#Nova Writes

[novasintheroom]

050. Impress

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash catches you drawing in your journal.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hobby, you tell yourself. Plenty of people do it.

In the shade of the overhang, you glance over your book and scratch a few more lines down the page. A curve here, some dots there. You bite your tongue gently. It’s getting better. Marginally. And Vash is none-the-wiser to being observed.

He’s slowly taking apart and cleaning his gun. Rubbing a cloth along each piece, careful of where he puts things on the flat rock he’s taken as a ‘table.’ Vash is scrunched up now, making an interesting pose to note down in your journal.

Next to the drawing, you sketch out some lines and notes on his anatomy. Triceps, you write. Brachioradialis. Palmaris longus. You trail down to his legs. Vastus medialis. Gastrocnemius. Back up to his chest. Pectoralis major. Subtly, you put a heart by the name.

“Watcha drawin’?”

So much for subtlety. How did he sneak up on you? Faster than Vash has time to blink, your book slams closed. He’s left with a waft of air blowing in his face and a wide-eyed stare from you. From your side, he lifts his hands placatingly. “Woah, I didn’t see anything.”

Still, blood rushes to your face and you purse your lips, giving him a searching look. “Liar. What did you see?”

Vash’s smile is gentle. Always gentle. “Nothing, really.” Then, that smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t know you drew naughty pictures.”

You splutter. What? “I do not!”

“It’s okay, really!” He waves his hands and walks over to his bag. “Everyone’s into something. Why else would you panic like that?”

The blush has reached the back of your throat. You cough, sucking in air to protest. “I don’t draw naughty pictures!”

He looks over with a smirk, putting his gun back together without looking. “Sure. And I have both my arms.”

“I don’t!” Not only mortified by the suggestion, you’re blatantly outraged he doesn’t believe you. Only one way to rectify this. You stand from your rock and march over to him. Flipping open the book, you shove it in his face. “See! I’m practicing anatomy!”

Vash’s look goes slack, and with care, he takes the book from your hands. You realize he was teasing you too late. He sees your drawings. He sees them. You’re suddenly nervous again, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s fine, you think, it’s fine, fine, fine.

Vash takes his time looking over your drawings. It’s of him, obviously. Chest bared, missing the scars and wires and plates he feels on the daily pulling at his skin. You don’t know about them. How could you? He never lets you see. But you are studying anatomy. He sees the scientific terms criss-crossing the page in your neat handwriting. On the next page, he sees you’ve sketched him in different poses; some of him crouched as if over a fire, some jumping in mid-air, coat floating wildly behind him. One is just of his face, his smile. The eyes are a little crooked, but it’s impressive, even still.

He sees your hands worrying out of the corner of his eye. Cracking your knuckles. You do it when you’re nervous. “I only have you around to draw,” you explain, trying to save yourself from more embarrassment. Vash hums, and you duck your head. “It’s…an old hobby of mine.”

The next page are close-ups. Hands, feet, mouth, eyes. You have no coloring pencils; everything is shaded charcoal black-and-gray. In the margins, you’ve drawn different worms you’ve come across, with beaks and bug-eyes and many legs. But overall, he’s the subject. He’s the one you’re drawing the most. A strange feeling settles in his chest, and with a slight grin, he hands the book back.

You take it, watching him, wary. “So…?”

Vash shakes his head. “These are really good!”

Your look is dubious. “You aren’t…weirded out?”

Weirded out? Why would he be? He’s never been the subject of someone’s drawings. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know, searching for the word. “No,” he says, “I’m – flattered,” he finally puts a name to the feeling, and his cheeks pinken.

You look down, gnawing at your inner cheek. “It’s something I started doing a few months back. Just…drawing your poses whenever we have downtime.” Finally, a smile breaks on your lips. “You’re very limber.”

Vash laughs. “It’s all the yoga I do.” He reaches up and tugs at the back of his neck. He feels a bit shy, but asks, “Can I watch you draw sometime?”

Your mouth falls open. “Um…sure?”

He kicks at a nearby pebble. “I’m not the best at drawing. But I like to do it too. In my journals, sometimes.”

You perk up. “You do? Of what?”

“Mainly architecture. I tried people a few times, but they…they look like they’re melting.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

And later, in the firelight and lamps of your camp, you and he draw together. He practices drawing your face (and it does look like it’s melting, much to his chagrin and your laughter), and you sketch architecture, blown away and inspired by the detailed drawings of derelict ships and abandoned towns and cities Vash has been to in his journals. You trade art secrets, tips, and switch journals with each other to draw in for a page.

You both go to bed with stained fingertips and smiles, happy to have one more thing to bring you together.

[novasdarling]

Hii🌹can i ask "It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that?"

with yandere Chrollo please? Thanks🌹

HEHEHEHE this motherfucker would. He's delusional in the scheme of him being like "Yeah my darling is better than me than anywhere else." but also he knows it's just a lie he makes so he doesn't feel too ad when you cry about being with him

Dangerous Out There

TW: Kidnapping, Yandere Behaviour, Mentions of death, Mentions of punishment

The walls were plain and cold. Made of old cement bricks, leaving little room for any warmth or comfort. Any feelings sparking joy or tenderness were missing. Cold, bland, cruel. This jail cell represented the jailkeeper well. A void of happiness and delight was exactly what Chrollo was. Just this blackhole that took and took, destroying everything it touched and devoured.

However, no amount of sadness or begging changed his mind. Nothing let him declaw himself from you. No matter how much you begged these last few weeks, he refused to let go. Rather it seemed like your tears and pleas just made him dig deeper. Made him pull you closer to him, made him add more locks to the doors and windows. Like the more you begged and craved for freedom, the more he held onto you. The more he denied it. The more he felt like he needed to keep you locked away, keep you hidden. But you couldn't help the hope that pooled inside you. Hoping your begging would chip away at him. Make any sort of difference, cause him to feel any kind of remorse and let you go. A hope you would always hold onto.

Chrollo had made his way into the living room. Standing in the doorway, observing from behind as you watched one of the few movies he had provided when he first took you. You could recite it line by line.

"I know you're there."

"Your senses are getting better. Before you wouldn't have noticed me until you could see me."

Chrollo made his way forward, kneeling in front of you. Placing himself between your legs. It made your skin itch. You didn't give him an answer, even as he waited there. Starring up at you. You ignored him. Starring at the dumb movie in front of you. His hands squeezed your thighs.

"Most people say thank you after a compliment."

"Most people don't kidnap."

Chrollo laughed. Finding your response humorous. He always found your rebuttal funny and pleasant. Making it clear he enjoyed the bit of resistance you had. The wit that came with it. Your snappy remarks. It was fun for him, as long as you never went too far.

"Touché." Chrollo rubbed his knuckles over your cheek.

"Don't touch me."

Flinching away, you pushed him. Trying to create some distance from him. Trying to get the man you hated as far away as possible. He tried again, lifting his knuckles up to caress you, but you moved again. Denying him what he wanted twice.

"Enough."

He grabbed your arms. Trying to keep you still. Keeping himself between your legs and you caged.

"Let me go."

Chrollo held on. Dismissing your words as he wrestled you still.

"I want to go home."

Tears were forming in your eyes. You hated this, hated this man. Despised everything about all of this. How the hell did a charming stranger you bumped into one day turn into the man who was holding you captive? A man that killed and hurt people to get you. A man who had no boundaries.

"Let me go. I just want to go back. P-please. I won't tell anyone. I-I promise. I want to-"

"Stop it. Stop it now."

"Go to hell."

You lashed and kicked at him. Trying to get him away. Trying to make him let go. To understand just how much you hated him. How much you wanted him dead. That this wasn't home. That he wasn't what you wanted.

"I said stop it. Listen to me." Chrollo was raising his voice at you. Not yelling, but still enough to try to demand you listen to him. "Listen to me, just listen sweetheart." One hand now held both of your arms as the other made its way to hold your face still. Forcing you to look at him. "I'm trying to help you, my dear. Trying to keep you safe. It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that? Can't you see understand?"

He sounded angry yet, worried. It was a lesson he was trying to push into your mind. Trying to teach you with him was better than elsewhere. Yet, even as his words sounded sincere. You couldn't help, but laugh at him. Laugh at his words. Dangerous? The danger out there? He was fucking deranged. Worse than you thought.

"Whatever is out there, sure as hell can't be worse than being here with you."

Leaning in, close to his face so he could hear your words. Understand what you were saying. Understanding you meant it. That you would rather be out there with whatever he was worried about than with the monster that was pretending to be your saviour.

The look on Chrollo's face had changed. Like he was hurt and angry. Disappointed by your words. You knew that look, you had hurt his little fantasy. Ruined the image of him being your little hero. The look that meant your behaviour needed to be "corrected". That your wit and back talk had crossed the line.

"Seems like you need some reminding why you're here."

"What, another couple of days locked in the closet? I'll take that if it means being away from you." You spat in his face with the last sentence. Showing him you were genuine.

"See, I was thinking something different." Chrollo grabbed your upper arm. Pulling you up and making you follow him. "If you think I'm such a monster, perhaps I should leave you alone with a colleague of mine. Someone who doesn't care about your safety. Someone who doesn't love you like I do. Remember Feitan?"

You had made the worse mistake since he had taken you. Not only had you been resistant to him, but you had made him the enemy. Not just in the scheme of kidnapping, but in the idea of being with him. You told him how you saw him. Now he was going to correct it. Make you see what is worse than him when there is no love to give.

