#the way you can see the tear shimmering in her eye in the second to last gif... kill me now

[madisoncounty]

@pscentral​ event 26: minimalism

The hair was still like polished bronze. The wide-set green eyes, though, hid beneath their overcasting of spice-imbued blue.

[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“��Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[peppermintquartz]

Read this first

Read this second

Read this third

---

He doesn't like to lose his temper, but this once he wishes he's well enough to physically throw every last one of his visitors out of his room.

He can't, so he uses his words instead. "Get out."

"Buck," Maddie begins placatingly.

"Out!" Buck hates the way she flinches and the way her eyes shimmer with tears, so he turns away from the sight.

"Buck, we didn't mean to lie to you, you needed to rest-" Chimney puts in, but Buck grabs the bottle of water from his meal tray and hurls it in their direction. Chimney catches it before it hits anyone or anything. "Buck!"

"Out! Get out! Get out get out get out!" Buck shouts with all the strength he can muster, and the commotion must have caught the attention of a passing nurse, who firmly ushers Maddie and Chimney away from the room. once he's left alone, Buck collapses back into the pillows. His bruised side hurts and so does his head. His right ankle is throbbing.

The nurse comes back and sets a new bottle of water next to him. "I'm guessing that was not the most restful of visits, Mr Buckley. Let me check your vitals, hmm?"

"They lied to me," Buck mutters. He shuts his eyes and covers them with his forearm, for good measure, while the nurse takes his blood pressure using the other arm. The edges of the bandage around his skull brush against his arm. "They told me Tommy's alright, that he'd been here. They fucking lied to me."

The nurse hums sympathetically. "Who is this Tommy?"

"Tommy Kinard. He's in the ICU." Buck's lips wobble. "He saved my life and he's in the ICU and I can't go to him. They won't let me."

"You are still recovering yourself, Mr Buckley."

Buck sniffs and smiles weakly, lowering his arm to see who the nurse is. "Nick, hi. Everyone calls me Buck."

"Oh, so you're the miracle," Nick says with a smile. Nick looks to be about Tommy's age, his plump features and confident manner very assuring. "They tell me you and your team are frequent visitors. That's not a good thing, Buck."

"Tommy joked that we should have our own wing." Buck can feel his throat closing with emotion. "We,uh, we seem to have pretty bad luck."

"But they call you the miracle. Said you survived being struck by lightning and your heart stopped for over three minutes."

"Three minutes and seventeen seconds."

"Wow," Nick marvels. "That is a miracle." Then he removes the blood pressure cuff and shines a penlight into each of Buck's eyes. "Well, all seems good. I hope this Tommy guy recovers too, Buck."

Just then, Bobby walks in. "Hi, kid. How are we doing?"

"I wanna see Tommy," Buck says immediately.

Bobby's lips tighten. "Buck, I've been to see him. He's... he's unconscious. I don't know if it's a good idea for you to go up there and see him like that."

Fed up, Buck pushes himself off the bed and tries to stand on his one good leg. "I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me what they think I should or shouldn't do, or lying to me, or stopping me from contacting him," he snarls. "Everyone trying to decide what's good for me. I don't give a shit. I want to see him."

When he wobbles, Bobby catches him and sits him back down. Buck is breathing hard, and he doesn't even bother to try to hide his tears of frustration and worry.

"Pops, please," Buck begs, bringing up the old nickname. "He saved my life from Irene. I need to see him. If the worst happens and I didn't even get a chance to... I can't. I can't, Bobby. The look in his eyes before the semi hit us... I need to see him."

Bobby sighs. "Yeah, okay. Let me get you a wheelchair."

"No, crutches will do." Buck grits his teeth. "I can move. My injuries look a lot worse than they are."

"Kid, you were one massive bruise from shoulder to hip, you had a major concussion and you now have seven stitches in your scalp, and you twisted your ankle."

"Tommy's in the ICU," Buck counters. "I'm fine. Crutches."

---

Bobby fills Buck in on the severity of Tommy's injuries as they navigate their way to the ICU. it helps Buck to mentally prepare himself, but seeing Tommy in the bed, unconscious, looking the worse for wear - it breaks something deep inside Buck.

Once the nurses in charge have their information, Buck hobbles over to the chair the other guy - Sal, he thinks, recalling a photo Tommy showed him before of the old 118 - vacates.

Tommy looks horribly frail, connected to too many tubes and wires, his handsome face hidden by the ventilator. His hand is icy cold when Buck holds it.

"Tommy, please," Buck whispers. "I need to say it back. I need to. you can't- You're not allowed to make a dramatic declaration like that and leave me. Baby, you gotta wake up. I have to say it back to you."

He doesn't even know he's weeping until he realizes that the mask on his face is damp from absorbing his tears. Sal and Bobby have retreated outside the door.

Buck squeezes Tommy's cold, limp fingers and presses the back of the hand to his cheek. The monotonous beeps and steady hisses don't change at all.

"You're not allowed to play the hero and exit my life, you understand? You must wake up and get better. I need to apologize and we need to talk, we have so many memories to make together, you can't just leave me like this." Buck is sobbing now, and he feels a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I need to say it back. You gotta wake up so I can say it back."

"Tell him anyway," Bobby says quietly. "Maybe he needs to hear it."

Buck looks over his shoulder and meets Bobby's gentle gaze. Behind him, Sal is watching stoically, but his eyes on Tommy are filled with concern.

Wiping away the tears under his eyes - a futile gesture, since his mask is already pretty wet - Buck leans forward to get as close as he could to Tommy's ear.

"Tommy, I love you. I love you so much. Come back to me so I can prove it." He presses the tip of his nose to Tommy's cheek. "I love you. Please, wake up."

[salem-witch-slut]

Behind Closed Doors (18+)

Ellie Williams x Abby Anderson

SYNOPSIS: Abby and Ellie are always at each other's throats and everyone can safely say that they hate each other. But no one ever sees what happens when the doors are closed and their hidden away from the world.

WARNINGS: Excessive swearing, dom!Abby, sub!Ellie, pussy eating, aggressive scissoring, hair pulling, spit swallowing, hate sex, no aftercare, Ellie being a rude bitch

WORD COUNT: 3.7K

A/N: I just love these two. This one was a personal favorite because it's just so damn dirty. This is NOT a continuation of Unrequited. Just a similar preface.

dividers made by @cafekitsune

Everything was going her way right now. She had woken up on time, she had enough time to take a shower even, and she was able to get breakfast before patrol! The sun was up, and the autumn air was comfortably cool, enough for her to wear her thin hoodie all day long. Everything was going good… And then she saw her assignment.

“Unfuckingbelievable…” Ellie’s hand went to the board where she saw she was running the Hoback Pass trail with… of all the people that she could go with, why was it her?

“Damn, you got Abby?” Ellie looked over her shoulder to see Jesse standing right behind her. A deep sigh left Ellie’s throat as she ran her entire hand across her face and tried to calm down. She knew it was too good to be true. And she knew that the second they were deep inside of the patrol route, her and Abby would be attacking each other like wild animals. It was always inevitable.

Shimmer was being pulled in from the paddock as Ellie went to retrieve her rifle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joel and Abby’s dad, Jerry, leaning against the fence on the far right with mugs in their hands and casually talking, clearly enjoying their day off. Ellie envied them, but at the same time she felt bad for Jerry. He had the world’s bitchiest daughter.

“Where even is she?” Ellie checked the chamber of her rifle and made sure it was loaded before a hand curled around the barrel. A very large, veined hand that she could recognize with her fucking eyes closed.

“Don’t fall in the lake again,” Abby remarked, her hair in that same stupid braid it always was. She was wearing a flannel that she cut the sleeves off of and underneath was a black compression shirt with a few tears near the collar. She sure was adapting to that Wyoming fashion after being here for like… five years now.

“Oh my, god, that was one time,” Ellie rolled her eyes and yanked the rifle out of her hand, slinging it over her shoulder with her backpack. Abby simply scowled and went to get her own rifle while retrieving her horse.

As usual, Jesse gave the morning talk like he always did before he jumped onto his horse and the gates opened up. Ellie noticed that Dina was riding with Manny today; that’s good. They got along great and shared stories about Mexico, and New Mexico.

Ellie looked at her partner and saw that Abby seemed more than eager to get this patrol started. What was going through her mind right now?

“You ready for this?” Ellie scooted Shimmer closer to Abby’s stallion, Artax.

Abby looked over at Ellie, and smirked. “Try to stay quiet this time.”

Attacking each other like wild animals was almost an understatement…

Everything was going like normal, with Ellie and Abby clearing out their routes, taking down any infected that was nearby and making sure the paths were clear… And as soon as they reached their first lookout, Abby snapped.

Seconds after Ellie signed them in, Abby was pushing her face down into the table and grabbing a fistful of her auburn hair, leaning down low enough to whisper into her ear in just the right way that it drove Ellie crazy every time. “Wore those fucking jeans on purpose, didn’t you?”

Ellie couldn’t stop herself from whining from Abby’s gravelly voice, basking in the warmth from her body heat and leaning back against her. Ellie knew that the blonde loved these jeans, and for some reason, she just couldn’t help herself when grabbing them this morning. They hugged her ass almost perfectly.

“Y-you fuckin’ wish,” Ellie teased, her heart racing at Abby sliding her hands down in order to grip her ass with her immense strength. What was it about this damn woman that made Ellie want to submit but give attitude at the same time?

Abby’s veined hands slid into the back pocket of Ellie’s jeans before her thumbs traced the crease between her asscheeks, teasing the redhead to no end as she moved her hands down and dragged the tips of her fingers across the denim crotch. Abby didn’t miss the way Ellie shivered at her touch. And Ellie couldn’t hide how wet she was even if she tried.

“Fucking sad, isn’t it?” Abby taunted, her right hand sliding back up to grab at Ellie’s hair hard enough to make her eyes water. “You hate me… and I’m the only one that can fuck you good enough.”

“S-Shut up,” Ellie demanded. “J-Just stop fucking talking.”

“Oh, but you like it when I talk,” Abby taunted before her hand curled into the waistband of Ellie’s jeans and started yanking them down over her rear. For some reason, Ellie knew this would happen… and she had this sickening suspicion that Abby was prepared this. “You love it when I degrade the fuck out of you and split you open on my fingers, don’t you?”

Ellie stayed quiet, trying to deny her and biting down on her lip in order to stifle the sounds that were escaping her against her will. Abby wasn’t having it. Her massive hand came down and smacked directly against Ellie’s ass. A loud yelp left her and she looked over her shoulder and stared Abby down with a simmering glare. Abby was grinning.

If Ellie wasn’t careful, Abby might get angry enough to rip her jeans in the process… it’s happened a few times in the past before, and that was an awkward walk back to Jackson. Falling in the river? Yeah, that’s why she trashed her jeans, not because the seam was ripped right over her cunt so Abby could have easy access to her.

Tried to blame Ellie’s shaking legs on the cold water… But Abby knew the truth.

The blonde was waiting. She wanted to hear Ellie say how desperate she was for her, but Abby was going to need to try harder than that. She knew Ellie and knew that she was a stubborn little shit until the end.

Ellie tried to blame the sweating on the hot weather, but that wasn’t fully true. Her shirt was sticking to her bare skin uncomfortably, and normally Abby would have her almost completely naked by now, but the blonde was holding back. She was torturing her, and Ellie didn’t know if she loved it or hated it.

“You gonna say it?” Abby leaned down, her braid tickling the side of Ellie’s neck as she breathed against her skin. Ellie scowled, looking at Abby with narrowed eyes and resisting the urge to spit on her cheek like she’s done in the past. Their dynamic was so fucked, but so much fun that they just couldn’t stop themselves from sinking into madness. When Ellie curled her lips downward into a mocking snarl, Abby scoffed and grabbed a fistful of her hair once again, yanking her off the table and pushing her down onto the couch against the wall.

Ellie can’t even remember the number of times they fucked on this couch. And now another one was about to be added to their mental list. Abby put the sole of her boot into Ellie’s chest, forcing her to lean all the way back against the couch. Once she was satisfied, Abby removed her foot and stepped forward, standing between the auburn-haired girl’s legs and reaching down with her right hand.

“Open,” Abby demanded, her fingers gripping Ellie’s jaw as she huffed, and denied Abby what she wanted. In retaliation, Abby lightly swatted her cheek with her hand, forcing Ellie’s head to cock to the left as she whined. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Ellie opened her mouth, and Abby immediately slipped her fingers in, dragging her index and middle digit across her tongue and teasing her mouth in the most torturous way possible. Ellie drooled, saliva slipping from her tongue and down her neck as Abby pushed her fingers a little further into her mouth and made the girl gag.

“That’s it, good girl,” Abby praised, seeing the way Ellie shivered when she gave her the positive words. She knew that Ellie loved it when she praised her, but Abby loved to tease… And she loved to degrade. And while Ellie loved sweet words of affirmation, she also loved being treated like a slut sometimes… and by sometimes, she means every time with Abby. “Head back… just like that…”

Ellie sat there obediently and whined as Abby leaned forward and mercilessly spit into Ellie’s open mouth. Ellie’s heart was racing with every passing second as she did exactly what the blonde wanted. Abby pressed a kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips and released her jaw. “Swallow.”

She gulped without a word of disobedience.

“Oh, fuck this,” Abby looked frantic as she got down on her knees in front of Ellie and began yanking down the girl’s jeans as fast as she possibly could. She almost ripped the denim, wrestling with Ellie’s dumb converse as she yanked them off and left her in just her shirt and socks before leaning down and grabbing Ellie’s thighs with both hands. The veins flexed in her forearms and Ellie huffed pathetically.

They’ve done this dance so many times before. Ellie was so familiar with Abby’s touch by now that she knew what to expect when the woman was desperate. Her tensed fingers gripping at Ellie’s flesh was making her tremble with anticipation as the blonde dived down like she couldn’t take it anymore. It was only a few seconds before Abby’s tongue was on Ellie’s pussy.

