#with the kind of focus that the straights get in this story

[jayaury]

Marked for Love

Another short story from the archive. Plenty more on you know where! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

Cynthia Spellman bit her lower lip as she looked in the cracked mirror, her robe hiked up, baring her slim stomach, her lacy panties and, more importantly, the red mark like an elaborate heart tattooed on her mons. Throbbing.

Pulsing.

Beating with an insidious heat that wormed its way through her and to her core.

She groaned aloud. Ohhhh dammit. Dammit dammit dammit! She knew they should have recruited a priest into the party when delving into the Demon’s Dungeon. If only she’d been able to torch that imp to ash before the bitch got off that spell. Because Cynthia knew the curse mark she was looking at. Any mage would.

A breeding rune.

She swore again. An insidious mark, and one with only a 2% chance of landing. Honestly, she hadn’t thought any demons would be stupid enough to cast it. But that imp had looked awfully pleased with herself, right before Cynthia blasted the little harlot back to the pit that spawned her.

But the damage had been done.

And she was stuck with it.

Cynthia chewed on her lip worriedly. What she needed to do was get it dispelled, asap. Because a breeding rune was one of the more sinister magics. It enchanted a woman to desire a man to cum in her by any means. To be filled with seed and quicken with child. Which was bad enough, but the real danger was the longer she held out, the more the curse would change her in order to get what she needed. Corrupting her body and soul until she was just a demonic trollop begging for a good dicking. Not a problem if she got the curse banished. But if she ended up giving in, she’d be locked into whatever state she was in when she finally got that much needed fucking.

And how in the hells was she supposed to explain that?

A knock sounded at the door. “Cynthia? You okay?”

Cynthia squeaked, dropping her skirt hastily. “F-fine Roland!” she called. “Just fine! Just… just making sure this new hood fits! That’s all.”

“Alright. But be careful. We’re not out of this dungeon yet.”

Gods, and didn’t she know it. She felt again a flush. They’d delved pretty deep into the dungeon today, and the way out was quite far. But she felt sure she could manage it. The curse would take time to take effect. Honestly, she could last a few hours without jumping Roland’s bones. Fine bones that they were. Making the knight so big and strong and tanky. Always ready to take a hit for her. Let her do her stuff. So protective and sweet and…

She felt the heat within her stir and grow and she quickly shook her head. Get it together, girl! All she had to do was last a few hours and she could get out of the dungeon and head straight to the nearest temple to get the curse removed. For brief moment she considered telling Roland, but instantly dismissed the idea. The thought of admitting such an embarrassing thing appalled her. She couldn’t tell him she’d done something as silly as getting cursed by some low-level imp. Not to mention he’d ask to see it. Ask if he could do anything for her, because he was such a good man. A kind man. A sweet, lovable, hunk of man who would be such a gentle lover and…

She groaned and slapped her cheeks again. Focus, girl. Focus! Turning on her heel, she marched to the door and opened it abruptly.

Roland waited on the other side, and just the sight of his handsome, worried face almost melted her legs out from under her with a sudden needy heat that shot from her core. Blonde hair curled about his face. A broad build confined by his heavy armour, a large shield and sword sheathed on his back, and an expression of genuine concern, he was what every mage dreamed their tank would be.

“Did you try on the hood?” he asked.

“Hm? Hood? O-oh! Yes. Mhmm. Yes, absolutely. It ah, it didn’t boost my stats quite as much as I’d hoped. Haha!”

“That’s a shame,” he said, his eyes wandering down to her chest. “But uh, why are you leaving your robe a bit open like that?”

Cynthia looked down in surprise, realizing her collar was a bit undone, revealing a hint of her bust. “Oh, yes, that. Just… been feeling a bit hot in here. Thought I might get more air circulating. Cool myself a bit. Not a big deal.”

“If you say so,” Roland said, though she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes lingered on the teasing hint of her breasts. A sensation of amused triumph thrilled through her, but she quickly tamped it down.

“Let’s get going!” she declared, quickly passing him. “Gotta get above ground soon. Can’t delay!”

“Oh, yes. Um, right. Of course,” she heard Roland say, then the reassuring clank of his armour as he followed her. Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, focusing on the present and what she needed to do. Just keep moving. Just keep going.

And try to ignore how comfortable it felt to put a bit of wiggle into her walk.

#

Gods, why was it so hot!

Cynthia groaned as she sat on a rock, feeling the heat like her clothes were stuffed with burning coals. With every step she’d been feeling the curse mark pulse on her mons, threading more of its feverish warmth through her. Roland had gone to scout ahead for a bit, giving her a blessed opportunity to take a break. Gods, but she just needed a bit of relief. Just a little bit to get further.

She hesitated, reaching for the enchanted bell on the collar of her robe. She knew she shouldn’t adjust her clothes. But if she did nothing, she’d pass out from heatstroke before reaching the surface. And if she did, then Roland would surely check on her. Maybe undress her. Then he’d see that mark and think she was a dumb bimbo and… and…

She grimaced and tightened her lips. Reluctantly, she touched the bell on her collar, gripped it, and willed a bit of relief.

Almost at once the fabric around her chest loosened, stretching and exposing more of her cleavage. She sighed with satisfaction, sagging a bit. Gods, that was so much better! But she still felt warm. Blushing a bit, she willed the sides of her robe to open, creating long slits that left only a strap of cloth covering her mons and ass. Somewhat scandalous, true, but there was no denying it was far more comfortable.

And… dare she say, cute?

She looked down at her chest and a worried frown marred her face. Was it just her, or was she… bigger? She cupped her chest, and had to bite her lip to suppress a sudden moan from escaping her. Oh… oh gosh, that… that felt good. So… so sensitive.

In fact, it was kind of hard to stop.

Stop feeling her big, soft chest. Giving it a bounce. A squeeze. Ohhhh, that felt gooood. She squirmed, legs rubbing together. But… but what would feel even better would be getting a big, studly, strong man to fill his loving hands with her big breasts. A man like…

”Roland,” she breathed.

“C-Cynthia?”

She squeaked, snatching her hands back and looking up in shock to find the knight standing at the end of the tunnel, staring at her in amazement.

“Roland!” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding quickly to her feet, and as she did, she caught his eyes riveting to her chest as her breasts bounced in her top. A feeling of satisfaction filled her, but she dutifully ignored it. “What um, what did you find?” she asked.

Roland seemed to shake himself, blinking as he looked back up at her. “Find? Oh, yes. It seems clear ahead. Looks like the ah, monsters haven’t respawned yet.”

“Wonderful!” Cynthia said, snatching up her staff. “Then we should get going, shouldn’t we?”

“Er, yes. We should. But uh, Cynthia, your clothes. They look…”

“Oh! That,” she giggled, giving a quick twirl. “Do you like it?”

“I um…”

“Just getting a bit of cooler air. So hot down here, right?”

“It is?”

“Absolutely!” she said, smiling encouragingly. “So hot. Gets me all sweaty and warm. Just needed to, you know, get a bit of airflow going. Right? Anyway! No time to waste. Better get back on the move.”

“I… guess,” Roland said uncertainly.

“Exactly! Let’s go,” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding past him, trying to suppress the knowledge of how good it felt to have that strip of cloth swishing between her thighs. The way the silk stroked her panties and slick mound.

But she also noticed the way Roland watched her breasts bounce in her tight top as she went by.

And maybe she enjoyed that gaze a bit more than was proper…

#

Hells but her migraine was just killing her.

Cynthia groaned, rubbing her temples.

“You sure you’re okay?” Roland asked her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Just fine. Have a little headache, that’s all.”

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

Bend me over this fucking rock and rail me until I’m begging you to stuff me with your fucking stud baby batter!

Through an incredible force of will, Cynthia managed to not scream that out. But she needed some relief. The heat in her was coiling its insidious tentacles all through her, and she needed SOMETHING to take the fucking pressure off.

Her eyes slid back to Roland.

“Actually,” she said slowly, rolling her shoulders with a pained expression. “I’m feeling so… stiff at the moment. And you have those wonderfully talented hands. I was thinking maybe you could give me a quick massage.”

“A massage?” he said uncertainly.

“Yeah,” she said, already warming to the idea. Well, her body was anyway. Just the thought of getting those strong hands on her made the tension coiling in her ease just a bit. “Just a bit. Help me relax.”

“Of course,” the knight said, beaming that lovable smile of his as he took off his gauntlets. Cynthia bit her lip. Gods, just the sight of that goofy smile made her want to cram his head between her thighs and ride his tongue to a dozen screaming orgasms.

But she’d take what she could get. And as he moved around and sat down behind her, she tried not to shiver at the smell of him. That sweet medley of leather and sweat and manliness.

And that was before she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Ohhhhh,” she groaned, arching.

He paused. “You okay?”

“Better than ever,” she sighed.

“I haven’t even started.”

“Then don’t wait,” she fairly growled. “Get those strong fingers in there.”

“Sorry?”

“Just… please, start.”

She stifled a moan as his fingers began to gently knead her shoulders, soon growing more confident at the familiar motions. Cynthia exhaled heavily, her eyes drifting half-shut as she enjoyed his touch. His wonderful, gentle yet firm touch. Gods, those fingers were incredible. She could actually feel herself start to drift away, even the headache easing.

“Is that good?” Roland asked.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, sinking back against his touch. Oh gods it was so good. “Lower.”

She felt his touch slide over her shoulders. “Like that?”

“Oh yessss,” she groaned, shivering in ecstasy, her toes curling in her shoes. “Just… mnnn… like that. Maybe… maybe a bit lower.”

She felt him hesitate, then obey. She was breathing deeper. Heavier. That was good. That was nice…

“You smell good,” Roland murmured.

A smile stole across her lips at his dreamy voice. “Thank you. Perfume… perfume is new. And lower, Roland.”

“L-lower?”

“Please,” she panted, wriggling.

Again that moment of hesitation. Then his hands slid down. Slid over the gentle curves of her chest.

Oh gods yes.

A soft moan escaped her as she arched, pushing her breasts into his uncertain hands. Hands that began to grow more confident. Slow. Gentle. Pumping and squeezing her breasts in ways that made her whimper and gasp in helpless pleasure.

Oh gods.

Oh gods that was so good.

She could feel the heat that had been torturing her dull to a pleasant throb. Swelling up into her head, filling it with a hazy warmth. Her headache easing into clouds of euphoric pleasure as her hips lazily rocked.

“Just like that,” she breathed, her free hand stealing between her thighs, a jolt of delight racing through her as she touched herself, the silky strip between her legs offering no protection to her hyper-sensitive pussy. “Oh Roland…”

“So soft,” he breathed, his face nearly buried in her luxurious hair, his hands still massaging and adoring her breasts. His warm breath panting against the back of her neck.

Oh gods yes.

“Roland,” she moaned, her finger pressing against her pussy, stroking herself through her dress and panties. Higher. Higher.

“Cynthia,” she heard him gasp behind her, his hands skilled and adoring as they bounced and massaged her soft breasts. She squirmed in delight, hot pants escaping her in rushes, her ass grinding back against him, feeling the bulge in his pants.

“Roland. Roland,” she whimpered, her finger strumming herself harder. Pleasure sparking through her in bursts, the cloudiness in her head concentrating. The pressure throbbing. Feeling so good. So wonderful. So… so…

“Mnnnnnn!” she cried out, quivering as she came, her juices staining her filmy panties and the strip of her robe, her muscles tightening in shameful ecstasy, the pressure in her head releasing in a sudden burst of euphoria that washed her in a wave of bliss.

She sighed happily, leaning back against Roland, who merely moaned softly, still gently massaging her plump teats. A sensation that ached through her wonderfully. Gods but it felt good. Gods it all felt so… so fucking good…

Why hadn’t she done this before?

As that idle thought swam through her mind, she felt another urgent throb from the place above her mons. She lifted her head numbly, and felt a strange weight on her brow. Vaguely, she reached up, touching her forehead.

Feeling a pair of bumps.

Her eyes snapped open in horror. Horns. Oh fuck, she had horns! Her formerly wonderful pleasure vanished like a flash of pink steam.

“Cynthia?”

She looked down in shock at the hands on her breasts and bolted suddenly to her feat, then slapped her palm to her forehead, turning away so Roland couldn’t see her front. “Er, yes! Thank you, Roland. Wonderful job. Very um, good. I’m just gonna go, er, freshen up a bit real quick. Be right back!”

“Wha-”

Before he could object she hurried back around the corridor’s corner and covered her face with her hands. Oh gods. Oh gods, did she really do that? Did she really just get Roland to play with her fat cow tits while she masturbated on his lap?

Yes.

Yes she did.

And it had been amazing.

She felt her blush warm herself anew, even as she berated her response. Gods, the curse’s heat was already back! It was like she hadn’t even gotten a moment of relief from it. But it was fine. It was fine. She could fix this. Just… just get out of the dungeon and find a priest who could dispel the curse. Then she’d be back to normal.

Yes.

Just normal.

So normal she’d never have done anything like that. Let Roland massage her sensitive breasts. Rub her ass against his bulge as she stroked herself to one of the best orgasms she’d ever had.

Totally.

Utterly.

Normal.

Cynthia bit her lip at the thought. She… she did want to be normal again. She was pretty sure of that. No, no. She was absolutely sure of it. Even if it had felt amazing. Even if she’d relished the thrill and the sound of Roland’s voice becoming dim and hazy. As if drunk on her presence. Her beauty. Even if she now had horns which she really needed to cover up. Yes, a hood. That’s what she needed.

And… maybe let the chest out a bit more. All of Roland’s pumping had made her even bustier.

Again she touched the bell on her neck and willed the changes. She sighed in relief as a hood formed from her top, looping over her hair, while an even larger boob window opened in her robe. As she looked herself down, she frowned at a sight below. The strip of fabric between her legs now sported a very apparent stain.

“Gods dammit,” she groaned. Look at that mess. She was NOT wandering through the dungeon with a big stain on the front of her robe. But how to hide it?

A sudden vision entered her mind, and well, it was a bit out of character for her, but why not? She’d be out of the dungeon soon anyway. Another press on the bell folded the strips of cloth between her legs, her robe shrinking even more, hugging her curves in a form-fitting leotard that showed off her every incredible curve. Cynthia smirked and turned this way and that, admiring her bared thighs and curves of her breasts. A perfect hourglass. Gods she was hot. That wasn’t the curse talking. Just… confidence.

Yeah.

Just confidence at being so gorgeous.

Smiling, she turned and went back into the chamber. Roland was still sitting on the rock, bent forward, his head in his hand like he had a headache.

“Ready, Roland?” Cynthia asked.

He looked up, and Cynthia had to bite her lip to keep from smirking at his expression. His jaw positively dropped at the sight of her, the awe in his eyes sending another shot of pure heat into her pussy and tingling through her veins.

“Cynthia,” he gasped. “You…”

“Just needed to let my body breathe a bit more,” Cynthia said coyly, turning this way and that to let him admire her further. “Do you like?”

“You… you look amazing,” he admitted.

Cynthia giggled. “So glad you think so. Now, come on, Roland,” she said, crooking a finger and beckoning. “Let’s get going.”

He rose instantly, and Cynthia felt another thrill at how quickly he obeyed. How his eyes grew dim as he breathed in deeply, as if just the sight and scent of her threatened to drown him in her presence. Arrogant of her to think so, perhaps, but as she turned, leading the way forward, she was hit with the delightful feeling like she was leading a puppy through the black stone halls.

And enjoying every moment of it.

#

The heat was back.

And strong.

So fucking strong.