[nova2kss]

Wondering if you could do a fic with connie who is clingy and obsessed with the reader some fluff and smut if possible 😊

ofc i can bae!

pairings: domincan!connie x black fem!reader

cw: smut, fluff, cursing,pet names, squirting

Novas notes: not proofread, thanks for the request and keep em coming 😘, minors dni, support black blogs!

"connie if i have to tell you one more tim-"

" shhh" your boyfriend put his finger to your lips

you had some work to do and he had been touching up on you all from the time you woke up, to the time you sat down at your desk to attempt to finish your essay.

" i just wanna be your skin mami" he spoke again, he got on his knees under the desk just so he can wrap his arms around your belly.

you just sighed at the clingy acts of you're boyfriend, it wasn't anything new

he's been like this since forever.

"i know baby and you can be as soon as i finish this essay, yea?" you said rubbing his freshly dyed buzz cut.

" mhm mhm" he shook his head laying it againt your stomach again

" i can be with you while you finish this essay" his hands were rubbing up against your bare back, now under the over-sized shirt you wore you shivered from how cold his hands were"

"connie, baby the more you distract me, the longer its gonna take me to finish and then i cant give you all the attention you want."

"i don't careee" he looked up at you

"constance-" you tried to respond but he cut you off by lifting up your shirt and putting his head on your stomach.

" i just wanna touch you mami"

you sighed defeated knowing your boyfriend wasn't gonna let up what so ever and decide to finish typing your essay

or atleast attempt to.

you couldn't focus with the way connie was licking and sucking everywhere on your stomach no matter how hard you tried not to pay attention to him.

he was constantly removing one inch of your hard flesh with a pop and moving on the the next with a long lick across

and the way he was groaning against your skin while pulling you closer to him was really getting to your head, and your core.

"constance." you said as you stop typing to look down at your man that was still under your shirt

'' shit, you smell so good' he said with a small laugh before continuing to attack your stomach

"COnstance oh my god" you yelped trying to scold him but it turned out more needy than anything. when he bit the inside of your panty line

when he heard you get louder he quickly gripped your panties with his teeth and took his hands from around your waist to place them on the ends of your shirt.

he slowly took of your panties with his teeth to reveal the sticky arousal coating you're slit and the chair below you.

and you had utterly disregarded everything about that essay and you were no focused on the man whose head was in between your breathing against your throbbing clit.

he started by kissing on your thighs to right above your clit making you whine

"connie pleasee"

he lifted your shirt up

" you gotta show me where you want me to lick it mami, can you do that for me?" he said while inserting his long finger into you making you moan out.

" can you ma?"

" yessss... fuck yes!" you threw your head back from the immense amount of pleasure you got from his one finger alone

" yea ma show me where you want it" he said kissing at you're thighs before spitting on your clit ripping out another moan.

"mhm hmm" he mumbled incoherent words while slowly kissing down your thighs and lifting your leg onto your shoulder before he came up

" put me where you want me" he said sticking his tongue which gave you a good look at the little pink metal ball sitting right at the tip of his tounge.

you grabbed the back of his head and brought him straight to your dripping essence before putting his tongue right on your slit which made him lick a long stripe up.

you could feel that metal ball on your swollen clit and it made you moan from the friction your core ached for.

from there he took the lead inserting another finger into you and full on making out with your clit

he took his fingers out of your hole before sinking his tongue into it.

if he was gonna taste you he wanted all of you.

"ngugg fuckkk connie.. oh my goddd fuck!"

your hands still centered at the back of his hand pushing his head deeper into your pussy

his nose brushing right against your clit not even giving himself a chance to breathe, he hooked his arms onto your arms and pulled you closer to his face.

he just wanted to indulge in you, he loved everything about you and he seriously just wanted to be in your skin all hours of the day.

and they way he was moaning into your core while slobbering and suckering all on your clit was enough to make you let him.

"a-ah fuckkkk.... im gonna cummm"

he looked at you taking in your beautiful features looking all fucked out, mouth agape, eyes rolled, head thrown back, while you were gripping everything you could.

he put both of your legs around his neck so he could catch all the sweet juices that were getting ready to flow over all into his face and god knows he could wait

so he flicked the metal ball even faster against your clit waiting for his paradise to come flowing into his face.

and it did.

the way moaned his named as you came undone was so heavenly to him

" oh shit.. thats right mami put all that shit in my face"

he dove back into your core trying to catch all the juices making you scream from the over stimulation.

he was moaning against you until you pushed his shoulders, which made him come up with a laugh.

" look at this big ass mess you made baby" he said laughing, you looked up at him noticing how damn near his whole face was soaked including his sweats which you noticed the big bulge in, and the floor.

" damn i drowned you huh?" you responded laughing at how wet he was

he got up and picked you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

" yup" he said with a big grin on his face making you laugh, because he was genuinely so happy about getting soaked in your juices.

he tossed you on the bed

" now do it again but on my dick"

novas notes: did we like it? lmfoaoa , also i wrote this in one day which was surprising asfk

[nova-alien-jewposting]

hey jumblr, i know i'm usually just the guy who reblogs shit and doesn't really say much, but i wanted to get people's opinions on this matter.

so i recently found out that in a local high school's graduation, one of the graduates had an outfit literally EMBROIDERED with keffiyeh patterning and paraglider symbols. like, in support of how hamas first infiltrated israel. pics of him with his father who was wearing a keffiyeh as well were posted on facebook and made their rounds in local groups as well, and caused serious outrage because my area has a massive jewish community. i will not be sharing any pics, names, towns, etc as that information is not important.

i think what makes this so much worse is that:

1) the principal claimed they didn't know about this even though the kid was literally there ALL DAY,

2) the kid was BRAGGING about his chosen attire, his support for hamas, and the attention he was getting on social media, and

3) this motherfucker will be attending MY UNIVERSITY in the fall.

i'm absolutely mortified. if my uni is allowing this kind of person on campus, things could potentially be EVEN WORSE for jews in the upcoming semesters than they were in previous ones (which is terrifying considering the hamasniks made national news multiple times and the uni itself is being federally investigated for antisemitism).

what would y'all do? i have connections in my uni's chabad, hillel, and meor chapter. do we draft a letter or email to the uni? an email? what do we write in it? should we collectively get other people to contribute? should these other people be just students, or also include parents or community members? if not a letter or email, what should we do instead? i'm at a total loss :/

[i-am-the-iliad]

watermelons

—a poem for the palestinians

oh people of palestine!

your flag was forbidden

so you waved watermelons instead

because you are red

like the poppies growing on the bank

and the fresh strawberries you grew

and your blood spilled on the concrete

red

like the inside of a watermelon

because you are black

like the silk head scarves you wear

and your embroidered thobes 

and the smoke covering the rubble

black

like the seeds of a watermelon

because you are white

like the fabric of your keffiyeh

and risen bread dough

and the shrouds you wrapped your children in

white 

like a rind of a watermelon

because you are green

like the fresh olives you grow

and the za’atar you slather on your bread

and the weeds growing in the cracks of the rubble

green 

like the skin of a watermelon

oh people of palestine!

your flag was forbidden

so we wave watermelons instead

[supernovaae]

Yandere! Yamato x G/N! Reader Headcanons

-.'✰'.- [a/n]: This is my first piece of fanfic content ever made (and posted). I hope it you guys like it lol

-.'✰'.- Content Warnings; yandere, stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of death (not detailed), loss of free will,

-.'✰'.- Additional Information: Minors DNI, not proofread, grammatical errors, possibly ooc(?), reader is not an esper.

I do not support the following topics in real life.

Shadowing someone who's never met or formally interacted with you may be considered a.. very unconventional activity, to say the least, but Yamato couldn't think of a better way to use his spare time as of late.

He paid close attention to your mannerisms, watching like a hawk as you fidgeted and bounced in place, periodically checking your phone.

What for? Were you waiting for something?

He didn't dwell on the thought for too long, opting to continue observing as you absentmindedly entertained yourself from where you stood.

Everything seemed perfectly fine to him.

Yamato turned away from you, just for a moment, and extracted his phone from his pocket, intending to check how much time he had left.

Glancing back to you briefly, he-

Wait.

His eyes narrow, body going rigid.

Despite being a ways away, he watched closely as you greeted a briskly approaching someone that he'd never seen before.

His grip on his phone tightened.

Who are they?

You embraced them briefly before conversing, quite expressively at that, with them.

Who is that?

Something apprehensive and wary bubbled up inside of him once the individual laid a hand on your shoulder and leaned in to say something to you.

Did you meet them recently?

They have to be new, or else he would know who they were.

What do they want from-

A raucous chortle suddenly fell from your lips before you stifled your apparent glee by placing your hand over you mouth.

Yamato heavily exhaled, his form visibly relaxing.

They must've told you a joke.

They're friendly.

It's nothing to worry about.

From where it rests in his hand, Yamato's phone vibrates.

He looks down at the device and sees a calendar alert displayed on it's screen.

He has to host an assembly meeting soon.

He sighs and moves to leave, making a mental note to run a background check on the individual talking with you later as he glanced over one more time before exiting the building.

He'll have to make his introduction to you soon.

It's best not to have any troublesome new acquaintances of yours complicating things for him.

-.'🪬'.- Yamato takes it upon himself to judge everyone who attempts to approach you. There's always more than what meets the eye.

-.'🪬'.- Certain companions and coworkers are fine, but people who intend to court you or have ulterior motives are dealt with swiftly.

-.'🪬'.- In order to minimize his chances of failing to pique your interest and keep it, he's has to know as much about you as possible while also keeping others out of the picture.

-.'🪬'.- Whether Yamato's following from somewhere close behind or receiving updates from a disguised subordinate, he almost always has eyes on you.