“OhmyGOD,” Ellie arched upward, her eyes rolling to the ceiling as she fell against the back of the couch. It always felt like the first time, and she could never get enough of the blonde’s mouth on her for as long as she lived. Ellie looked down, seeing how Abby’s brows were pulled in almost anger as she lapped her cunt from her hole to her clit, drinking in her arousal and pushing her legs up so Ellie’s knees nearly touched her shoulders.

Abby loved being in control. She had no problem folding Ellie’s limbs around so it was easier for her to take advantage of her body and have her lay in the perfect way so she could reach her deepest parts and get Ellie to make the sweetest sounds. Not once had Ellie topped Abby, but it didn’t seem like an issue. She always made Abby cum so it didn’t matter… Ellie loved being used by her like this. It was a part of her that she was allowed to lose and give to someone else; a piece of control she could relinquish willingly to the strongest person she knows.

Ellie didn’t voice that she trusted Abby, but it was wordlessly affirmed for her almost every time.

Abby was drowning in her. Ellie’s heavy taste was making her moan, her tongue dancing between the girl’s slick folds and feasting on her pussy like she was the most delicious thing she’s ever put in her mouth. Ellie wasn’t allowed to touch her yet… not until Abby said so.

The blonde’s fingers squeezed her thighs harder, and Ellie let out a squeak that was so pathetic, Abby almost felt mercy for a second. She broke away from her core for a small second, panting and looking down at how the girl’s cunt was glistening with pleasure and her drool. God, Ellie was so fucking hot that it was painful. Abby was ignoring the pulse in her own cunt as she looked up and latched her lips around Ellie’s clit, sucking hard and making Ellie’s body jerk forward off the couch.

“FUCK!” She sounded like she was in pain, her eyes squeezing shut and her thighs shaking as she bent forward and wrapped her arms around Abby’s head. Fuck the rules, she wouldn’t survive this if she couldn’t touch her. Abby allowed it, and hummed with approval at Ellie’s nails scratching on her scalp. “Fuck, shit… A-Abby…”

The blonde wiggled her head from side to side as her tongue provided delicious stimulation for the tattooed girl at her mercy. She was drowning and loving every second of this… but Abby wanted more. Oh, she wanted so much more that it was painful.

Ellie was in ecstasy, but it was immediately ripped away when Abby broke off from her cunt and leaned back, looking at her and bringing her strong hand down to deliver a swat to her glistening pussy, right over her exposed clit. Ellie screamed, and immediately covered her mouth. If she was any fucking louder, the lookout would be swarming with infected… that would be beyond embarrassing to explain to everybody.

“Abby w-what the fuck is—” Ellie complained, now angry that the blonde stopped. But her complaints died on her mouth when she saw Abby stand up and unbuckle the belt on her hips, pushing her cargo pants down and unlacing her boots. “Can’t wait, huh? I’m that irresistible?”

“Shut up,” Abby bit back, grabbing at Ellie and pulling her off the couch. She laid her down over the sleeping bag that was left from the last patrol that had to stay here, pushing her down onto the ground and kicking her boots off, along with the jeans and underwear hanging off her ankles. “Shut up and do what I fucking say for once.”

“And if I don’t?” Ellie barked, staring Abby down with a fire behind her eyes. Abby didn’t like that answer and she immediately began to pull away, almost like she was about to get dressed again. Ellie began to panic, and she reached out, gripping Abby by the front of her shirt. “Okay, okay, you win!  Fuck, I’ll do whatever you say, just please—”

Abby smirked, caging Ellie with her arms for a brief moment as she bent down and captured Ellie’s lips with her own. The kiss was soft, gentle, the opposite of what these two were with each other. That was one thing that always felt wrong, but so right… It didn’t matter how hard Abby fucked her, or how aggressive she was with her… Ellie always gave her the sweetest kisses that had Abby’s heart racing and it made her tremble with some forbidden emotion that she swore she didn’t feel for Ellie.

“You even beg like a whore,” Abby teased, resulting in Ellie biting her bottom lip. The blonde responded with gripping Ellie’s hips and pushing her upward a little before she used her right knee to lift the girl’s leg up a bit. “Come on, behave. Leg up, on my shoulder.”

Ellie obeyed, and she wasn’t sure if it was because her cunt was pulsing angrily, or because Abby smelled so good when she leaned forward and trailed her lips down the outer column of her neck. Ellie lifted up her leg, resting her calf against Abby’s broad shoulder as the blonde wasted no time in crawling over her body and slotting herself perfectly between Ellie’s legs.

“God, just fucking look at you,” Abby taunted, dropping forward and listening to the way Ellie groaned as she felt the blonde’s slick cunt slide against her own dripping pussy. Why did these two completely opposite women fit together so perfectly, like puzzle pieces from different boxes? Abby reached forward and pushed Ellie’s bangs out of her face, basking in how her green eyes sparkled with tears that threatened to fall. “You want me to fuck you so bad, you look stupid.”

“T-Then fucking do it already,” Ellie snapped, her fists curling into the front of Abby’s shirt as she yanked her down, veins bulging from her hands as she showed that aggression that Abby adored in her little spitfire so much. “Fuck me like you fucking mean it.”

Abby fell forward, her hands slamming into the floor behind Ellie’s head as she rutted down against her. The mix of their juices together provided the most perfect friction that Ellie couldn’t stop moaning, even for a second.

Normally she wasn’t this loud, but for some reason today, Ellie was overly whiny and vocal. It was like she was more sensitive than normal, and everything that Abby did was sending her into overdrive. She was wetter, her heart was racing faster, and her muscles were trembling with every single thrust of Abby’s cunt against her own.

Ellie reached up, grabbing the back of Abby’s neck and biting her lip as she did everything in her power to stifle her sounds, but it just felt too fucking good, and she didn’t even sound like herself! Ellie has never made these kinds of noises before in her life… Abby was practically drooling.

Everything was going just how Abby wanted it… and then Ellie grabbed her braid. A rough yank to her hair had Abby’s head snapping back and she gaped, eyes widening as she looked down and stared into Ellie’s green irises that seemed almost playful as she tugged on the braid again.

It was like a trigger as Abby just moved her hips faster, and ground herself down against Ellie’s cunt harder. She felt Ellie’s clit rub against her own in the most perfect way that Abby’s pace was beginning to falter, and her hips started stuttering. She hasn’t been able to cum in almost a week… Abby was just as sensitive as Ellie.

“Shit, El…” Abby huffed, her heart slamming against her ribs as Ellie’s fingers began aggressively curling in her hair. It didn’t take long for Ellie to unravel the braid, long blonde waves falling over and framing her face in golden curtains. Ellie loved seeing Abby with her hair down… it made her look even more beautiful than before. “Fuck… b-better cum f’me…”

“A-Abby… Abby, please…” Ellie sobbed, falling back to the ground. One of her arms went over her eyes and she arched off the floor, trying to meet Abby’s movements and slip herself along the blonde’s beautiful pussy. Abby was having none of it.

“No,” She grabbed Ellie’s wrist, pushing both arms down onto the floor and towering over her. She was really testing how far Ellie could stretch as she nearly forced the girl into a split. “Don’t you f-fucking dare look away from me… Want you to look me in the eyes… w-when you fucking cum— Jesus christ…”

Ellie couldn’t bring herself to disobey even if she wanted to. It was like a hot shower after falling in a frozen lake. It warmed her from the outside in, sending Ellie into sudden trembles that quickly took over her entire body.

“Fuckfuck— Ohmygod Abbyyyyyy…!” Ellie pressed her forehead against the blonde’s her eyes rolling back as her orgasm brought her to literal tears. Abby wasn’t far behind as she rutted against Ellie’s cunt that was getting wetter and wetter with every second.

Abby stopped moving, her hips jerking forward as low, violent groans of pleasure left her throat. “F-Fucking take it, baby… Making a fucking mess of this pussy…”

She could only hold herself up for so long. It didn’t take much for Abby to fall, her arms giving out as she pushed her face into Ellie’s sweat stained shirt. She carefully moved Ellie’s leg, listening to the poor girl cry out as her thigh cramped up and she fully lowered her limb down onto the floor. Her breath was labored, and her heart was racing and pounding hard enough that Abby could hear it and feel it against her face.

Both of them were quiet for a long time… What exactly are they supposed to say about it? It was always slightly awkward after they fucked each other speechless. This part never got any easier to deal with. A sigh left Abby’s throat as she looked up, trying to gauge Ellie’s expressions, but as always, she was an expert at schooling how she was feeling on the outside.

“You okay?” Abby asked, sitting up slowly and looking into Ellie’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated and to anybody else, they could assume she had gotten high. Abby began to remove herself from Ellie, her face turning red at how their bodies stuck together in the most vulgar fashion. “Ellie, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Ellie remarked, rubbing at her face with both hands as she sat up off the floor, only to fall back on her palms when a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I’m always fine…”

“Yeah,” Abby muttered wordlessly, reaching for a towel inside of the emergency duffel bag that was kept at every lookout. She slowly wiped off her inner thighs and stomach before she went to clean Ellie up, only for the redhead to stop her. “Would you just—”

“I’m not a fucking baby, I can do it myself,” Ellie snapped, wiping her legs off and making sure the remnants of Abby’s slick wasn’t left on any part of her skin. “See? Fully capable.”

“Just…” Abby looked like she had more to say. Ellie waited, pressing her thighs together to try and regain some sort of modesty, but Abby just scoffed, reaching for her jeans and tugging them back on. Ellie looked disappointed. “We gotta get moving.”

Ellie knew she was the one in the wrong. Abby always tried this every time. She would ask if Ellie was okay, and if she needed anything. Abby always tried to clean her up, whisper words of praise, even tried to kiss her once when it was over… But Ellie wasn’t having it. She was cold, aggressive, and pushed all forms of aftercare away from the blonde like being fucked by her was the worst thing she could think of.

Abby refused to tell Ellie just how much it hurt her. Every time Ellie denied her advances, Abby felt her heart ache all over again… Funny, isn’t it? How the biggest, baddest person in Jackson is the one pining after the rudest bitch to ever walk the streets.

Abby was embarrassed for the rest of the patrol route. She felt angry, dirty even, as she watched her patrol partner act and kill like nothing had happened, and nothing was wrong. Like she didn’t just have Abby all over her and against her…

Would Ellie ever let Abby in? Would Abby ever stop simping for Ellie? Or the bigger question…

Would they ever admit to themselves just how badly they were in love with each other?

[hgfictionwriter]

Ache - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: You and Jessie just couldn’t stay apart. How do you make up for lost time?

Warnings: I’m back to it, y’all. What goes better with a little pining than smut?? So, warning, lots of smut.

A/N: Part one is available here

Credit to @stargirlsfc for the gifs. And that second one. My god. Imagine her walking towards you like that…!?

“So, will you have me?”

Jessie’s brown eyes shone under the hue of the street lights as she waited for your response. The mixture of hope, fear and affection swirling within her was evident.

Jessie wasn’t really one to speak openly about her emotions. She often showed her love and devotion in other ways, so to hear her speak so vulnerably and passionately caught you off guard - for many reasons.

Before you could fully process a reply, your legs carried you over to her in long, hurried strides. They closed the distance between you so quickly you hardly had time to register the way her eyebrows lifted and her mouth began to open in surprise.

You flung your arms around her and surprised yourself with how a sob rose and caught in your throat. Though shocked, it was only a moment before Jessie’s arms wrapped around you and she soon clung to you tightly. You squeezed her closer in response, burying your head in the crook of her neck. An overwhelming wave went through you as you inhaled her scent, the one that had long faded on the pillow next to yours.

“Y/N.” She said your name with a voice that trembled and strained with emotion.

You stayed like that for several moments, relishing the feeling of having her in your arms again. Soon, you pulled back, grateful that her arms stayed tightly wrapped around you and you searched her face momentarily, a smile subconsciously forming on yours as you took in the familiar sight of her freckles and the light brown flecks in her eyes. You leaned in and kissed her.

A rush went through you as soon as your lips were upon hers. Your shoulders rose in elation as her arms encircled you further and she deepened your kiss.

When you pulled back and her eyes fluttered open, an aching, but sweet sensation filled your chest upon seeing her eyes glistening with unshed tears. You cupped her face tenderly with both hands, internally noting how cold her skin was from waiting outside for you.

“I love you. So much,” you told her, somehow breathless. A smile broke out across her face and the nervous frown weighing down her brow lifted. You blinked back your own tears and hugged her close once more, astounded and grateful for the way she immediately pulled you back into her.

A lump formed in your throat as you spoke. “I didn’t know if we’d ever see each other again.” You subconsciously tightened your hold on her. “But I never stopped thinking about you. I missed you every day.”

A small whimper bubbled up in your throat as she let out a shuddering breath and tucked her head into your neck, all the while clutching you ever closer as if you’d disappear if she didn’t hold on.

After a few moments, she inhaled shakily and tilted her head back just enough to look at you.

“Can we try again?” She asked, eyes wide, shimmering and hopeful. You nodded with a watery smile.

“I’d love to. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but I’ve missed you so much it hurts. I want you and I need you in my life.”

A grateful smile broke out across her face and she laughed softly, nodding in return.

“Okay.” A blush formed on her cheeks and she looked down shyly before meeting your gaze once more. “Can I kiss you again?”

You laughed affectionately and caressed her cheek with your thumb. “Of course. I’d love nothing more.”

Despite how much time had passed, it felt so natural to be back in her arms and to have her lips on yours.

“You’re cold,” you noted as you pulled back. Her nose was red from the chill. She shrugged.

“I’m okay. I completely forgot actually,” she said with a small laugh.

“You could come inside,” you ventured. Her brow furrowed in response, and her tone was tentative when she spoke.

“Are you sure? I know I showed up unannounced and this is a lot that I just dumped on you. I don’t want to overwhelm or push.”

You tilted your head and gave her a look.

“I couldn’t have dreamt of anything better than you coming here and saying the things you did. You have no idea.” You took a step back, but held her hands. “Now, come inside.”

