too.

Man, it killed me when I read Allison Moore's quote. The emotional journey we gave up with human Star would've been so good if they were actually soulmates.

Early visual development for Wish (2023) by Griselda Sastrawinata-Lemay and Brittney Lee.

An earlier version of the film saw Star take on a human form as a magical, glowing character inspired by Peter Pan. Ultimately, the creative team reconceptualized Star as an ethereal, playful entity resembling Mickey Mouse. "Now Star and Asha have an emotional journey. They are soulmates." -Allison Moore.

[amaranthinespirit]

cowboy!simon riley and city girl!reader when your car breaks down on the side of the road in the countryside

you weren't from around here, it was obvious in the way you dressed, and acted. hell, even the car you drove just screamed that you were from the city.

though if that didn't give it away, maybe it was the fact that your tiny little car was now parked—broken down—on the side of the road. a hand on your hip and the other wiping the sweat from your forehead as the blistering sun beat down on you.

you were convinced you were royally fucked—that you would be stuck to a night in your car. there wasn't any service, and there sure as hell wasn't anyone around.

at least that's what you thought until a massive, dirtied truck pulled off the road in front of your car. you swallowed a knot in the back of your throat that only travelled down to your stomach as you watched a tall, intimidating guy step out from the battered vehicle. his boots kicked against the road, scraping the tiny, loose rocks on the asphalt.

a cowboy hat hung low on his head, a fully black bandana tied around his face that covered his nose and lips, leaving only his dark, daunting eyes to sear into yours. his thumb hooked through the denim belt loop of his jeans, his other arm swaying by his side as he walked to the front of your car, which looked pathetically small next to his.

a quick look under the hood told him all he needed to know—with you and the car. he saw the way your eyes seemed to linger on his exposed arms after he had rolled up his sleeves. the dirt smudges along his skin, the dark ink of his tattoo and the veins that strained as he tinkered through the different parts of your car.

he claimed that he could fix it tomorrow—he didn't have the tools with him! he claimed, but really, they were lying in the bed of his truck, but he didn't want to let such a pretty little thing like you go so quickly. he wanted to have a bit of fun first!

so he offered you a nice stay at his little farmhouse, with the promise of warm food and a comfortable bed to sleep on, and who were you to resist? it was either that, or sleep in the backseat of your car—and you knew which one you would've preferred.

"fuck, such a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he praises with a beer in one hand, the other veined hand wrapped up in your silky hair, helping your body in pulling back into his cock. the couch creaked and rocked under the consistent shifting weight as he pistoned his hips forward.

the rocking of his hips was restrained in order to not spill his beer—otherwise he would've loved to completely wreck you on his meaty cock.

"gon' hafta keep ya around, ain't tha' right?" he grunted before taking a swift sip from the bottle.

when the beer got to the end of the bottle and he set the glass down, you were in trouble. with a swift movement, he had pulled out enough so only the angry tip of his cock teased your hole, slick with your arousal before driving his bulbous dick back into your sensitive pussy.

his hips pounded against your ass, turning your flesh red as the sound of skin slapping together carried through the house. his balls slapping against your glistening pussy with every slamming thrust, the sensation making your eyes roll back. he was determined to make a mess of you—more so than he already did.

his fist clenched harder around your hair as the other went to your shoulder, a bruising grip against your flesh. he growled at the mindless moans spilling from your lips, only making him even more driven to fuck you brainless.

and don't worry, he will.

[allium-phyrzz]

eye of the beholder's eye

[smudged-red-ink]

Yo I just saw princess mononoke for the first time last night and man:

The little white forest creatures with holes in their faces

Lady Eboshi's perfect non-villany.

The way you can viscerally feel Ashitaka's fear as he braces himself for inevitable death after the forest spirit doesn't heal the demon's wound.

The fact that the women of the Iron City are able to be utterly ridiculous but also extremely competent at the same time

Ashitaka's quiet: "Don't make me kill you" when he's trying to get the forest spirit's head back from Jibo

The messages about blind hate and rivalry.