-.'🪬'.- Once he uses the information he's gathered to approach and reel you in, he's practically always with you in his downtime (he still has to lead the Twilight Order).

-.'🪬'.- From where he stands beside you as a relatively close friend, he can micromanage your relationships more effectively, picking and choosing who is and isn't good for you to be talking to.

-.'🪬'.- Even the friendly-looking ones cant escape his scrutinizing gaze.

-.'🪬'.- If any people that he's deemed unwelcome slip through the cracks and manage to make it to the conversation stage with you, Yamato's standing right behind you and giving that person a death stare.

-.'🪬'.- If you catch on and ask him about it, he'll look away, an artificial replica of a sheepish expression forming on his face as he explains that he's had a few bad experiences in his own life that have left him wary of everyone around him and he just wanted to make sure that you were safe.

-.'🪬'.- As you express your remorse for making him revisit such awful memories and thank him for his help, he simply smiles and assures you that it's fine.

-.'🪬'.- You trust far too easily.

-.'🪬'.- His smile wanes, just for a moment.

-.'🪬'.- Your faith in others could become a detriment.

-.'🪬'.- While he was absolutely ecstatic that you welcomed him into your life and home with open arms and let him bear witness to all of the little things that make you who you are, he couldn't help but listen to the little inkling in the back of his mind that told him that you would've let anyone in under the same pretenses.

-.'🪬'.- That someone could’ve spelt your doom.

-.'🪬'.- Taking note of his currently strained relationship with his own sister, he'll tread carefully, not wanting to make the same mistakes as last time.

-.'🪬'.- But, at this point, If he sees you at risk or in peril, especially if it’s due to another human being, he’s made up his mind.

-.'🪬'.- Naturally, you became apprehensive when Yamato told you that he decided that your safety was worth more than your autonomy, but it was nothing that the music box couldn’t quell.

-.'🪬'.- He’d take your docile body by the hand and lead you to the Twilight Order’s base, where you’d be quartered and prohibited from leaving the premises from then on.

-.'🪬'.- No amount of pleading or tears will dissuade him from his decision to keep you with him.

-.'🪬'.- If his own sister’s screams of anguish couldn’t change his mind, you have no chance of convincing him.

-.'🪬'.- He understands that you're most likely going to despise him for what he's done to you, so he's slow and methodical in his attempts to regain your affections and normalize your new life.

-.'🪬'.- His main goal is to condition you psychologically by slowly changing your interpretation of what's happening to you whilst also using your self-preservation instincts against you.

-.'🪬'.- You have more privileges and freedoms, and even Yamato himself will be nothing but cordial to you as long as you remain compliant.

-.'🪬'.- But, if you act particularly unruly, he’ll use the music box to control you, essentially trapping you in your own body and turning you into a glorified dress-up doll.

-.'🪬'.- It seems cruel, yes, but he's only doing it so you'll stop hurtling insults at him.

-.'🪬'.- He's been nothing but kind to you when you treat him with basic politeness, so why hurt both of you like this?

-.'🪬'.- Just stay agreeable. Things will be easier for both of of you.

-.'🪬'.- He hopes that, over a period of time, you'll grow to love him again. Just like you did before.

-.'🪬'.- As a precaution, he’ll test you every once in a while. These tests include keys and keycards in areas where you might come across them, just to see if you’ll take the bait and try to run.

-.'🪬'.- If you do fall for it, he’ll have people waiting for you at the exit, ready to snatch you up and take you right to him.

-.'🪬'.- As you stare at him with wide, glossy eyes while meaningless apologies spill from your lips, he's disappointed, to say the least.

-.'🪬'.- You'll start right back at square one, confined to your room again, having completely lost his trust.

-.'🪬'.- If you decide to bring the object back to him personally, he'll be over the moon with delight, taking it back with a warm smile.

-.'🪬'.- You came to him.

-.'🪬'.- You want to stay with him.

-.'🪬'.- You trust him.

-.'🪬'.- Eventually, he’ll give you just enough leeway to roam the building (with limited surveillance).

-.'🪬'.- Don’t even try to ask anyone for help. They’ll report it to Yamato so fast, it’ll give you whiplash.

-.'🪬'.- As long as he doesn’t hear anything suspicious from those watching over you, he might even let you take walks outside, with either him or one of most trusted associates, if you’re feeling restless when he’s unavailable.

-.'🪬'.- Now, if you're playing the long game and putting up a lovey-dovey front so you can gain just enough breathing room to make your getaway, you better hightail it once you step foot out of the Twilight Order's base.

-.'🪬'.- The moment Yamato receives the news that his sweet, adoring significant other left him in the dust, the second he realizes that every single smile, laugh, and whisper that ever graced his senses were products of treacherous deceit, he’s livid and frantic and having an ugly, visceral meltdown.

-.'🪬'.- How could you do this to him?

-.'🪬'.- He’s outraged at what you’ve done, but also hysterical at what could happen to you. Especially since you’re out of his sight.

-.'🪬'.- You could get horribly lost, cross paths with a Miramon, or you might misplace your trust and lose your life to an individual with nefarious intent.

-.'🪬'.- Fueled by some twisted, churning mixture of distress and fury, he’d send as many people as he could spare to hunt you down and bring you back, he himself joining the hunt.

-.'🪬'.- You would be lucky if you were caught and dragged back to base by one of his subordinates.

-.'🪬'.- If he finds you in the state that he’s currently in, he might just forget that you’re not as durable as he is, since you’re not an esper.

-.'🪬'.- All he’s really focused on is getting your hands off of your ears and your mind under the music box’s control so you can stop fighting him.

-.'🪬'.- He’s only trying to protect you. You'll understand eventually.

[✰-notes-✰]: I'm not too confident in the way this looks since i'm personally not a fan of the bullet point format, but I couldn't come up with enough connected ideas to write a full oneshot, so.. anyway, please lmk if you like it or if there are any awkward mistakes!

[whimsicalcotton]

36 on the kiss meme?

36 - to give up control

you didn't give me a particular ship so i'm gonna take the liberty of providing myself w more apf because i. am insatiable.

^^^ that's what i said before i started writing and then i got lost in the amberfield sauce. like actually idk what came over me but i straight up just wrote 4.5k of pointless/shameless rachel&max flirting and then took Several days to edit it. sorry? sorry.

--- --- ---

Max Caulfield likes to be sure of herself before she tries something. 

Like, super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure. It's caused some problems over the years, and maybe everyone else finds it somewhat irksome, but she needs at least some degree of certainty if she has any hope of working past that initial burst of anxiety that so often arises at the mere thought of doing something unfamiliar. So she tends to stick to the sidelines. Asking a lot of questions she hardly puts to use, watching on as others are able to effortlessly do things she can scarcely bring herself to imagine. 

Chloe's been helping her out with it. Or at least attempting to. Serving as the (mostly) gentle push Max needs to step out of her comfort zone, trying to teach her how to be a little more impulsive, but always remaining patient and reassuring when Max finds herself in over her head or chickening out. 

And then there's Rachel.

Rachel helps in a… different way. Max thinks she overheard Chloe calling it, “throwing her to the wolves,” in a conversation that probably wasn't meant for her ears. 

Whatever it is, it’s how Max finds herself in the blaring lights and veritable sea of drunken bodies known as a party. But it's fine. It's been fine. She’s just been hanging onto Chloe for dear life and trying to remember how to talk like a normal person whenever someone spoke to them. No biggie, no problem.

And then they lost Rachel. And Chloe's immediate response was, “Goddamnit, not again.” That definitely added a few points to the metaphorical uncertainty metre. 

Though they still had fun off on their own for a bit. Chloe even mixed her one of those infamous red solo cup drinks, so she's getting a good grade in acting like a normal high-schooler tonight; something that is totally not weird of her to want and surprisingly difficult to achieve. It sort of helped and sort of made it worse that Chloe kept checking in with her every so often, looking at her like she was expecting Max to crack at any second. 

Max misses the looks. She realizes it as she's wandering through yet another unfamiliar hallway, semi-frantically looking around whatever rooms she finds, having now lost both Rachel and Chloe. She doesn't know half the faces here, let alone names, so if anyone has to be looking at her she'd really, really prefer it be Chloe. 

Alas, for the moment it's just a bunch of strangers’ gazes darting over to her every time she pokes her head into a room, searing into her skin even if only a momentary glance. Not to mention everything everywhere is so goddamn loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I don't know how anyone else's ears aren't bleeding loud. Even in rooms where the music is barely audible, there's chatting and laughing and a hundred conversations all happening at once. And don't even get her started on the lights downstairs.

She's just beginning to debate the merits of tearing her hair out over everything when she nearly crashes into yet another girl she doesn't know. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, wincing at the sound of her voice. “M-My bad. I didn’t mean to.”

The stranger beams down at her. “Hey, no worries. I saw you come in with Rachel, didn't I?”

Max nods vigorously before realizing she probably looks ridiculous and uttering an, “Uhm, yeah,” in its place. “Have you seen her?”

“Looking for her, huh? Aren't we all. She's pretty slippery when she wants to be.” The stranger leans in to put an arm around Max's shoulder, and she goes rigid as a board under the touch. “Come with me, I think I saw her over this way not that long ago.”

“You think?” Max asks, half in earnest and half in reactionary grouchiness. 

“Ooh, the puppy can bite,” answers the stranger, grinning at her with a hungry gleam in her eye. Max gulps. “Have a little faith in me. I've partied with Rachel before, I know where she likes to hang out.”

Max can feel her face going red. Maybe those stupid bright colored lights could actually be helpful right now. 