You entwined your fingers as you made your way into the building. You noted that her touch lingered on you in some capacity the whole way through, whether her hand in yours, a hand on the small of your back, or gently brushing your hair out of your face. After being apart so long, you needed to be close to her, and apparently she felt the same. You leaned into her as you waited for the elevator.

The door opened with a ding and you both stepped inside. As you waited for it to close, her thumb began grazing the back of your hand, sending a shiver through you. You looked over at her and couldn’t help still needing to partially process the fact that the woman you loved and had been pining over for so long was now next to you holding your hand.

“What?” She asked softly with a laugh.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you replied with a trace of wonder in your voice.

Her smile quieted and she looked at you earnestly. “I shouldn’t have ever left.”

You took in this incredible woman before you and closed the distance between you with a kiss. It was chaste at first, but as it lingered the pull between you grew. You shifted so you were flush against her and wrapped your arms around the back of her neck.

As the elevator rose, your kiss deepened. You bit back a small moan as her grip on your waist tightened just so. You were both slow to break away, a few kisses lingering as the elevator jostled to a stop. You smiled at her and bit your bottom lip. Heat settled on your cheeks and you had to remind yourself to get out of the elevator before it closed again.

You headed down the hall hand in hand and you nearly fumbled your keys when she moved her hands to your hips and rested her chin on your shoulder while you unlocked the door.

You looked back at her and gave her a fleeting kiss as you opened the door and stepped inside.

You watched as she took in your apartment. It had been many months since she’d been here.

“Not much has changed,” you told her. She looked around a moment longer and nodded.

“I kind of like that,” she said.

“Mmhm,” you responded somewhat distractedly as you stepped into her arms once more and her focus shifted entirely to you. You looked at one another, just taking each other in before the corner of her lip tipped up into a gentle smirk.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly. Your eyes closed for a few moments at the term of endearment.

“I’ve really missed hearing you call me that.” You kissed her slowly.

“You don’t have to miss it anymore,” she promised between kisses, which soon deepened.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jessie.”

“I’ve missed you, too, baby,” she replied in a breathy voice. You had to swallow another moan as she then ran her tongue along your bottom lip. You couldn’t, however, stop yourself but dragging your fingers down the back of her neck. You bit back a smile as you felt her knees weaken for just a second.

“I love you more than anything,” you told her, desperation starting to creep into your voice as you began to kiss her harder. “Do you know how hard it’s been to not see you? Kiss you?” Her fingers dug into your waist in response.

You reached up and began unzipping her jacket, pushing the shoulders down her arms and it dropped to the floor. You took your jacket off as well, ensuring not to break your kiss.

The softest moan escaped Jessie’s mouth as you pressed your hips up against her and kissed her with renewed fervour. Her fingers raked down your back over your shirt and you instinctually arched into her. A small whimper escaped her and she dug her nails in as she stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” she said in shaky voice as she rolled her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

“What are you apologizing for?” You asked in confusion, though not allowing it to deter you from running your hands through her hair.

“I-” She stammered slightly, swallowing audibly before continuing. “I’m just-. We just got back together…,” she trailed off and you locked eyes. “I’m trying to be good.”

A wave pulsed through your core instantly.

“What if I don’t want you to be?” You asked as you leaned in to kiss her again. She reciprocated immediately before a low tone rumbled in her throat.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” she told you, worry weaving its way into her voice.

“Baby.” You chuckled affectionally and kissed her anew. “You aren’t pressuring me. I promise.”

She followed your lips, before forcing herself to pull back. Her brows knit together in concern and her eyes studied you in apprehension. When she spoke, her voice was thin.

“What if you change your mind about us?” She took a quick breath. “You haven’t had much time to think or process. I don’t think I could stand losing you again.”

You cupped her face with both hands and kissed her tenderly. A twinge went through your chest at how her jaw clenched, a telltale sign that she was fighting back emotions. You pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“I’m not changing my mind. I know that for a fact. You know why? Because I spent a year trying to fall out of love with you, and it didn’t work at all. The second you came back I was yours all over again. In fact, I think you can safely say I was never not yours. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wished for this. I love you, Jessie. I can’t love anyone else.”

Her eyes shimmered and her jaw tensed and relaxed as she absorbed your words. You kissed her slowly and she melted into your touch. A small smile crossed your lips as you leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“And what if I told you that I’ve dreamt of you countless times, kissing me,” a kiss to her ear, “on top of me,” a nip of her earlobe, “inside of me,” trailing your tongue along the shell of her ear.

A growl surged from Jessie’s throat and you let out a small gasp as she grasped you tightly and lifted you into her arms. Your legs instinctively wrapped around her waist and you looked down to see her eyes were now dark as her gaze bore into you. You couldn’t hold back a cry as her body pinned you to the wall and she began to kiss your neck hungrily.

You panted as she sucked and nipped at your neck, all the while slowly grinding her hips into you. Your hands gripped her biceps, appreciating the flex and definition in them as she held you up with ease. You felt her chuckle softly against your skin.

“Like what you feel, baby?” She asked as she flexed her arms further for your benefit. You released a small groan.

“You know I do,” you affirmed as you bit your lip. “Jessie,” you breathed and wrapped your arms around her firm shoulders. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” She moaned in agreement.

“And it’s been too long since you’ve called out my name.”

A small, breathy chuckle escaped you.

“That’s what you think,” you teased.

She growled again and sucked hungrily on your neck, marking you.

“Fuck, how did I ever think I could be without you.”

Your head lolled back against the wall and your jaw fell slack at her proclamation. You tightened your legs around her waist.

“Oh god, Jess. I’m so wet for you already.”

Her nails dug into you immediately, viscerally, as a strangled breath escaped her. She ground against you further, pushing you up the wall with slow, steady thrusts.

“Are you sure about this?” She ventured one last time while continuing to work the sensitive skin of your neck.

A whimper of frustration escaped you as you ran your fingers through her hair.

“Jessie.” Her name coming out pleading. “I need you. I need all of you.”

She pulled back and leaned up to kiss you hard. Her tongue pushed inside your mouth and your tongues explored playfully. She broke the kiss after a while with a disbelieving shake of her head coupled with a faint smile.

“I love you. I’m never going to stop telling you.”

“You better not,” you retorted as you ground down to meet her gyrations.

Jessie inhaled deeply and you felt her fingers dig into you once more. She was holding back.

“What is it, baby?” You asked. She took a moment before releasing a measured breath. “Don’t be shy, baby. Tell me what you need,” you coaxed. The smallest moan escaped her throat.

“Tell me you’re mine,” her voice steady and almost terse. You smiled.

“Why don’t you remind me that I’m yours.”

Suddenly, Jessie set you down and kissed you deeply. Your heart began to race as she wasted no time in stripping off your clothes. The urgency in her movements left you breathless.

You were about to complain that she was wearing far too many clothes when she gave a quick tug of your bottom lip. She then gave you a lingering kiss and knelt down before you and lifted one of your legs to rest it over her shoulder.

“Oh God, Jess,” you found yourself saying as your breath quickened and you felt yourself growing wetter by the moment.

She began kissing up the inside of your thighs and her strong hands steadied you at the first shudder that went through your legs.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered tenderly as she continued to lay now languid and teasing kisses along your increasingly sensitive skin. “Mm. I’ve missed you so much, baby,” she said as she worked her way upwards. The waves of her hair now brushed against the uppermost part of your thighs and you shivered as you felt her breath on your heat. “Right between your legs is where I should be. I can’t wait to make you mine again. And again. And again. Until the only word you can manage is my name.”

“Jessie.” You panted her name as you began to run your fingers through her hair. You were pulsing with need and you were positive that you had to be dripping wet by now.

She smirked. “Good start, my love.”

A shuddering gasp fell from your lips as her tongue started teasing your entrance with a light touch. “I missed your scent,” she said, before dipping the tip inside and then slowly tracing up your folds to flick your clit. “I missed your taste.”

Your knees buckled at the pleasure that immediately raked through you, but you hardly moved under Jessie’s steadfast grip.

She dove in, alternating between laying her tongue flat against you, tracing between your folds and flicking and sucking on your clit. You moaned in ecstasy as she soon ate you out with fervour, her actions punctuated with moans of her own that sent extra waves of pleasure through you.

“Jessie,” you whimpered as you dug your fingers into her hair. Your eyes fluttered open and you glanced down to see this amazing woman on her knees for you, looking up at you with those bright, brown eyes that were full of love, lust and adoration as she ate you out. You ground your hips into her face and she groaned in approval and lapped at you more vigorously.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” she mumbled into you. “I’ve missed this so much.”

You gasped as she planted herself firmer on the ground and reached up to begin tracing a finger around your entrance. When you gripped her hair tightly, she gently slid a finger inside - the nails on her other hand now digging into your thigh - before adding a second.

“Oh God, you feel so good inside of me,” you whispered as you moved your hips against her fingers and her tongue. “I love you so much.”

A tremor went through you as she moaned deeply into you. Jessie loved giving praise, but she may have loved receiving it even more.

She picked up her pace and the sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of your wetness filled her ears, driving her wild. From this angle, it was easy to get carried away and she had to be mindful not to be too rough, but even then her arousal grew as she watched how she rocked you up and down against the wall with each thrust. She curled her fingers inside of you and sucked greedily on your clit, adoring how you writhed and moaned for her.

“So fucking good,” you panted as she sent wave after wave of pleasure through you and brought you closer to your edge. Your hips bucked and your knees weakened.

A cry fell from your lips as she moved your other leg over her shoulder so you were fully straddling her face and resting on her strong shoulders. She gripped your legs and lifted you up to devour you further. She moaned into you again and rolled her head side to side as she closed down on you completely. The sensations she elicited from you were so incredible that soon you were clawing at her and the wall.

“Oh my God. Jess.” Your voice was high and thin. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

She groaned in approval and continued her ministrations unwaveringly. Soon your legs tightened around her and your core started to spasm. She moaned again and dug her nails into your skin as she continued to work on you and help you ride out your high.

When your legs relaxed around her, she gently set you back down, guiding you to the floor and setting you in her lap as you both recovered. She quickly wiped her chin before leaning up, laying a few slow kisses on your neck.

“I love you so much. I missed you more than you can ever imagine,” she told you between ragged breaths. You cuddled into her, your heart still racing and faint aftershocks still going through you.

“I love you, too. And God, you’re so fucking good.” You exhaled and tried to catch your breath. “Even better than I remember,” you chuckled.

She gave you a smirk as her hand ran along your leg. “You know I’d hate to disappoint you.” A couple of beats passed as a small blush began to form on her cheeks. “I’m sorry - I’m sure you were hoping for something a little more romantic. I just…couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t wait.”

“You mean you wanted me so badly you had to fuck me up against the wall? Couldn’t even make it to the bedroom? That’s kinda hot, actually,” you told her with a smirk. “And again,” your voice softened as you leaned in and kissed her neck, “you underestimate how much I missed you.” You leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Or was I wet enough to give it away?” You nipped at her ear. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced that I’m yours. Maybe you can remind me again.”

“Fuck, babe,” Jessie replied, both awe and a growl in her voice. “I’ll show you anytime you want.”

——————————————

A/N: Part 3 for more soft dom, possessive top Jessie. (Or let me know if you would like to see something else). And I know - every time I write these stories, I just think to myself, “I need Jesus.” But what can I say? Jflem’s got a hold on me.

[novaursa]

The Last Flight

- Summary: You go to Dorne instead of your sister Rhaenys. And you never come back.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This short story covers one of possible endings of The Broken Crown series.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: You want another scenario? Let me know.

The scorching heat of Dorne clings to your skin, the sun a burning coin suspended high in the azure sky. The wind carries with it the dry, acrid scent of sand, yet beneath you, there is power—an unrelenting force. Tesaerix, your magnificent golden and cream dragon, moves effortlessly through the air, her deep red eyes scanning the terrain below. You feel her muscles ripple beneath your thighs as she soars above the arid wasteland, the pride of your House and the symbol of your strength. Her scales shimmer in the sun, the blood-red undertones flashing like molten fire beneath her brilliant hide.

Your thoughts are consumed by Aegon. You can feel the weight of his presence, even when he is miles away. His absence is a shadow in your heart, a constant reminder of your duty you accepted with time, not only as his wife, his queen, but as his sister. You are bound to him in ways no one else will ever understand. And now, as you carry his second child within you, the bond feels even deeper, even more unbreakable.

The Dornish, however, are not so easily subdued. Even now, beneath the beauty of the clouds and sky, you know they scheme. They have always been the most defiant, and as much as you admire their resolve, you cannot allow it to stand. Your mind drifts to the days of battle yet to come, to the throne you and Aegon are building together, stone by stone, blood by blood.

But then—suddenly—Tesaerix stiffens beneath you, her wings faltering for just a fraction of a second. You feel the tremor run through her powerful frame, an emotion you had never associated with her before: fear. Your hand grips the reins tighter, your body leaning forward instinctively. Something is wrong.

And then you hear it.

The sharp, mechanical twang of a scorpion ballista firing, followed by the deafening roar that reverberates from Tesaerix’s throat, echoing through the sky like the crack of thunder. A bolt of dark metal tears through the air, faster than you can blink. It pierces Tesaerix’s left eye, burrowing deep into the vibrant red that once glowed with ferocity. Her scream of agony is a sound that will haunt you forever in the afterlife, shaking your very soul. You can feel the shockwave of her pain radiate through your bond, filling your mind with white-hot anguish.

“Tesaerix!” you scream, your voice lost in the howling wind. She convulses beneath you, her massive wings faltering, her graceful flight collapsing into chaos. She spirals downward, her roars now guttural, filled with unending torment. The wind tears at your hair and clothing as the ground rushes toward you both. You grasp desperately at the reins, but it is useless. The beast that was once the queen of the skies, unstoppable and unbowed, is now at the mercy of gravity and death.

You feel her strength waning, her fire dimming. She struggles to keep you aloft, her wings beating sluggishly, a far cry from the power they once held. She has always protected you, shielded you, but now... she is dying, and there is nothing you can do to save her. Your heart shatters, not only for her but for the life inside you, for the child that will never know the world you fought to create.