Just ahtrfyguhijokplasdgfgfqdwdefdsbv c

Forget blockbusters, let's go back to the good stuff

[smudged-red-ink]

Okay but there is so much mutual respect in this picture. They look like old friends meeting after one has returned from a long battle.

In my head the white one is older, a seasoned warrior haunted every day by the ghosts of his past battles, even as he continues to do his duty. The younger one, Brown, grew up watching and admiring White's work, but he did not understand White's pain. When he was called to war he seized the chance with enthusiasm and set off in pursuit of glory.

Brown has returned now, but only for a brief visit. His family and friends greated him back open arms and warm meals and familiar jokes, but although he smiled back, their welcome felt empty.

Their jokes were too witless to make him laugh. Their meals were too rich. Their embraces felt like a trap. It isn't their fault; the Brown who left for war would have relished the attention, but he isn't that Brown any more. All he feels now is tired.

But there is no time to rest. He will have to set out again soon. The war is far from over, and he is fresh compared to so many of the warriors. Brown must return, he must fight, so that the people back home can continue to laugh and feast and embrace one another with out fear.

So Brown will go willingly. But ohh, how he dreads it.

He spies White across the field. The older warrior is home for a reprieve as well, his mind bracing for the next round of fighting. Brown sees it in him as clearly as if White said it aloud.

They go to each other. They don't say anything, but press their foreheads together.

I understand now.

It isn't long now before the horn will call them back to the field. And when it does Brown and White will obey. They will go, and they will fight until they can't fight anymore.

It's likely they will never see each other again.

But the horn has not sounded yet. So for one precious moment, they will rest here together.

[thesecondhandwoman]

(SPOILERS FOR ACT THREE)

JINX’S DEATH

Sevika x f!reader

Summary: Only days after Isha’s death, Sevika learned that Jinx’s followed, leaving her without any found family left. She hasn’t been dealing with any of it in a healthy manner, especially with everything changing. It came to the extent where you, her girlfriend, and new second-in-command, to step in and comfort her.

The dim light of Zaun’s flickering neon signs seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated windows of Sevika’s apartment. The once-vibrant buzz of the Undercity felt muted now, like the soul had been stripped from it. Zaun had always been chaotic, a blend of raw, unfiltered energy. But without her—without Jinx—it felt deader than dead, even before Silco’s death.

Sevika sat at her cluttered workbench, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a delicate, half-finished gadget in the other. The gadget was unmistakably Jinx’s handiwork—chaotic, colorful, and covered in erratic doodles. Sevika stared at the swirling patterns painted on the surface, her thumb brushing over the smudged ink, as if she could bring back the touch of the one who made it.

Jinx was gone.

Her sacrifice haunted Sevika more than she cared to admit. The girl had been a thorn in her side for years—a chaotic storm that tore through Zaun, Silco’s operations, and Sevika’s patience with equal fervor. But Jinx was also a constant. A force of nature who had wormed her way into Sevika’s hardened heart.

When Silco had first brought Powder, soon-to-be Jinx, into their world, Sevika had scoffed at the pathetic child. “Another stray,” she had muttered under her breath. But even back then, she’d felt a begrudging sense of responsibility.

Someone had to keep the kid from blowing herself up—or taking half of Zaun with her.

Over the years, Sevika had watched Jinx grow. From a scared, fragile girl clinging to her trauma to the unpredictable force of chaos she became. She had rolled her eyes at the paint splattered across the walls, grumbled about the smoke from her makeshift workshop, and cursed the noise of Jinx’s endless tinkering. Yet, she never turned her away.

Sevika had acted indifferent, cold even, but deep down, she had cared. She’d cared enough to shield Jinx from Silco’s wrath when her impulsive actions jeopardized a mission. She’d cared enough to sit in the corner of Jinx’s workshop, silently smoking, while the girl rambled on about her newest “masterpiece.” And in the end, she’d cared enough to mourn.