It had been okay for a bit, but now the coiling warmth of desire was consuming her like an inferno. Cynthia was blushing, feeling her pulse throb and mons ache as if begging her to bathe her womb in the seed of a man. And it really didn’t help having such a handsome, willing man right behind her. Gods, she just wanted to push him down, kiss him, smother him under her fat tits and grind herself to a dozen orgasms before she even got his fucking pants off.

“Look! The exit.”

The words snapped her from her fantasies. Cynthia raised her head and through the blur of her vision she saw the white glow of the way out. The shining end of the tunnel beckoning her on.

Out.

Out of the dungeon.

Excitement surged within her. Bloomed with euphoria. “Yes!” she gasped. “Yes!”

So overcome, she whirled around and wrapped her arms around a startled Roland, leaned forward, and kissed him adoringly on the lips.

She felt him stiffen reflexively, but then he moaned, his eyes lidding, growing hazy as his lips moved against hers, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her tight against him. Cynthia whimpered in delight as she felt her mound press against his front. Grind against his bulge. Her sensitive breasts rubbing against the steel of his chest.

The kiss deepened. Her tongue pushed into his mouth. Her hands slid up his neck and to his head, her fingers running through his hair as his own arms moved over her back as if tracing every inch of her winsome figure.

More.

She needed more.

The compulsion radiated from her mons. From the mark. She pushed him back and Roland hit the cavern wall. She broke the kiss, panting. Hot. Needy.

“We… we shouldn’t,” she breathed, her hands already moving, finding catches and buckles of armour and stripping them away with uncanny precision.

“Y-yeah. Shouldn’t,” Roland said dimly, offering no resistance as his hands continued to stroke her, tracing the curve of her ass, pressing himself against the tight fabric of her leotard.

“Gotta… gotta resist,” Cynthia panted as she tugged his pants down, her fingers grasping his stiffened cock.

“Nnnn,” Roland groaned.

“Can’t give in,” Cynthia breathed as she sank to her knees, Roland’s cock finally in her hand. Before her eyes. Thick. Throbbing. Begging for her attention. The scent stuffing her nose. Her head. Her tongue teased over her lips. Her mouth opened, and she swallowed him deep.

“Ohhhh!” Roland groaned, head falling back, body jolting with a gasp.

“Mmmm,” Cynthia agreed, her lashes fluttering in ecstasy as she began to bob, her tongue swirling over his tip and length. Gods. Gods above, he tasted so good. So thick and powerful and virile. Her free hand slipped beneath him, cradling his balls, and she could fairly feel his seed churn within them. Stirring from her ministrations. Begging for release.

She’d release him.

Gods she would.

She’d suck him dry. Swallow without missing a drop. Gods, what had taken her so long to do this? How could she have kept herself from pushing him down and just fucking choking herself on his fat cock!? Her throat seemed to accommodate his every inch with uncanny ease. Moaning, bobbing, she sucked him deep, going down to the root, her tongue lathing and wrapping around his manhood with utterly shameless need.

“F-fuck!” Roland gasped, his eyes misty. Foggy. His hands groping down to her head. Cynthia bucked as his fingers pushed aside her hood and wrapped around her horns, the sensation throbbing into her like a bolt of lightning. For a brief moment she felt panic, but glancing up at his face showed Roland didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were fogged, his mouth open, panting in needy gasps as he pumped into her waiting mouth.

Pheromones. A demon’s trait, now hers from the curse.

And he was utterly drunk on them.

She knew she should feel bad about that, but she didn’t care. She wanted him too much. Too badly. She needed his cum. Needed him. The heat from her mound pulsed in a throbbing beat like drums urging her on. Urging her to suck harder. Massage his balls. Tease and pump him until his face was flushed and desperate gasps were escaping him. Until he was feverishly pumping his cock into her mouth, fucking her face until… until…

“F-fuuuuuuck!” Roland cried out, head thrown back, groaning as he came.

And Cynthia was in heaven.

She moaned, her eyes lidding as the hot heaviness of his load pumped into her mouth, eagerly swallowed down into her stomach. She sucked him gently, relishing every spurt, feeling the swirling delight ache through her.

Gods.

Gods, it was… it was so fucking perfect…

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Cynthia pulled her lips off his cock, her whole body feeling like it was on fire. Her head throbbing. Thoughts swirling with a single need that she had to satisfy. “More,” she gasped.

“C-Cynthia?” Roland panted, looking down at her blankly, his jaw slack.

She knew he’d do anything she wanted him to. She could tell. He wanted her as bad as she wanted him. And she’d have him. She rose, no longer hesitant. No longer caring of consequences or doubt. Her hand rose, rang the bell on her collar.

Every stitch of clothing seemed to burst from her, baring her glorious figure in all its glory, her skin so flushed it seemed red, her breasts so huge and full they seemed to float upon her chest. Her hips were wide and her legs parted, the curse mark blazing proudly on her body.

Roland stared at her, mouth agape. “What…”

“Don’t question,” she commanded, and he fell silent. Another thrill surged through her as she turned around, bent forward, planting her hands against the far wall, her ass thrust out. “Fuck me, Roland,” she growled, glancing over her shoulder. “Fuck me like you’ve wanted to ever since we met. Fuck me. Mate me. Breed my fucking pussy! I need your cock, Roland. I need it in me. Now!”

Roland stared at her, and oh how her curse mark rewarded her for that stare. That look of helpless lust. Of frantic desire. He came towards her, his hands reaching out, grasping the soft swell of her ample hips. She cried out, cooed as the rewarding heat of her curse mark surged through her again, tingling in her tailbone and back.

“That’s it,” she breathed, waving her rear, smirking as she saw his cock rise, hardening once again at the sight of her needy figure. “Fuck me, Roland. Fuck me hard. Mate me like the slut I am. Just a bitch in heat. Needing your cock. Now fuck me. Fuck me!”

“Yes,” Roland gasped, squeezing her soft rump, aligning his cock with the steamy gash of her pussy. “Yes… mistress…”

For a brief moment that word shocked Cynthia. Raised a doubt in her. She opened her mouth to order him back.

Then he pushed forward.

Filled her.

And hesitation was burned away by the fire of pleasure as she got what she so desperately needed.

“Ohhhhh!” Cynthia cried out, arching, tightening deliciously around the thick cock impaling her. Heat bloomed in her, but no longer tortuous. No. Now it surged in her in a euphoric blast. “Yesss!” she cried out. “Fuck me, Roland. Mate me! Fuck me haaaard!”

“Yes,” Roland panted, not hesitating a beat, beginning to thrust, pumping his cock feverishly into her hot pussy. Driving into her with a desperate urgency, every smack of his hips off her ass sending another throb of pure pleasure rocking her to the core. “Yes! Mistress. Fuck mistress. Fuck her!”

“Yes!” Cynthia cried out, uncaring, lost, relishing the feeling of him finally inside her. Finally giving her what she needed! “Yes! Fuck me. Mate me! Breed me, Roland. Breed your mistress! Mistress ah! Mistress needs your c-cum! Give it to her. Give it to me! Fuck me! Fuck me n-nooooooow!”

Pleasure pounded through her. Throbbed behind her eyes. In her back. In her ass. As she wailed her ecstasy, she felt the pressure burst. Felt a dark tail twist from her rear. Black wings sprout from her back.

“Breed your demon mistress noooooow!” Cynthia howled in triumph.

“Nnnnn!” Roland moaned, filling her a final time, his cock sinking deep inside her as he gave in. Cumming in a sudden rush of his hot seed.

The feeling surged into Cynthia. She wailed in pleasure, her orgasm flowing through her after his. Her pussy tightening, quivering, urging the hot gush of his cum into her womb. Feeling it fill her.

Wake her.

Consume her in bliss.

She moaned, her eyes rolling back, her arms shaking as she felt the curse mark burn itself into her skin. Marking her forever. Glowing like a brand.

And she couldn’t have been happier.

With a shaky breath she stepped forward, unsheathing Roland’s cock from her. The knight fell back onto the ground, his strong chest heaving, his eyes staring at her in worship and hazy love.

Cynthia smirked down at him, her hands lazily stroking her figure, her dark wings fluttering, her tail lashing.

Beautiful, she thought to herself. Utterly beautiful.

“Am I lovely, Roland?” she asked.

“So… so lovely,” he gasped, worshipping her with his eyes.

Cynthia giggled, her hands cupping her breasts, stroking them and sending them bouncing, her fingers tracing down onto her hips. “Mmm. And you’ll love me forever, won’t you? Be my obedient stud forever and ever? Pumping me full of children whenever I want?”

“Yes,” Roland panted. “Yes!”

“Adore me?”

“Yes!”

“Worship me?”

“Yes!”

“Do anything for me?”

“Gods yes!”

Cynthia purred, the desperation in his words filling her with intoxicating power. “Good boy,” she cooed, crooking a finger. “Then get up, lover. It’s time for you to get dressed and head out. There’s a whole wide world out there for us, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Roland breathed, dragging himself to his feet. “Yes, msitress.”

“Good boy,” she laughed, strutting towards the exit of the dungeon, her obedient love slave stumbling after her, still pulling his boots on as he did. Maybe she would visit the temple after all, Cynthia mused. After all, the sisters there would surely love to examine her curse mark. In intimate detail…

[oodlyenough]

more arcane s2 thoughts in no particular order. this is pretty negative. woops

Cait, Vi, Caitvi

despite being what initially got me watching to begin with caitvi just never ended up being my primary interest with this show, so going into s2 it wasn't like I had very well formulated expectations or hopes. I think if I had I would maybe feel disappointed? They had some nice moments, they got the kiss and the sex scene, they're clearly endgame, etc, and that's nice, but it also felt like their relationship was so ... never really the star of the show or focus of the story to the extent I expected it to be. Did they even get a big fight-together battle-couple moment in the last ep, I don't think so? I didn't find the resolution to their Act 1 breakup especially good, I think Caitlyn owed Vi an apology and Vi deserved to be angry for longer than ten seconds.

I generally feel across both seasons that Vi's pain and trauma is rarely given as much weight as other characters', I was pretty underwhelmed by Caitlyn's dictator arc after being extremely interested in it at the end of act 1...

I dunno. I hope their stans liked it and are satisfied getting to see them kiss and have sex and be together and I wouldn't downplay the significance of The Couple in Arcane being a lesbian couple. But I wasn't personally very compelled or moved by it.

Jinx

Like the above I'm not a Jinx academic by any means but I think if I were I would be frustrated by how cyclical her arc was in season 2. And no, having Silco show up to be like "it's a cycle" doesn't really justify the narrative interludes. Isha is a hard sell of a character for me because I don't ... generally want little kid characters around ... and I found Jinx (basically) looking straight into the camera to say "gee you are just like me, Powder, when I was a little kid, which reminds me of being Powder, is this how Silco felt, is this how Vi felt" to be hamfisted. But some of the scenes with the two of 'em and Sevika were cute ... only for Isha to die and Jinx to be depressed, again, and then come through the other side, again, and then "die", again. Like if we wanted to deal with depressed Jinx we started off s2 that way...

I've seen other posts by Jinx fans that articulate much better the ways in which she goes from the driving plot force in s1 and main autonomous actor to just kind of being wafted around by plot in season 2 so I won't repeat them. But I think they are right. I also question the way her mental illness was portrayed -- or rather wasn't... -- in season 2. Powder in the AU showing no sign of illness (despite baby Powder in the main timeline already having some of that going on, pre-Vander death)... I mean, sure, she's got a support system etc in that world, and one can argue we don't spend enough time with AU Powder to necessarily see it, but combined with the Isha stuff it just kind of felt like a weird message.

Sevika

I love Sevika, one of my faves from s1. I was so excited she seemed to get a bigger role in act 1 and then in the first ep of act 2. And then she never spoke again. What the hell man... like damn... really?????!? Not a WORD in act 3? I'm sure this was some of the stuff they trimmed to get that finale down to 50 minutes but god that sucks, so much, in ways a wordless shot of her in the council chamber can't really resolve. Which leads me to

Piltover-Zaun

I have to admit I don't think the class politics in s1 are as good as they were reported to be, so I didn't have high hopes, but MAN is Piltover going "hey we need cannon fodder <3 thanks" not... a reasonable resolution... especially after an indeterminate time of Piltover being EVEN MORE oppressive with Caitlyn enforcing martial law. It was sooooooooo ridiculous. Also, lol @ the show acting like hextech is solely responsible for the suffering of the undercity. If only Vi, Jayce and Viktor weren't around we'd have a equitable utopia. Sure Jan.

Sky

One of the most offensively written female characters I've seen in recent media. A spectacular, zero-effort failure from the writers. What a horrible decision to write this poor girl, a Black woman no less, and give her absolutely no characterization outside of an unrequited crush on a gay white man. In season 1 I could forgive most of it because a show like Arcane needs redshirts and it's just unfortunate they made this particular redshirt a young Black woman. There are so many other complex and developed women in the show, I thought, they can afford to have some minor ones who aren't.

But oh my god season 2. The ghost hallucination which they never even clarify as being "really" Sky or just being the Hexcore or just being his own imagination of guilt because neither the show nor Viktor give enough of a fuck to explain fhglakhdglh. Even posthumously she barely has any dialogue except to reference off-screen conversations with Viktor we never see them have and then die again. "No you won't" ?????? It is ridiculous that they wrote this.

[joonduuun-blog]

sorcerers v warlock

Alright, here's a dnd hot take I've been thinking about for a while now. Sorry it's a long one but the thought's been cooking for a hot minute and I have a bit to say.

The Sorcerer class and Warlock class should switch flavor. Just the flavor. Keep the mechanics and let the classes be distinct from one another, but fully switch their vibes.

Think about it, what is the lore of a sorcerer? They are specially endowed with a supernatural power that can scarcely be controlled. They are raw, undiluted magic in their being and bursting with power.

So why are they one of, if not the most tactical caster in the game?? Why do they get so many options for finesse and control?? Metamagic gives so many options and so much control that they give the exact opposite impression rather than the flavor that sorcerers are written with. The only thing close is the wild magic subclass but 1/7 subclasses isn't great for a core vibe to the class. It's no wonder people consider sorcerers the better wizard when meta magic straight up makes it.

But you know what might help to give the vibe that they are extremely powerful if still difficult to control? Casting all of their spells at max level. Like a warlock.

"my magic is hard to control. I either do this big or not at all"

"my magic is instinctual. I kind of just, do it" (without extra meta magic conversions and steps)

Plus, sorcerer's inherited blood line and general "specialness" makes them easy chosen ones in possible storylines for your out of the box sorcerers. But I feel like most chosen ones stories focus on what the actual character brings to the story, rather than just boosting the powers they get for being picked. Why not lean into that with invocations? Let your super special little chosen one be more individual by picking out specific special traits for them that aren't just the innate spellcasting they're stuck with. Let them define themselves more with how they choose to use the power and how it can manifest differently. Struggle with having powerful but ultimately unreliable spells that they make up for with their own skills and personality.

But if we just switch flavor for the classes, what does warlock get? Hypothetically, warlocks are now a mainly magic focused class that entered a pact with an otherworldly being for unnatural and strange magics. Magics that behave strangely, due to the power of whatever secrets the patrons have given to their charge (like metamagic). Those who make those deals can now showcase the otherworldly cunning they gain in twisting spells to suit their needs. They can show the dangers of "magic's shortcut" better than a 1d10 cantrip.

"I paid a terrible price for my power and have learned terrible secrets" (like metamagic)

"my magic is not mine own. It is through my patron that I gain strength" (like source points)

So yeah, I think where the classes are now don't actually resonate with what the class does. That dissonance makes the class feel weird and feel like the characters that try to play into it say one thing but act totally different. I recognize that there's a lot of mechanical thought that goes into it but I feel like that mechanical structure might fit better if we just aligned the classes a little differently to let the game help define the feeling of being those classes

[mhevarujta]

But what if, instead of Ithan just being an idiot, we ultimately got that he was being so because he and Tharion were mates?