The last thing you see before the ground rises to meet you is the faint glimmer of Tesaerix’s blood-red scales flashing in the sun, her body contorting as she crashes into the earth. And then, everything is fire and darkness.

Pain explodes through your body as you hit the ground with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The impact shatters your bones, but it is the silence that follows that is the most terrifying. The bond you shared with Tesaerix, the link that had always thrummed with life, is severed. There is no heartbeat in your mind, no flicker of her presence. She is gone, and with her, your world unravels.

You try to move, try to reach out, but your body betrays you. Blood fills your mouth, the taste of iron sharp on your tongue. You can feel the life slipping away, faster than you ever imagined it would. Your hand instinctively moves to your belly, to the child within, but even that small motion is agony. Tears sting your eyes as you realize there will be no future for them. Aegon’s son or daughter will never be born.

Your thoughts drift to him, to your king, your husband, your brother. You wonder if he will feel it, the moment your life leaves your body, if he will know that his child is lost. You can see his face in your mind, the steely resolve that always made you feel safe. You want to tell him you love him, that you fought until the very end, that you died with your dragon by your side. But the words are lost in the blood that bubbles in your throat.

The sky above you dims as the world around you fades. You are alone now, alone with the silence of the dead, and the heat of Dorne’s relentless sun beating down on you.

With a final, shuddering breath, you close your eyes and surrender to the darkness.

The sun had begun its slow descent when Aegon received the news. He stood at the edge of the war table, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Blackfyre, his ever-present symbol of command and power. But in that moment, the weight of the blade seemed insignificant, a mere tool in a world that had suddenly lost all sense.

A raven had come from Dorne, its message blunt and brutal, stripped of all the delicate lies courtiers usually crafted to soften blows. Tesaerix had fallen. She had fallen.

Your name was written on that small, crumpled piece of parchment, but it was as if he couldn’t comprehend it, as if it were not real. His mind swam, drowning in confusion, in denial. You—his sister, his queen, his love—were gone. The child you carried, his unborn son or daughter, gone with you.

For a moment, the world fell silent, save for the relentless beating of his heart, pounding in his chest like a war drum, louder and louder until it consumed everything else. His grip tightened around the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as the world blurred before his eyes.

Visenya and Rhaenys were there, though he barely noticed them at first. Visenya stood stoic, her sharp, regal face as unreadable as ever, though her eyes betrayed her. There was a glint there, something unspoken. She felt the loss too, he knew, but she didn’t speak. Visenya rarely needed words to convey the force of her presence. Rhaenys, on the other hand, had tears in her eyes, her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, anything, that would take away his pain. But nothing came.

He slammed his fist down on the table, sending maps and markers scattering to the floor. The room seemed to close in around him, suffocating. His vision darkened at the edges, a storm brewing in his chest, too fierce to be contained. Aegon, the Conqueror, the man who had never faltered, had never broken—was crumbling.

"How?" he finally rasped, his voice cracking in a way it never had before. He demanded answers from the silence, but there was no one left to give them.

Rhaenys stepped forward, her soft hand reaching for his, but he pulled away sharply, the touch unbearable. It was as if his very skin recoiled from the comfort, the warmth he could no longer feel. He didn’t want her pity, her gentle reassurances. They meant nothing. How could they, when you were gone?

"She... she died bravely, brother," Rhaenys said, her voice thick with sorrow. "She fell with her dragon—"

"Do not speak of her bravery to me!" Aegon roared, his voice filled with a fury that silenced even the birds outside. "She was my wife, my queen. I should have been there. I should have protected her!"

Visenya’s calm mask finally cracked. "Aegon, there was nothing you could have—"

"Enough!" he shouted, his chest heaving with each breath. The words felt hollow, empty. No matter what his sisters said, the guilt gnawed at him, tearing him apart from within. He should have known the dangers. He should have been with you, should have flown by your side. The image of you—falling, lost, dying with Tesaerix—flashed before his eyes. It was unbearable.

He turned his back to them both, his hands trembling as they hovered over the hilt of Blackfyre once more. It would be so easy to lash out, to let the sword take away this unrelenting agony. To cut down those who had taken you from him.

"I will burn them," he whispered, his voice cold, deadly. "All of them."

Visenya and Rhaenys exchanged a glance, but neither dared to argue. They had seen this side of him before—the part of him that was not just king, not just conqueror, but something darker, something ancient. The dragon that slept within him had awoken, and it hungered for vengeance.

Aegon turned, his eyes burning with unshed tears, yet blazing with the intensity of dragonfire. "Dorne will pay," he said, the words venomous. "I will rain fire upon them until their deserts turn to glass. Every man, woman, and child who had a hand in this... they will know my wrath. No one will escape it. I swear it."

Rhaenys, always the one to temper his fire, reached for him again. "Aegon, vengeance will not—"

"Do not speak of mercy to me, Rhaenys," he snapped, his gaze cold, distant. "I will hear no more of it. They took her. They took my child." His voice cracked again, and this time, it broke something in him. He sank to his knees, the weight of it all too much to bear.

For the first time in his life, Aegon Targaryen, the dragonlord, the Conqueror, wept. His shoulders shook, his hands gripping the cold stone of the floor as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Visenya knelt beside him, her hand on his shoulder, but even her presence could not reach him now.

He had lost you, and in losing you, he had lost a part of himself. His sisters could not comfort him, for there was no comfort to be had. There was only the aching void where you had once been.

And in that void, only one truth remained. The fire of vengeance would consume him, just as it would consume Dorne. He would not rest, not until the ones responsible had been reduced to nothing but ashes and bone.

The dragons would fly, and the world would burn for what they had done to you.

[freakycore]

🎧 now playing: rockstar reverie

rockstar!gojo satoru x fem!reader ₊˚ෆ

a last minute crisis when their vocalist bails right before a gig forces geto to call in a replacement: you, who wins over the crowd and leaves gojo questioning everything he knew.

an. i listen to song, song make brain go brr, brr hyper fixated, hyper fixates make hand go tap, i was then shot 67 times.

the backstage area of the dimly lit venue was pure chaos. wires snaked across the floor, roadies shouted over each other, and the dull thrum of the crowd filtered through the walls like a heartbeat. gojo paced back and forth, his guitar slung low on his hips, muttering complaints to no one in particular.

“this is a disaster. we’re about to go on and we don’t even have a vocalist!” he raked a hand through his perfectly styled hair, shooting an annoyed look at geto. “why would he ditch us like this?! of all day..”

“relax,” geto pressed, leaning casually against an amp. his drumsticks twirled effortlessly in his fingers. “I called someone.”

gojo’s eyebrows shot up. “you called someone? who? and why am I hearing about this now?”

shoko, perched on a nearby stool with a cigarette dangling from her lips, blew out a lazy puff of smoke. “if they suck, we’ll blame you, geto.”

before anyone could respond, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the hall. the door swung open and in walked the last-minute savior: you. leather jacket, bold eyeliner, an aura of confidence that seemed to suck all the air out of the room. your mic dangle from one hand, slung casually over your shoulder as you surveyed the band with a sharp assessing gaze. for a moment, the chaos of the room seemed to pause.

gojo froze. his blue eyes flicked over you, taming in every detail: the curve of your smile, the way your hair framed your face, and the unapologetic way you carried yourself. he quickly masked his reaction with a smirk. “oh great. we’re save. a karaoke star.”

you didn’t even flinch. “nice to meet you too, rockstar.” your tone dripped with sarcasm, and geto’s lips twitched in amusement.

“alright,” you said, flipping through the song setlist geto handed you. you scanned it for barely a minute, nodding with a confident, “got it”

gojo’s jaw dropped. “got it? you barely even looked at it! are you kidding me? we have a reputation to uphold and you think you can just wing it?”

you shot him a look. “guess we’ll see.”

shoko chuckled softly, stubbing out her cigarette. “this should be interesting.”

the stage lights dimmed, casting the venue in shadow. the crowd murmured with confusion as you stepped onto the stage with the band. whispers rippled through the audience like a wave, questioning who you are. you gripped the mic stand, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. then the first note poured out of you.

the venue fell silent

THIS GUY STINKS!!!! lmfaoooooio

your voice was rich, powerful, and hauntingly beautiful, weaving through the air like magic. as the song built, the crowd’s energy shifted from skepticism to awe. they leaned in, captivated by every note. by the chorus they were screaming along, completely won over by your presence.

gojo, meanwhile, was struggling. not with his guitar (he could play that in his sleep) but with keeping his focus. his eyes kept drifting to you. the way you moved, the way you commanded the stage like you owned it. you were electric, magnetic, and he was completely thrown off.

then came the moment that broke him. in the middle of the second verse, you grabbed a water bottle, twisted off the cap, and poured it over yourself. the crowd erupted. the stage lights caught the droplets on your skin, making you shimmer like a living flame.

gojo’s fingers slipped on the fretboard, and he hit the wrong note. he cursed under his breath, but he couldnt tear his eyes away.

the final chorus was a crescendo of sound and emotion. you leaned into the mic, your voice raw and mesmerizing, leaving the audience in a frenzy.

when the song ended, the venue exploded in cheers. fans chanted for more, their voices echoing off the walls. you flashed a sly smile, waved, and walked off stage, leaving the band to soak in applause.

backstage, the energy was electric. geto clapped you on the back. “told you she’d handle it.”

shoko smirked, lighting another cigarette. “that was lowkey hot”

gojo stormed over, his usual cocky smirk replaced with something more serious. his blue eyes were sharp, searching your face for… something. “okay, fine. you were good.”

you raised an eyebrow. “good?”

he crossed his arms, leaning in slightly. “yeah. but dont get cocky. this is my band, and we have a reputation to—“

you cut him off with a sharp laugh. “your band? looked like you were the one messing up, rockstar.”

geto stifled a laugh, and shoko outright snorted. gojo opened his mouth to retaliate but closed it again, completely at loss. you gave him a wink and sauntered off, your boots echoing against the floor as you disappeared down the hall.

as he watched you walk away, one thought echoed in his mind:

he needs her.

[notti-stellate]

Raging Storm

a/n: This was a really good request so I hope I did it justice. I always kinda thought Jasper had to have some trauma from his time with Maria (ew I literally hate even just typing her name) so I kinda leaned into that. I did my best with this but if it offends someone at all then please say something. Enjoy 🌌

Masterlist

Warnings: scars, brief mentions of trauma, heavy PTSD, very angsty turned comfort

I gasped as I heard a quiet tap on my window, my heart racing before I realized it was just Jasper. I shook my head, spinning around in my chair toward the southern boy silently sliding into my room. The first thing I noticed was Jasper’s shirt, his normally long sleeves were pulled up to his elbows. His pale skin shimmered against the fairy lights surrounding my room, the only thing casting a dim glow into my room. 

“Hey darlin’,” He murmured, sitting on my bed and motioning for me to join him. 

“You scared me,” I mumbled, glaring at him playfully. “I was trying to finish my history paper.” 

He shook his head, smiling at me while I lowered myself onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer and holding me to make sure I didn’t fall. My head fell onto his shoulder, sighing quietly before I looked down to grab his hand. Immediately my eyes locked onto the marks littering his arms, sucking in a breath before Jasper yanked his arm away. Before I could even process what was happening Jasper had slid me off of him and stood across from me, looking down at his boots intently.

“Jas I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… are you okay?” I blurted out, the words flying out of my mouth before I could stop them. I stood, trying to come closer but Jasper stepped back as soon as I did. My heart broke at the picture in front of me, I had never seen Jasper like this. He was silent as he stood there except for his heavy breathing, his sleeves pulled all the way down and his thoughts seemingly far away by the look in his eyes.

 All I wanted in that moment was to comfort him, to hold him in my arms and never let anyone or anything hurt him again. I knew a little about his past, just that he hadn’t had the best life before he found the Cullens. He hadn’t told me any more than that, and from the look in his eyes when he said it I decided it was best not to push him any further.

“Jasper? It’s okay baby just breathe, you’re okay” I murmured, my voice soft in an attempt to bring him back to the present. I know he doesn’t need to breathe but his quick breathing definitely wasn’t helping him calm down. His breaths stilled for a moment, almost as I could see his mind soaking in my words. His eyes slowly moved from the floor to my chest where the necklace he had gifted me sat, still not looking me in the eye.

“Just like that love, deep breaths,” I raised my hand, making sure to give him time to pull away if he wanted before I grabbed his and placed it on my chest, lightly squeezing to get his attention. “Just like this, in and out.”

After a second his eyes finally met mine, his muscles loosening more as he breathed with me. We stayed like that for a while, just breathing and doing my best to comfort him. Once he seemed to have calmed down enough I coaxed him onto my bed, propping myself against my pillows as he laid his head on my chest.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can though, I’m always here if you need me.” I whispered, my fingers carding through his hair while my other hand ran along his back. I felt his arms tighten before he spoke, inhaling a shaky breath.

“It’s alright, you deserve to know.” He sighed, continuing on with his story. For the next hour I fought back tears as he told me what really happened to him, all the way from Maria to when Alice found him and brought him to the Cullens with her. My heart broke all over again as he rolled up his sleeves, showing me the scars riddling his skin again. I don’t understand how someone could make him do those things, how could someone put the caring boy in my arms through such horrible trauma. All I could do was hold him close and try to soothe the storm raging deep in his mind.

[littlebabyyd0ll]

thinking about being felix’s incompetent little girlfriend 😩 tw: bruises and mentions of throwing up. r has long hair.

“‘ve got another bruise.” you mumble heedlessly, barely even thinking about the words that come out of your mouth as you apply lotion (which is probably enough to cover a months rent in a two-bed flat) to your calves. felix, hunched over his textbook with a blue ballpoint pen between his lips, turns swiftly towards you, following the sound of your sweet, airy voice.

he sighs at the pretty image of you, body covered by one of his old t-shirts, practically eating you whole, hair falling over your shoulders and delicately manicured fingers massaging into your supple skin. he’s sure that his eyes go soft, practically heart-shaped, watching you in your own little world. he can see the constellation of bruises that you’ve already accumulated, seemingly from nowhere. pulling the pen from between his lips, he chucks it down onto his desk and rises from his swivel chair.

it’s then that you look up at him, not a thought behind your pretty eyes. his heart flutters at the way your pupils double in size, the way your lips tilt upwards at the mere presence of him. he fills your space without hesitation, so big and full of life, so warm, so handsome. your smile widens as he sits down next to you, the depth of the shift of his mattress. bright brown eyes linger upon your legs, taking in the dark purple discolouration. felix hums, looking back at you.