Jinx had died saving her sister, Vi, and taking out Warwick—the monstrous creation of Viktor’s twisted experiments with Arcane energy. It was a choice that had shocked Sevika to her core. Jinx, the girl who had burned bridges and built bombs, had chosen to sacrifice herself for the sister who had left her behind.

The irony wasn’t lost on Sevika. She had spent years trying to shield Jinx from pain, from betrayal, and from herself. And now, there was nothing left to protect.

Sevika didn’t hear you come in. She never did these days. She was too lost in her grief to notice much of anything. You paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her slumped over the workbench. The lines on her face seemed deeper now, her strong frame weighed down by an invisible burden.

“Sevika,” you said softly.

She didn’t turn, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

You crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Her voice was rough, edged with irritation, but it lacked the bite it once held.

“Punishing yourself.” You gently pried the gadget from her hand and set it aside. “She wouldn’t want this.”

Sevika barked a bitter laugh. “What the hell do you know about what she’d want?”

You flinched at her harshness, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you knelt beside her, forcing her to look at you. Her dark eyes were rimmed with red, tears threatening to spill over. It was a rare sight—Sevika, the unshakable enforcer, brought to her knees by grief.

“She wouldn’t want you to drown in this,” you said softly, but it held some firmness. “She’d want you to keep living, if not for yourself, then for her...”

Sevika shook her head, the tears finally breaking free. She groaned at the way they trailed down her cheeks, creating streaks along her brown skin.

“She was just a kid, just like Isha. She deserved better.”

You reached up, cupping her face in your hands. “She had you,” you whispered. “You gave her better.”

Sevika’s resolve crumbled at your words. She pulled you into her arms, clutching you like a lifeline. You held her as she broke, her sobs echoing through the small apartment. It was a raw, unguarded moment, and you knew how much it had cost her to let you see it.

“She drove me insane,” Sevika choked out between sobs. “But… she was my family.”

You ran your fingers through her hair, grounding her. “And you were hers.”

“Please don’t leave me like they did..” She whispered, nearly begging. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

You held her closer and gently kissed her temple before whispering: “I won’t.”

[girlrotterr]

✧ . ˚ Hot On The Tongue. ⁺˳

barista!ellie x reader summary: Ellie works the late-night shift at a 24-hour coffee shop, and you become a regular when insomnia keeps you up. a/n: this was inspired by a request!

The winter rain taps against the fogged-up glass of the coffee shop like a restless heartbeat. Outside, the world is a symphony of muted sounds: the soft swish of tires on wet pavement, the occasional hiss of steam from a passing bus, and the irregular patter of droplets slipping from street signs and awnings. 

Inside, the shop is a pocket of warmth, its dim lighting pooling like honey over scuffed wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The hiss of the espresso machine mixes with the faint crackle of the shop’s speakers, which are valiantly playing a jazz playlist long past its prime. The scent of coffee—dark, rich, and slightly burnt—mingles with the metallic tang of wet clothes, clinging to the few customers scattered around.

Ellie stands behind the counter, her elbows propped against it, her chin resting in one hand. She’s dressed in a faded hoodie layered beneath a coffee-stained apron, her sleeves pushed up just far enough to show faint ink smudges along her forearms, remnants of some half-finished doodle she probably forgot about. Her hair, damp from her earlier walk to work, falls messily around her face, catching the golden glow of the hanging light above her. Her green eyes, sharp yet dulled by exhaustion, flick toward the window every few minutes, as though drawn to the chaos of the storm outside.

The bell above the door jingles softly as you step inside, bringing with you a rush of cold air. You pause, shaking off your umbrella as the rainwater pools at your feet in tiny, glistening droplets. The heat of the shop wraps around you like a blanket, the warmth making you shiver as your fingers thaw.

Ellie looks up from her post, her gaze locking on yours. For a moment, her face shows a flicker of recognition, and then she smirks—just a slight curl of her lips, but enough to feel charming.