Thankfully the very touchy stranger does actually know what she's doing, and it doesn't take too much walking and weaving through the crowd to find a certain flannel-clad blonde. She's at the head of a table full of people playing cards, and Max has no idea what they're playing but it sure looks like Rachel is winning. She's got her signature big, bright, confident smile plastered across her face, and there's a pile of loose change, cigarettes, and joints off in her corner of the table; next to a small stack of empty solo cups. 

“Hey, Rach,” the stranger calls over to her, one arm still wrapped around Max. “Is this your lost puppy I've found?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Max’s face goes hot and she isn't sure if all the ensuing smiles are genuine or mocking and she still doesn't even know the name of the girl draped over her and –

“Maxie!” Rachel's voice is just as bright and boisterous as her winner's grin, and she too has taken to Chloe’s habit of calling her almost every iteration of her name under the sun. But Max is sort of grateful for it right now. “C’mere and watch me wipe the floor with these guys. We're almost done with this game.” 

The whole table grumbles in protest to Rachel's gloating, but Max doesn't need to be told twice. She ducks out of the stranger's grip and rushes to Rachel's side, half hidden behind her. She lets out a shakey sigh of relief, knowing there's at least a cap on her nerves now that she's near someone familiar. Usually Chloe is her designated safe person, but she's in no state to be picky, and next to Rachel feels about as safe as she can manage right now. 

Rachel looks back to give her a softer, sweeter smile before turning to the girl who brought her here. “My puppy,” she snaps, in full seriousness. “Paws off.”

The girl holds her hands up in mock defense and gives Rachel a scoff, turning to leave. 

“Sorry,” she tells Max in a laugh. “A girl's gotta stake her claim. She'd eat you up if I didn't.” 

Max chokes on nothing. “She'd what?”

“You heard me,” Rachel answers, pulling some cards from her hand and dropping her offering of cigarettes into the new betting pool at the centre of the table without really paying attention, practically playing with her eyes closed. “You are absolutely fucking adorable, after all.” 

Max short circuits for a minute while she tries to process the sentiment. A chorus of groans and grievances circle the table. 

“Goddamnit, again?”

“What are you a fucking wizard?”

“C'mon, Rach, you're bleeding me dry here.” 

“She barely even looked at her fucking cards! What the hell!” 

Rachel answers them all with that dazzling smile, tone honeyed and blithe. “I can't help that Lady Luck favors me so.” She nods towards Max beside her. “Especially now that I have my good luck charm with me. Back out while you still can.” 

That's something about Rachel that Max can't help but admire. That damn silver tongue, effortlessly charming and always sharp enough to quip back with ease. She's somehow bolder when she's been drinking, if such a thing is even possible. So far Max has only ever dealt with the aftermath of drunk-Rachel, she's never actually been around to watch it in action. She can see why the girl is often considered the life of the party, bouncing from conversation to conversation without a hitch and still managing to make a show of shuffling the deck all the while. 

“Where’s Chloe? Weren’t you guys sticking together?” 

Max startles back to attention, still disoriented from being off on her own and maybe the slightest bit buzzed from what little she had to drink earlier. She finds Rachel staring up at her with those all too alluring hazel eyes of hers. Maybe Max doesn't mind her looking, either. 

To say it's a struggle to get her voice working would be an understatement. “We were. And then we went looking for you and I– I got lost.”

Rachel hums as if considering a particularly tough equation. “Ah, I see, I see. Well, come sit with me for a bit. Chloe will find us eventually.”

Max raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?” 

“Poor, sweet, Maximilian,” Rachel replies in her infamous Shakespearean drama voice. “Always so caught up in the pesky certainties of life. Sit, have a drink, see for yourself if I'm sure or not.” 

When Max continues standing there staring at her like a very confused fish out of water, Rachel offers her best impersonation of Chloe by grinning like a great, joyful fool and moving to tug Max down into her lap. Both hands gripping her small waist, relishing in the startled little eep it earns her. 

“C’mon, Caulfield. Live a little.” She drops her voice to a murmur, husky and low and so close to Max’s ear that she could probably nibble on it if she wanted to. Not that Max is thinking about that or anything. “You’ll be fine. I'll look after you, promise.” 

Max shivers and she knows that Rachel can feel every second of it, that she's enjoying it. For a minute still she debates what to do, but as much as she wants to find Chloe, Max also doesn’t want to get up and risk losing track of Rachel again. Besides, she’s probably right. Chloe will find them eventually. She shouldn’t get so caught up in knowing every last detail ahead of time, that’s the whole point of why they brought her here. Like Rachel said, she should live a little.

So she takes in a breath of that jasmine perfume Rachel's so fond of, tries to relax in her hold, and asks what game they’re playing.

Rachel is all too happy to talk her through it as she deals everyone’s hand, putting an unequivocally silly amount of theatrics into her explanation, not that that stops everybody from hanging onto her every word. Even if most of them have undoubtedly heard the whole spiel before. Max then proceeds to watch her demolish everyone at another few rounds, midway through which someone brings them both a refill of something fruity and red.

“You made mine a double, right?” Rachel calls after them.

“They’re both doubles,” they answer with an enthusiastic thumbs up and a foolish grin, before disappearing back into the crowd outside.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel offers with a half bashful, half guilty expression. “Don't worry if you can't finish yours, I'll take it.” She pauses for a moment, laughs to herself. “Although it would be kinda fun to see you go wild for once.” 

And Max, perhaps incentivized by all the physical affection or perhaps looking for a way to enjoy it without feeling like she's going to blow up, takes that as a challenge. “It's okay,” she assures, with far too much determination for her own good, a hamfisted plot to impress already forming in her mind. “I can handle it.”

First things first, she takes a massive gulp of whatever was just handed to her. Then, instead of whatever the hell she thought she was gonna do, she grimaces like she just swallowed a brick. 

Rachel laughs, a brilliant, golden sound that serves as higher reward than Max could ever hope for. “Easy there, tiger,” she says, holding Max a little tighter, closer. “You’ve gotta pace yourself.” 

“Sorry,” Max splutters in return. “I'm not used to this.” 

“I can tell.” Rachel laughs again, this one slow and syrupy; eyes roaming Max’s face with reckless abandon. “Don’t worry, I think it's cute.” 

“Jesus, get a room,” one of the boys at the table huffs. “I thought we were playing cards here.” 

“I'm in one,” Rachel replies without missing a beat, delightfully glib and sounding far too proud of herself. “And I think you mean losing at cards here. Read ‘em and weep, fellas.” 

She lays her cards out for everyone to see with decidedly cocky flair, all but basking in the latest bout of cursing her name to fly around the table. She offers Max a victory toast, giggling once more at the girl's sour expression and knocking back half of her own drink without even flinching. By the time Rachel actually comes out of a round empty handed, they've had so many victory toasts that Max can't remember just how long they've been here. Long enough that she's been able to arrange their hoard of treasure into several smaller piles. Long enough that the sensory onslaught she'd been so arduously fighting through feels a thousand miles away.

Drinking makes everything a little fuzzier, makes all the lights and sounds and staring a little more bearable. It also destroys her sense of time and makes her approximately a thousand percent more likely to say something stupid. But it's not all bad. She manages to crack a few jokes that have everyone laughing, and as the minutes march on and the drinks keep magically appearing beside her on the table, Max finds herself growing bolder.

“Looks like your hot streak is finally over,” someone says to Rachel as the round comes to end, slurring their words and leering over at her in premature triumph. 

Max watches in equal parts concern and entertainment as Rachel swings her latest cup around a bit dangerously. “Hey, don't count me out just yet,” she huffs, sneaking a sip between sentences. “Max, quick, give me a kiss for good luck.” 

And instead of questioning it, instead of stammering and getting all flustered, Max leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Which is bold by her standards. She's still a bit shy about kissing either of them, but especially Rachel. She's just so intimidatingly pretty, and nice, and way, way out of Max's league. Sometimes she still doesn't understand why Rachel was even willing to be in this little triangle relationship with her, let alone be the one to suggest it in the first place. But when a gift horse opens, you don't look it in the mouth. Or something like that. 

And why not try and be a little brave for once? That's what all the liquid courage was for, after all.

But Rachel, as Max has often heard, is someone who isn't afraid to ask for more, more, more. Even as the alcohol robs her of some of her usual eloquence. “I meant tongue luck,” she says, complete with an admittedly adorable and endearingly earnest pout. 

For a minute, the nervousness returns tenfold. A thousand worries and wonders swirl around her head and she can't help but think of all the eyes on them, all the pressure, all the ways she could mess this up. All the ways she could disappoint. If it's all just meant to be a joke and she's taking it way too seriously and getting herself worked up over nothing again. 

But then she's looking at Rachel and Rachel's looking at her and Max is drunker than she's ever been and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, she doesn’t need to be sure of anything other than the fact that she’s the lucky one for getting to be so close to Rachel. Before she can talk herself out of it, Max takes the girl’s face in both hands and kisses her. Really kisses her, just barely sliding under the bar of full stop making out as she startles back when someone at the table cheers for them. 

“I-Is that more what you had in mind?” She mumbles upon pulling away, fixing Rachel with a bashful, doe-eyed stare. She knows people must be staring again, but it’s fine. She can just look at Rachel and pretend no one else exists instead, let go of all her nerves and replace them with those sunny hazel eyes and that silky, honey-blonde hair.

And that's so, so goddamn easy it isn't even funny. 

Rachel blinks back at her, momentarily dazed, before breaking out into an expression best described as the cat who got the cream. “Yeah,” she says, half breathless, moving to ruffle Max’s hair. “Good puppy.”