“does it hurt?” he asks, reaching out towards you. his skin is warm and soft, hands of little manual labour but so much comfort and love.

you know this game, have played it a thousand times. a dramatic sigh falls from your glossed lips, pretty pout settling mere seconds afterwards. “terribly.”

“need to be more careful.” he says lowly, fingertips tracing the anklet with his initials on, a present you received during your 18th birthday in paris. the gold shimmers as he moves, raising your leg with a light yet dominant touch. felix leans down, dark strands of hair falling over his eyebrow piercing, and his lips kiss a trail upwards. he kisses you in a manner so achingly sweet, a way so felix, until he reaches the afflicted area. the kiss that he leaves there is bigger. “my little airhead, hm?”

or when you’re all drunk and sloppy :( he’s just watching you so carefully, so effortlessly your knight in shining armour. felix doesn’t stop you from downing your jägers, doesn’t stop you from sipping his stella, but his hand doesn’t leave your side the whole night, doesn’t let you out of his sight, even when you’re hunched over a group of bushes, chundering your guts up on the walk back to your accommodation.

those loving hands rub soothingly up and down your back, shushing your heaves. “that’s it. good girl, get it all out.” he doesn’t care for the violent smell, or the way that it splashes against his trainers. just cares about helping you, getting you tip-top again. his other hand gathers your hair, holding it up and away from your face.

“she’s so fucked.” arabella, one of your friends from back at your all-girls private school slurs on her words, bumping into felix’s side. he resists the urge to roll his eyes — as if she wasn’t the one shoving shots down your throat. “just give her some fucking water or something. i want to get back.”

“no one’s stopping you.” he says, motioning with his head, pointing to the way back to college towards farleigh, subliminally trying to tell him to take the others and leave the two of you to yourselves. you, of course, miss this interaction, too busy with your tear streaked cheeks and spit coated lips. your little hand reaches back blindly for him, grasping onto his green polo. his hand resumes its gentle strokes.

farleigh groans behind the butt of his cigarette, dragging your friend away and motioning for the rest of your posse to come along.

“felix.” you sob pathetically, feeling far more than sorry for yourself. his poor baby, he thinks, doing so little to take care of yourself. your heaving stops for a moment and you fall to your knees. felix is quick to react, scooping you up from underneath your armpits and pulling you away from the pile of your own sick.

“i’m here, bambi. you’re alright.” he murmurs as you shove your head into his shoulder, undoubtedly staining his top. his hands still never once leave you, even as he gives you time to regulate your breathing and choked cries, pushes your hair back time and time again.

even then, nostrils stinging with the sour smell and shoulder dead from your limp limbs, he can’t help but smile. he smiles at the knowledge that only he gets you like this, all reliant and incompetent, so desperate for him and his, in your eyes, omnipotence.

“‘m never drinking again.”

“that’s not true.”

you whine, pushing your face further into his neck. “it’s not true.”

yeah, he thinks, he’s pretty lucky with his sweet, incompetent girl.

[acidblum]

— Яitual ²

Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Vampire!Reader (w/c: 2.5k)

DO NOT BUY TLOU

AO3 PART ¹/SERIES MAS.

⚠︎ WARNINGS +18 MINORS/MEN DNI, blood consumption, angst (kinda), mentions of infidelity, backstory chapter in a way, less dialogue, less ellie, vampire!abby anderson, references, sex, death, weapons, mentions of religion no mentions of readers skin colour or hair texture.

ⓘ A/N: i’m so sorry pretty people the second part is coming out this late :(, luv yall pls enjoy and share with me your thoughts and ideas about our cuckoo gals<3 also if there's any warning i failed to mention tell me.

The two infamous covens, a divine picture drawn to the naked eye, a unity, somewhere you could belong-at least that’s what they told everyone when they preached their sermons. Although the consequences included losing your soul for a higher connection..some might claim it was worth it.

All the pain and all the agony started with Selene for Aaron questioned why she bit into the snake when she was asked to not give into the temptation by Kanchelsis—the god of the underworld. It wasn't the apple hanging high from up the tree she was after, she had her eyes set on the shimmering green snake, she smelled the blood and tasted the flesh before she even pierced her canines into the flailing reptile.

What everyone failed to know is that the highest mother was carrying a child when she started feeding on her mortal dutiful husband for he was the only one she was allowed to feed on—as demanded by kanchelsis. bringing forth the mankind of vampires and the formation of the first ever coven to go down in the books, The Ancients. They were and still are known for their reserved nature, never seeking or raising their children to be anything other than thankful and graceful with the humankind.

Selene’s pregnancy went as smooth as it could but it was naught without losses, it seemed that her feeding off of her husband wasn’t the safest option for she killed him whilst giving birth in a moment of utter fury, she sat in the water tub in total shock and distress whilst she was encouraged to push by her maker and the servants surrounding her thrashing body in a circle

Tears well up in her eyes “i cannot bear his child..orphaned, i beg of you my lord”

He ignores her pleas, focusing on the task at hand of making her deliver a healthy child. “Push my lady” squeezing her hand in his long clawed one, her agonizing scream reverberating off the walls of the chamber and into the dark night, awakening all types of demons and creatures alike.

“I can see this head! Come on push my highest mother! Push” the shrill cries of the fragile babe with the tiniest of canines for teeth can be heard by everyone in the chamber prompting them to sigh in relief including the mother who is drenched in sweat with red emerald tears streaming down her face.

and it flew right over their heads, the intensity this child could bring and what his uproar did. Elijah grew into the most rebellious vampire known all over the world, word got out that he is a wanted man for being the deadliest of the whole lineage. That's when the second and last coven was made, in the First Republic of France.

They call themselves the La Brumes, 10 vampires always gloating about their agility and power to vanish through thin air, facing no consequences whatsoever regarding their relation to the french revolution. Elijah made sure to be close to every nobility he could ever get to know including Louis XVI. It is heard around the streets of good ol France that Louis died at the hand of a creature that tore him apart and threw him all around his humble abode..in pieces might i add. And of course the servants and whoever found his pieces had to say that he was found dead in his bed.

He rebelled against his mother Selene and shunned her to a locked palace under an alias. putting her on trial simply for refusing his request to turn even more mortals into vampires around the world—talking all about the “tremendous power” it’ll give the covens. With the help of Kanchelsis, he ensured the highest and the mother of his kind doesn’t see the sun ever again. Stupid was he for he still yet has to face you.

𓃭

The candle lit room seemed to have seen better days, clothes and undergarments strewn all over the floor and around, where your naked form is laying on the lounge chair with nothing covering your lower intimate area but a light satin shawl.

Your observer for the day who is just as equally naked as you was your companion, or maybe lover? Not quite that..even though the both of you were really really close and she was one of the few people who managed to give you a bone thrashing orgasm. not to forget that the entanglements among the coven's members were a bit frowned upon by the higher ups—and all you replied with after making love to her was..fuck the higher ups, your coven or hers can suck it just how she does on a sunday morning.

“What ails your mind now? Do we need to go for a third round??” she questions, chuckling when you snort from your place with your arm under your head. “Now wouldn’t you love that Anderson?” you ask with a raised eyebrow.

You shrug “and let’s not get this twisted, I'm always the one that dominates you.”

she tuts with a sly smile etched on her cheeks “you read me like an open book mon cher” her brush cladded hand moving in calculated strokes against the canvas, focusing on painting your crimson glinting irises.

A smug look graces your face before you exclaim. “But we’re not lovers Abigail..remember?”

she shakes her head “And do you ever let me forget”

Abigail Anderson, the history you’ve had with her extends far back into your teenagehood, when her dad was your dad’s right hand. At first she saw you as a very smug, fragile, mommy dearest type of person, waltzing around in her mothers french garden with your Ted Lapidus glasses on and a red scarf that compliments your eyes around your neck, your figure cladded in a black on black suit. you’ve kept to yourself that day—until your younger brother decided it was a good day to throw you into the Anderson’s gigantic fish pool.

and oh boy was she ready to dunk in and save your poor self from the little fishies. holding your body close to hers where she was wearing a white simple shirt with nothing underneath and some grey trousers, her nipples hardening against the shirt and her eyes never leaving yours—the intensity of her stare definitely left you aching for something more.

she carries you out where your brother snickers and laughs at your sticky and wet form with a nod. shooting him a death glare, eyes shining in pure red, he closes his mouth not uttering a word when you pass him by the door with the water dripping down your back and forming a trail behind you.

“Good luck sister” he whispers.

that day she lent you her clothes—you never returned them. which was a little bit big on your frame. “Hopefully the stench will come out when you shower, there’s a towel behind the door for you, and plenty of hot water.”

“oh you’re not coming with?” you ask, feigning innocence.

she chuckles in amusement, fangs shining underneath her pink luscious lips. taking two steps towards you. “I don't think you’re ready for this” cold icy hand reaching to cradle your equally cold chin, she rubs it once before walking out of the door, leaving you to watch her wet shirt cladded back retort into the hallway.

“you know i really wanted you” you look up at her with glossy eyes and a downturned smile. prompting her hands movement on the canvas to pause, her back going rigid from her place in front of the aisle. shaking her head, inhaling hard “you know i would’ve never been able to hold you down”

you snorted in mockery “oh yeah i was the literal face of Studio 54 wasn’t i? Still I wouldn't have minded if you showed me around instead of gawking from the other side of the dance floor.” a manic laugh spurts out of you uncontrollably “i’ve searched for your face in every mortal i could find..man or woman, i wanted them big, hard, french with a mean streak..but they never were all of that. They were never that perfect, not like you at least.”

standing up, she rests the palette and the brush on the stool beside her. stretching out her back you can hear a few cracks bellow in defiance. walking up to you in slow calculated steps before kneeling down to your level, her big body creating a shadow that looked like it could engulf yours.

“and how can I make it up to you..hm?”

“Does anyone in your coven even know that you’re here? Your partner??” a look of disdain..confusion crossing your face when she holds out the palm of your hand to her lips, light feathery kiss after the other getting plastered all over your lightly held arm. Holding her dead stare you make no effort of moving or reciprocating her advances.

“Isn’t mommy dearest gonna get upset if she knows that i've been between these lush thighs for years?? Day in and night out you’ll have me right here, ravishing you and getting ravished by you and your heavenly sex” she points out looking up at you from her kneeling spot, a vision of art that she is, maybe you should’ve been the one who made her pose for you, you’ll probably end up hanging the portrait on the wall facing your bed..and maybe using it to relieve yourself while you whisper her name, knowing that she can hear you even with thousands of miles between the both of you.

“Bite me” a knowing look crosses her face, almost proud before she does exactly that without uttering any other words. Sinking her teeth into your forearm gulping down your sweet blood, abby’s loud throaty sounds and her humming into your skin sends pure vibrations urging your back to arch in immense pleasure. “Do you know the amount of people who’d love for me to tell them that? Bite me?” you push her teeth off with a low snarl. blood gushing and then trickling down your forearm, the veins around your eyes more prominent than ever.

Sparing her a scrutinizing look while you rise to your feet, the shawl sliding down your body and onto the floor beside her thigh. “And yet you’re the one asking your supposedly sworn enemy to do it” she retorts.

You can’t help but snicker at her whilst you put on your robe “says the one sitting knees down on my floor like a good kitten” words spitting out of your mouth like venom you failed to notice that in a fast whiff of air she appears in front of you, nails digging into your waist, the shine of her eyes speaking a foreign language to you, nose flaring uncontrollably with a lustful look gracing her face. She bites into your neck after a low growl, taking slow calculated strides until your back hits the wall of your room in a loud thud, swallowing your soft moan.

𓃭

“I need my sister gone”

“Here we fucking go again, i told you i am not that capable, i can’t kill your sister. Can’t you find a Cerbera Odollam stake or whatever your kind uses to kill each other and pierce it through her heart if the idea of her walking amongst the living haunts you still? It’s been two decades and you won’t let it rest.”

Not liking what she was hearing—the harsh and painful truth from her dear witch friend she mutters. “Your great grandmother did it once on my deranged uncle”

“You said it..deranged, your dear sister is eccentric..but not like him, he went on a killing rampage and it’s literally written down in history which was exactly what he dreamt of achieving and your coven gave it to him on a golden platter when your dad wrote a ‘fictional book’ about him”

Before getting executed by order of the two covens. Your uncle, David, claimed he saw god and that the almighty asked him to form a cult, your mother tried talking him out of it but it just resulted in him killing nearly ten vampires of which are his own including his own child and thousands of humans without hiding his tracks well. He wrote in blood on every concrete wall in the streets of every country he ever stepped foot on including Persia ‘if we burn you burn with us’.

A hunt had to be put in place for him, you were the one who brought him in, bruised and hungry. “I’m sorry uncle but you gave us no choice, who do you think you are? The prophet? What. a. Joke.” a baseball bat wrapped in silver wire swinging left and right in your hand, taking calculated steps towards him.

He was dragging himself on the wet muddy ground, clothes torn, hair matted with blood, reciting verses upon verses in prayer. A sight for sore eyes. not even bearing you a look, the poor man was trying to save himself. little did he know that in front of him was you. “have mercy on me, niece! the lord will save us all through my body”

you look around “i don’t see him saving you right now”

“b-but he is with us! i can see h-“ not taking your chances you swing the bat right at the side of his head, silver wires piercing his skull, hard enough to hurt but not enough to kill his immortal corpse. “Now you’ll get to meet the lord and have some tea together. tell him i said hello.”