“You again,” she says, her voice low and gravelly from too many late nights. She leans her weight onto one arm, her posture casual yet somehow inviting. “Third night in a row. Either the insomnia’s kicking your ass, or you’ve got a weird thing for shitty coffee.”

You let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer to the counter as you fold your umbrella. “Maybe both. You gonna judge me, or recommend something better this time?”

Ellie raises a brow, pretending to consider your question as she gestures to the glowing menu board above her. “Depends. You looking to feel alive until sunrise, or just stay conscious long enough to finish whatever’s keeping you up?”

“Alive till sunrise sounds about right,” you reply, peeling off your damp coat and draping it over the back of your usual chair by the window—the one with the best view of the rain-drenched street. The wood creaks under you as you sit, and for a moment, you just breathe, letting the warmth of the shop seep into your chilled bones.

Ellie moves behind the counter, her hands quick as she works the espresso machine. The quiet hum of machinery and the faint clink of ceramic cups fill the space, blending with the subdued music. She works with a kind of unspoken rhythm, her movements swift and precise, though you notice the faint slump in her shoulders, the kind that speaks to a weariness more mental than physical.

When she brings your coffee to the table, it’s steaming, the scent of dark roast mingling with a hint of cinnamon. She sets it down with a practiced ease, her hands red from the constant burn of hot water and steam. Her green eyes meet yours for just a moment before she speaks.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice casual but edged with a quiet curiosity.

“Something like that,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint, tired smile. “You?”

Ellie lets out a soft, breathy laugh, almost as if she’s surprised by the question. “Every night’s a rough night when you’re stuck here,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward the counter. Her lips quirk into a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But hey, at least it’s warm.”

She lingers for a second, one hand still resting on the edge of your table. You can’t help but notice the faint calluses on her fingers, the way her nails are short and uneven, like she chews them when she’s anxious. 

The rain outside grows heavier, the sound like an unrelenting tide against the glass.

“Let me know if you need a refill.” Ellie says and she steps back toward the counter, the soft squeak of her sneakers on the tiled floor blending with the murmur of the espresso machine.

The coffee sits heavy in your hands, bitter and dark as the night beyond the shop’s fogged windows. Its warmth wraps around you like a quiet, comforting weight, seeping into your bones slowly. Steam rises in soft, curling like smoke as you bring the mug to your lips, the taste almost harsh on your tongue. The soft rustle of paper and keys cuts through the shop’s silence as you dig into your bag, pulling out your laptop and setting it down with a muted thud. Next to it, your notes flutter slightly—a scattering of frantic thoughts, scribbled in bursts that have yet to take shape.

The screen flickers to life, casting a cold, pale light across your face as you settle in. Your fingers move across the keys with practiced ease, but your eyes linger on the fragments of your notes, the remnants of too many sleepless nights.

From behind the counter, Ellie notices everything. 

She tells herself to focus on the endless cups to be wiped, on the espresso machine that hums softly in the background, but her decision is weak, crumbling under the weight of her curiosity. Her gaze drifts to you again and again, each time lingering longer than the last. She props her chin against her palm, pretending to busy herself with the stir stick she spins between her fingers, but her eyes betray her, drawn to the way your lips press together when you’re lost in thought, the slight bite of your lower lip as you try to untangle whatever knot is in your mind.

She tries to look away, to find something—anything—else to focus on, but it’s like fighting gravity. There’s a quiet magnetism to the way you exist in this space, so absorbed in your thoughts, utterly unaware of the pull you have on her. She watches the rhythm of your fingers as they tap across the keys, the way your hand hovers over the mug before you lift it to your lips, your movements so simple, so ordinary, and yet, in this moment, they’re everything.

Ellie’s breath catches when you pause, your lips parting just slightly before you take another sip. Her chest tightens in a way she can’t explain. She feels ridiculous, like a teenager with a crush, but she can’t stop herself from committing every detail to memory, as if it’s something too fragile to let go of.