What if Sarah wrote an epic friends-to-lovers mating bond and put yearning into Ithan's focus on freeing Tharion and in Tharion's guilt and regret?

What if 'captain whatever' was later used in a tender moment,taking a different tone and creating perfect parallel from an early scene to a scene of them getting together?

Not happening, I know. But...

Lost opportunity.

[prolibytherium]

Honestly? I love queerbaiting

[frogmascquerade]

.

[sereniv]

apologies are hard and can be embarassing

but life is too short to let your grandma go to bed sad

[derinwrites]

The Three Commandments

The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.

Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And

The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.

1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say

What’s your book about?

I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?

The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).

Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)

Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?

2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment

Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience’s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.

Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.

Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.

The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.

But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.

If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.

3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting

This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.

“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?

Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?

If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.

Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?

Hopefully these can help you, too.

[vxsellie]

AFLAME - E.W

pairing : firefighter!ellie x rescued!reader synopsis : your apartment goes up in flames and you're unlucky enough to have been on the top floor, your front door blocked by fire. thankfully, a certain firefighter finds you before it's too late a/n : ok this literally took so long to write i cannot ,, but im so excited to finally be posting it bc i feel like u guys will like it ! also i gave in to ur guys pleading and made a sequel here , it's not a part 2 but i hope it's enough to satisfy your thirst for more wc : 7.7k

your back is pressed against the wall of your kitchen as you clutch your cat in your arms. she mews in your hold, growing more restless by the second. you can hear the frantic shouting of firemen running up and down the halls of your apartment, rescuing your neighbors one by one. but your door is engulfed in flames, making it impossible for you to show them any sign of you being trapped in here.

oxygen is slowly depleting as your breaths become less like breaths and more like sharp gasps of air. your throat burns and your skin stings with the heat.

your cat, amber, shifts in your arms, wanting to move and breathe without struggle. you hush her, fighting tears as you begin to lose hope in ever being rescued. amber continues to meow loudly, her voice becoming more raw by the second. you shush her, not wanting her to waste her breath on trying to get your attention.

you run a gentle hand down her back, coughing as you try to comfort her. tears run down your cheeks as her mewing doesn't cease. your hand begins to shake as you caress her fur.

sirens can be heard from the street, muffled by your closed window and thin walls. your initial thought had been to open your window for air, but you knew better than to feed the flames with oxygen, so you settled in your kitchen as far away from the fire as possible and fell to your knees with amber against you.

firefighters continue to walk down the hall, calling out things you cannot hear. you recognize the croaky voice of your neighbor. silently, you're glad she managed to get out safe. she'd always been a very kind old woman to you, offering you burnt cookies and warm stories of her grandchildren.

amber continues to scratch and paw at you. you blink away tears and give her a weak smile, feeling the lack of oxygen begin to get to your head. you're delirious and in pain. you'd hurt your arm when you pulled amber out of the debris that'd become of the bathroom. you cut it open on the splintering door, the wood digging right into your forearm without mercy. you can feel the warm blood running down your arm and between your fingers where you hold amber firm against your chest. you try not to focus on the pain, though, rather directing your attention to managing your low source of air.

you hear footsteps begin to descend down the staircase and you can't help the tears that begin to pool down your face at the thought of being left up here. your shoulders tremble as you sob into amber's fur.

you can't go anywhere near the door without being burnt alive. you can't open any windows without your entire apartment exploding with you inside. you can't scream for help because you know nobody would hear you anyway.

the sudden sound of someone pounding on your door brings your mind away from its decent into despair. you instantly sit up straight, amber still restless and eager for play. you watch with blurred vision and a throbbing head as someone bangs on your door. after a moment, it flies off its hinges as a red boot comes barreling through the wood.

"in here!" you shout, staggering to your feet as the firefighter enters your apartment. your body sways on your feet due to exhaustion as the person follows the sound of your voice into the kitchen.

they enter, a gas mask covering their face. they say something to you, but your ears are ringing with the disbelief that they were able to find you. their hands reach forward, offering to hold amber.

see, you know it's unfair and you know you shouldn't, but you refuse. you shake your head, holding amber closer to your chest. she'd always been your dearest possession, and is now your only possession as the rest have been burnt to char. the firefighter nods, not thinking it wise to put up a fight with you.

"ah, shit, your arm." the firefighter mutters. their feminine voice points out that they are, apparently, a woman. "okay, okay. listen, you hold your cat and i'll carry you."

you blink, "what? i don't⎯"

"don't be difficult, now." she orders, crouching down before you can deny her the chance. she puts one arm under your knees, the other across your back. then, bridal style, she hauls you into her arms.

the room swims around you, your head throbbing and your throat raw. not to mention the indescribable pain in your arm. everything swirls and blurs under your delirious gaze. you lean back into her chest, amber meowing loudly at the stranger holding you.

the woman walks toward the front door, making sure to cover your face with her gloved hand as she passes through the flamed doorway. you cough when you're in the hallway, your chest constricting with the amount of smoke in your lungs.

"shh, you're fine. you're okay, i got you." the woman mutters as she begins to descend the concrete stairway. and, for some reason, you believe her.

you turn your focus toward her, staring at what you can make out of her face through her blackened gas mask. you can see her pale green eyes narrowed as her lashes blink repeatedly as she rushes down the steps whilst simultaneously trying not to jostle you too much. her lips are pursed in concentration, the bridge of her nose catching the light as she turns a corner at a landing.

"how'd you know i was in there?" you ask, your words slurred and your voice groggy.

"ma'am, please. just rest." she instructs, her gaze flicking down to your face for a split second before looking back forward. "we don't need to make conversation when you're clearly disturbed and in pain. just relax."

"i can't rest. my head hurts too bad." you say, shaking your head. "just⎯ answer my questions and i promise to leave you alone."

"okay fine." she sighs. "i knew you were in there because your elderly neighbor was a rather feisty woman. she threatened us with her butcher knife, saying she'd stab us and sue our company if we didn't make sure to save you and your cat."

a small smile tugs at your lips. you shut your eyes, tipping her head back. "mm, sounds like her."

"she's quite terrifying." the firefighter comments.

"she's a good person, most the time. she has a huge family and cares for them deeply, she just⎯ she knows i don't have anyone so she treats me like a part of her family." you murmur.

if you weren't so high in delirium, there's no way you'd be saying all this to a random stranger. frankly, you're a rather private person. you only open up to those you're close with and feel comfortable confiding in. take your neighbor for example. you've lived beside her for the past three years.

when you open your eyes, the woman is gazing down at you. her footsteps have become less frantic as she watches you with parted lips.

the two of you have now reached the foyer. a few other firefighters are seen with hoses and blankets for the rescued residents. the woman carries you across the linoleum flooring, the heels of her boots thudding loudly as she crosses the space to get to the large glass door.

once you're outside, you can feel amber relish in the fresh air. her incessant mewing ceases and she begins to purr. your heart clenches as the sound, pitying the fact that she's so happy about something so little such as fresh air.

"williams!" a voice calls out as the woman ⎯ who is apparently named williams, though you're fairly certain that's her last name ⎯ carries you over to a nearby ambulance. "what the hell took you so long!? we were worried sick!"

"oh calm down." williams replies, easing you down onto the edge of the ambulance where the back doors are open.

a paramedics rushes up to you with a roll of gauze. with you now tended to, williams turns away from you to focus on the man in front of her. still, despite the attention you're getting from the paramedic, she refuses to stray too far from where you sit.

after a moment of you swaying back and forth gently as someone wrapping bandages painfully tight around your arm, you hear your neighbors shrill voice call out for you from across the parking lot.

"oh, dear!" she shouts as she rushes toward you, her floral shirt tattered and covered in debris, her grey hair laced with ash. overall, she appears unharmed and you relax a bit at the sight. "oh, i haven't been able to rest until i knew you were okay, but⎯" her eyes trail down to where blood is seeping through the gauze around your forearm. "turns out you're not unharmed."

"it's just a cut, agnes." you insist, still holding amber in your lap as your arm throbs with even more pain than before now that the paramedic has wrapped the bandage far too tightly around your skin. "i'm fine⎯"

"oh, you always say that." she waves a hand at you dismissively.

she then turns to williams, recognizing her to have been the woman that she'd forced into rescuing you earlier. anges tugs on her arm to get her attention, causing williams to turn to face her. she removes her gas mask to be more respectful when speaking to a resident. at the sight of williams' uncovered face, you nearly faint. she looks as though she'd been chiseled from stone and created by a sculptor who was desperately in love with their muse.

"yes, ma'am?" she inquires, turning to agnes with a raised brow.

"i told you guys to get her out of there unharmed!" she reprimands, seething with rage as she gestures toward where you're being tended to. the paramedic is now offering you pills and water for your headache.

williams blinks, taken aback by the blame suddenly pointed toward her. "i don't⎯"

"it wasn't her fault," you interrupt, "i hurt myself trying to save amber."

"still. had the firefighters been there sooner, you wouldn't have had to save your poor cat all on your own." agnes points out, insistent on blaming the woman in front of her.

"i sincerely apologize, ma'am, but you must know that⎯"

"i don't want to hear it!" she interrupts her, holding a hand out to stop her from speaking any further. "to make it up to her, you're now responsible for finding her a place to stay."

"but⎯"

"no buts!"

williams snaps her mouth shut, likely remembering the image of when agnes held her at knifepoint and threatened her entire career. you smile to yourself at the idea of such a sweet old lady scaring the shit out of some buff firefighter.

agnes turns to face you with a soft expression. "you don't worry about a thing, dear. she will figure it all out for you. she'll make sure you have food on your plate and a roof over your head. if not, i'll make her regret it."

she places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she speaks, the last sentence laced with passive aggressiveness to williams, who stands off to the side with furrowed brows. after her assurance, agnes trots off with her infamous prideful stride. the other residents of your apartment scowl at her as she walks by, nobody being a fan of her fiery personality aside from you.

williams sighs, turning to you with a raised brow. "a good person, huh?"

"i said most the time." you point out with a playful smile.

no longer losing a significant amount of blood or with a throbbing headache, you're far less feverish, now able to speak without slurring or letting random facts about yourself slip.

williams sits down beside you, allowing her head to tip back. you stare shamelessly, enraptured by the way her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths or the bits of ash and dirt smudged across her skin. after a moment, she turns to you, removing her gloves and pulling her phone from her pocket. "suppose i should start looking for nearby hotels for you, right?"

you scoff, "you don't need to do that. she was just being protective."

"no, no." she insists. "she was right about one thing. and thats the fact that you wouldn't have been hurt if i got there sooner."

"don't blame yourself, williams, i'm fine."

"ellie." she corrects you with a brow raised in amusement.

you narrow your eyes at her. "what?"

"my name." she tells you with a light chuckle shaking her chest. "call me ellie. only my coworkers call me williams. it's for formality's sake. and, quite frankly, i hate it."

"oh, i'm sorry. i just heard someone call you that and i⎯"

"its fine." she tells you with a small smile. she shakes her head and turns back to her phone, typing for a place to stay in the search bar.

she scrolls through the options for a few minutes. while she does so, you busy yourself with checking amber for any possible wounds or marks. you hold her in the air, making sure to put most of her weight on your uninjured arm as your other still aches with residual pain.

the paramedic didn't give you any ointment or stitches, though you likely needed them. he'd simply wrapped your arm, albeit painfully tight, handed you some pills, then sauntered off to the next wounded resident.

"damn it," you hear ellie mutter under her breath. you turn your attention back to her. she feels your eyes on her and she explains. "none of the hotels accept cats and all the motels are closed."

"i told you i'll be fine." you tell her, a pang of guilt shooting through you. "anges is just⎯"

"protective, i know." she finishes for you. she turns off her phone and stuffs it back into her pocket and turns to face you with brows furrowed in thought. "and don't you dare tell me not to worry after you just told me that you have no family. i know you have nowhere else to go."

you tense at the mention of your family, instantly feeling embarrassed and a bit ashamed even. you shakes your head, "still. it's not your issue to concern yourself with."

"it's literally my job." she points out.

you sigh, knowing you won't win this argument against her. she turns to face forward, staring at the starry sky in thought. meanwhile, you turn toward the opposite direction, seeing that the aflamed building has now been put out. despite that, it pains you to see the apartment you lived in for the past few years in shambles. not all the neighbors were as kind as agnes, but you still called that place home. and now it's gone.

you hold amber tightly against you, her warm fur serving as comfort against the chill of pain that traces up your spine. she purrs against you, nestling deeper into your chest for more pets.

"i have an idea." ellie suddenly blurts out. you turn to look at her, seeing her expression now overcome by newfound determination. "stay with me."

you're instantly taken aback by the proclamation, your brows shooting up as your lips part in shock. "what?"

"my house isn't far from here. come back with me to the fire station so i can change and pick up my car, then we can head over there and you can stay with me for as long as you need until you find yourself a place." she says, her tone making it sound as though it were obvious all along.

"you mean it?" you ask, voice small.

"of course." she confirms. "plus, how could i say no to such a cute cat?"

she reaches out and pets amber gentle behind her ear. she leans into the touch, shutting her eyes and purring loudly. you smile, allowing the two of them a moment to connect. especially considering that you have no idea how long you'll be staying with ellie for.

"this means a lot to me." you say, causing ellie to lift her head and peer up at you, still gently caressing amber. your entire body is overcome with a sense of gratitude for ellie williams and the unintentional safety her presence provides you with. "i mean it."

***

twenty minutes later, you find yourself amid chaos. you rode with ellie back to the fire station and now you're standing awkwardly as everyone files out of their respective trucks. some of them are covered head to toe in soot and grime. others appear unscathed. ellie herself is somewhere between the two ⎯ in need of a shower, but not repulsing in her uncleanliness. you, on the other hand, are extremely dirty and bloody and gross.

amber sleeps in your arms are you press your back against a nearby brick wall and watch the firefighters all bound around the space. some of them are changing right there in the locker room ⎯ which doesn't have a door, by the way, though it's around a corner. others are rushing to the parking lot, desperate to get home.

"sorry," ellie apologizes as she rushes up to you. she no longer wears her hat, short brown hair askew atop her head. she runs her hands through it, giving you a sincere look. "i forgot how hectic it can be to someone who's not used to this."

you have a hand, "ah, it's fine."

secretly, you're dying inside. not only because your headache is beginning to reform at the sudden mayhem, but because ellie looks so fucking good right now. she saved your life and you know it's likely disrespectful to be so attracted to her, but you can't help it. you know what it feels like to be held in her arms and looked at with delicacy and you can't stop yourself from yearning for more.

"you sure?" she ask. "because if you're fine with it, i might just⎯"

"woah there, williams!" one of her coworkers calls out, walking up and draping his arm over her shoulders playfully. "you kidnapped one of the residents?"

she rolls her eyes, though a small smile can be seen on tugging at her lips. "haha, very funny. no, asshole, i didn't kidnap her. she needs somewhere to stay so i offered my place."

the man raises a brow at this, intrigued. he removes his arm from her shoulders and peers down at you curiously. though, once his eyes land on the sleeping cat in your hands, he breaks out into a wide grin. he holds out his hands. "oh my god! please, please, please can i hold him?"

you shoot the man a scowl, turning amber away from his sight. "not a chance. and she's a girl."

his eyebrows shoot up at your protectiveness. he turns to ellie, waiting for her to defend him. she crosses her arms, shaking her head with a chuckle. "she loves her damn cat, man, can't do anything about that."

he sighs, but says nothing to win your favor. he simply grumbles under his breath about being filthy and scurries off to the showers, already stripping his shirt off on his way there.

with him gone, ellie turns to you with a smirk. "glad to see that i'm not the only one who's denied touching your cat at first."