𓃭

Ellie’s sleepless nights persisted after that dream she had, rehearsing, eating and writing for their new album had one being in mind…she thought it was very childish, but she couldn’t shake off the presence of it, of her, the vampire.

something she never believed in and never will—that’s what she keeps telling herself. in her young years she and her sister alongside their dad used to watch horror movies of which involved vampires and other monsters. Sarah would cling to their dad whilst Ellie would snicker at her older sister.

“you’re such a pussy”

“language Ellie” Joel would retort without a glance making her sister stick her tongue out from her place cuddled up against Joel. “tch it’s not even that scary..these types of things don’t even exist and if they did they’ll get killed in seconds in the sun” she shrugs.

Ellie continued with conveying her distaste about the paranormal, even when people started accusing them of selling their soul to the devil over their written lyrics and sudden spring into the metal and nu metal scene. interviewers found it funny and had to bring it up every. single. time. she was extremely fed up, she'd nod and and shrug cause why was it surprising that a so called satanist didn't believe in all of that??.

Dina on the other side leaned into it, often times than not taking weird pictures with a drawing of 'punk jesus' that she made, facing extreme backlash on her socials while Jesse posted verses about kindness—their PR team never catches a break that's for certain.

taglist🗞️: @winkybun

© 2024 acidblum, All Rights Reserved.

[casino-lights]

I posted an excerpt a while back from a wip I titled "shameless illario apologism" and I think it's time I post the whole thing because this stupid man resurrected my urge to write. a drabble about the ending of A Murder of Crows is beneath the cut with some mentions of Illario x oc because he is unfortunately my pookie. enjoy!

He looked so pitiful on his knees, gasping for air, one eye red and swollen from a particularly swift blow to the face. A single tear streaked down his bruised cheek, leaving a shimmering trail that caught the light with every breath he heaved. His doublet was more crimson than blue now, each dark blotch blossoming further across his chest as the blood from his wounds soaked into the embroidered silk. 

It would never come out. Yet more stains to add to the ones quickly mounting on Illario Dellamorte’s reputation.

“What are you waiting for, cousin?” he panted, fully expecting Lucanis’ blade to sink into his flesh any second now. “Finish what you start.”

Though he cast his eyes downward, he refused to close them. He would not meet his end in the dark. But his grandmother’s voice made him raise his face, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he watched her make her way toward the stage he knelt upon.

“Get up, Illario,” she said flatly, as if she were simply asking him to take his feet off the coffee table. “No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

As Viago hoisted him roughly to his feet, he found himself wondering if his parents were forced to their knees as they died. Were Lucanis’ parents? Were their cousins? Were their cousins even old enough to stand?

Illario forced himself to meet Lucanis’ eyes. Defiant, even until the end. If he was going to die at his cousin’s hand, he would look him in the eyes first. He would look their grandmother in the eyes and hope, as he had hoped his whole life, that maybe she would see that her least favorite grandson was capable of more than she thought. 

Lucanis asked his companion what to do with him. Rook. The woman who saved him from the prison he was in by Illario’s hand.

She responded with a question in kind: “Didn’t you say he’s like a brother to you? That he is your brother?”

As if Illario needed to feel even more shame. It was hard enough to look Lucanis in the eyes without memories of their childhood flashing across his mind. Wyvern-hunting. Prickle-burrs. Canes across the back. Coffee in the kitchen. Too-hot cookies. Tying knots with bloody fingers. Sauce-covered faces. Tear-stained cheeks. Crying against each other in the dark.

Lucanis was all he had. The only person he could ever rely on. The last member of his family who didn’t hate him, didn’t hurt him, didn’t think he was worthless. And Illario betrayed him.

Of course, when Illario taunted him, told him he used to be somebody, Lucanis replied with a bitter, too-quick, “And you never were.” Maybe he was hiding the hatred all along. Maybe he never respected Illario at all. Maybe Zara was right. His family never loved him.

“He was my best friend,” Lucanis said, looking at Rook. “One of my only friends, before you.”

Zara’s voice rang in Illario’s ears. A touching lie.

In a voice thick with the blood that coated his throat, Illario rasped, “You think you can show me mercy? That is not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.”

And like clockwork, Caterina answered, “His decision stands. Lucanis is the new First Talon of the Antivan Crows.”

Lucanis looked more surprised than Illario. He couldn’t muster shock. With both of them alive and present, this was the only possible outcome. This was why Zara told him he had to get rid of them. This was what he had suffered Lucanis’ presumed death to prevent.

“Viago, keep him out of trouble,” Lucanis said with a weary sigh. “I’ll come by to discuss the details in a day or two.”

“I’m no miracle worker,” Viago replied dryly, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Illario the troublemaker. Dellamorte the Lesser. It was who he had always been. Sometimes, when he was in a more generous mood, he would joke about it. But it was always true, whether or not he gave himself the nickname in jest. Caterina saw him as an annoyance and a burden, and Lucanis… who knows how Lucanis really saw him? Right now, he was treating him like a little boy throwing a tantrum, not someone who had the throne of the most feared guild of assassins in Thedas within his grasp mere minutes ago. Was it brotherly love, or blatant disregard for everything Illario had accomplished?

All this for nothing. Worse than nothing. His grand prize was a crippling, mortifying defeat at the hands of the Demon of Vyrantium and an outsider, in front of every Talon, every House, every Crow with any kind of sway. The best he could hope for now was either a merciful death or a lot of short memories. His reward for his scheme, nearly two years in the making, was disgrace.

As Viago pulled him away, he looked only at his cousin. He mustered half a grin through the searing embarrassment. “Lucanis…”

“Don’t, Illario. Not now.” And he turned his head away.

Every step hurt worse than the last. His adrenaline wore off, leaving him tired and sore. He felt as pitiful as he looked. He felt like a child. His chest burned, his throat felt raw, and though his wounds stung and still seeped blood, it was his lungs that tightened, swelling with the urge to cry. 

He had not cried since Lucanis’ wake. Ironically enough, Viago had to escort him up the stairs then, too. Illario suddenly wished he was as drunk as he’d been that night, or that Viago would be merciful enough to knock him out again. Based on the sheer hatred in his eyes, though, that seemed like a faraway prospect. And his head would still hurt in the morning without any of the blissful forgetfulness a drunken stupor would bring.

The only thing missing from the next morning would be Lidia. She’d practically torn the Diamond’s guest wing apart looking for him after the wake. She hounded him until he ate, followed him through the city until he was weary enough to sleep, held his head in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair and soothed him until he could drag himself out of bed. She never knew how much of that paralysis, that deep depression he fell into was pure guilt. And still, all she ever did was defend him. After that depression was over, when Caterina and Viago questioned his ability to return to work; after Lucanis came back, when he tricked her into leaving the Diamond just in time for Zara’s people to take Caterina; after he killed Zara, when he held Lidia with scrubbed-raw hands and told her he didn’t want to fight anymore and that he could finally give her everything he promised if she could only just trust him a little while longer…

There would be no similar concern from her this time - not after what he put her through. He drained her blood in her sleep so he could find her if she ever left. He lied to her for over a year about where he was and with whom. He kissed her goodnight and held her until she was fast asleep before swapping his chest for a pillow and sneaking out their bedroom window so he could see Zara. 

He would return to Lidia before sunrise. That had been his promise to himself. Return to Lidia before sunrise, because she always looked her loveliest at dawn. He slipped back in through the window after a bath and crawled back into their bed, and she curled up against him and smiled and mumbled something drowsily about how he smelled nice. Every time, she asked if the job went well. Every time, he said yes. And every time, he felt that heavy ache like stones piled on top of his chest, another weight added with each contented sigh or nuzzle of her head.

He touched Zara with the same hands he touched her with only an hour before. He did it so many times he lost count. He always tried to make it up to her in the morning - a one-sided debt that kept growing and growing as he drew from her seemingly never-ending well of trust without ever replenishing it. Another betrayal to add to his list. Another person who actually loved him, lost to his own ambitions and Zara’s unfulfilled promises. He thought he would only lose Lucanis. He had prepared himself for that. He thought it would be quick and painless and Lucanis would never feel the sting of knowing his cousin - his brother - sold him out. 

And now he stood at the door of the smallest guest room in Villa Dellamorte, having cost himself Lucanis, Caterina, Zara, Teia, and everyone else who may have loved or even simply tolerated him once. He had no one and nothing to show for his efforts.

Not even Lidia. 

It would have been too much to hope that Viago would bring him to his own room. That would be much too comfortable for a traitor like him - and much too close to the new First Talon’s room. He stepped inside the guest room without a word to Viago, whose disapproving stare said more than enough to fill the silence.

As Illario sat weakly on the footstool at the end of the bed, Viago rolled his eyes and finally broke the quiet. “I’ll have a healer stop by. It’s more than you deserve, but I’m sure you know that. The First Talon wants you alive. Think on why.”

He locked the door behind him. And Illario was alone.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.34

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: Non-consensual advances

(Please welcome our beloved, golden retriever-like, loyal, maybe a little possessive guy, Brandon…I mean…Sky.)

When we finally get to the house, I ask the soldiers to let us down again. Although my new friend's knees were still pretty wobbly, she could stand mostly independently with some help.

“I give you permission to leave!” The two soldiers salute once more before disappearing into the ground and returning to where they belong.

“They were good men, weren’t they?”

I couldn't help but sigh heavily. "According to legend, they were the best in every sense of the word," I tell her, unable to hide the sadness in my voice. "Apparently, there was once a ritual where the best soldiers of each generation were sent to join the ranks of the legendary hidden military unit of the Deep Rock Legion in case we needed an army of incorruptible and fiercely loyal soldiers. But in the long run, it ruined our population. Of the ten million we had left after the orbital crash, there are now just over seven million left, and my grandfather isn't helping."

"Your grandfather? But that would mean-"

I quickly realize my mistake. Until now, everyone thought I was trying to boast about myself by calling myself a prince. But now that I've talked too much and I'm desperate to make new friends, I know I can't lie to her anymore.

“I am the crown prince of Gyonos and, therefore, its guardian fairy, the last fairy in my world after my grandfather.”

She gasped when I shared my revelation with her, and before I knew it, she had come over to me and pressed her slightly plump body against me in a way I hadn't experienced often in my life: a hug so warm that a few tears rolled from the corners of my eyes.

For the first time in ages, I feel like I can let myself be seen crying in front of someone, and maybe it's selfish, but I take full advantage of it. I cry into her head, as she is tiny compared to me. To my surprise, she doesn't walk away but stands there and speaks in a warm, comforting voice, telling me that everything will be okay in the end and how much I want to believe her words, but I know better. I have seen the truth behind people's attentions, fallen victim to the betrayal of those closest to me, and experienced death many times. I didn't cry when he died, not after I had to let him leave my arms when our posts were overrun by those monsters. I will never be able to forgive the Scallierds or forget what they did and what they forced me to do.

I hold her for what feels like an eternity. But when I finally let go of her, she looks straight into my watery eyes. Her blue-green eyes shimmer with what I can only describe as a motherly concern, a desire to be there for me emotionally, and I couldn't be more grateful.

“You should go inside, it’s late and cold,” I tell her quietly.

She smiles kindly. "You should, too. After all, you're probably just as exhausted as I am." Her voice is warm, really like a mother's.

"Sure, but I would like a few minutes to myself before I return to my personal dark world or, more commonly known, my dorm room.“

She nods understandingly, wishes me goodnight, and goes inside, leaving me under the star-studded night sky. I wait until she's gone before turning around and looking across the large, empty field into the forest beyond. I take a deep breath, raise my right hand, and see it shaking. My magical reserves feel depleted; the healing processes and summoning of those soldiers were too much for my fairy core. I need to train; I can't even fight a specialist like this without being knocked to the ground in seconds.

I feel frustration building up inside me. How could it be otherwise? I've gone from being a prodigy in magic and weapon combat to this pathetic excuse of a fairy. I would be unstoppable if only I could access the abilities contained in the crystallized cores of my ring. But how? I hold out my hand holding the ring and marvel at it. Somehow, it only looks normal now that the two cores are in it, surrounding my family's crest in its center. Many have an initial letter, but my family decided to fill it in with our entire crest, as detailed as possible in this small form, with the only exception being that the two sword-shaft-like pieces of metal always hung off the sides. I always thought that happened over the eons the ring was used, but now that the two cores are safely clammed underneath them, I realize there should be something in them. But what? If it's for magic cores, then why aren't there three? What does my family or planet have two of?

I ponder these questions for a while, only coming back to myself when a cold breeze sends a shiver through my body. This is the best time to go back inside. As soon as I step into the building, a fleeting sigh of relief comes over me. 

With my eyes closed, I enjoy the warmth heating my cold bones. But when I open them again just a minute or so later, confusion fills me. I try to reach out to protect myself, but before I can, I'm pulled off my feet, my rear end grabbed, and my front pressed against a warm, muscular body. Before I know it, my legs are wrapped around that person's waist, and we are no longer in the foyer. He carries me around until he finally forces open a door and mindlessly slams my back against a metal shelf and then my head against some boxes. A groan of pain escapes my lips as the metal stabs into my back.

But before I could react, soft lips were on mine. Shock floods through my entire being as the moment has taken me completely by surprise. My eyes widen, forcing me to stare at him. There, pressing me against the shelves and trying to push his tongue into my mouth, is Sky. I couldn't believe it. He was always so gentle and kind, but now he's carrying me around and kissing me without my consent. I try to push him away, but he feels like an immovable object, heavier than a mountain. I even punch at his rock-hard pecs as I feel myself slowly falling into him. And before I know it, our lips move in perfect harmony; my mouth even opens slightly as he grips my ass a little tighter. His tongue swallows my moan. My hands land on his back. But suddenly, I can feel him smirking against my lips, making me wonder if this is what he wanted.

My hands quickly move from his chest, where I have only shown him aggression, to his neck and pull him closer to me. What is that feeling—this warmth deep in my stomach? Or this tingling further south?

Even though hundreds of these thoughts of the strangest feelings are racing through my head, I can't let go of him. His woody smell, mixed with the sweetness of something in his mouth, intoxicates my senses. I feel the desire rising for him to continue and take what he wants.