Max just keeps looking at her, for a moment or two, and then she feels her face going red again as it catches up to her, so she rushes to hide in Rachel’s shoulder. “That’s mean,” she whines, piteous and small, doing absolutely nothing to help her case. “That’s so mean.”

“Duly noted,” Rachel answers with a devious little hum, and Max can picture the way she’s grinning ear to ear at the new source of teasing material. 

She reaches out over Max to grab her latest hand, and Max knows solely by the way Rachel's fingers dance along her waist that it's another good one. She tries to keep her drunken grin hidden from the silent tension of the rest of the table. The quiet won't last long, of course. Even without looking Max can count down to the oncoming clamor; four, three, two…

The person who'd been taunting Rachel a few minutes ago drops their cards down and heaves a melodramatic sigh, and the guy next to them lets out a cry of, “You fucking jinxed it, dude,” while giving them a playful shove. 

“This is madness. This is actual madness.”

“So fucking unfair. Yo, can I get some of that tongue luck over here?”

Max winds up with a fresh lungful of jasmine as Rachel wraps a protective arm around her, threading her fingers through her hair. “Nope,” she answers in Max's stead. “No way. Didn't you hear me earlier? Mine.” 

Max is learning a lot of things about herself tonight. Like how it's kind of exciting when Rachel gets territorial over her, or that the more she hears it the less she questions being likened to a puppy. Or that she apparently isn't above letting Rachel hold the cup to her lips and coax her into another victory sip after finding her own cup empty. 

Oh, and according to one of the many strangers at the table she's, ‘so light of a lightweight she should win an award.’ Rachel agrees wholeheartedly and gives Max another pat on the head, which Max was too busy enjoying to really pay attention to what they were saying. 

All in all a very educational evening. 

“I think that’s it for you tonight,” Rachel says, finishing off the rest of her cup in one swig. Max almost shudders just watching her. “Chloe will probably have my head if I get you any more wasted.”

“She’s already gonna have your head.”

Max turns to face the source of the interruption, smiling like she's just laid eyes on the sun after a long dreary winter, but Rachel scoffs and remains oblivious. 

“Says who?” she huffs, defensive and gloating. Everyone stares at the space behind her.

“Says me,” answers Chloe, arms crossed, leaning ominously over Rachel and donning an I'm so gonna kill you sort of grin. Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her. Her tone comes out sickly sweet and simmering with a hint of trouble just beneath. “And what have you two been up to while I was running around half the night wondering where the fuck you were?” 

“Winning,” Max says, without a hint of irony. In fact she can’t help but to beam with pride as she proclaims, “I’m her good luck puppy.”

Chloe blinks down at her once, twice, and then moves to pull Max up into a hug. Max hums contentedly to herself. She really is the lucky one, having not just one but two girlfriends tossing her around like a hot potato. Oh yeah, this is the life.

“There, there,” Chloe assures, probably meant in jest but Max soaks it up as if it were genuine, leaning up into Chloe's touch as the girl pets her hair. “What's reckless ol’ Rachel got done to you, huh?” 

Rachel gasps in melodramatic mock offense. “What have I done? You wound me, good sir.”

“You got Max drunk.”

“Well, you lost her.” 

“Not on purpose,” Chloe snaps back. “Pretty big distinction there, Rach.” 

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” 

Max interrupts them with the utmost confidence, even as she finds her tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Ladies, ladies, please.” Both the words themselves and the hiccup that follows them are muffled in the fabric of Chloe’s jacket, but Max doesn't move. “There’s enough a’ me to go around.”

“Oh she's smashed. Jesus, Rach, you really are a bad influence.” Chloe's probably trying to tell her off, but the effect is greatly lessened by the fact that she's audibly covering up a laugh. “Max, Maxster, Maximilian, how are you doing? How much have you–”

“Rachel already used that one tonight,” Max notes, somehow coming in too late and too early at the same time.

“... had. That answers that question.” Chloe pulls back all of a sudden and Max scrambles not to tip over. “Wait, which one? First or second?”

“Second.”

“Ugh, what? C'mon, Rach, you know I've been saving that one.”

Rachel offers her best attempt at that snake-charmer’s smile, and Max finds herself thinking that she'd never be able win an argument against her. “Yeah, sorry, it just kinda slipped out. It is pretty good.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere now, Princess.” Chloe huffs back. “C'mon, up, both of you. I'm cuttin’ ya off.”

One of the guys lets out a cheer. “And my wallet is once again saved by the power of Rachel having a spousal dispute! Thanks, Price. You're a lifesaver.”

Rachel starts saying something about finally getting lucky only to have the competitive smirk wiped off her face by Chloe elbowing her in the side. Max dutifully gathers up the various little piles of Rachel's winnings and the two of them share a look as she hands them over. Though it must have been longer than just a glance, because the next thing Max knows Chloe is between them and has them both by the shirt collars like a pair of unruly kittens getting picked up by the scruff of the neck. 

“Well, I’d better get Romeo and Juliet over here back home before they start fucking on the table–”

“Chloe,” Max sputters, having just enough remaining wherewithal to get flustered over such a remark. 

Rachel does another one of those laughably dramatic gasps. “What kind of brute do you take me for?” She adds, far too nonchalantly, “I'd bring her to a room first. I'm not an animal.”

“Rachel,” Max squeaks, balking over at the girl with her face undoubtedly turning cherry red. Rachel offers only a drunkard’s smirk and a wink in return.

“ – And as you can see, I've got my hands full.” Chloe continues, barreling over them. 

She lets them go and gives them both a pat on the back, trying to get them to start heading out but only succeeding in sending them stumbling into each other. 

“Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘em for me,” she sighs. It's quickly replaced with a devilish smirk of her own as she reaches to give the guy a few rough pats on the shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for never learning your lesson when it comes to betting joints against Rachel. I'll be smoking good tonight, thanks to you.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He nods towards Rachel and Max, both of whom are not so subtly eyeing the setup for the next round. “Now get those two outta here before they find a way to win from halfway across the room.” 

Chloe turns back to them. “Alright guys, you heard him. Time to scram.” 

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Max says as they head for the door, giving Chloe a haphazard salute. 

“Ooh, are we pirates?” Rachel asks, before nodding sagely in approval. “Hell yeah. Yeehaw.”

Chloe fights to form a sentence around the burst of laughter that follows. “That's cowboys, you dumbass. How much have you had?”

“A lot,” Max supplies, trying not to trip over herself as they step into the cool night air outside. “Like, twenty cups.”

“It wasn't twenty,” Rachel huffs. “More like a sensible seven. And jeez, way to tattle on me, Caulfield.”

Max blinks over at her. “Oh, sorry. Can I try again?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Chloe. “Rachel had a nice sensible seven drinks and there's nothing to worry about.” Then, she turns back over to Rachel with a thumbs up and a lopsided, optimistic grin; whispering as if Chloe isn't right next to them and listening to every word. “Was that better?”

“Perfect,” Rachel just barely manages to answer through a bout of giggling. “Thanks, Maxie.”

The sharp flick of a lighter draws both of their attention, and they find Chloe in the process of lighting up one of the joints she'd claimed as ‘drunk-sitter tax.’ They both watch a little too intently as she takes that first drag and lets it plume out into the dark. “Don't mind me,” she coughs. “I'm just tryna get on your guys’ level. You've got like one brain cell between you right now, I gotta get in on this shit if I'm gonna be the one dealing with it.”

“Do you want some tongue luck?” Max asks, too earnest for her own good. “For dealing with us?”

Chloe stops walking. “Do I want what?”

Max turns on her heel and closes their distance, reaching up to take gentle grip of Chloe's jacket. “Here,” she says, getting up on her tiptoes. “Let me show you.”

Chloe makes this cute little noise of surprise, muffled by Max's mouth over hers, and it only serves to spur the girl on. It doesn't take long for Chloe to melt into it however, unconsciously leaning towards Max as she pulls back, keen on continuing. 

“Damn,” Chloe whispers, eyeing Max with a look of eagerness and wonder. “Drunk-Max has game.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agrees on the end of a smokey exhale, having nabbed the joint from Chloe's hand while she wasn't paying attention.

Max puffs up like an overexcited budgie trying to show off for its mate. “I can't help being so swaggy.”

For a minute, all is quiet.

“Aaaaand we're back to normal,” Chloe notes with a humorous sigh, while next to her Rachel breaks into a fit of contagious cackling.  

Max merely smiles to herself, watching their faces light up as they chase each other in circles over the joint, listening as they calm halfway down only for one of them to start up again and drag the other into a fresh round of barely contained laughter. She may be playing more on the wild side than usual tonight, but she still finds herself sure — super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure – of one thing.

No amount of alcohol could compare to the rush and butterflies of making her girlfriends happy. 

[medusanova]

Too Far Gone

He hated it, the power she held over him. That she'd never needed her magic to see into the poisoned depths of him. The pressure that never seemed to escape the cage of his ribs. The ache, worse than any blade that had pierced his skin. Worse than any broken bone or wound from a Burned One.

And yet he loved it. That the never-ending pain only ever dulled when he was with her.

read on ao3

A 2023 @winxsource Holiday Exchange gift for my angsty soulmate, fellow Bloody!Riven enthusiast, and multi-fandom friend, @leadingrebel. It is an honor and joy to gift you the sweetest and most blood-splattered story I could come up with. And an endless thank you to the amazing @skloomdumpster and @fitztragedy for all their effort in bringing this event to life with their special holiday magic xx

[rightpastnowhere]

POV, LAST and NEXT for the writing ask game?

hiiiiiii i can always count on you in my ask box with writing games <3

in the time its taken me to respond to this after the other inbox prompt, i actually started working on something new lmfao, which is just a silly one shot where i throw my desire to be comforted after a closing shift onto vex so i can have percy comfort her <3

LAST:

He glances at the rough-hewn analog clock hanging on the wall — an old gift he made for Vex, one of his first clocks, that she’d brought when moving in — to see that it’s about 10:25pm. Vex’s shift ended at ten, but he’s not incredibly concerned; she usually gets out late, either finishing her own task or helping someone else, and the commute itself is fifteen minutes by Vex’s… well-loved (nearly falling apart) motorcycle. 