"of course not." you say. "nobody gets to touch her after the tough day she's had."

"that's fair." ellie agrees with a light laugh. after a moment, she says, "anyway. i was going to ask if you're okay with me showering and changing here instead of waiting until we're back home. that way, once we get back, you can have the shower all to yourself while i prepare you a place to sleep."

you nod, "yeah, of course. do whatever works best for you, ellie, i'm not picky."

"okay." she replies, seeming grateful for your flexibility. she glances over her shoulder toward where the locker rooms are. "okay, yeah. you wait on the bench over here, i'll come out and get you when i'm done."

she gestures toward a wooden bench. it's rather ragged and positioned in the very center of the chaos, but you nod regardless. ellie is offering you a place to stay for an undecided amount of time. refusing her orders would be incredibly rude at this point. so, instead, you nod and walk over to the bench whilst she walks over to the women's locker room.

you cross your legs, allowing amber to sleep in your lap as you wait. you can hear the low hum of people talking from deeper within the building ⎯ likely where the offices and more professional rooms are located ⎯ along with the gentle flow of water from the showers down the hall. people are laughing loudly within the locker rooms, the sound of boots and hats and clothes hitting the floor easy to pinpoint.

you allow your eyes to examine the space around you. the floor is concrete, stained with random spills and dirt. hoses and ladders line the brick walls, hung up as high as they can go. then, on the ceiling, large industrial lights sway gently back and forth. the showers are down the hallway, the men and women's locker rooms on either side of the hall.

suddenly, a loud rumble is heard as the huge garage door is lifted up via pulley. your head snaps toward the sound, watching as a bright red truck pulls into the space.

another wave of firemen bustle into the building once a truck shows up and they're able to pile out of it. they rush in different directions, splitting up in groups of those wishing to change and clean and those who wish to go home as soon as possible.

you avert your eyes down to look at amber as the people walk around you, trying not to draw attention to yourself. though, that's rather inevitable as you stick out like a sore thumb. everyone else is in their uniforms while you're in normal clothes, ash and dirt on your skin with a bloodied bandage wrapped around your forearm that you're trying your hardest to ignore.

and, unfortunately, amber draws quite a bit of attention as you hear a few people murmur and coo in awe of the sleeping cat. you tell yourself to ignore it, uncomfortable with the attention.

"hey," someone says. you look up to see a man standing in front of you with two of his friends on either side of him. he's covered in dirt, the stench of fire filling your nose as he nears you. "cute cat."

"thanks." you say shortly, narrowing your eyes at him defensively.

"oh c'mon, i'm not gonna bite." he says with a laugh. you only deepen your glare at this, already able to know what type of guy you're dealing with here. "what's your name, little lady? come here alone? y'know, i could take ya home if ya need a warm bed for the night. we could share."

he takes a step closer, his knees knocking with your crossed ones. he hunches a bit to reach his hand toward amber. you instantly slap it away, not thinking before using your injured arm. you wince a bit, but fight not to show the pain it causes you. he yanks his hand back as though he'd been burned.

"fuck off." you snap. "at least have the decency to ask before touching her."

"watch it." he sneers. "i've been out saving people all day. i don't need some ungrateful bitch to tell me what i can and can't do."

you roll your eyes. "clearly you do, seeing as you can't tell for yourself what's acceptable."

"how dare you!" he gapes.

his friends both step closer, the three of them crowding you. your arm aches at your side from having used it so carelessly to slap him away. you don't falter, though, knowing that's exactly what they want you to do. instead, you hold your ground and scowl up at him, holding the man's gaze without blinking.

"it's common fucking etiquette to not touch someone without asking." you tell him.

"i didn't touch you, dumbass." he says, his voice growing louder with each word. a few people are beginning to turn toward the commotion, nosily wondering what's going on. "i touched your cat. big fucking difference, there."

"the principle still stands." you point out, keeping your expression neutral and your voice perfectly level ⎯ which only serves to make him more irritated. "you're supposed to ask before reaching your grimy ass hands toward me."

"fuck you!" he shouts, now gaining the attention of everyone around you. "i already fucking told you⎯"

"what the hell is going on here?"

all four of you turn to see ellie standing with her arms crossed. her jacket is off, a thin black tank top covering her top half while her baggy uniform pants cover her lower half. her hair is wet, chin dripping water droplets to the cement floor.

at the sight of her, the two friends seem to no longer be interested in the conversation as they suddenly disappear from the scene. the man in front of you frowns, taking a step away from you though his chest continues to rise and fall with angered breaths.

"answer me, smith." she demands, voice laced with venom. "i asked what the hell is going on here and i don't like being ignored by lower ranks."

"i asked to pet her cat and she⎯"

"no he didn't." you interrupt, the entire left side of your body engulfed in pain after having hit the guy's hand. and you didn't even hit him that hard, damn. "he reached out to touch her without asking. not to mention his horrible flirting."

ellie listens to you intently before casting her gaze over to the man, smith. "so you lied to me?"

"what? n-no! i just⎯" he stammers, eyes flicking between you and ellie, frantic for his coworker to understand. "why are you taking her side over mine, williams? we've worked together for⎯ what? two years?"

"yeah, and you're renown for being a complete asshole." she scoffs.

"but she⎯"

"she is a civilian. and it's our job to protect and respect them, is it not?" she points out, raising her brows as he nods, ashamed. "that includes not cursing at them, calling them bitches, or touching them without permission."

"it wasn't her!" he exclaims. "it was just the damned cat!"

"don't touch her fucking cat, man." calls out the guy who ellie had talked to earlier. the one she seemed to actually enjoy being around. he appears to have just gotten out of the shower, naught but a towel around his waist to substitute as clothing.

"gee, i had no idea." smith grounds out through clenched teeth, his fists balled at his sides. "i can fucking see that now. thanks."

"anytime, buddy." the other man says with a wink before disappearing back into the locker room.

ellie continues to stand behind smith her her arms crossed, her thin tank top showing off every muscle in her torso. you have to force yourself not to stare, distracting yourself by petting amber's back delicately.

"apologize." ellie demands.

"what? me?" he asks, confused. "but⎯"

"i'm not fucking asking, smith." she threatens. "apologize to the pretty lady or i tell miller about this whole thing and you lose your damn job."

apparently, the mention of miller seems to snap smith into obedience as he quickly nods his head and turns to you with a scowl. his fists continue to shake at his sides, his anger balled between his fingers there.

"i'm. sorry." he grunts.

you should accept it, you know you should. but you were never good at doing what you're supposed to. so, instead, you tilt your head innocently and ask, "sorry for what exactly?"

he appears on the edge of insanity as he clenches his jaw and rushes out a quick explanation. "i'm sorry for trying to touch your cat."

"without..." you trail off, allowing him to follow.

"without asking." he finishes.

you smile victoriously, nodding to ellie as to allow her to dismiss him. she obliges, turning to him and giving him one last lecture on respect and obedience before allowing him to make the walk of shame back to the locker room full of men who just heard that entire encounter.

when he turns the corner, ellie walks up to you with a playful grin. "damn, you surely stood your ground there."

"of course i did." you agree. "not just anyone can touch my cat."

she huffs out a laugh, shaking her head at you fondly. "c'mon, lets get out of here. the shower was freezing anyway. all these assholes stole the hot water before i even had a chance."

"okay." you smile, shifting amber in your arms before standing from the bench.

the two of you walk out of the fire station and into the parking lot. the moon hangs high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the parked cars. you watch ellie as she pulls her keys from her pocket and unlocks her vehicle. the moonlight illuminates her skin with a soft hue, her wet hair clinging to the back of her neck.

you reach the car and enter the passenger's seat, holding amber in your lap as ellie puts the key into the ignition the car rumbles into motion. she backs out of the parking space and heads down the road, one hand on the wheel as the other is lazily draped over the center console between the two of you.

you watch through the window as the city passes you by in a blur, cars and shops reflect the moon's glow, everything cast under its resplendent coloring. you turn to ellie, deciding to fill the air with conversation.

"so you're a high rank firefighter?" you ask. "sure looked like those guys respected the fuck out of you."

she chuckles, "i'm ranked high, yes. but they only listen to me because the boss will always take my side over any of theirs and they knows that."

"miller?" you question, recalling the name she'd spoken.

"yeah. joel miller." she confirms. "he's an intimidating man and you'd have to be a fool not to be scared of him."

"are you? scared of him, i mean."

"i was." she says. "but after a few years of working under him and getting to know him as a person rather than just his position of authority, i feel i know him too well to be scared of him."

you hum, "that sounds nice, though. you have power over everyone else."

"yeah. sometimes i wish they'd just respect me without joel's reputation looming over my every move." she confesses with a sigh, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel lightly. "most of my coworkers would rather die than respect a woman, though, so i'm a bit out of luck there."

"well, fuck them." you say. "if they can't see your worth outside of your relationship with miller, their opinions don't mean shit."

her eyebrows shoot up at this, shocked by your sudden ferocity. once the initial shock dwindled, though, she laughs. a full-chested laugh that fills the car. your heart clenches at the sound, musical and luminary in its significance.

"yeah." she says between laughter. "yeah, fuck them."

you laugh along with her, the conversation falling into an easy rhythm. you get to know ellie better and she gets to know you, the both of you simultaneously coming to the decision that it'd be best to get the small talk out of the way before you live together for an undetermined amount of time.

amber remains curled up in your lap, her fur still covered in ash. not like you're much better yourself, though, as your hair is coated in soot and your skin has a thick layer of filth atop it.

when ellie pulls into her driveway, you're shocked to see the house. it's a small cottage-styled building, made of cobblestone and white shudders. the sidewalk is framed with bushes and flowers that have clearly been tended to by their owner. if you were completely honest, you'd expected ellie to live in some sort of industrial building, hardened and dark like her personality.

she shuts off the car and you both exit through your respective sides of the vehicle, amber jostling awake in your hold. ellie unlocks the front door before allowing you entry, the lock clicking as she turns the handle.

you walk inside, the space small but cozy. one bedroom, one bathroom, an open layout for the kitchen and living room. the flooring is wood, antique carpets laid out over the larger spaces. plaid blankets are draped over chairs and couches, available to the user.

"this is cute," you say, looking around, "didn't take you for a homey decor type."

she chuckles, shutting and locking the front door behind herself. "well i've gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

you laugh, placing amber on the floor to allow her time to roam and stretch her legs. in an instant, she's disappeared and won't be found for the next few hours. ellie leads you to the bathroom, allowing you time to clean off.

the bathroom is small as well, a tiny sink surrounded by a messy counter beside the toilet and tiny shower. if you're being completely honest, you love the house. it's so small and yet so comfy and warm. the disheveled nature to the house makes it feel more like a home, lived in and used. you love it. ellie, on the other hand, has been subtly tidying up as you guys walk through the space. while you examine the shower, she stacks up the messily placed contents of the countertop. when you turn back around to face her, she instantly stops, quick to cover up what she'd been doing. you find it oddly endearing.

"well," she murmurs, "i'll leave you to it."

with that and nothing more, she exits the bathroom. she'd already showed you how to use the shower and where to find towels so you're well prepared to wash off. but, as you strip your clothes off, a fiery pain shoots down your arm and up your side. you wince, looking down at the bandaged wound. it's bleeding through the material, your fingers beginning to feel numb from how tight it's wrapped.

you ignore it and step into the shower, trying to wash off without any thought for the searing pain in your limb. you wash your hair and scrub your body with your uninjured arm, the scent of ellie filling the air. her shampoo and body wash now coats you, a certain intimacy to the domestic act of sharing bathroom supplies. for some reason, the flutter in your heart is harder to ignore than the physical agony in your forearm.

you finish showering and wrap yourself in the towel ellie had set out for you. water drips onto the tile flooring, creating a puddle around you. you hug the towel closer to your body, not wanting to make a mess in ellie's home. but your arm suddenly aches at the way you tighten your grip.

with a groan, you decide to unwrap the wound and check on how it's doing. seeing as ellie is a firefighter, you're sure she's got some bandages under the sink. you undo it, instantly grimacing at the sight of the gore. you wince as cold air touches the open wound.

"fuck," you mutter, taking in the lack of care the paramedic put into helping you. there's no way you should have walked off without stitches or some kind of cleaning.

you crouch down to the cabinet under the sink and begin rummaging through its contents. you feel horrible for going through ellie's belongings in such a way, but you assure yourself it's for a good reason. you eventually find a first-aid kit and you crack it open.

unfortunately, you have no experience with medical care. half the things in the kit are foreign to you, random rolls of gauze and unlabeled ointments. you frown, the pain in your arm only growing as more time passes. eventually, you decide to just bite the bullet and ask ellie for assistance. you stand from the floor and close her cabinet before calling out to her.

"ellie! can you come in here for a sec?" you shout, sitting down on the closed toilet seat with the first aid kit in your lap. within seconds, she's opening the door, now changed into a pair of shorts and a random band tee.

"hey, what's—" her words instantly cut off when her gaze lands on your bloody arm, the wound no longer wrapped and now reopened. "holy shit, what are you doing?"

she rushes over to you, her voice laced with concern and desperation to help you. your eyes sting at the sound, never having heard someone so worried about you. you blink it away, looking down as you struggle to explain yourself. "the paramedic didn't wrap it well and— it, uh, hurt really fucking bad, and—"

"shh, shh," she walks over to you with soothing tones and gentle hands, "you're okay, let me see."

you hold your arm out to her, allowing her to examine it. she holds your wrist delicately in her hand, turning your arm over to look at the wound. she sucks in a breath at the sight. you frown, "is it that bad?"

"no, just," she sighs, "don't worry about it, okay? i'll fix it as best i can."

she crouches in front of you, taking a few things from the first aid kit. you watch as she picks out a specific ointment, her knowing exactly what to grab despite them not having labels. she then grabs a roll of gauze and a bottle of something, but the label is faced away from you. she sets the ointment and gauze aside, uncapping the bottle.

"this is gonna hurt." she warns you as she grabs a rag from the disarrayed countertop and pours a bit of the liquid onto the fabric. when she places the bottle aside you manage to read the name of it. hydrogen peroxide. she notices your wary gaze and gives you a reassuring smile. "it's a disinfectant, it'll clean the wound to prevent any infections."

you nod, sighing through your nose as you hold your forearm out to her. she watches you with furrowed brows as she places the rag over the open wound. you instantly stiffen, wincing through the pain. your jaw clenches as the liquid seeps into open flesh. you squeeze your eyes shut, "fuck that hurts." you pant.

"i know, i know," she whispers, gentility laced between the threads of her tone. "it's okay, you'll feel better soon, just— just breathe,"

you try to do was she instructs, but your breath comes out choppy and uneven. you open your eyes to see her staring up at you with pursed lips and a knitted brow. the sheer worry in her gaze adds weight to the air that suffocates you. it presses down on your chest and further constricts your lungs, which only serves to deepen her worry.

you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the wall behind ellie's head. you stare at it intently, though you remain unable to shake the queasy feeling that comes with knowing ellie's eyes are on your face, tracing every feature that adorns it.

finally, she removes the rag from your arm and you're flooded with the relief of no longer being burned from the inside out. she sets the cloth aside and grabs the ointment, squeezing a small dot of it onto her forefingers.