She forces her gaze elsewhere, focusing on the counter in front of her, but her eyes, like magnets, are pulled back to you once more. There’s a quiet warmth to the way you sit, wrapped in the soft glow of the shop’s dim lights, your figure bathed in shadows from the rain outside that flicker and dance across your face. Ellie wonders what you’re thinking, what’s drawing you so deeply into yourself, making time slip away unnoticed.

She shifts, pretending to be busy as she picks up a rag, wiping down the already clean counte. But the motion feels hollow, half-hearted, as her eyes flick back to you with each swipe. You stretch, arms reaching above your head, and Ellie notices the way your chest shifts under your shirt, the subtle curve of your neck as you exhale. 

Minutes—maybe hours—pass, time lost in the haze of caffeine and sleeplessness. When you glance up again, Ellie is perched on a stool, her eyes flick to yours, and this time, she doesn’t look away fast enough.

Her heart stumbles. She quickly diverts her gaze, cheeks flushing as she busies herself with restocking lids near the register. But it’s too late—you saw her, and a pink flush creeps up her neck. 

Ellie fumbles with the lids, her fingers moving just a little too quickly as if to distract herself. She glances up, a small, sheepish smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

��So,” she begins, her voice quieter than usual, like she’s testing the waters. “You, uh, need another one? Or you’re good for the night?”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, feeling the heat spread through your chest. The rich bitterness is oddly comforting now. “I think I’m good for now. But if you’re offering…” You let your words hang for a second, a playful glint in your eye.

Ellie smirks, though it’s soft, the tension between you still heavy. She hesitates, then leans against the counter, her hand brushing the surface absently. “What, you don’t like my coffee enough to go for round two?” Her eyes flicker down to your mug before meeting yours again.

“I mean, it's not bad coffee,” you say, your tone teasing but light. “But if I’m gonna be here all night... I need something that could keep me awake through the apocalypse.”

She laughs softly, the sound carrying just enough warmth to ease the air. “You know,” she starts, lowering her voice just a little, “if you want something that'll keep you up, I got a secret blend. Stronger than anything we serve here.” She pauses, watching for your reaction, a small challenge dancing in her gaze. “But I can’t promise it'll be… pretty.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’re telling me you’ve got a secret coffee? And it’s not on the menu?”

Ellie nods, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Yep. But if you want it, you gotta earn it.”

“Earn it, huh?” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “How’s that work, exactly?”

Ellie smirks, one side of her mouth quirking up. “Simple. I’ve been dying to know—what’s with all the scribbles in your notes? They look like a mess, but you’ve gotta be working on something. Show me one of them. Just one.” She leans back, crossing her arms, her gaze holding steady. “If you can give me a peek, I’ll make sure you get the good stuff next time you’re here.”

You blink, a little taken aback. It’s a small request, but there’s something about the way she’s watching you, that challenge in her voice, that makes the simple task feel loaded with something more.

“Show you what? My messy notes?” you ask, half-laughing at the thought. “You really want to see that?”

Ellie shrugs, her fingers tapping the counter. “I’m not gonna judge. You’ve got the look of someone who’s got something brewing. I want to see it.”

For a moment, you just stare at her, gauging whether she’s serious. The silence stretches between you, but there’s an honesty in her eyes that makes it feel easy to trust her with something so personal, even if it’s just a stray thought jotted down in the chaos of a sleepless night.

“Well…” you start, reaching for the notebook. You flick it open and bring it to the counter to her. It’s not the neatest—frantic notes, half-formed ideas, and a few words crossed out in haste. But there it is, laid bare.

Ellie’s eyes immediately flick to the page, scanning the scribbles with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. She leans in, running her finger over the messy words, then glances up at you. “Huh. You’re actually onto something here. This… this isn’t half bad.”

She smirks again, this time more genuinely. “Alright, deal’s a deal.” She picks up a small cup from behind the counter, gesturing to the steamy dark brew inside. “Next time you’re here, I’ll make you the strongest damn coffee I’ve got.”

You feel a small sense of accomplishment, but the tension between you lingers, the air crackling with unspoken understanding. Ellie’s smile softens as she slides the notebook back across the counter. “But you better keep that mess of yours in check. I want to see where it goes.”