This time, not even the thought of him and his senseless death could spoil my mood, as I feel safe and even desired in Sky's arms.

"I fucking knew it." I hear him suddenly grumble. When I open my eyes from the daze, I see Sky's blurry image, his pale face flushed and his expression serious, if not angry. When I try to say something, he pushes me roughly against the shelf, his legs pushing up. "You've wanted me since you first saw me."

I can only stare at him in confusion, but he is already kissing my neck, biting me gently, and whispering things in my ear that were dirtier than anything I'd ever heard before. Something was clearly wrong.

I hold his face in my hands and try to get him to look at me, but when he finally does, his expression turns angry. Before I know it, his hand is around my neck, his grip is tight, and he is choking me painfully.

"But then I saw you with the girl and these two huge men. I couldn't believe it! Before I could make a move, you had already gone out and found yourself some toys."

When he calls my stone soldiers "toys," my heart starts to burn. How dare he call honorable men that? He has obviously misunderstood something, but when I open my mouth to clarify, his grip on my neck tightens even further, so much so that I can hardly breathe. He seems to have lost his mind, but what can I do?

"Sky!" I barely manage to say, but he's not listening. Instead, he talks about me, telling me what a selfish wanker I am for allowing both Riven and Sky to touch me and defile my body for him. 

I can't believe the Gaul of him thinking I would stay pure for him, and then suddenly, something bursts out of him that he probably didn't want to say. He shouts out what I already suspected, namely that he and Sky have switched identities.

The fact that he lied to me for so long hits me the hardest. I thought I could trust him; after all, he always came to my cell when I was a prisoner, cleaned me, and fed me one by one to torture me like the wild animals they are, but that was obviously just wishful thinking. It makes me angrier than I probably should have been, so I turn the tables. Finally, I grab him by the neck and hope he lets go, but he starts grinning in a sinister way. It sent cold sweats down my spine to see something so vicious on the face of a man who always seemed like a puppy.

"I fucking dare you," he said through pursed lips, staring madly into my eyes, "Squeeze harder, I dare you!"

I've never felt so intimidated before. Is there something wrong with him? Suddenly, his grip on my neck tightens enough to easily snap it; no doubt there will be many bruises afterward. I have to make a decision. If he keeps this up, I will surely die.

"Brandon!" I yell, making him stop. Confusion is clear on his face, his eyes glowing with dawning realization. His hand quickly withdraws. As I gasp for air, he holds me upright, one of his hands behind my head and the other trying to protect as much of my spine as possible. He begins to apologize endlessly, like a child found with his hand in the cookie jar.

I try to breathe, but my throat burns painfully. Yet, I push against his chest again; this time, he lets me down but still holds my body upright for a minute. My body is at its limit from the rapid healing before, and the now compromised state is just too much. Thankfully, it only takes a short time before the rest of the healing magic still coursing through me at least helps to ease the swelling in my throat, just enough to let me breathe evenly.

I want to lecture him, scream at him, and let all my feelings out, but his glassy eyes tell me he's not there. Hopefully, it's just the clearly smuggled alcohol and not something more serious.

I try to get past him, but he quickly tries to hold me back. He mumbles something about me catching my breath, giving me hope that even in this situation and condition, he's still trying to help me. But it feels wrong because none of this was consensual, as if he's trying to clear his conscience of what he did to me here in this... in this supply closet.

Somehow, the place we ended up in while making out makes me feel even worse. Am I just a toy to him? Did I misjudge his personality? Is he really a player who breaks people's hearts? I feel so stupid, so silly. Why did I let this happen? I could have prevented everything, but I didn't. Why?

"Please, I- I was just so overwhelmed-"

Before he can spit out his lies, all I see is red, and anger shoots through my veins, just like it did on the battlefield. Can I control it this time? My anger had always been uncontrollable, like I was an explosion just waiting to go off. But this time, in this small room, surrounded by Brandon's intoxicating scent, it doesn't seem to be able to happen, even though my anger threatens to boil over. The overall emotions just weren't there. It was almost as if the last explosion had balanced me unknowingly out. 

But that couldn't be. How could the death of my true love be the catalyst for my anger to subside?

[Masterlist]

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Omg hey I woul like to request something ! Ken x Reader (male, if possible) where the reader teaches Ken about the real world and they're also very in love. Thank you very much !

When Ken returned to the Real World again, he had a vision similar to Barbie's--realizing his owner was nearby.

Instead of a child....it's you, an adult who (like Gloria) inadvertently projected your own insecurities onto him while looking at an unboxed Beach Ken doll in your attic.

When you were younger, you really wanted to play with it unlike other boys who had action figures and nerf guns...but you were sorta shamed into keeping it boxed, as your parents said it would be more "valuable" one day.

Similarly..Ken had been stuck in a box all his life, trapped in the role of Barbie's accessory until recently.

So there's an instant connection when you two meet.

To make a long story short, you're like "ohhh hey I guess I kinda fucked up your mental stability, bro...you wanna come over and we can talk about it, man-to-man?"

He was very eager to go with you and learn more about your world beyond all the patriarchy and toxic masculinity.

You tell him about using your "male privilege" for good, and one defining example was when a random woman taps him on the shoulder, looking terrified and almost in tears.

"H-Hi, um..this is gonna sound really awkward but can you two pretend to be my friends for a second? This guy has been following me-"

"Of course." You reassure her, before looking to the confused Ken and telling him to go along with it.

The creepy guy comes along and backs off when he sees you two standing there protecting this lady, and once he's gone, she thanks you with hugs before leaving.

"I think I did a good job." Ken turns to you for validation, eyes shimmering. "Was that good, [y/n]? I mean playing pretend is all I've ever done so-"

"Yep. You did great." You chuckle, patting his shoulder. "I'm glad she thought you were a safe person to approach."

He nods and is giddy the whole way back home, especially when you get into your car and show him the different mechanisms, with him clinging to every detail.

These life lessons you're teaching him, however, made him think back to the "Kendom"...and he admits to trying to reinvent patriarchy there and feels ashamed of how he treated the Barbies.

He didn't think he'd open up this quickly to you, considering he never had any "manly" talks with other Kens (besides beach-offs).

But besides you being his owner, there's something about you that just made him feel...secure enough to do so. Like he could tell you anything.

You listen and reassure him that acknowledging his mistakes was a great first step to unlearning those toxic mindsets.

With all of that finally hashed out, you decide to show him the simple pleasures of the real world. Like cooking, watching TV, playing video games, etc.

Just mundane things you regularly do, with Ken picking up on some of your habits/routines as well as having some independence of his own.

You two grow closer as a result over the next few weeks, and you began falling for him and his humor and his charming smiles-

Yeah, you're 100% smitten for this doll who crossed worlds to meet you.

But you're not sure if he felt (or even could feel) the same way, since he was made to love Barbie and was...clearly still getting over his "breakup" with her. So you left it be.

That changes when you show him some emotional movie where the lead male characters showed vulnerability (ie Good Will Hunting or Brokeback Mountain) and he unconsciously holds your hand as he stares at the screen, tears staining his cheeks.

While the credits roll, your heart melts as he looks at you with those pretty blue eyes, his watery smile persistent.

"Th-Thanks for showing me this, [y/n].."

"Of course, Ken. Now you know that us guys don't always have to pretend to be tough. We're allowed to have feelings." You rub your thumb across his knuckles, a sweet gesture which makes him blush.

On the subject of feelings, he realizes that the ones he has for you are...leaning more into romance than "bromance" (yeah you taught him that term and it's part of his vocabulary now).

He becomes uncharacteristically quiet when you ask him what's on his mind, before he leans in to kiss you on the cheek. Purely on impulse.

You're both flustered at what happened, yet he panics internally when you don't say anything, trying to get up to leave so you didn't see him cry over the stupid decision he made-

"Ken, it's okay." You take his hands, convincing him to sit back down. "I had no idea you swung that way, but I'm...actually glad."

"Glad? Y-You're not...mad or anything?" He sniffles.

"Of course not. I....was planning to come out of the closet sooner or later. I just didn't know when or how to bring it up, but....I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore, thank god."

"So...does this makes us boyfriend and g....boyfriend?"

"If you want it to be, sure. I wouldn't mind a handsome doll being the love of my life." You wink.

Ken mirrors your smile, relieved to know you reciprocated his feelings.

Then he gets stumped on something and his eyebrows furrow.

"Wait...what closet were you talking about?"

Oh boy.

You just chuckle and give him a kiss on the lips.

Falling in love with a Ken doll from Barbieland certainly wasn't on your bucket list....

But you're perfectly content with that.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Breathe - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi goes against her old grudges.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

More Fanfic + Tidbits

Tip Jar

Snippet:

The answers don't come.

All Vi knows is this: the longer she stands there, the more likely someone's going to find her. She needs to go. Right fucking now.

A heartbeat later, a body rolls up to the surface.

The warmason.

He is thrashing, clawing for the basin's rim. The moment his hands seize the ebony ledge, he tries to haul himself up and out. Then the water spumes red, and a half-throttled scream tears loose from his throat. Beneath the water line, more red bubbles thickly black. The warmason's eyes bulge; his face goes from puce to gray. His legs kick frenziedly. A hidden force drags him back under.

This time, there are no ripples. Only deathly stillness. The water is as black as an oil-slick.

A minute passes. Two. Vi's eyes track back and forth, but nothing emerges.

Now's your chance.

They've drowned each other. They're dead.

Get gone—before you are too.

Except Vi isn’t bolting for the exit. She is lunging for the pool.

She doesn't think. A single eyeblink, and her helmet's off, the gun tossed aside. She leaps over the edge of the basin, and straight in. The first hot shock of the water makes her gasp. She plunges through the red-tinged waves stirred by the struggling bodies. Her legs kick; her torso arrows down, down, down  

It's dark.

The blood in the water stings her eyes. The chemical undercurrent of Shimmer burns her nostrils. An aftertaste, fouler, lingers in her mouth. Three potential corpses and Janna-knows-what are emptied into the water, and Vi can't see a damn thing. She can only feel around blindly, lungs screaming, revulsion riding a rill of bubbles to the surface. 

Her fingers touch against something cold and hard. It's like getting bitten by an eel. Vi's first reflex is to jerk away, but she forces her arm to stay put. Her hand curls around a wrist. No way to know who it belongs to. Grabbing hold, she tugs. The weight drags her down. She tugs harder. There is a sensation of two bodies, latched together, but loosely. The heavier of the two is anchored to the bottom. One final tug, and Vi feels the resistance slacken. The second body—the lighter one—comes loose. She kicks upward.

Cresting to the pool's surface is like swallowing sweet wine after a mouthful of rot-gut. Vi's head breaks above the waterline, and she gulps breath after breath. In her arms, a body floats bonelessly. Silco, head lolling, face upturned. His good eyelid is crimped shut. The shark-eye kicks off an irradiated glow.

The after-kick of Shimmer, or a death-flare?

Vi has no idea.

Treading the water, she hooks her arms under his armpits and yanks him to the pool's edge. He is heavy; waterlogged, his body's density seems to have quadrupled. It's no small feat to haul him up and over the pool's slick marble ledge, but she manages.

Dragging him higher, she lays him out prone, the length of his body flat along the tiles.

He is bare-chested and shoeless. His trousers adhere to his legs, molded tight as clingfilm. His skin is the color of marble, and about the same temperature. The Bowie knife, his favorite murder weapon, is still gripped loosely in one fist.

Vi's fingers go to the pulse at his throat. She finds it racing: a whipsaw's tempo. There's a pallor to his face that resembles a hardboiled egg, the shell shucked, a stillborn chick inside.  His lips are flaky white, and his body is shivering violently, and there are bruises deepening everywhere. The nastiest is a livid mottle at the juncture of his collarbone and his sternum. Another, seeping blood, blotches his scarred temple.  

Vi doesn't want to consider the possibility of brain damage, or how much Shimmer-infused water he's quaffed, or what he was doing fighting a Noxian warmason.  She hopes to Janna nothing's hit his frontal lobe and robbed him of—what?

His ever-flapping mouth? His unparalleled gift for double-dealing? His unerring instinct to put a boot up her ass?

His old self.

Blut.

Vi's gut heaves. He's a bastard. A murderous, lying, backstabbing bastard. And he'd probably kill her, if their roles were reversed.

But no one deserves to drown.

Her hands, of their own volition, work the wet hair back from his brow. His skin is clammy like weeping cinderblock. The rest of him's nearly as leaden. With two fingers, she roots through his mouth for obstructions. Then, she pinches his nose shut, seals her lips over his, and breathes.

One breath. Two. She repeats the process.

Not a spasm or a twitch.

Vi's own breath jitters as adrenaline redlines. She can already see the night barreling toward the doomed fallout: Zaun's Chancellor, discovered dead in the hot-house. His murderer, caught in the act. Her fingerprints all over his cooling corpse. Sevika, the Council, Topside's cream and the Undercity's scum, all united in their desire to see her dead.

And Jinx.

Robbed of a sister, and a father, all in one blow.

Fuck.

Silco's good eye stays sealed shut. The bad one stares up from its web of scar tissue: a dead thing in a bed of calcified coral. His mouth on hers tastes of metal and brine. Vi is close enough that she can see the fine tracery of blood vessels branching below the translucent skin of his temples. The man who'd once taught her to sing The Wave-Soaked Maiden—and here she is, trying to pour air into his stoppered-up lungs.

Again, again, and again.

"Breathe." Her hands pump his sternum. "C’mon, you rat bastard. Breathe."