"will this hurt too?" you ask tentatively.

she shakes her head, "no, this will soothe the pain."

"okay." you nod. "i'm far more excited for this part then."

"i don't blame you," she says with a light laugh.

she then leans forward holding you arm with an indescribably delicacy. you find yourself yearning to lean into her touch, wanting to collapse in her arms. but, somehow, you find the strength to hold back and remain sitting upright on the toilet seat. she runs her fingers down the soft part of your forearm, coating you torn skin in an off-white salve. the cool temperature instantly soothes the pain and you let out a soft sigh at the feel of it.

"oh yeah, this is so much better," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

she looks up at you through her lashes, head remaining downcast as she carefully adds more ointment. "how'd this happen anyway? you just took the wrap off?"

"the paramedic wrapped it too tight." you explain. "my fingers were going numb and i could feel my heartbeat in my forearm. he didn't add any of this fancy shit you're adding either."

she chuckles, "ointment and disinfectant, you mean? it's hardly fancy. i'd have thought a paramedic would be smart enough to know that." her teeth grit slightly as she clenches her jaw around the mention of the incompetent medic who handled you earlier. she shakes her head, "i should've stayed with you and made sure he'd done his job right."

"that's not you obligation, ellie." you remind her. "and look. you're helping me now far better than any medic would have. i almost prefer it this way."

"oh really?" she asks, unconvinced. "you prefer to have some strange woman attempt to fix you up in her messy bathroom than a licensed and highly qualified paramedic in an ambulance?"

you shrug, "well he apparently wasn't that highly qualified."

"true," she agrees with a laugh.

she finishes coating on the ointment and twists the cap back onto it before setting it on the countertop beside the discarded rag and peroxide. she grabs the roll of gauze and begins to unravel it.

you watch her with lidded eyes, the events of today beginning to catch up to you. it's hard to believe you'd woken up this morning thinking it'd be a normal day. you'd just gotten back from work when you smelt smoke from one of your neighbor's apartments. the though didn't click in your head until you saw flames beginning to crawl into your home. one thing lead to another, and now you're here. in the house of someone who you hadn't known five hours ago.

"still," you murmur as she starts to wrap the gauze, "i prefer you helping me because you actually care about my wellbeing and not just making as much money as possible. you're kind, ellie. i'd be a fool to prefer a medic over you."

she lifts her head to meet your eyes, her movements coming to a sudden halt. her pale green eyes bore into your own, something sensual and momentous passing between the space that separates you. the bathroom is enveloped into a long wave of silence, nothing done nor spoken.

the weight of your situation presses down on you both. ellie, in her baggy shorts and stained band tee, having invited a wounded stranger into her home ; you, in naught but a towel, feeling more at home in ellie's vicinity than you ever did anywhere else.

a tether is tied between you as you feel the weight of the world pull you toward ellie. you lean in, just barely, ready for something you can hardly even process at the time being. she does the same, completely disregarding the gauze and pinning every ounce of her attention to you and the closing gap between you.

your noses brush and a spark ignites deep within you, something in your soul screaming that this is correct. a celestial puzzle clicks into place when your lips meet hers, the stars in the sky and the soil under mother nature screaming with victory as the two of you connect.

she tastes of fire and desperation, you of toothpaste and exhaustion. your wounded arm means nothing to you when you shift forward to wrap them both around ellie's neck and tug her closer. she does, rising to her knees as she places her hands on each of your hips, only a thin white towel separating her hands from your bare skin. she leans into you, allowing her hands to feel and memorize the curves of your poorly covered body.

"wait," she mutters against your mouth, "wait wait wait."

you pull back, staring at her with curiosity. her pupils are blown, cheeks flushed, lips wet. everything in you begs to lean back in, but you force that feeling down and oblige by her wishes to part. "what is it?" you ask.

"just—" she cuts herself off with a sigh, staring into your eyes with naught but adoration behind her irises. "i really like you and, uh," she looks down, blinking harshly as she tries to voice her thoughts without fucking it all up. your heart melts at the sight, remaining patient as she sorts through her jumbled mind. "i want to take my time with you. i don't want this to just be some fling. i respect you more than that."

you continue to stare at her, your eyes doing all the talking when your mouth is out of words to say. after a long moment, you finally say, "that's fine, ellie. we can do whatever you're comfortable with."

her shoulders relax at the sound of her name on your tongue, spoken with such careful delicacy that it sounds like music, like it should be praised and studied for hundreds of years to come. not only that, but she softens at your words as well, eternally grateful for your understanding.

"we can still kiss though," she's quick to add.

you laugh, shaking your head fondly at her rush to make sure that's out of the way. you lean in, still smiling as your lips touch. everything falls into place around you, nothing aside from ellie mattering to you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 taglist : @luvsturniolo @zombieegirl @elliestunna

[mostly-imagines]

Things About My Jason

aka things that might weasel their way into details of stories one day, might not

your boy is clocking in at 6’4 + 3/4 inches and about 245 lbs (he’s the only batkid to be taller than bruce). 

he cusses a lot it, usually doesn’t correlate w anger or intensity its just how he expresses himself. he’ll cuss at you sometimes but not at you and he tries his best to never do it out of anger.

he’s never said it out loud but he would drop all the vigilante shit for you in a heartbeat if you wanted him to (i think he’s also the only batfam member who would do that).

you have an agreement in place to never make any big decisions in the middle of the night/post patrol—this came into place after a few too many bad nights had him coming home shaking and panicked about your safety and convinced he needed to leave you alone for good. 

he kind of zones out sometimes, its bordering on dissociation.

you have a black cat, salem, that’s been around since before you and jason had even met. his yellow eyes pierce you in a way that feels like he’s glaring straight into your soul and judging what he sees. he was suspicious of jason for a while but over time has come to love and protect jason almost as much as you.

he has a lot of nervous habits that have built up over years of stress and trauma. he’ll often double or even triple check locks and cameras. his hand tends to go to where his gun holster would be, regardless of whether or not its there. he’s very conscious of your breathing, especially when you’re asleep, and when he’s stressed or upset he’ll try to align his breathing with yours. he worries that you might get annoyed with how often he checks up on you, be it asking directly, texting you, or just looking you over to make sure you’re doing okay, that you’re happy. he’s also made a habit of standing directly behind you when you’re wearing anything short, especially skirts or dresses. You’re not entirely sure if it’s intentional or not.

day to day, he runs on very little sleep naturally so he’s awake early goes to bed late. he used to not focus much on making meals that actually taste good and have thought put into them until he started dating you. he started catering his grocery trips specifically with you in mind and the things you might like. he actually prefers going on grocery trips and little mundane errands with you bc he had no idea that these tiny aspects of life could bring him so much joy and peace. he also buys you new towels and updates your first aid kit constantly, though the latter is more out of his necessity than yours. depending on his mood, he’ll usually either take scalding hot or freezing showers. 

he’s 100% down to let you decorate the apartment however you want, even if you move into his place. his only ask is that he’s left with space to put his books (of which ne needs plenty). if he had to choose, he probably likes a warm atmosphere best, in terms of like lighting and colors. he’s really just not a fan of anything that feels cold or impersonal like the manor can sometimes seem. other than that he doesn’t really have opinions on it, whatever makes you happy he’ll like. but he’ll still happily go shopping with you to find stuff. but really that’ll just look like you saying “ooh look at this” and him saying “great, lets get it” at every single thing you pick up. 

there are unloaded guns and ammo hidden around your apartment and also stocked generously in a closet or two. he cleans them regularly, you think he does it partially as a kind of stress reliever. before you he didn’t have too much regard for his own safety, so he would sleep with one under his pillow. 

he does everything he can to keep you safe and he’ll insist on adding extra locks to the doors and windows, ones the landlord wont have keys to. yeah he’s paranoid so he’ll keep the bed as far from the door as possible and is unrelenting in his insistence that you sleep on the wall side. if you’re too tired to move, that’s okay, he’ll gently move you over himself. honestly though, your apartment is just as secure, if not more, than any of his safe houses. as such, he absolutely can and will easily hack into the lobby security cameras to check up on things. if he has to go away for a while he’ll send one of his siblings to stop by to check on you and make sure you're okay. 

he prefers to wear layers, it makes him feel more secure and comfortable. he does like cutoff sleeves sometimes but only because you like them on him. aside from that, he’s usually not such a fan of showing much skin because of a) his scars and b) he feels exposed to attacks. he has so many long sleeved and warm clothes in his closet that he heavily encourages you to bundle up in some of them when its cold. 

he goes through phases of bad sleep and they can vary greatly in severity. there’s nights he just physically cannot sleep and this usually originates from intense anxiety. these are easier to ease him back from and some simple comforting will be enough to get him to at least try to sleep. most commonly its the nightmares that make it hard for him. it’ll usually be a one-off that he just can’t fall back asleep afterwards. the worst is when he goes through phases of frequent nightmares, like every night, multiple times a night. when that happens, he will do everything in his power to stay awake for as long as he can. you’ve yet to find any techniques that hands down prevent or even slow the nightmares, but you’ve been able to find some remedial measures that work pretty well.

kissing him helps get his mind off scary thoughts (but not joker related) but not just like single peck it’s got to be a whole session to really work. the one that works best is having a hand on one of your pulse points while you sleep, or directly over your heart. unfortunately this did lead to him to accidentally choking you after a particularly bad nightmare. he was absolutely horrified and removed his hands from you completely the second he gained recognition. he actually fully got out of bed and backed away from you. he wouldn’t even hear you out about him not sleeping on the couch and continued to not budge on it for over a week. 

him punishing himself like that made you feel extra bad because that had occurred during a round of the relentless nightmares and you were sure he was still waking up panicked constantly without you there to help soothe him. you actually know for a fact he was because every couple of hours the bedroom door would creak open slightly before shutting again like he was checking to make sure you were there and okay. you ended up having to literally lay on top of him on the couch and refuse to leave him for him to agree to sleep in bed with you again, although he was still not willing to fall asleep with his hands on you for a while. 

he always needs it to be quiet when he goes to sleep so he can stay on alert which usually leads to him waking up to the littlest sounds, which is technically the point. if there’s any kind of white noise he’ll force himself to stay awake. if he does get woken up he’ll go from 0 to 100 like that. he also needs the door to be shut, non negotiable, and really prefers the apartment to be colder > hotter. it also helps that you’ll cuddle into him for warmth.

all of these things are things he did before you met, but he’d also developed some new habits after you got together. he used to sleep in the middle of the bed but now he absolutely insists that you sleep on the wall side so he can act as a protective barrier between you and any incoming danger. unless its after a rough patrol, he tends to wait to sleep until after you’ve fallen asleep. he doesn’t really have a reason for this, it just makes him feel better.

his relationship with bruce is complicated, of course. in my canon, the extent of it is that bruce didn’t kill the joker, prevented jason from doing it, and has made many attempts to stop jason from killing at all. obviously it’s not the fact that batman won’t let anybody die that broke jason’s heart, it’s that his father couldn’t let go of his moral code for a second and avenge his murdered son. the resulting anger stems from so much sadness and grief over his own death and it caused him to isolate himself even further from bruce. on a conscious level, he wanted to be far away from him emotionally as possible to protect himself while still enacting his own kind of revenge towards bruce. and so yeah, he did try to kill batman a couple times, whatever.

on an unconscious level, he’d hoped that bruce would take the initiative to try to close the space between them and apologize, and while jason didn’t know it yet: that was all he really wanted from him. inwardly, he still cares what bruce thinks and wants his approval and affection but its so conflicting for him. it also doesn’t help that it took bruce such a long time to swallow his pride and even consider that he was wrong before he could apologize. a lot of negotiations had to take place before they could even begin to really reconcile. 

about a year later they’d come to a steady, solid agreement that mostly worked for both of them. jason was allowed to kill, but only within his territory in gotham and only under agreed upon circumstances. there’s also a separate rule that jason’s not allowed out on patrol when the joker is loose—it used to be a whole thing before you’d met and oftentimes several bats were assigned to keep him away. even with these guidelines in place, things were still rocky between them and jason had only just started to come back around the manor when he’d met you. honestly you and bruce meeting was a major step in this process and everyone could feel the shift.

his relationship with his brothers is different, but just as complicated. he kind of views dick as being perfect in spite of also acknowledging his flaws. in his head, its sort of like, in comparison to himself, dick had the perfect life with perfect versions of all the same pitfalls jason had to go through. he knows its not really fair to think of it this way, but it’s hard sometimes. all in all though, he does look up to dick a lot. 

with tim, he thinks he’s a crazy rich kid—which, fair—but also in a weird way holds a lot of respect for tim for not being afraid of him. realistically, the way jason showed back up and his relationship  with tim started is insane, so its even more insane that tim was like ‘yeah, chill’ and that probably jump started their bond as brothers more than anything. 

for as much shit as he gives him, he honestly feels really bad for damian and all the shit he was raised believing. he couldn’t quite explain why, but he does see a lot of himself in damian, even past the surface level anger. 

he’s not good at resolving fights, his mind tends to jump to the absolute worst and he assumes you’re done with him, you resent him, it’s all over. it was really bad at the beginning of your relationship when he hadn’t even begun to consider that you love him half as much as he loves you. now, you’ve been able to help him understand that you still love him, even when you fight, and fighting does not equal breaking up. however, he still has trouble taking initiative in making amends. not because he doesn’t want to but more so because he feels vulnerable in ways that terrify him, having to acknowledge and speak into existence that he’d done something wrong feels like setting himself up to be exposed with no defense. 

another part of him feels like he already hurt you and if he tries to remedy things with you, he could just make it worse. So for a while at least, you’ll have to be the one to start the conversation, though not necessarily meaning you have to apologize first. 

as we know, Jason’s not immune to bouts of fear and stress. there’s times when he panics and there’s times when he has full blown panic attacks. the panic attacks are rarer, but much more severe. he’s known to lash out (especially when he’s not at your apartment) and has definitely broken a nose or two of people who got too close/tried to touch him. you’re not sure if it’s an intentional action or not, but he tends to claw at his skin or hit himself in the head when he’s very upset. after going through a couple of these with him, you’ve compiled a thorough list of DOs and DONTs for these times. DONT hold his wrists, move suddenly, touch him without warning, or corner him. DO keep your touches light, words soft, rooms vacant of other people, and loud noises. slowly but surely they’re getting less severe and overcome quicker.

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[fangsandfeels]

Quite often, I'm sad that Larian canned the original idea of letting origin characters narrate their story and choices. It gave such a nice flavor to their personal stories and their emotions during every encounter.

For instance, upon encountering a wounded illithid who tried to mind control them:

Astarion already fucking hates this thing - he growls as he describes it, he seethes. And then he almost sobs, when the mindflayer tries to force him to think he deserved to be whipped and flayed for resisting it. And it makes perfect sense for him to react like that -- not only does he hate any intrusion into his mind, but also, the mindflayer found his trigger and made him feel miserable.

Meanwhile, Shadowheart, in the same scene, sounds a lot more collected, and observant, detached even when the mindflayer pushes into her mind. Sharite training pays off - she has probably been prepared for such attacks and is ready to endure what it takes to fulfill her mission. She needs to keep her focus and press on.

Will is straight-up poetic. He doesn't narrate; he tells a story he is immersed in (and wants to get you immersed too). He doesn't hate the dying mindflayer -- he has no reason to, it's dying all the same. He is taken aback by the compulsion attempt, clearly processing the emotions the creature tries to drag him through, but he is still in control, clearly understanding what it's trying to do. And of course, he would be in control - he is an experienced monster hunter, he dealt with all kinds of creatures. He knows a mental attack when he sees one.