You chuckle, taking back your notebook. “I’ll try to make it worth the secret coffee next time.”

Ellie leans back, that slight smile still tugging at her lips. “You better.”

The door jingles as another customer steps inside, the sound of the rain hitting the windows almost drowning out the rush of footsteps. He’s tall, with a leather jacket that looks like it’s seen better days, his hair tousled by the wet weather. He shakes off his umbrella, water splashing onto the floor, and his eyes sweep across the quiet café. They land on Ellie, and a smile creeps onto his face like he’s just found a hidden treasure.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” he says, voice dripping with an unmistakable confidence as he strides up to the counter. He leans in a little too close, but Ellie doesn’t flinch—yet. She straightens, her hands lingering on the espresso machine as if trying to focus on the task at hand, but there’s a slight tightness in her shoulders.

“Hey," she replies, her tone polite but clipped, as if she's already bracing herself. "What can I get you?”

The man grins, the kind of grin that makes you cringe. He places his arms on the counter, trying to make himself look casual, but it’s obvious he’s here for more than just coffee. “Rain’s a bitch out there, huh? Good thing I found this cozy spot.” He leans in just a bit too much, his gaze lingering on her like he's trying to inspect her, piece by piece. “What’s a cute girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Ellie barely keeps her eyes from rolling, her fingers stilling on the coffee machine as she forces a polite smile. "Just working." She doesn’t look at him, doesn't give him anything to latch onto, just keeps her movements slow and deliberate. Her voice drops an octave, thick with disinterest. "Can I get you something warm?"

The guy doesn’t seem to pick up on the coldness in her tone, though. He’s too busy studying her, leaning closer, too close, and Ellie feels a tight knot forming in her stomach. His eyes flicker down to her hands as she sets the milk pitcher on the counter, the tension growing thicker by the second.

“How about you make it extra special for me?” His voice has that sickly sweet undertone that’s supposed to be charming but just comes off as slimy. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes move down her figure.

Ellie visibly stiffens, her jaw tightening, but she doesn’t let the disgust show. Not yet. She forces herself to look up, finally meeting his gaze, but there’s nothing warm in her eyes. Just cold calculation. "How about I make you a regular coffee?" she says, voice even, though there’s a bite to it now.

The man laughs, completely oblivious. "Alright, alright, you're tough. I like that. But really, you sure you don’t want to give me something sweet?" His smile widens, like he’s got this all figured out, and she can’t help but feel the creeping frustration start to build in her chest.

Ellie doesn’t miss a beat, though. She picks up the mug, placing it down with quiet precision. Her fingers brush the counter, the movement smooth, but there’s a slight tremble in her hand, just enough to let you know she’s trying not to let her annoyance show too much.

"That’ll be $3.50," she says, her tone firm, like a wall’s gone up between them. She forces herself to look at the man’s face, keeping her eyes steady, but her mouth pulls into a tight, tight smile.

The man doesn’t pick up on any of it. He smirks, not deterred in the slightest, as he takes the coffee. “Thanks, babe. I’ll be back for more—promise.” His voice lingers, like he's savoring the moment, and Ellie doesn’t even bother to respond. She watches him walk out, the door jingling behind him, and then lets out a long, silent breath.

Ellie’s eyes flicking to you, only to catch you smiling—maybe even a little too amused by what just went down.

You can’t help it. There’s something about the whole exchange that makes you want to tease her, just a little. You tilt your head slightly, still watching her with that same mischievous grin. "So, tough crowd, huh?" you say, voice light but pointed, raising an eyebrow as you fold your arms on the counter. "I think he was trying really hard to get you to smile."

Ellie glances up at you, and for a brief moment, you catch that flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She’s trying to play it cool, but the corners of her lips twitch, like she’s holding something back. Her expression hardens as she sets down the rag a little too forcefully. “Yeah, well, some guys think they can talk their way into good graces just ‘cause they have a smile and a cheesy line.”