NEXT:

It’s after about half an hour when he’s broken again from his fixated haze of concentration by Trinket — Vex’s very fluffy, very large, and overall very grizzly bear-like dog — heaving up from where he’s been laying against Percy’s legs. 

POV:

(for context, vex hasn't actually shown up in the draft of the work one-shot yet, so i'm gonna skip ahead a bit in my outline)

"Hello, Trinket," Vex murmurs as she walks through the door to her precious dog's wide grin and wagging tail. She kicks off her shoes, letting them clatter randomly in the entryway with every intent to arrange them neatly letter. She lets her bag fall from her barely-mustered grasp to give the boy some scratches behind the ears, tiredly mussing the fur around his jaw like Vax always does.

He trails after her happily as she drifts towards the couch, which she collapses onto face-first as soon as she's within range. The last of the tension from the past nine hours finally relents, and she feels all of her muscles finally relax.

"Well, Trinket, it seems like your mother has fallen victim to the couch once again." Percy's voice is muffled by the throw pillow her face has sunken into, but not enough to mask the fond, faux-dramatic tone that she adores so much. She lifts a heavy hand to flip him off upside down, and he laughs openly in a way that he really only does at home (or when he's drunk).

Two hands pick up her legs where she'd left them hanging off of the edge of the couch, and gently move them to rest fully atop the cushions. There's a dip in the middle seat as Percy joins her, and then he softly takes the hand and folds her middle finger back down before pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.

"I won't bother asking how work was," he says dryly, and Vex laughs into the pillow.

(i just spat that out into the tumblr text editor because it's late and i'm not going for perfection lol. i hope you enjoy vex participating in my nightly routine, except i don't have a percy, i just have two cats that i scoop up against their will to give them hugs <3)

no excuses writing meme

[rxsewqter]

can someone match my freak (my only coping mechanism is giving my ocs trauma)

[novasintheroom]

Simon who is generally against animals - due to his past with his father, you understand. Dogs, cats, birds, especially snakes. Thinks they’re a mess waiting to happen (and he’s right, they’re always making a mess if your mutt is anything to go by).

Simon who is walking through a rainy-day London, on leave for the time being, going to your apartment. He passes by an alley and hears the strangled mewling of a…well, a tiny kitten. He almost walks past, but the little thing darts out and almost gets trampled by his big boots. No survival skills, this one. The thing is sopping wet, orange fur dragging on the ground and tail a small waving stick drenched by rain. Simon looks at it, its pitiful shaking as it takes what shelter it can get under this big man, and sighs.

Simon who arrives at your apartment a little late, a little wet. Your mutt is the first to greet him at the door, butt wiggling and licking his lips in excitement, dragging his favorite toy over to show. You go to greet Simon with a hug when he stops you, fumbling with something at the top of his buttoned-up jacket. A little orange head pokes out suddenly, the kitten looking sleepy from the warmth of Simon’s chest.

Your eyes go wide. “Is that a – “

“Yeh,” he sighs through his mask, closing the door behind him, “don’t make a big deal of it.”

Hard not to. And while you dry off the small thing and have Simon google how to take care of a kitten, one thing is clear: you are going to marry this man if it’s the last thing you do.

[growup-thatbeautiful]

mad max fury road absolutely destroyed me so here’s some max brainrot!

also, apologies for all the unanswered asks, i legit haven’t written anything since well before december, but i’m trying to get back into it. just, you know, a lot going on :))

tw: mentions of sa, blood, canon typical violence

you’re one of joe’s wives, so obviously you’ve got a lot of trauma and you’re not exactly used to being out in the open. but, when furiosa tells you to follow her onto the convoy, you don’t hesitate one bit. you would do anything to get away from joe and the prison joe crated for you and the other girls. nothing can be worse than what you’ve already been through.

the hiding hole in the convoy is dusty and hot. it’s hard to breathe through the smoke and sand whirling through the crowded space, and you’re pushed up against the hard metal, Toast’s elbow in your stomach. when the convoy stops moving, you relish the opportunity to stretch your legs and drink some water. the thin cloth that covers your body is gritty with sand and stained by tears. if you had anything else to change into, you would.

the sun is brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. the sand is warmer than you expected, and you remind yourself that people die out here. but the water is cold and it’s sweet on your tongue, the hope of survival clawing it’s way from your chest.

at first, like everyone else, you don’t trust him one bit. he’s a stranger, and a man, and you’re not sure he’s sane. he doesn’t even have a name that you know of.

but there’s something about him. something that tells you he won’t hurt you or any of the other girls. the brown eyes that he hides under that mask are cunning and strange, yes, but there’s a level of honesty in them that makes you want to trust him.

furiosa’s killswitch stops him before he gets too far, and then he’s forced to take your group. you’re squeezed up from with him and her, the daggers between them enough to make it uncomfortable. she has control- you’re not worried about that- but he has pretty much all of the weapons furiosa hid away.

for the most part, the time passes in silence. Toast and Splendid argue some, and Dag takes the middle ground. Furiosa concentrates on the road, and the man curls as far into the metal of the door as he can, weapons stashed underneath his feet.

it’s not until much later, after you’ve met up with the women from the green place, that you talk to him for the first time. the sky is dark and streaked with sandstorms in the distance, greys and oranges flooding the atmosphere.

“all the others have names. you don’t?” he asks. you’re sitting in the front seat with him again, Furiosa deep in conversation with one of the older women.

“you haven’t told us your name either,” you bite back. “and my name isn’t your concern. neither are their names.” you nod toward the group of girls curled up on the back seat, each looking more and more exhausted.

he accepts your answer with a small nod. “i wouldn’t want to keep a name he gave me either.” there’s a surprising level of understanding in his eyes.

“it’s not that.” he doesn’t look convinced. “it’s not just that,” you correct. “i don’t have anything else to go by. i’m not used to having people use my name for good things.”

“i wouldn’t want to contribute to that bad streak,” he agrees. “what do i call you, then?”

you think for a moment. it doesn’t take you long to come up with a name. it’s something you heard Cheedo talk about one time, probably just a story about a place with streets made of water, opera houses full of painted tiles, and people crammed together but happy. “venice. you can call me venice.”

“venice it is, then.”

the next day, the plan changes. you never thought you would want to head back to where you came from, but it’s better than the alternative. years riding nowhere. sun blisters and sand burns.

the road back to the stronghold is dangerous. it’s risky. but you have Furiosa and the man with you. they’re just as dangerous, you think.

you didn’t expect to survive, though. yes, you lost Splendid and Nux. it hurt like you thought it would, but you haven’t had enough time to really consider it. not with everything going on. not when you find out the man’s name is max. it’s a good name, an old name. one without this world’s pain ingrained into it.

it’s been hours on the road with him and you can’t sleep. every time you close your eyes you see joe’s figure lurking over you or splendid’s body roll underneath truck tires or even flames eating at nux as rubble and rock crushed him into the ground. you know you’re going to be home soon, if you can even call the stronghold a home.

you know you’re getting on max’s nerves. he doesn’t say anything, but the glances in your direction are enough. you pick at your fingernails until they’re raw and bite and the inside of your cheek until it bleeds. none of it helps. you can’t sleep.

finally, he breaks the silence. “why don’t you try to sleep?” you don’t need to tell him why. he’s heard your screaming and your panicked breaths. he knows what happens when you try to sleep. “there’s nothing that used to help you fall asleep? with the other girls?”

“toast and i used to hold each other when it was too much.” you don’t know why you tell him. you would never wake Toast up, not when she’s finally fallen asleep after fitful attempts. and it’s not like max is going to hold you while you sleep. he has more important things to do.

you don’t expect him to offer. you really don’t. with Furiosa hurt, its on him to drive. it shouldn’t be much further, but it’s enough.

“lay you head down,” he says softly. when you don’t immediately respond, he adds, “you don’t have to, but i think it’ll help you get some sleep.”

“okay,” you agree uncertainly. slowly, carefully, like you’re trying not to scare him or yourself, you lean over and lay down, your back on the warm metal of the seat. your head rests gently on his thigh, and you try not to put too much pressure on him. you know he’s sore, and you aren’t sure this is what he wants.

“there you go.” his voice is quiet but, for once, sure of himself. his hand reaches to card through your hair and brush it off your face. “try to sleep, now.”

it’s easier than you thought it would be, trusting him. letting him take care of you. but, somehow, you do. maybe it’s because you know his name and because he’s saved you so many times. whatever it is, you let him lull you to sleep with his gentle hands tracing the curves of your face.

[novasdarling]

I feel like this is an unhinged idea but Mahito with a breeding kink + actually getting reader pregnant with some monster baby

Hahahaha I like your thinking my dear.

Give Me

TW: Suicide Mention, Noncon, Forced Relationship, Baby trapping, Abortion mention, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Female Reader.

The sun was setting. Watching as the sky became darker and darker, as the night rolled in, and the day left. Watching as your safety was being ripped from you for another time. It wouldn't be long till he came. It never was. After all, he came every night like clocked work. Once the moon was bright and visible. He was there, Mahito. Ready to indulge in whatever sick fantasy or curiosity he had that night. Whatever his dead, twisted heart wanted at that moment, he got.