Oh, and Gale, Gale just brings that classy "stranded in another world log" vibe. He is one of those sci-fi protagonists who go through the horrors and wonders, but always narrate them in the calmest of voices because they can't afford losing focus and losing their cool. Of course, Gale is also sympathetic, and curious, and melancholic at times, but it's all contained. I don't know if it was intentional, but his lines conveyed the feeling of isolation despite being surrounded by people.

Yes, Amelia Tyler is perfect, but I feel like BG3 origin character playthroughs suffer from the same effect that Divinity: Original Sin 2 origin stories did -- aside from a couple of details, more personalized interactions, and a bit more insights related to personal quests, they blend together with custom character behavior a lot.

Narration by VAs would have added such a nice personal touch to every choice and decision - not to mention compensated for the lack of voiced dialogues.

[sanguinesky-if]

Sanguine Sky

DEMO [Public] [Updated 11/05/2024] genres: romance, modern-fantasy, supernatural, mystery, dark-fantasy.

Sanguine Sky is a work-in-progress modern dark-fantasy interactive novel. The story is heavily focused on romance, characters, and relationships.

The story rated 18+, contains mature and distressing content that may be triggering to certain individuals. It is recommend to check the full list of warnings before you proceed to the story. Please exercise caution and take care of yourself.

Word count [Public]: 96k [excl. code] | 116k words [incl. code] Word count [Patreon]: 180k [excl. code] [Updated 09/11/2024]

You are a detective, tasked with investigating mysterious murders that have taken place in your normally quiet and peaceful hometown, Fallenmor. 

With two victims confirmed already, the initial one being your former mentor, Detective Bergmann, the situation couldn't seem more dire. Or so you thought until you received the news of another body, a possible third victim, discovered at the police station. In your very own office. 

An accident, a mere coincidence, a straightforward warning, a looming threat, or something entirely else… Whatever is happening, you feel it affecting you, awakening something both significantly familiar and distinctly foreign inside of you.

If only you knew that this was just the beginning… Things could have been different. 

But back then, in your ignorance, your singular concern lay with a pressing question: if you failed to find the murderer, who would become the next victim?

➤ Play as male, female, non-binary or trans; straight, gay, or bisexual.

➤ Customize your appearance and shape your personality.

➤ Take on the role of a detective, immerse yourself in the work of the police station.

➤ Embrace the mystery of your existence, or reject that inner sight of you.

➤ Seven romance options to choose from. Select their gender, be shy or bold, or focus on your goal without pursuing anyone.

All ROs are player-sexual and gender-selectable [M/F].

Kyle / Keira Moreno

Your colleague, a police inspector, and one of the rudest people you have ever met. Sharp and stern, K is surprisingly perceptive, and they use it to really see you. The good, the bad. Everything. Appearance: icy blue eyes, dark red hair, very pale skin.

Alexis 'Lex / Lexie' Conlan

Your best friend, and also your former partner from times when you were just a patrol officer. With a heart of gold and an approachable attitude, L always chooses you over the others. Appearance: forest green eyes, copper hair, beige freckled skin.

Morgan Schoivell

Your other colleague, a highly-skilled lab technician. M is rather reserved when it comes to emotions, and after almost a year of working together, M is still a walking mystery for you. Appearance: dark brown eyes, ash blonde hair, light skin.

Roderick / Rebecca Reyes

The commanding agent of the Criminal Investigative Division (CID) team sent to catch the killer. Overbearing and ruthless, R has their own way of getting things done. Appearance: gray eyes, blonde hair, pale skin.

Theodore 'Theo' / Theresa 'Tess' Vazquez

Another member of the CID team. With a cocky smile, T is full of flirts and sneering comments, regardless of the occasion. T has no doubts about what they want and isn't afraid to vocalize it. Appearance: dark green eyes, black curly hair, rich brown skin.

Isaac / Iris Brailsford

I looks the most mature and approachable of CID's fellow agents. Looks can be deceiving, though. Working behind the scene and watching from afar, I carries all the scars within. Appearance: hazel eyes, dark brown hair, olive skin.

Sebastian / Selena Goldstein

Someone new and temporary, S has a velvety voice and a perfect smile that doesn't reach their eyes. You're not sure if your paths will cross in the future, but something tells you S can't be trusted. Appearance: black eyes, long black wavy hair, bronze skin.

Other notable characters:

Your twin-sister: Your sweet, kind, caring, and gentle twin sister. She always tries to be there for you, and show how much she appreciates you, no matter what. Chief of Police, Kendrick Nash: Your boss, who is not handling his job so well after the recent death of his husband, Klemens Bergmann. Detective Klemens Bergmann: Police chief's husband, who happened to be a senior detective and your mentor. He was the first victim, murdered under mysterious circumstances.

A full list of warnings is available in the demo before beginning of the story. I recommend to check it before you proceed to reading.

Links: DEMO | CoG Forum | Q&A | Romance | Tags & Links | Patreon | Ko-Fi | Error Reports |

Thank you for your interest ♥

[tan1shere]

Mind Games

Billie Eilish x Female reader !

A/n: got a few ideas for this story and I'm so insanely proud of it, I just hope everyone else enjoys it <3

Warnings: SMUT HOES mdni. Ice play, pure filth, strap usage, sub/bratty reader, soft dom billie + a mommy kink 😁 lmk if I missed anything !!

Summary: Billie had been working all day for the past few days, you had been a bit bored and she was being a bit dry with you, causing you to get moody, just wanting some of her attention. You definitely got your wish in the end.

Masterlist

All day. All fucking day she had been in that room. You understand she was working, you got that. But even Finneas told her she didn't need to. Billie was always a hard worker but this had been going on for three days straight you missed her. You were starting to get sexually frustrated, considering you hadn't even had a slight kiss in days, you just wanted to be with her. You'd occasionally go in there to check on her, but she was always so dry with you. Which lead you to your new found behavior. And only then did she pry her eyes away from that stupid computer screen.

It was currently 9 pm at night, nearly 10. Your small figure glided through the small Crack of the door, shutting it quietly behind you. "Baby, come to bed." She waved you off. "Inna minute." Her voice was sharp but at the same time so incredibly dull. This set something off in you. "Orrr you could do it now." She didn't even respond, continuing to click away at the keyboard. You let out an annoyed breath. "You're annoying." You then say. Still, nothing. "My fucking God." You muttered quietly under your breath, but being so close in the silent room, she most definitely heard it. She didn't stop what she was doing though. Letting out a small chuckle. "No need to be like that." Your eyes only roll at that dumb statement. "Theres every need." Again shes not giving you any time of day. "Don't be a pest." Your brows furrow deeply at her words. "Me?! Pft, I'm not the one being dry." She lets out a deep sigh, it coming out a tiny bit raspy.

That just went straight to your core, but you couldn't let it. You needed to keep pestering her the way you were, in order to get any kind of message across. "You want attention?" There, she finally looks at you for what felt like forever. Her eyes had slight bags under them, making her eyes more provoking, you wanted to give yourself up then and there, but you resist. Playing that game. "Yeah, maybe I do? Cuz you're held up in here, when you don't even need to be." Her eyes dart back to the computer screen ignoring everything you had to say, making your frustrations even more visible. "Bitch." You mumbled, going to walk away.

"Sit." She demands sternly, her voice now carrying a slow, taunting tone in the way she spoke. Her hand grips your arm, tightly. Tingles, you silently swallow feelings that sane tingle go through your entire body. You reluctantly do as told, slowly going to sit on her lap. Her hand moves to your hip bone, having it rest there. But she doesn't keep her focus on you for very long. Back to that damn screen again. That irritation still deep within you, taking only one single flick to ignite. She knew what you wanted, but she still wasn't giving it to you. Why? You huff out, letting your focus go onto the door to the room, not even looking at her. "Why so bratty? All because you aren't getting your own way." It's your turn to stay silent. "Cat got your tongue?" Nada. A breath of disapproval leaves her plump lips. Her eyes occasionally look at you and your posture. Your figure. You always wore a black silk night dress to bed, she loved it. The way it'd fall on your body so beautifully. She could never ever resist you when you wore them.

Maybe that was how to get her attention all along. That, and the brattiness. "Alright. Where's my good girl at?" Silence from your end, you wanted to keep this charade up still. "Hm?" She'd continue when you wouldn't respond. Her finger dug into your hip, making you move around a bit, when you finally look at her. Her eyes were the same as her voice, taunting. Sending a shiver down your spine. Those fucking eyes. "Answer me." Again, nothing. "That's the game you wanna play huh?" Her attention was definitely on you now. For the right reason? Who knows. You wondered if you had fucked up, getting a bit nervous at the way she was acting. So nonchalant, her actions so aloof. She wrapped an arm around you, standing with your legs wrapped around her waist.

She strides over to your bedroom, it being dim. The only source of light was coming from your ensuite, that blood red color from the led's cascading into the room you two were in currently. Contrasting how filthy this moment was truly about to be. Your body fell onto the soft black duvet, the bottom of your night dress riding up in the process. She lets her eyes wander for only a second. Making her way over to the closet. "Billi-" But that was instantly cut short when you saw the mix of her HMHAS belt and chains dangling in her right hand. Uh oh. Was the only thing racing through your brain. You were truly in for it.

She comes over to you, her eyes remaining the same, lust filled libido ones from earlier. God this woman. You watch her left hand as it comes in contact with your chin, lifting up your face to look at her. "Do I even need to utter instructions?" She spoke lowly. Do you test it? Continue to be bratty? She wasn't going to go easy on you either way, so you decided it's probably best to behave for now. You give it a moment, putting both of your hands behind your back. She smirks slightly at how well you obeyed. She moves closer to you, looming over your body to tie the belt around your wrists. "Very good." She whispers near your ear. Your breath hitches, closing your eyes. Feeling the coolness of the metal, making your mouth let out a soft gasp. Feeling those same exact shivers all over, once again.

She stood back, observing the scene infront of her. Usually she'd do that and fuck you right then and there. But oh boy were you in for a rude awakening tonight. She leaves the room, making your brows knit together in such confusion, only for her to soon come back with a small glass of ice. Your eyes widen, drifting from the ice, to her face. It had turned evil. Sexy. You didn't want to admit how turned on it made you when she got like this, but it sure did. She drops to her knees, slowly going for the strings of your underwear, sliding them off your soft legs. Letting them pool around your ankles. Her fingers grip one cube, bringing it to your chest. Your body jolts at the cool feeling.

It being soothing in a strange way, as your body had became super hot. Due to the fact she was tormenting you, her eyes, her voice. Her hands. Your brain couldn't function properly. A small noise escapes your lips as the ice slides across your cleavage. Your eyes shutting in the process. She removes it shortly after, getting you to lean back ever so slightly. Her hands spread your legs apart, making the silky fabric slide up your body. Resting on the top of your thighs. Showing how absolutely wet you were for her. She lets out a low hum. Bringing that same chunk of ice to your inner thighs. Sending your eyes shut and mouth agape again. The cool wetness coating your thighs, having you feeling crazy. Loving exactly how it felt. She thought over her next move, gazing your pussy in anticipation. "Watch me turn your mind into my home." She rasps, still maintaining that lustful manner.

Your head lifts, to look at her as she says that. But you're immediately sent back into the state you were in before, as the ice comes in contact with you folds. A moan finally escapes you, she rests her head on her hand, watching everything unfold. You felt such ecstasy as she eventually slide it to your hole, her mouth opens. Mimicking your tiny gasp. She lets a slight chuckle out. "Cute." Your eyes yet again shut, tugging slightly on the restraints. "Bil-"

"Are you my good girl?"

You swallow. "Y-yes." She meets your eyes as they reopen, tilting her head in a way that made a tiny whimper emerge from your slightly swollen lips. Swollen from all the biting you were doing. "Then zip it." You start to frantically nod, earning a cheeky smirk from her end. "Good." She whispers, bringing the ice out again it melting heaps, but before it has completely she moves it up. Kissing your clit perfectly. The icy feeling making you whine out. Keeping silent with your words knowing what she had just said. You couldn't fight this. She thought. Once it's gone she grabs another one, the chill hits your thighs again. "Cold?" You just give a simple nod. "Hmmm. Good." Feeling the feeling you felt before as the ice cube enters your hole. Your back arches wanting more of this feeling. And more. A tiny tired smile is spread across your face, feeling blissed out.

"Think you're winning? With all your grinning?" No answer, only a shake of your head. "but baby. I got the last laugh." You choke on a moan as her fingers suddenly enter you, pushing the ice further in you. Feeling it melt slowly. Her pace was slow and torturing, watching your face contort in pure pleasure. "There she is." Billie draws out. Loving how she has you. Her fingers eventually pick up the pace, sending you into a fit of moans at the rough manner. You were getting there, so incredibly close. She felt it exactly. So ofcourse she pulls them out. "Billiee." You whine, falling back against the bed. She tuts as you speak. "Uh uh, remember what I said." More whines fill her ears, she fucking loved it. Soaking up every delicate sound you made. "Billi please I've been g-" A hand is met with your mouth. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence." Your eyes roll.

Letting out an annoyed groan, her eyebrow raises. To which you only let out a longer one. She removes her hand from your mouth, watching you continue to make that noise. "Touch me." You seem to demand. This makes billie laugh. A laugh you only heard whenever she found something really funny. But this was more vile... Evil... Vicious. You whimper at the jeering tone she was eliciting. "I'm sorry." You pout, regretting all your past decisions that led to this moment. "But I'm loving watching you think you're controlling me instead." The pout becomes more prominent on your lips. She gets close to your face. "Who made you like this?" Her fingers go between your sticky folds. Gathering the sweet necter on her digits. Eventually bringing it to your face. "Go on baby, tell me." Her voice sounded like how velvet felt.

"Y-you." You mumbled. "Sorry what was that mama?" Her fingers go to her mouth, sucking that previous liquid that was coating them. You gulp. "You billie.." Her eyes move to yours, her fingers still in her mouth. Another hum was heard. "Good girl." You breathe out as she says that, feeling your head fall back into the sheets once more. That same finger comes in contact with your face, gently moving over the skin of your cheek. Before she moves it to your lips, you instantly open them, sucking softly. Being on your best behavior now, desperately wanting that release that she neglected earlier on. "Very, very good. Aren't you?" There was a pause. "Only when you want to be, isn't that right?" You keep silent, the most silent you've been that night.

"Don't go quiet on my now angel." You swallow thickly. Her face was inches away from your own. "Isnt. That, right." "Y-yes mommy." A satisfied grin emerges on her features, loving how you called her that. "Such a good girl, huh? ... maybe I should let you cum." Your eyes lit up. She just laughs at your patheticness. Getting up to go get the strap, attaching it to her body. She unties your restraints, letting your arms free. But not for long. She was swift in moving them above your head with one of her hands, staring deep into your soul. "Mind games until you loose control." She breathed against your lips. Your lids flutter shut, squeezing your thighs together. Failing as her legs felt you doing that, using her knees to spread them again. "Once I'm in, there ain't no letting go." She continued, slowly bringing her hand over your face.

Leading down towards your neck, she tightened just a little, watching as your eyes widen. "So pretty.." She trails off, watching the way her hand fit perfectly around your throat. "Mmm." You shut your eyes, feeling the tip prodding at your entrance. A tiny moan surfaces, her hand still holding your wrists letting her other one run from your neck, to your breasts. Very, slowly. When without any warning she takes one big thrust, immediately bottoming out. Having your eyes roll back and your mouth ajar at the insane feeling. "So tight." Your breathing becomes ragged, her pace quickens as more moans come out of you, louder. Just how she liked. If anything you were driving her insane. Not the other way round.