[sugrhigh]

HOTBOX - ( m.s )

part two

summary- matt finally decides to smoke with his best friends for the first time, and he finds that it’s impossible to keep his eyes off of you

warnings- drug use, swearing, tiny bit suggestive

bff!matt x fem!reader

a/n: WOOOO finally a real piece of writing! i hope u guys enjoy. will possibly do a part two but idk, so if you have requests just ask!

he can’t stop drumming his fingers against the wheel as he steers the car along, desperately trying to relax a little bit and focus on the music that’s blaring through the speakers.

chris sits beside him in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as you guys speed toward your destination. he can hear you and nate conversing in the back, practically shouting at each other over the song.

the waterfront comes into view through his windshield a moment later, moonlight shimmering against the glassy surface. matt takes the next left, swerving across both lanes of traffic to pull into the deserted lot.

there’s nobody on the beach of course, considering it’s almost midnight in the middle of november. he throws the car into park and lowers the volume, shifting in his seat so he can actually see everyone.

“i think that’s the fastest i’ve ever seen you drive, grandpa.” you tease him, unbuckling so you can lean forward in your seat.

he rolls his eyes, though he never actually minds it when you’re the one chirping at him.

“you’re gonna wish it was me once nate gets behind the wheel, i promise.”

“wow, so i volunteer to stay sober and this is the thanks i get?” his friend asks, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“thank you nate.” you reply in a sing-song voice.

“yeah, yeah. whatever.”

matt watches as you claw through your bag, finally digging out a small blue pouch after a few more seconds of searching.

the moment you unzip it, the all-too familiar smell of weed fills the interior of the car. chris cheers when he sees you pull out a perfectly packed joint, holding it in between your middle and pointer finger with precision.

“you know, it’s really upsetting that you can roll better than me.” nate shakes his head with a sigh.

“aw, you gonna cry about it?” you puff your bottom lip out at him.

“i swear i’ll fucking walk home and leave you guys stranded.”

“sure you will. hold this.” you pass the joint to him before retrieving the lighter.

matt tries to play down the smile that’s beginning to take over his face as you hold it in your palm. he got that one for you on your last birthday. it’s a silver zippo lighter with a big winding dragon engraved on the side.

it was kind of a gag gift just because he knows how much you smoke, but you ended up genuinely loving it way more than he had ever expected.

chris smacks him in the arm gently, and he finally tears his eyes away from you.

“you sure you want to?” his brother double checks, though he doesn’t do a very good job of containing his obvious excitement.

“yup.” matt replies simply, his gaze darting in your direction again.

he’s never once felt pressured to smoke before, but he’s always been a little curious. he’s hung out with the three of you while you’re all stoned enough times to realize that he at least wants to try it.

and sure, maybe a tiny part of him is doing this because he wants to impress you. but what’s the harm in that?

“i’ll start her off, but then it’s coming your way matty b.” you nod at him with a smile, taking the joint back from nate.

his heart is already pounding and all you did was look at him.

you put the filter between your lips and spark his lighter, holding the flame to the end. he watches it burn as you inhale, trying to figure out exactly how he’s supposed to do this when it’s his turn.

you blow the smoke over your shoulder, careful not to do it in anyone’s face. no cough. matt doesn’t even see you flinch.

you take one more quick drag, and he’s already entranced by your fluid movements.

then you stretch your hand out, offering him the next hit as you silently exhale once again. it’s impossible for him to ignore the way he fumbles with your hand before he finally pinches it between his fingers.

it feels awkward, like he’s somehow already doing it wrong.

“just put your lips on it, suck in, not for long though because that’s real shit. then hold it in your throat, inhale it, exhale it.” you instruct him, and his mouth is already dry from the way you’re talking.

there’s something about the commanding edge to your voice that’s driving him crazy. he kind of likes that you’re the know-it-all, the one in control.

“sounds dirty, but you get the point.” chris states with a shrug.

yeah, sounds fucking dirty.

“you got this, don’t even think about it too much.” nate adds encouragingly.

matt bites the bullet, curling his lips around the end and inhaling. he definitely feels the smoke fill his lungs, so he pulls the joint away quickly and practically tosses it to chris.

“exhale, exhale.” you instruct, and he does so all at once.

it fogs up the car, smoke flying back up in his face instantly. then he feels it. the burning in his throat. the desperate need to cough.

he sputters, and chris is already motioning to one of the waters in the cup holder.

“keep holding your breath and drink that.”

he tries to do as he’s told, but it’s impossible to hold it in. he lets out a loud hacking cough. then another, and another. matt tries to sip on the water in between them, though it’s hard.

you rub his arm gently as the cough attack begins to die down, and the feeling of your fingernails scratching him lightly through his sweatshirt almost makes him shiver.

“i personally like a good cough everyone once in a while. humbles me.” you joke, removing your hand and sitting back in your seat once you’re sure he’s alright.

he misses your touch immediately, and it’s embarrassing.

chris has been keeping it lit, so he passes it back to you once you’re ready. matt is left out for a moment, and he doesn’t mind the brief break.

the music stays on in the background, a curated playlist of stuff that you all like. he sees you bopping your head along to baby keem, and you turn to him with the joint still burning between your lips.

“you want more?” you say as the smoke curls around your face.

in many ways.

matt nods and reaches to grab it from you, trying to be careful where he positions his fingers. he repeats his actions from earlier, breathing out slowly this time.

he still coughs quite a bit, but it’s not nearly as bad. the high is definitely rushing straight to his head, and it makes him feel like a balloon full of helium.

his brother guides the joint out of his hand gently. even he wheezes a bit as he takes his fair share, which makes matt feel better.

“how do you feel bro?” nathan asks him through the haze that’s filled the car.

“good. i feel good.” that’s all he can think to say.

and it is nice. everything seems just a little bit lighter. his body feels…loose. matt blinks, and he swears he sees stars behind his eyelids.

you reach up to open the sunroof, letting some fresh air into the car. there’s not a cloud in the sky tonight, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore calms him.

“one more baby hit, then you’re done.” you pass it to him for the last rotation.

“so bossy.” matt smirks at you, and there’s a humorous glint in your eyes as you watch him take a drag.

he tries impossibly hard to make it look cool, despite almost hacking up a lung and choking on his water. you laugh, but matt somehow understands that you’re not making fun of him by doing so.

chris snatches it from of his hand. “gimme that, it’s almost out.”

it’s like a game of ping pong as matt watches the two of you bounce back and forth, hit after hit. the joint dwindles and finally dies a minute later. you toss the burnt remains into a dunkin bag from god knows how long ago before slipping the lighter back into the pouch.

“alright, matt. time for you to switch with me big boy.” nathan reminds him, turning to open his car door.

matt follows his lead. his body feels like it’s three feet behind his brain, like his consciousness is just a few seconds faster. his legs wobble as his feet hit the ground, but he manages to steady himself, hand against the car as he moves.

nate walks him to the door just in case, and matt stumbles into his new home in the back, laughing at himself under his breath. you help him sit upright in the middle seat, reaching across his body to get to the belt.

“lift your arm.” you tell him, and even though he doesn’t want to, he listens.

you pull the buckle around and click it into place so he’s properly strapped in, doing it for him like he’s a toddler or something.

this is an action he’d normally protest, but he’s solely focused on how close together you are. he can feel the heat radiating from your body as your shoulder presses against his, knees knocking together as he gets comfortable.

“how are you doing? everything okay?” you ask lowly, looking up at him through those long lashes.

he can see the red tinging your eyes, and his own feel droopy as he continues to stare. matt just can’t help it. you look so gorgeous, somehow even more so when you’re both faded.

“cat got your tongue?” you joke, head tilted back to rest against the seat as nate puts the car in reverse.

“you’re pretty.” it slips out before he can stop it, and yet he’s too high to care.

your eyes go a little wide, and your lips part slightly as you suck in a breath. he wants to kiss you so bad, to get rid of the centimeters of space between you and just press his mouth to yours.

“and you’re stoned.” you smile a bit and look away, trying to play it off.

“but i’m serious.” he doubles down, and you glance at him once more with those fucking bambi eyes.

you shake your head and place your hand on his thigh. “i promise you’re not.”

it ignites a fire in his stomach, one that won’t die down. he wants to move his hips, to feel some sort of friction against your palm. but he holds still, even despite how much he needs you.

“you don't know me.” matt hears his words slur together slightly as he speaks.

“i definitely do.” you argue.

“fine, but you can’t possibly guess what’s going on in my head.”

matt’s still not sure where any of this is coming from, or why he’s saying it to you now, but the word vomit won’t stop.

you shrug, squeezing his thigh lightly. he shifts a little bit, trying not to get too worked up over the pressure.

“i guess that’s true. so what are you thinking?”

matt glances up front at his brother and his best friend, and he knows neither of them are paying attention to the two of you. they’re too busy singing piña colada by yung pinch to care.

he hears you hum a little bit of the chorus under your breath as you wait for his response.

“i’m thinking about you.” he finally admits, leaning over so he can say it directly into your ear.

he can smell your rose shampoo, the fading hints of flowery perfume on your skin. it’s intoxicating, being near you like this.

you move your hand off his leg to shove his chest playfully. “shut up.”

the city blurs by as nate continues to drive, and matt admires the way the light from the street lamps dance across your face.

“why don’t you believe me?” he mumbles, barely audible over the combination of the breeze and the music.

“because you’re high as a kite, i can see it written all over your face.”

“doesn’t mean i’m lying.”

you study his face like you’re trying to find the truth in it. he can’t help but grin, because you’re so fucking clueless, and it makes you smile right back.

“touché.”

[batneko]

A short fic about Sanji and Reiju and gender.

-

It was not unusual for Reiju to find one of her brothers in her quarters. Even now, they had a lack of boundaries and a fondness for juvenile pranks. But none of it bothered her, really, and letting them get it out of their system got them out of her hair faster. So she didn't change her footsteps as she became aware of the presence in her bedroom, letting her heels clack on the floor and opening the outer door slowly enough that the hinges creaked.

She had not at all been expecting to see this particular brother.

“Sanji,” Reiju said, surprised. He was sitting at her makeup table, a handful of products in front of him, and when he saw her he shoved them aside and covered his face, though Reiju had already caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. “Are you… What are you doing?”

There was a pause, just a moment too long, and Sanji lowered his hands.

He was smiling, though it looked pained. “I thought it would be funny,” he said. There was lipstick on his teeth. “To- to see how bad I would look in your makeup. And I was right! It's hilarious, isn't it?”

His laugh came out like a sob.

“Who… who would ever think a man could wear this stuff? It's just ridiculous, isn't it? I- I should show the others. How funny it is.”

Bright blue eyeshadow was smeared across his eyelids, bubblegum pink lipstick on his mouth, and coral blush mismatched on his cheeks. Blotchy glitter highlights completed the look, such as it was.

Silence filled the room for several long seconds.

“Mm,” Reiju said, thoughtfully. “Yeah, makeup is pretty hard if no one ever sat down and taught you.”

She pulled over the poofy footstool at the end of her bed and opened a drawer, taking out a packet of wipes and a few little bottles.

“Let's clean all that off first, and start from scratch.”

“I just. It's just a joke.”

“I know,” Reiju said. She pulled out a wipe and took hold of his chin. “Close your eyes.”

Sanji obeyed, sitting there obediently as his sister cleaned his face. They both ignored the way his breath hitched with held-back tears.

“Okay,” Reiju said. “We'll start by prepping your skin. You're a smoker, and a chef, so you really cannot moisturize too much.”

“Men don't need to do that stuff,” Sanji muttered, words slightly slurred by her vice grip on his face.

“More men should,” Reiju said firmly. “They’ll age much more gracefully, and no one likes kissing chapped lips.”

“That… that's true…”

“Yes it is,” Reiju said.

She finished rubbing moisturizer on him, and moved on to eyes. “I like to do eyes before foundation, in case the eyeshadow drops on your cheeks. Today let's just go simple, is your heart set on the blue or do you want neutrals?”

“I- I don't care.”

“I'll use a cool-colored shimmer on top,” Reiju decided. “Eyeliner is optional for daytime looks, what do you think?”

“I don't care, this is… You decide.”

“Yes, then.”

After the eyes were done she moved on to primer and a sheer foundation, explaining each step, making sure Sanji learned every tip and trick - from pumping the wand to opening your mouth to make it easier not to blink. Sanji stopped protesting at some point, just sitting there and letting her use him as a dummy.

“There’s an advanced lesson on contouring if you ever want to learn that, but I think this is enough new information for one day.” She considered her work so far. “It's a good thing you and I have the same coloring. I'll let you know what products I use, but don't be afraid to experiment with new ones. And like I said, moisturize.”

“Okay,” Sanji said quietly.

“I'd do your lips but you're probably going to need a smoke soon, right?” She'd noticed his fingers shaking and gave him an easy excuse for it.

“I can wait a little longer,” Sanji said, surprising her. “Since. I'm already here, and you're already teaching me, so…”

Reiju smiled. “I like bold colors but you seem like more of a classical beauty type. Definitely go with a long-lasting one, maybe matte, but with the shimmer I think we want a gloss.” She grabbed his chin again, ignoring the bristles. “Open your mouth.”

When she was done, Reiju gave Sanji a quick powder, then surveyed the finished look. She sat back, and nodded to the mirror, indicating he should look for himself.

The fear in his eyes was almost painful to watch. This was her little sibling, the closest to her out of the pack of them, the one she'd already failed to protect once. If she hadn't pulled this off it might only hurt him worse.

Sanji swallowed and turned in the chair, facing the mirror.

His lips parted, slightly, and his inhale of breath wasn't quite a gasp.

“I… look…”

“Told you,” Reiju said, nodding. “Classical beauty.”

He swallowed again. “It's. It's not funny this time.”

“Of course it's not, you look great. Nothing comical about being a knockout.”

Sanji stared at his reflection for a long time, occasionally turning his head side-to-side to see the other angles.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit?” Reiju asked.

Sanji nodded, silently.

“Okay. I'm going to change in the next room, and then I'm going out.”

He nodded again. “If… I need to take this off before I go?”

Reiju got the wipes out again, and quickly explained how to use cold cream.

“Got all that?” Reiju asked.

Sanji nodded.

“Are you… good?”

“I'm okay,” Sanji said. He gave her a smile, awkward but more genuine than any she'd seen from him in a long time. “Thank you.” Softly he added, “For everything.”

“Any time,” Reiju said.

She hoped he knew she meant it.