Mahito took pleasure in playing with you. Contorting you any way he wanted, making you do things you had never imagined were possible. Then in the morning when he left, he would leave you in your room begging for death. Pleading with whatever god there was to have mercy on you and end it all, but death would be a mercy from a monster like Mahito and no god seemed like it wanted to get in his way. At one point you had toyed with the idea of giving yourself the so-called mercy you prayed for. Pausing every time you held a knife. Imagining if you were brave enough to plunge it into your chest. To rid yourself of his grip by any means. Yet, you knew death wouldn't stop Mahito from having his fun with you. He made that clear. All it would do would make it challenging for him, but he would still continue.

There was no escape from this hell, neither in life nor death and as you heard the floorboards creak behind you. You recognised all that was granted to you was a monetary relief during the day. A few hours to recuperate and heal your wounds the best you could before it was stripped of you once again. A moment of relief that was now over as the daylight disappeared.

All there could be done now was to wait. Wait for him to come again. There was no see in running. He'd always find you, that much he had proved, but the wait wouldn't be long. The air was getting colder, dropping rapidly. A sign he was near. It was moving around you, engulfing your body as you sat looking out the window. The cold was creeping along your skin. Clawing its way up slowly. Taking its time to leave a trail of goosebumps along your arms until it reached your shoulders. The cold changed to pressure. Laying its weight wherever it had touched you. Sinking you into your seat. Forcing you lower, to fight back against it. The weight was taking a shape, and second by second, it was becoming easier to tell it was him. His hands and body were on you.

"My favourite part of the day."

It was no more than a whisper. Right by in your ear, you could feel his breath. Yet, somehow his voice sounded so distant. He wasn't fully there yet. He was still lingering in the air. Making his way to you slowly. Playing with you. Scaring you before he even got there. You were his favourite. One he would take care of so he could resume having his fun with as long as your feeble mortal body could hold on. After all, all humans died eventually. Mahito just hoped it would not be from the enjoyment you two had.

"The bed."

Abruptly the weight was gone, and the chill had left as well. Mahito wasn't with you now. Which meant he was waiting for you elsewhere. Waiting for you to follow his order and pursue him like a puppy. Like a good toy, he had called you that many times. A good toy follows orders and then gets rewarded.

There was still a part of you that said no, wanting to resist and stay seated or run, but the part that odd part that knew his anger knew no bounds would always follow his orders. Even if you wanted to die, there was still a strong part that wanted to self-preserve.

The bed he had said. The bedroom. He wanted you there. You knew what he wanted. Knew what the bedroom meant. Mahito had figured out sex a few months ago. Figured out what it was and why it occurred. Stating he was curious about it. Wanted to learn. Forced you to show him, and who were you to refuse the curse? To say no to him when he could so easily kill you and everyone you ever cared about, no wasn't an option.

Night after night he would come. Sex was still on his mind, even weeks later. Trying new positions, new technics. Him telling you where he heard it from, where he had seen it. One time he had claimed he learned this position from a couple he had watched before he killed them. Things got worse when he discovered porn. He learned even more. Forcing you to try everything with him. Every position. Trying to make you sound the same as the pornstars. It got even worse when he learned what a female orgasm was. Deciding to abuse it. Making you overstimulated every time. He was having fun while you were in tears. Mahito tended to share with you what his new desire was. being upfront and having no shame, forcing you into any role he saw fit, but this time was different. He was quiet about his true intentions. Not letting you know the truth. He kept silent about his new interest, instead playing it out without your knowledge. You always assumed since he was a curse, something not living, he couldn't force a child on you. That he was shooting blanks. So it didn't matter he was fucking you raw. That a child from a curse was impossible. After all, curses are made not born. That he was just having fun fucking you and filling you with his useless cum.

Making your way to him, your mind still toyed with the question of why had sex stuck. Though all you could really do was endure what he wanted to try this time and hope this fascination drifted away sooner rather than later.

You could hope, after all. That was all you had, hope when it came to Mahito. He always got his way, so who were you to make it harder? If you followed along with his wishes, it would be better. He would sometimes even reward your good behaviour by holding off on a visit or two.

Even as you dragged your feet, you were still were met by him eventually. Seeing his full form sitting on your bed. You knew what to do, following the same routine as the last couple of months. For you to strip and meet him is what he was waiting for. If he had his fun, perhaps it would be an early night. They were rare, but they were given. Though as you stripped, your might was racing. This little interest of his, sex, hadn't disappeared as soon as the others.

Your sweater came off.

Why was it still lingering? It had been months?

Your shirt followed.

Why was he so interested in having sex.? In fucking you every night until the morning light came up?

Then your braw followed.

The worst part was that he insisted on fucking you raw. At least he wasn't living. His cum was all for show, right?

Your pyjama pants came off.

His interest in seeing if he could turn you into something and bring you back had only lasted a few weeks, a month tops.

Then your underwear.

You were now bare in front of him. Standing there as your mind kept asking questions, unable to find answers.

"Come here."

Following his order, your mind still raced with questions, with distractions. As he caressed your body. Stroking and squeezing you. Especially relishing in squeezing your ass, chest and thighs. Laughing when you winced as he got too aggressive. Pain was funny to him. He laughed when you cried that he was being mean. Smiled when you told him the bruises that littered your body was from him. Got excited when you begged him to fuck you softer cause your body just couldn't take it. Human pain was funny.

It wasn't long until you were laying under him, you tried to black out his image. His face, the way the lines ran all along it and his body. The way he grinned at you when he knew you were scared. The worse part was his voice. Talking, commanding. Telling you how much he wanted you today while you were busy. He would describe your day, letting you know he had been watching from the shadows. That he was always there with you. You needed to block him out and shutting your eyes would allow you to get rid of one of your senses that were filled by him.

"Tsk tsk tsk." He had stopped fucking you. "Look at me."

Mahito wanted you to watch. To see his face as he fucked you. As he used your body any way he wanted. Look into his eyes as he filled you over and over. He wanted his toy to be present, to not ignore him or his actions. Looking into his eyes as he had his way with you. Fucked you until daybreak, until you were dripping with his cum. Unable to hold anymore.

This night was like the others, except he had a new position. The mating press. You were shocked he hadn't learned of this one sooner, yet, thankful at the same time. Mahito had you pressed in that position most of the night. Whining every time he finished. Only to continue again and again. His word began to slur as the hours drifted on. Not making as much sense as earlier. However, you could still catch a few orders and words here and there. Some of his words haunted you though.

"I'm going to breed you."

It stuck with you, simply because it made you think. At first, you assumed it was just him repeating words from porn like the others, but then you realized. When was the last time you had your period? Did you have one this month? You couldn't remember. Your body went stiff, realizing what was transpiring. You were late, who knows how long. You had spent so much time simply trying to survive Mahito, you never stopped to realize why you hadn't bled yet. All you could do now was lay there, lay there in fear and continue to let all those questions from before. Find their answers.

As the night turned to day and Mahito disappeared. You ran to your calendar, you had tracked your cycle. Searching through the months, looking for the last of the red boxes. Not this month, not last, no they only appeared three months ago. Three months you had missed your period. Three fucking months.

You raced to the store, hoping that if you were a regular pregnancy test would answer your question. Would this cursed creature even make a pregnancy test be positive? Would any test be able to read if you were or not? Once you got home you found the answer. It was yes, the test could pick up on the creature growing inside of you. It was positive. Mahito had done the impossible.

All you had were questions when it came to Mahito, this only added to them. He never made sense, never explaining his actions fully, but at least before you knew what was happening. This was unexpected. Could you get rid of it? Would an abortion work on this?

Looking at yourself in the mirror. Staring at yourself, analyzing your body. It was mad, but you still lifted your shirt. Gazing at your stomach. Running your hands along it. You couldn't be, this had to be a bad dream. No god, if there were any, could hate you so much.

"Fascinating."

Mahito has sprung into view in the mirror. Standing behind you, in the door frame. He was gazing at your stomach. Looking over it again and again as he stood there.

"What the hell did you do?"

You were scared now, fearing the worse. The way he looked at you was terrifying. As if you were a wonder of the world. Just something to be analyzed and examined. A look he had never given you before.

"I wanted to know if it was true."

You were just his little science experiment. His school project to be tested on. You weren't a person to him, just something for him to use. If that hadn't set in before. It had now. You wanted to scream at him, cuss at him, hit him. Anything to get your anger out, but what use would that be? He had gotten you this time and there was no way out from him. Not that he now knew.

Mahito made his way to you. That same smile never left his face, instead only getting wider. He was behind you know, holding your form against him. Resting his hands on your stomach.

"It's finally taken."

"Mahito...Please tell me-tell me i-it isn't-"

"Oh, sweetie, it is. You're carrying my seed." He was nuzzling his head into your shoulder as he whispered. Kissing in between words. As if you two were a happy couple with thrilling news.

Mahito had gotten you pregnant. He had fucked some fucked up thing into you. He was going to force you to carry this thing to term, to birth it. Would it even be human? Or even resemble anything like you?

"W-what is i-it?" You were holding back tears.

"Hmm... I'm not sure, but I'm looking forward to seeing it." He saw the fear in your eyes. "It's okay if this one isn't to your liking. We now know we can always make more."

He was planning more. Planning to fuck more fucked up creatures into you. Make you something to bread him as many monsters as he pleases.

"I don't want this."

It was a whisper, but you knew he heard. Refusing to look at him in the mirror. Instead staring at his hands on your belly.