And exactly like before that euphoric feeling crept up making your vision blur. "Please billie please-" You begged. She adored it, she had to let it sink in. The way your whiney voice cracked. "Go on then pretty girl. Cum for me, you deserve it for being sooo good, huh?" You frantically nod as her pace quickens. Her smirk returns as you take every bit of what she's giving you. The feeling comes round, feeling it come crashing down. Gushing out all over the fake dick. She hums truly satisfied at how fucked out you were right now, your breathing slowly coming back. When all of a sudden, she removes her hand from your wrists but only to turn you over. "B-but-" "you didn't think I was done with you, did you?"

A whimper gets let out, feeling the cock still in your sensitive hole, you felt shakey after that last orgasm, trembling as she slightly moves in you.

"Too much.." you breathe sluggishly, closing your eyes as your face smushes into the sheets.

"Mm, isn't it just." .. "might I remind you that you wanted this earlier, correct? Baby."

[swordsandholly]

Live in Five

Reporter Reader x Cameraman Kyle Garrick | Ao3

MDNI | NSFW | cw: sexism, almost car wreck, driving in blizzard, PiV sex, fingering, afab reader, consent checks, unprotected sex, barely edited

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: After your boss sends you and your cameraman out into a blizzard you find yourselves stuck in the snow in your news van. With no signal and no way to get the van out, the two of you have nowhere to go for the night. You have to entertain yourselves one way or another.

A/N: Y'all thank @mareiasereia for sending this ask that reminded me of this idea.

You sigh, looking down at your feet for the time being. As long as you can until you’re forced to stare into the sun behind the silhouetted camera. Cold wind bites at your cheeks, nearly seeping through the thick wool of your trench coat. You hate these winter outdoor broadcasts - can’t ever quite get used to the weather despite doing them for years now. It takes all your concentration to keep your teeth from chattering while you speak.

“How’s my hair?” You ask, squinting as you try to meet Kyle’s eye where he works on setting up his camera.

“Just perf- oh!” He jogs forward, gently tucking what you assume to be a stray piece back. “Perfect. As always.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warming. He always manages to get you flustered, even after years of working together. You’d think you’d get used to it - the way his dark eyes focus in and the slight grit to his voice. Instead it infects you - pools at the base of your spine and gnaws at your concentration.

Kyle whistles at you, holding up a three.

You nod, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat.

Two.

One.

“Thanks, John.” You grin, meeting the camera’s ‘eye’. “The downtown winter festival is well underway. Everyone seems to be enjoying the festivities-”

You go through the normal song and dance. Kyle follows as you move closer to the wooden, painted entrance to the park for the vent. It’s nice this year, actually. The city sprung for a real artist to craft something interesting. Though, nothing will top that one time they let the local elementary school decorate it. It isn’t anything special, this story. Just the usual yearly coverage of the usual winter activities. You’ve done the festival for the past three winters - the first just after the station hired you. If it weren’t for the icy air on your cheeks you might enjoy it more.

Kyle cuts, lowering his camera and you sigh in relief. Even after all this time your cheeks still hurt from smiling for so many minutes straight while talking. At least you didn’t stutter at all. Or slip. You almost wiped out last year. That clip became more popular among the highschoolers than you might have liked.

“Great job, luv.” Kyle grins, giving you a supportive thumbs up.

You snort. “Thanks.”

“It’s so cold.” Kyle sighs as he packs up his camera carefully into it’s case. His hands are always so delicate. “I’m thinkin’ a coffee stop on the way back?”

You hum and glance at your watch. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Always so serious.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Think you’re mixin’ me up with Johnny, luv.”

“Oh, right.” You snicker.

The station you work for is small. Local. Buried in the back woods, covering a single populated town and the surrounding rural counties. Most of the news pertains to weather for the sake of farming, or livestock related accidents. The occasional violence makes its way onto the main, evening segment but generally it isn’t anything that can’t be covered in an article. That’s the other half of your job - updating articles and writing short columns about recent events. It’s not glamourous, but it’s still journalism. Plus, picking up the extra work boosts your pay and vacation time enough to make the job a little more worth it.

You watch from the side while John and Kate prepare for the serious evening news. The big, main anchors of the station. They might as well walk on water around here. Not that they act like it. They’re actually quite kind. Kate’s suits are always smart and often brightly colored. Her hair is always quaffed and you pray that your skin looks that good at her age. John… well, everybody loves John. Hard not to with that warm smile and those wide set shoulders.

“Can you drop these at my desk, sweetheart?” Philip pulls you from your daze. He smirks down at you in that twisted, snake-like way while holding out a file. “Since you’re headed that way.”

You frown. “I’m not your-”

“Thanks a lot.” He drops the papers, the last of your coffee sloshing as you just manage to catch them. Philip is easily the most insufferable asshole in this place. You curse the day you volunteered to move cubicles because it would put you closer to the tech guys. To Kyle. Now you’re sharing a wall with the human embodiment of liquid shit.

It’s not just him, really. Most of the men here don’t see you as anything important. Too young, too new to hold any weight around the station. The pretty, soft girl that does feel good, soft stories. A petting zoo. Some fluffy little thing for them to caress and coo at. You glance back at Kate. The men don’t mess with Kate. What does she do so differently?

It’s not that you mind doing fluff stories. Those are fine. You enjoy them, even. You’d rather spend your time talking about kids selling lemonade to fund their future college (still dystopian) or some dog that managed to save it’s owners life (still cool as hell.) You just wish they took you seriously. That you weren’t treated as lesser for it. Lesser for not wanting to be subjected to violent accidents and crimes that make your gut churn.

So, you do what you usually do when you want to slam your head through a wall, disappear into the tech room. After messily throwing the file on Philip’s desk, of course.

“Alright, darlin’?” Kyle leans back in his chair as you push through the door into the designated ‘bat cave.’

You nod silently, glaring at your feet as you flop down into the open editing bay. It’s nice in here. Calm. Separated from the main office. You feel like you can actually breathe in here.

“There’s my bonnie lass!” Johnny appears from the supply closet with his usual ear to ear grin. You don’t miss the extra pinkness of his lips - or the way Simon follows him out.

You glance over at Kyle who has turned back to his editing. You watch his hands as they move, his eyes locked in on the screen before him. Are you the only person in the world that follows rules? That does as they’re told? How come everyone else gets to break them?

It’s Friday. A massive blizzard blew in seemingly out of nowhere halfway through the work day. Your meteorologist practically scrambled to figure out what to report on and how long it might last. Roach, they call him, on account of that time he survived getting picked up and thrown by a tornado. Most people mutter about leaving early, some preemptively grabbing their coats. A few snuck out the back nearly an hour ago when the weather first started. You opted to hunker down and get some work done, considering the universe blessed you with a lack of Philip for the day.

The harsh utterance of your name has you snapping up, back straight and eyes wide. “Mr. Shepherd! Uh, how can I help you?”

The station owner steps into your cubicle, face as taught and stern as ever. He isn’t the one that hired you but part of your onboarding included a brief meeting with him. You hated every second - an inexplicable pressure building in your chest the entire fifteen minutes. It’s back now.

“There was a massive wreck on the highway. Fifteen cars, apparently.” Shepherd says. “I want you at the hospital giving updates for the site. Take your camera man, too.”

You blink up at him dumbly for a moment. “Sir, I don’t- In this weather? It’s a blizzard out there! We’d just be in the way-”

“It’s not a request.” Shepherd snaps, staring down at you with that bored, icy gaze that makes you desperately wish he had hair you could rip out. You know you have to, though. You’ve seen him fire people more important than you over lesser infractions.

“O-okay.” You murmur, hands balled into fists. Partially from anger, partially to keep them from visibly shaking. It isn’t right. It isn’t right that he’s putting you in this kind of unnecessary danger. Kyle, either. Oh, Kyle…

You drag your feet as you head to the tech room, heart dropping into your gut as you see him packing up and pulling on his thick bomber coat. Probably assumed you’d get to leave early, too. You should get to leave early. You should have ducked out an hour ago like the others. Why do you always follow the fucking rules?

“Hey, angel.” Kyle grins, smile dropping as soon as his eye meets yours. “What’s up?”

“Shepherd wants us to go to the hospital.” You swallow roughly to keep your voice from cracking. “Wants us to cover some big car wreck from there.”

“Tha’s so far from here!” Johnny gasps from his perch at the editing bay. “He cannae expect ye tae go out like this.”

“He can, apparently.” You mutter, staring at your feet. You want to say no. You want to give him an earful - to really lay into him about his sexist, careless attitude. Y’know, girlboss stuff or whatever. Whatever Kate would probably do. She wouldn’t take this laying down, belly up. Instead your hands shake and your eyes sting with frustrated tears. You can’t breathe right. It’s wrong. This is wrong. It’s wrong and you can’t do anything about it without losing your job at the only station in town.

“Hey.” You jump as Kyle’s hand strokes down your arm - gentle and warm. Grounding. “It’s alright. The vans got chains on the tires. We’ll take a backroad and see how far we can get. If we have to turn back, I’ll take the heat.”

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. “Kyle-”

“It’s fine.” He smiles reassuringly. “C’mon, go get your coat.”

“O-okay…”

You stay quiet at you load into the van. Guilt gnaws at your chest while you do the same to your inner cheek. The idea that you’ve put Kyle in danger just because you’re too weak to argue with your boss makes you feel weak. Pathetic. You’re pathetic. Neither of you talk much as you drive, opting to keep the radio low so Kyle can concentrate on the road. It’s just as bad as it seemed. You can barely see to the end of the headlights - the sun having already nearly set - everything else pitch black while the snow glints in the light. It’s falling sideways. You can feel the truck sway every so often from a massive gust of wind. At least no one else is on the road.

You wish you didn’t feel like crying so badly.

There’s a loud cracking sound somewhere. You can’t tell from what direction - unsure if it was even real. You can’t hear much of anything over the howling wind and snow beating against the van.

“Did you-” You’re cut off as a massive trunk appears in front of you, crashing down onto the street.

Kyle gasps. You screech, the van whipping off road and he redirects away. A strong arm braces itself over your chest to keep you steady as you careen off the road. You screw your eyes shut tightly, bracing for a likely impact. Between the snow and the darkness you can’t tell what direction you’re facing when the van finally lurches to a stop in the icy mud. A loud grunt escapes you as your seatbelt locks against your sternum.

Several beats of quiet pass between you. Both of you panting, trying to clear your heads and take in what just happened. The moment breaks when Kyle drops his arm, hand resting on your thigh. You don’t think anything of it past a comforting gesture - there isn’t any room in your brain for anything else as you blink slow. It feels good, though. Grounding. It slows your heart and evens your breathing.

“Scary, huh?” Kyle chuckles nervously, still staring forward out the windshield.

You can’t help but giggle back, nervous energy making your hands shake. “Uh-huh. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He finally turns to look at you. “You?”

You nod quietly.

“Alright.” He grunts. “Let’s see about getting out of here.”

The moment he hits the gas to reverse you both know you’re in trouble. The tires spin, whirring loudly along to the wind outside. The van doesn’t budge an inch. You’re stuck on the side of a random backroad, in the middle of a blizzard, with a felled tree in your path, all alone.

Kyle pulls out his phone, tapping around. He sighs loudly, resting his head back on the car seat headrest. “No signal out here. Fuckin’ hell.”

You’re well and truly stranded.

Your shoulders start shaking and you bend forward, curling in on yourself. You bury your face in your hands, hot tears swelling in your eyes. “Kyle, I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, angel-”

“I could’ve gotten you killed! I could’ve - all because I couldn’t - It’d be all my fault!” You sob.

Kyle’s hand comes to rest on your upper back, rubbing in gentle circles. “Love- it’s okay. We’re okay. Hey, look at me.”

You shake your head. How could you? How fucking could you? Pathetic.

He takes your wrist, peeling your hands away from your face. “Look. At. Me.”

You sit up slowly, still hiccupping, though no longer sobbing like before. Something about his touch, his hands on you, just feels right. The world feels right. Grounded.

“It’s not your fault. Shepherd’s an arse. He shouldn’t have put us in this position. He knew you couldn’t say no. That’s the only reason he asked.” There’s a snarl at the edges of his voice. Something bitter - wrong sounding in his sweet voice. He glances over at the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas. The battery is basically new. We’ll be fine for the night. Roach said it should be over by morning and they’ll figure out we didn’t make it back.”

You sniffle, nodding weakly and undoing your seat belt to breathe properly. Your chest still hurts. “I’m sorry…”

“Here.” After rooting around in the glove box, Kyle comes up with a small pack of tissues. You reach for it, but he makes no move to hand them over. Instead, he takes one out. Cupping your jaw in one hand and slowly, gently, patting around your eyes to fix up the mess you made. Like he always does.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“No more sorries.” He shakes his head.

Kyle shuts the high beams off, leaving the regular lights on just in case someone drives by. Not that anyone will. This road is underpopulated even during the best summer days. Neither of you speak for a long while. You keep glancing over at Kyle out of the corner of your eye. He’s thinking about something - you can tell by the pinch in his brow and the pull in the corner of his mouth. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. The contours of his face softened by the low light, eyes nearly pitch black besides a pinprick of light.

“How are your moms?” You blurt.

He chuckles. “Good. Think they’re on a cruise right now.”

“I’m jealous.” You snort, looking out the window at the ice.

“Facts.”

You lapse back into quiet, emotionally and physically drained - he probably feels the same. Neither of you quite able to muster your usual, easy banter. A slimy little part of you is glad that Kyle came with you - even if is did put him in unnecessary danger. You don’t think you would have handled this situation well on your own. Adrenaline makes your hands shake, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Want t’ fuck?” Kyle breaks the silence suddenly, head leaned on his hand and elbow on the window seal.

You sputter out an awkward laugh. He’s joking right? He’s just fucking with you because he’s bored. “Don’t mess with me, it’s not nice.”

“Not messin’.”

You slowly meet his eye. Even in the dark with only the moonlight and the glow of the electric buttons in the back of the van you can see the seriousness of his expression. The unwavering way his eyes rake over you. He means it.

You shrink away, bashful now. “Kyle-”

“You can’t deny that there’s something here.” He gestures between you. “I know you feel it. That night at the pub-”

“We were drunk.”

“We were honest.” He shrugs. “Besides, what better way to pass the time and keep warm?”

You stare at him, eyes searching his face for some other meaning. Some secondary, malicious intent. It’s not there, of course. Kyle simply isn’t like that. Those dark eyes meet yours honestly. You glance down at his hand laying on the arm rest. It’s been so long since you've been held; touched. You’re coworkers, though. Close knit professionals. A team. What if moving forward ruins your dynamic? What if you lose him? It would be wrong, wouldn’t it? A total HR violation.

Then again… why should you always follow the rules?

Fuck it. “Okay.”

“C’mere.” Kyle smiles and reaches over to pull you by your waist and you follow.

It’s too easy, almost, to let yourself go over the armrests and right across his lap. It takes a moment with your wide hips and thick thighs to get comfortable straddling him. At least the van seats are big. You hover over him slightly, leaning your weight on the hand holding the armrest.

He clicks his tongue, the hands on your waist pressing down. “On me, love. Want t’ feel you.”

How could you ever deny that? You sigh softly, letting your weight fall into his thighs. Kyle hums appreciatively. The hands on your waist begin to knead down over your hips. You aren’t quite sure what to do - what the social protocol is for this situation. Your hands find a resting point on his shoulders, so strong and firm under your touch.

You don’t have to worry for long. Not when he leans up to you, the hands on your hips arching you into him, “Kiss me?”