You stifle a laugh, not wanting to push her too far, but the way her jaw clenches, her hands still resting on the counter, is just too good. You can't resist teasing her a bit more. 

"Yeah, you know," you say, "I'm pretty sure he thought he was totally irresistible."

Ellie’s eyes narrow, and she’s trying to look serious, but the smile she’s trying to suppress isn’t helping. She lets out a breath, shaking her head like she’s done with this conversation, but you can still see the irritation behind her eyes, the way she shifts her weight as if to shake it off.

“That’ll be $3.50 for you, too, if you keep giggling,” she mutters, her voice a bit quieter now, but still sharp enough to be playful. Her hands reach for the register, and the edge of her annoyance seems to soften, her usual sharpness giving way to something a little more lighthearted.

You lean in just a little, that teasing smile still playing on your lips, your eyes twinkling with amusement. You don’t back down, just keep looking at her with that soft, teasing grin.

"Hey," Ellie says, her voice slicing through the quiet murmur of the café as she glances up from behind the counter. "Need a walk back or anything? I’m clocking out, so... figured I’d offer."

You freeze mid-motion, caught off guard by the suddenness of her question. Your hand hovers over the strap of your bag, and for a brief second, the noise of the café fades into the background, leaving only her voice echoing in your mind. You look up at her, and it feels like time slows just a beat. There’s something different in the way she’s standing—stiff, like she’s bracing herself for something. Her hands fidget with a napkin, twisting it nervously before letting it fall to the counter. Her eyes flicker to you, then quickly look away, as if she’s waiting for something to unfold.

Or maybe... waiting for you.

"Uh... sure," you say, blinking to shake off the surprise. You hadn’t expected this, not in the least. "You don’t have to. I’m fine on my own."

Ellie shrugs, her movements brisk as she grabs a cloth to wipe down the counter one last time. "No, I know. Just thought... well, I’d offer." She pauses, her gaze meeting yours for just a moment, before she looks away, suddenly absorbed in a stray cup.

"If you insist," you reply, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Your “friendship” with Ellie had always stayed within the safe confines of the café—casual small talk, playful jabs, nothing more. So this? This was a first.

Ellie grabs her coat from the back of the counter and slips it on, the fabric rustling as she pulls it over her shoulders. The sound feels louder than it should, like a small, tangible shift in the air. She adjusts the sleeves, scanning the nearly empty café as if the stillness is too much, like the space around her is closing in. "Alright," she mutters, her voice quiet as she glances around. "Let’s go."

You both head toward the door. The soft thud of your footsteps is the only sound against the polished wooden floors, and when you step outside, the night feels different. The rain has stopped, but the streets are slick, glistening under the streetlights like they’re still holding onto the memory of the storm. The air is cool, almost crisp, and the scent of wet asphalt mingles with the faint trace of earth, giving the city a strange, alive feeling.

Ellie reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out a lighter with a soft click, followed by the familiar struggle of trying to get the flame to catch. She pulls a cigarette from her pack, the motion fluid, like she’s done it a thousand times before. Tapping it gently against the box, she takes a long drag, her eyes flicking over to you, the glow of the streetlights catching her face in soft, golden hues.

“You smoke?” she asks casually, her voice low, the question almost a challenge.

You let out a small chuckle. “I’ve been known to.”

Ellie offers you the cigarette, her fingers brushing yours for just a brief second, but the contact lingers in your mind long after she’s let go. The warmth from her touch stays with you, and you take the cigarette from her, the sharp taste of tobacco hitting your lungs as you inhale deeply. It stings, but it feels grounding.  You glance over at her, and there’s something in her gaze—intense, focused—that makes you wonder if she’s studying you, trying to read something you’re not quite sure how to put into words.

You both walk in silence, the smoke curling up between you, mixing with the cool night air. The rhythm of your steps matches in an odd way, like you’re moving in sync, without even realizing it. 

When the cigarette burns down to the filter, you both pause at a corner.