"Hmmm, that's sad because I do. I want to see you grow big. Like those women I see. Barley able to walk properly. Not fitting into anything anymore. Yeah, I want to see you like that." His hands began to rub your stomach as he held onto you. "I want you as mine like any other man could have you and if that means fucking you until you give me a whole army of monsters." Mahito leant in more, kissing your cheek before continuing. "Then I happily will."

[nova2kss]

Lip gloss

pairing: dominican!connie springer x black fem!reader

cumtent warning : Constance using his cum as you're lip gloss, blowjob, spit play,dirty talk, cursing, connie moaning like a lil bitch lmfaoao, some spanish (blame google translate if sum wrong), pet names, usage of daddy once, lmk if i miss anything

novas notes: MINORS DNI, this is 100% inspired by @cottonconnielvr , as always, its not proofread, support this blog , and support black writers.

"A-aughh shit" connie moaned out.

one of his tatted hands wrapped around you're throat, the other around the base of cock sloppily pulling his throbbing tip from the back of you're sore throat.

you licked under his tip looking him dead in his eyes

you watched as his face contorted into pure pleasure, as you went down as far as you can, gagging from all the saliva used to lubricate his dick, whatever you couldn't fit down your throat was being stroked by his hand.

his mouth went agape when you hummed against him, you felt his hand tighten around you're butterfly locs that he now had in a tight fist thrusting into your mouth.

you fucked him back with you're mouth watching him whine out

you released him with a pop before spitting all over his dick from tip to base.

" mhmm, i love t-thaa.. shit mamiii" he moanded with his head thrown back, he released your hair to grab the fabric behind him, desperately craving his release.

you looked at him while slowly running you're mouth down to his balls, you licked them before sucking on them which made him shiver

"yea..you like that" you responded to his admiring the fact that you had somone that was displayed as a hard ass gangster that most people feared whimpering for you right now.

he moaned thrusting into your mouth once again, he was getting louder by the second

"Esta v-viniendo"

" take it daddy....use my throat"

he grabbed the back of your head pushing you down his length making your nose touch his pelvis

"mumphh....auh"

" oh shit...oh shittt..Ohhh ahhh"

he pulled you up stroking his shaft

his eyes were closed as he muttered meaningless pleas, his hot spurts of cum landing straight onto your thick lips before spreading his semen all on your lips.

he laughed looking at you which made you laugh closed mouth since you didn't want it to fall off

" you look so pretty with your new lip gloss"

[neosunbrella]

At long last, Gilded Cages, my Leshley slow-burn fic, has been updated!

⚜️ 🖤 ⚜️

[i-am-the-iliad]

comfort and coffee

requested by the marvelous @urbanflorals!!

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: panic attack

pair: avery kylie grambs x jameson winchester hawthore

“I- I’m so sorry, could you repeat that?”

Avery smiled at the flustered barista’s expression. It wasn’t every day you met some of the richest teenagers in America. Avery knew the feeling. 

“An iced americano, an iced mocha, and two almond croissants,” Jameson said with a smirk directed at the barista, who blushed tomato red. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne had an effect on people, and he knew it.

“That’ll be fourteen dollars and ninety-four cents.” The barista rang them up and grabbed two pastry bags. She hurried to give them a couple of almond croissants from the glass case in front of her (nearly dropping one in the process), while her coworker chuckled and started on their coffees. 

Avery almost laughed but cleared her throat to stop herself. “Thank you.”

The cafe had no other customers except a girl studying at one of the little wooden tables. She had headphones on and seemed to be in her own world, barely noticing her surroundings. Avery and Jameson waited on the other side of the cafe and grabbed their drinks a few minutes later. Avery spotted the barista furiously typing away on her phone.

They sat outside the cafe at a little white table with a design that reminded Avery of lace. She took a sip of her coffee. “Want some?” she asked, holding the cup out to Jameson. 

He tried a bit, stared at the cup, and handed it back to her. “That’s all yours, Heiress. Way too bitter for me”

Before Avery could respond, a bulky white van pulled up by the cafe. She heard the click of a camera. 

“Look alive, I think that’s the press.”

◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈

The paparazzi only got worse, so bad that they spotted the cafe manager talking to the barista outside, who was getting increasingly paler. She caught Avery’s eye and mouthed, I’m so sorry.

Oh, Avery realized. What the barista was typing on her phone was probably a social media post, and the press must’ve seen it. 

But oh, God, there were too many cameras. Too many flashes. Too many people watching.

Click. Click. Click.

Until they turned into gunshots, two exactly, one after the other, hitting the nonexistent tree in front of her. Bark exploding, Jameson on top of her, a sharp pain in her collarbone. A missed shot that would haunt Avery forever. 

She was breathing heavily, back slick with cold sweat. Too hot and too cold at the same time. Twin gunshots repeating over and over in her head. 

Jameson looked at her from across the table, like he could read her, could tell what was happening. And honestly? He probably could.

Avery reached for Jameson’s hand, entwining their fingers together. To the paparazzi, it would look like a touching moment of young love. Perfect and picturesque. With the pad of her thumb, she spelled out an O, and then a R, followed by a W, in the palm of his hand. Their code for overwhelmed. 

Jameson’s green eyes softened. As he created a great show of ease, he let go of her hand and rose from his chair. Gathering their coffee cups and almond croissants, he hooked his arm through Avery’s and led her away from the cafe.

They walked in silence to Jameson’s car, a sleek black Porsche. Jameson pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the car, first opening the passenger door for Avery, and then entering the driver’s seat. 

Avery was still shaking, trying to calm her nerves down as she breathed in and out, the breaths coming out too fast. She wasn’t a crier, but her throat was clogging up like she was about to. Her black top felt as if it was suffocating her. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Avery,” Jameson said. He placed the coffee into the cup holders and shoved the croissant bag into the glove compartment before taking her shoulders. “What happened there?” he asked.

“The paparazzi,” Avery choked over the lump in her throat. “Too many cameras and people.”

Jameson didn’t seem too impressed with that answer, but he leaned over the central console and wrapped his arms around her. “Heiress,” he whispered, holding her close. “It’s okay.” 

Avery felt safe in her boyfriend’s arms, fingers running through her hair and gentle words murmured to her. The gunshots finally quieted down.

“Are you okay?” Jameson asked as he let go and sank back in his seat, feet settling on the dashboard.

“Fine.”

“Alright.” He pulled his feet down and sat up, reaching for his keys again. “Seatbelt on, Heiress.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Somewhere quieter,” was his only reply as he revved up the engine and pulled out of his parking space.

◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈ ◆ ◈

“Tahiti, Heiress,” Jameson said half an hour later as they drove down the highway.

He called Tahiti. There wasn’t any avoiding it. 

Avery sighed. “The cameras clicking…they reminded me of the time I was shot at. When we were in the Black Wood.” She turned her head to look at him before saying, “I can still hear the gunshots in my head sometimes.”

Jameson gave her a quick glance in the rearview mirror before moving his eyes back on the road. He reached out and squeezed her hand gently, one hand still on the steering wheel. Avery took that as a sign to continue.

“It makes me feel like I’m in danger all over again, and my mind goes to a scenario when I really am unsafe and you’re not there with me like last time-”

“Avery,” Jameson stopped her, his voice gentle. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “There’s no need to worry about that because I sure as hell will always be there to protect you. That’s an oath.”

Avery gave him a small smile. “Did you rehearse that?”

He ran his thumb over Avery’s wrist before letting go of her hand. “What can I say? I made that oath that night in the Black Wood.”

“Thank you, Jameson. Really.” 

Jameson made a final turn before parking and switching the engine off. “Anytime, Heiress.”  

He unlocked the car and opened the driver’s seat door, stepping outside. Avery heard the tap of his sneaker-clad footsteps on the pavement as he moved around the car to her door and opened it for her. Jameson took her hand with a crooked grin and helped her out of the car. 

Avery looked around her, her eyes taking in the sight of sand scattered across the ground, teal, glass-clear waves colliding with the shore.

“You took me to…the beach?” Avery asked, eyes wide but blank, trying for a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Yeah.” Avery saw his grin falter, and he scratched the back of his head.

Avery loved the beach. It reminded her of when she was little, taking trips to the shore with her mom. She was too overwhelmed to show that, though, so she took Jameson’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Want your coffee?” Jameson pulled the car door open again and reached for the takeaway coffee cups. 

“Yes, please.”

He grabbed her iced americano and his mocha from the cup holders before closing the door with his foot. It shut with a soft thud, and if Avery were any more freaked out she would’ve started hearing gunshots again.

They walked near the shore in silence, prints in the sand trailing behind them. 

Jameson unlaced his sneakers and pulled off his socks, shoving them into his shoes, and stepped into the water. It sloshed around his ankles, and some seeped through the hems of his jeans. Avery watched as he breathed in the salty air and stretched, his back muscles flexing. 

He turned his head and caught her staring.

“You coming?” Jameson asked with a smirk that told her he wanted to tease her but had stopped himself.

Avery looked away and unzipped her boots, setting them a few yards away from the shore and wading her feet in the water. She moved to where Jameson was standing, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. 

They watched the waves for a few minutes until Avery’s rush of adrenaline died down. Her legs started to feel wobbly, and she grabbed onto Jameson’s arm before she fell. He led her to a dry part of the sand and sat them down. She sat cross-legged on the shore while he stretched his legs out in front of him, pulling her close.

It might’ve been something in the salty air, or the soft surge of the water and the distant screech of a seagull, but Avery’s nerves finally calmed down. Her breathing slowed.

“Jameson,” Avery said, lifting her head off his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked as he watched the blue-green waves crash the shore and move back, over and over again.

“Thank you.”

Jameson leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on her lips, soft and slow. 

“Anything for you, Heiress.”