You nod, for some reason, before pressing your lips to his. It remains chaste, at first. Little pecks and presses as you feel each other out. His lips are soft, moving so naturally against yours you nearly miss when his tongue swipes across your lower lip. You gasp, giving him just enough room to make his move forward. Suddenly, you’re collapsing into each other. He tastes like his usual morning coffee - sharply sweet caramel. Your hand finds it’s way to the back of his head, one of the hands on your hip scrapes down to grip your thigh.

The moment only breaks when he leans you back too far, sounding off the van horn into the empty night. You both stop, looking at each other for a beat before giggling.

You gasp as the hand on your thigh suddenly disappears under your skirt - your laugh breaking off into a gasp as he cups your pussy through your tights and underwear. His nail catches on the thin fabric. A promise if what’s to come.

“You and these fuckin’ skirts…even in the middle of winter…” Kyle murmurs, breath warm against your ear. “D’you have any idea how good you look? Prancing around for my camera, huh?”

“Kyle…” A shiver runs down your spine.

“It’s just for me, isn’t it?” He chuckles, big hands running up your thighs to the bend of your hips. “I’ve seen you with the other guys. Not nearly as excited. Lackin’ that little pep in your step.”

He lightly smacks your ass for emphasis. You squeak - face so hot you almost want to get out of the van and bury it in the snow. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit and you can’t help but whine quietly. His other hand travels up, pushing at your sweater. His hand catches your bralette as he moves, hiking both up over your chest. A gasp rattles in your throat as he catches a nipple between his teeth, your hands tightly fisting his shirt while you let him explore.

A tearing sound echoes through the van. You can’t complain - it’s not like these were your nice tights anyway. Kyle drags his finger along your lips through your underwear. He’s teasing, eyes locked on your face as he waits for you to react. You just sigh each time his fingers glide over your clit ever so slightly until they stop, catching the hem of your underwear and pushing them to the side.

Kyle pauses, looking up at you. “May I?”

You huff. “You better.”

He grins up at you from ear to ear, pressing his lips to yours once again as he drags his fingers between your folds. A low, gravelly hum rumbles in his chest. “So wet already… all this for me?”

The reply gets caught in your throat - cutting off into a moan as he circles your clit with the pads of his fingers. His middle finger circles your entrance, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reaction. You’re sure you look ridiculous - face hot and utter disheveled. He seems to like it, though, quietly moaning with you as he presses one digit inside. You tip your head to the side, matching his slow pace until he adds another. They reach so much deeper than yours ever can, lightly prodding until he finds what he was looking for.

“Fuck-!” You gasp, whole body shuddering.

“There she is.” Kyle murmurs, almost to himself more than you.

“Kyyy-!” You whine, rocking back and forth on his hand, desperate for any friction on your clit.

“Thassit, take what y’need, babygirl.” He sighs, catching your nipple between his teeth. “Be good and cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take much. A few more bounces of your hips just as his fingers curl even further into that spot that leaves you seeing stars. You keen loudly, face buried in the crook of his neck as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You slow to a stop, breathing heavy. Your skin feels electric, body practically humming happily. A pathetic sigh pushes past your lips as Kyle removes his hand.

He slowly brings his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he licks them clean. “Taste just as pretty as you look, love.”

You whine back dumbly, mind and body still coming down from your first orgasm in a long, long time. Well, with a partner at least. Fuck, if Kyle doesn’t know what he’s doing. Your find yourself clumsily pawing at his shirt, suddenly desperate to get to see him properly. He just chuckles, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward the passenger seat.

Kyle leans the seat back. It doesn’t go far, just enough to give you some extra room to maneuver. Your hands drag over corded muscle just under a layer of soft. You run your fingers through the light dusting of hair on his chest. He lets you take your time, lets you feel him out until you’re satisfied and leaning down for another kiss.

“Y’want to keep going?” He murmurs against your lips. “No pressure.”

You nod vigorously, the hands you braced on his chest gliding down toward his belt. “Do you?”

“Fuck yes.” He sighs, hips bucking up into your hand - telling you to get a move on.

You don’t, brain to cottony to care much as you take your time with his leather belt. His breath hitches when you palm him through his trousers - the size of him registering somewhere in the back of your mind. You clumsily undo his trousers, hands shaking in anticipation. He lifts his hips just enough to help you pull his pants and boxers partially down his thighs.

Kyle sighs as his cock springs free, eyes still fixed on you as you take him in. Your eyes widen - raking over the length of hum to the perfectly groomed curls at the base. He’s what you imagine an artist would carve - curve and veins too perfect. Another shiver runs down your spine.

“Pretty…” The word falls from your lips before you can stop it. You cover your mouth, embarrassment forcing you to look away. Kyle just laughs, reaching up to pulls your face back to him.

“I know.”

You suck your teeth. “Arrogant man, you are.”

“Just self aware.” He shrugs, smirking up at you.

You roll your eyes, raising your hand to lick a long, wet stripe over your palm and fingers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Kyle groans, hips bucking up into your touch. You wish you could reach down to wrap your lips around it - let him rest warm and heavy on your tongue. Another time, perhaps.

You meet his gaze as you position yourself over him. A brief moment to let either of you end it here. To stay on this side of the boundary. To leave things as they were - for the most part, at least. Neither of you take it.

The hands on your hips help guide you down. Slowly, an inch at a time. Without any extra lube there’s a slight burn to the stretch just on this side of too much. You moan, low and quiet as you finally rest at the base of his cock. He sighs out a moan as you lean your weight on him again - fully sheathed inside you. You peek your eyes open to look down at him. His dark eyes have locked onto where you’re connected, the hands on your hips grip so tight you wonder if they’ll leave bruises. Kyle’s jaw is set as he breathes long and deep.

“A-alright?” You gasp out.

“Feel so fuckin’ good around me, doll.” He grunts through grit teeth. “Christ.”

You tilt your head to watch his reaction while you tentatively roll your hips. Those pretty lashes flutter and Kyle tips his head back, groaning.

A newfound confidence overtakes you. “Feels that good, huh?”

He nods with another low groan as you begin to roll your hips at a rhythm. A slow grind down onto each other. Lazy. You’re both tired after that adrenaline spike earlier, and your legs still feel loose and jelly after already cumming once. He fills you so perfectly, though. His warm hands drag over your skin, leaving an electric feel in their path. His teeth nips at your neck, mouthing along your jaw. He’s everywhere - all consuming.

“Kyle-” You whine, cheek pressing to his temple.

“Yeah, baby?” He moans back. “C’mon - shite -say my name again.”

“Please, Kyle, f-fu-” Your words trail off into nothing. Just unintelligible chants that you think are supposed to be his name. You can’t tell anymore, to enraptured in the feeling of your bodies moving against each other.

Kyle’s hand drifts up your back to cup the base of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads press together. Your eyes may be screwed shut, but you can feel his on you - boring through to the very core of you. He shifts under you, just slightly, suddenly forcing a startled, keening sound out of you as he thrusts up into you with his newfound footing. The pace becomes desperate as you both careen toward the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You whine, nails biting into his shoulder and the fabric to the seat beside his head.

“Gonna cum again?” He pants against your lips. “I can feel it - pretty little cunt’s clenching around me like a fuckin’ vice.”

You nod sloppily, only managing a choked, “Y-yea-”

“Together?”

“Mmhmm!”

You cling to each other, eyes screwed shut. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling the high pitched whine that tears through your throat as you climax. Kyle moans in your ear, hands digging into your skin so hard they’ll surely leave bruises in their wake as he spills inside you. You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath - his cum dripping from you as he slips out. You sigh, far too content to just stay here with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm and comfortable. It feels right - laying in his arms.

“Hey.” Kyle pats your hip, pointing behind you. “We did the Titanic thing.”

You glance at the fogged up windows and laugh.

[euovennia]

headcanons for simon being the mom/dad friend to reader and her just eating that shit up? like yeah, that giant intimidating guy wearing a skull mask is my best friend. he’s really cute right? (he is)

anon your brain is huge and i love it, thank you for such a gorgeous request! just want you to know that your second request will be up sometime soon, i just wanted to split them! thank you again for requesting, i hope you enjoy <3

pt. 2

fair warning to anyone reading, this is my first time writing headcanons (more like a short story with bullet points because my oh my i got carried away) so please don't shoot! anyway, i've got some ideas rolling around in my head so just jump into it:

let's get one thing straight

becoming friends with a man like simon is not an easy task

while you may be somewhat quick consider him a friend because you're both skilled enough to have made to the 141, it takes a lot longer for him to also consider you a friend

the process of getting him to this point is an arduous journey and some people (probably gaz and rudy bc i can see these two being equally terrified of this man) will not hesitate to tell you to cut your losses and leave him alone

i reckon simon is the type to verbally tell you this himself

and maybe for a bit you do leave him alone

but then one day you see him sitting alone in the commons area with what you deem to be the saddest plate of dinner ever and you just crack

cue you sliding into the seat in front of him with your tupperware full of homecooked food you'd stashed away the night before

naturally he gets frustrated and a maybe a lil annoyed so he goes to leave

but then you slide your tupperware of food over to him and his movements just kinda stop as he stares at you with his typical ghost stare

think 👁️👁️

he'll push the container back toward you causing you to push it back toward him

it becomes an almost vicious cycle before he finally snaps and spits out something like, "what's your fuckin' problem?"

to most he's a scary man with an even scarier voice so that would've been where most people drew the line (let's face it though, most people probably wouldn't have sat with him in the first place)

but all you can focus on is the piss poor excuse of a meal he'd retrieved from the mess hall so you just push it back toward him one final time with a simple, "eat."

he'll narrow his eyes and straighten his posture in an attempt to scare you off but when that doesn't work he'll tell you something along the lines of, "i'm spitting it out if it's shite"

he does not spit it out

from that day on, you'll seek him out with two tupperware containers filled with whatever you'd cooked up the night before and offer it to him

the first few times he's hesitant to accept simply because he doesn't wanna get used to the unusually kind gesture but it eventually gets to a point where he just stops getting a plate from the mess hall and instead waits around for you to feed him

these small dinners you share make it nearly impossible for simon to avoid your talking

he almost debates getting up and leaving a few times but then he remembers he'd be eating soggy meat and vegetables if it weren't for you so he decides to entertain it

and to the surprise of absolutely no one he eventually starts warming up to you, even throwing in a few comments and sarcastic quips of his own

and after a long while of having these dinners with you, he decides he likes it – he likes hearing you talk, whether it be about how you and gaz hid price's hat somewhere on base and blamed it on soap or what the latest celebrity gossip is

so what does he do?

he tries to block you out

it doesn't work because you're a stubborn little shit and refuse to let him fall back into his bubble of solitude and self pity

and he eventually realizes this so he just kinda accepts it after a while (more like a week)

and the two of you become quite chummy

well

as chummy as one can be with a person as closed off as ghost

instead you always being the one to seek him out come dinner time, he'll be the one to start finding you

it's a surprise

a delightful one

but still a surprise

his short, clipped responses will morph into longer, more thought out ones as your friendship continues to develop and you can't help but notice just how smart he really is

despite his everything that's happened to him in the past, he's actually quite in tune with the emotions of other people; his observational skills are off the charts

so you'll eventually start asking him for advice on anything and everything, even if it's not something that pertains directly to you because his wisdom outside the battle field is something to truly behold

it's amazing what can be solved without heavy loads of artillery and violence!

anyway

simon quickly becomes very used to this dynamic

you two having dinner, talking about everything and nothing all at once and while he may never verbalize it, he truly does appreciate it

he'd convinced himself long ago that his life was just cursed and that the people he loved and held closest to him were always destined for terrible things so he just closed himself off

he put on the mask and became ghost whereas simon was kept tucked away in a place no one even bothered to try and discover

but then you stumbled your way into his heart with your homemade food and endless chatter and he can't help but indulge himself

maybe having a friend isn't all that bad

and so the dinners/mini therapy sessions continue

until one day you don't show up

while he is a bit disappointed, simon decides to let it go because you've had dinner with him for god knows how long now

you probably just wanted a day to yourself and he understands that so he doesn't pry

even when he barely force himself to finish the sludge smacked onto his plate from the mess hall – how was he so comfortable eating that for so long?

but you don't show up the next day

or the next

and by the fourth day simon is just downright angry

and a little sad and worried

but mostly angry

who do you think you are to waltz in his life, make yourself cozy in his extremely tight knit circle, and then just leave him high and dry with no goodbye? (wow that rhymed)

if you're gonna ditch him like this then he's gonna make sure you sit through the awkward pain of saying it to his face

he spends an embarrassing amount of time looking for you before he even thinks to check your room

he walks up to your door, fully prepared to slam that door open and confront you

but then he hears you fall into a particularly nasty coughing fit paired with a muffled groan of agony and suddenly it just clicks

you got yourself sick

tempted as he is to simply walk away, he knows deep in his heart he can't do that to you

which is why you open up your door to see ghost awkwardly standing there with a tray of hot soup, water, and some medicine

you nearly cry in your haze of sickness

you'd spend the past four days miserably rotting away in your bed and to suddenly have simon by your side offering you soup and medicine? it was almost too much

ever since that day there had been a gradual shift in your friendship

it started with you two coordinating who would bring dinner on which days

but then it turned into simon being the one to bring dinner nearly everyday

which then evolved into him finding you throughout the day and offering small snacks and drinks

but he's a busy man and he can't do this every day so he'll settle for sending a simple message of, "you doing ok?"

and most times you say yes

but on the off chance you say no he'll take a few minutes to message you back and forth until you feel at least a little better (no this is not achieved by him sending you bad dad jokes, he would never do such a thing!)

but eventually the man just gets so tired of constantly going around base trying to find you that he'll simply just start to linger around you whenever he's free

gruff words of assurance and friendly pats on the shoulder become a staple for the masked man

when the team becomes privy to the newly formed friendship between the two of you, it's almost scary

like

imagine this 6'4 beefy mountain of a man hanging around someone half his size just chilling

i reached the character block limit how awkward anyway

it's odd and you know it is so you'll play into it

like that time you loudly asked ghost to grab the blanket from your room while you two were sitting on the couch in the common area while the rest of the team filed in

and him immediately going to grab it while the team are completely gobsmacked when he promptly returns with your blanket in hand

cue soap asking ghost the same thing a few days later and only receiving a glare in return along with a stern, "i'm not your maid, johnny."

then he just walks away leaving soap to feel like an idiot

it becomes apparent very quickly that simon has a favorite and that favorite is you

especially when he's the one to sweep you up into a quick hug with a quick pat on your head after the team completes yet another mission

you make it a point to squeeze onto simon just a tad tighter when you see soap looking over in complete bewilderment

seriously, how did you tame the legendary ghost?

and honestly?

you're not quite sure yourself

you just soak it in because you'd be a fool not to

maybe one day you'll ask him yourself

maybe you won't

doesn't matter either way because at the end of the day you're the only one who can proudly call ghost your best friend

even if he doesn't refer to you as the same

he totally does he just never says it out loud because he's secretly terrified you don't feel the same

regardless

you two are very much attached at the hip

what with you constantly getting yourself into trouble all around base and ghost not wanting you piss off the wrong person

he is very much your guard dog and you make it everyone's problem

soap went too hard on you during your sparring session? ghost is already glaring at him

gaz won't stop bugging you when you're actually trying to get your work done? ghost is pushing him out the door

price is about to lecture you for something gaz and soap framed you for? ghost is quick to rat them out

it's sweet really, the friendship you have

it warms your heart thinking about it

and it warms his too

even if he won't admit it

he's just grateful you didn't give up on him even when he wanted you to

because he's found that, sometimes, it's nice to have a friend

and he's glad it's you

:)