Ellie looks over at you, her expression softer now. "So, uh... this is where we say goodnight, right?" 

You stop, your breath catching for just a moment. The cigarette’s only a smoldering stub now, the warmth fading into the cool night air. And then, without even thinking, the words slip out before you can stop them: “You wanna come over?”

Ellie's hands grip your hips tightly, her hips undulating against yours with increasing urgency. With each passing moment, her movements become more frenzied. Your fingers dig into her shoulders as you struggle to maintain your grip. The room is filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and Ellie's hungry moans. "Ellie... I need you," you gasp, your hips moving to meet hers with a desperation that mirrors her own.

Ellie pushes you back against the couch, her body coming down to press you firmly into the cushions. Her lips leave a trail of heat along your neck, her tongue tracing the curve of your shoulder as she grinds against you. "Fuck," she whispers in your ear, her breath hot against your skin, making your pulse race.

Her fingers slide up under your shirt, trailing over your skin with a gentleness that belies the urgency in her movements. You shiver as her touch becomes more insistent, your skin pebbling in response to the sensation. Your own hands move up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer as you arch against her body, seeking more contact.

Her mouth moves down to your collarbone, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as she sucks and kisses her way across your chest. Her fingers trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as she moves lower. Her hands slip under your waistband, her fingers tracing the contours of your abdomen before moving lower still, her touch sending shivers through you.

Ellie reaches the waistband of your pants, her fingers pausing to tease you as she looks up at you with a wicked smile. Her eyes are dark with desire, and the heat in them makes your stomach clench. "You’re so fucking good," she says, her voice low and sultry. “Nghh, fuck." Her hands slide lower, slipping under the waistband of your pants and slowly, slowly pushing them down.

Her eyes never leave yours as she undresses you, her hands roaming over your body as she takes you in. When you're finally naked beneath her, she pushes you further back onto the couch, straddling your thighs as she presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your breasts.

Ellie's mouth wraps around your nipple, her tongue flicking the sensitive bud in slow, torturous circles. You moan loudly, arching into her touch as pleasure shoots straight to your core. Her eyes are locked on yours, dark with lust and desire as she drinks in every whine and whimper that escapes you. "Mmmph... just like that," You gasp out between breaths, hips rolling desperately. 

Your hands fist in her hair, tugging lightly as you try to pull her closer still. "Suck harder... don't stop." Her lips leave a wet trail of kisses down your chest as she moves lower, following the path of goosebumps raised by her teasing fingers.

You can't help but grab at your own nipples, tugging on them with desperation. Your thumb and index finger pinch the sensitive buds as you twist them between your fingers. The anticipation is almost too much to bear - her tongue is so close now, skating along the swell of your belly before dipping lower.

"yeah... right there," you moan loudly, hips bucking up eagerly as she gets closer to where you need her most. Ellie's hot breath fans over your folds just for a moment before her tongue finally makes contact. She licks slowly along the outer folds, gathering up all that sweet slickness before probing gently at your hole.

"Oh god... yes!" you cry out, hands fisting in the pillows as waves of pleasure start rolling through you already. Your body responds instinctively, arching up towards her mouth. 

You spread your pussy lips wide with a trembling hand, exposing yourself fully to Ellie's eager tongue. "please... taste me," you moan, hips rolling up off the couch as her warm mouth makes contact with your hole. Ellie laps at you hungrily, her tongue delving deep to explore every inch of your wet cunt. 

Ellie fumbles with her pants in a frantic rush, yanking them down just enough to expose the wet spot darkening the front of her boxers. The sight itself makes your cunt twitch.

"Ellie" you groan, reaching out to run a finger through the damp fabric. 

But she grabs your hand mid-reach, stopping instantly. Instead, she rummages through her bag with a sense of urgency, pulling out a strap-on. She stares at your pussy as she begins to put it on, her eyes never leaving the sight of your wet, open folds.

"Look at that... your pretty cunt is practically begging for it," she rasps, her voice heavy with lust. "Let's give that greedy hole what it needs."