#it's not very visible but she has a lazy eye! :] (left one

[love-death-and-desert]

3d all star false? :]

[ask game]

+ lineart only

[destructive-path]

Time to pretend - E.W.

summary- You and Ellie pretend to be someone your not for each others sake.

a/n: This isn’t my best work but I was so stuck on the concept I had to see it through. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. This isn’t proofread pls dont come for me im lazy.

tags -NSFW. 18+ ONLY MDNI. vers!ellie , sub!reader, smoking marijuana , drinking, talks of sex, SMUT , fingering , humping , college!ellie , college!reader, somewhat shy!reader and a deliciously cocky!ellie…acquaintances to lovers type beat. Ellie needs it BAD omg.

“How many days has it been now?”

Your auburn haired acquaintance stumbles in to the chair next to you. The harsh dropping of her backpack on the classroom floor makes you flinch, you can feel the negative aura oozing off her. She looks exhausted, mind body and soul. Her hair is half way tied back in a low effort bun and strands of hair frame her face messily. A soft huff of air leaves her lips in a upwards gust due to the protruding of her jaw, the strands of hair slightly part in a way that makes her face more visible. She shakes the remainder of the loose hair out of her face to where you can see her face more prominently.

A soft purple hue decorates the underside of her eyes, giving away the lack of sleep she must have received last night. While you feel bad for her current state, you cant help but notice how it almost suits her. How someone could make looking like you just had the life sucked out of you so appealing, was beyond you. You cursed whatever god that didn’t bless you with the ‘effortlessly attractive in any scenario’ gene. She brings the heels of her hands to her eyes and rubs the heaviness of her lids away to the best of her ability, then turns towards your direction and watches as you calculate the answer to her question in your head.

“Twelve.”

You sigh after a moment. Bracing yourself for her reaction, knowing your answer would only further the helplessness you sensed from the woman.

“Shit.”

Twelve days.

Twelve miserable days since you and Ellie (the woman to your left) had been dumped by your partners.

You two should’ve seen it coming.

You and Ellies significant others were best friends. Thats how you and Ellie met for the first time. You remember the way your ex went on and on about how amazing their best friend was. How close they had been since a young age, and how she had been there for them through thick and thin. It was hard for you to not feel some sort of jealousy, how could you live up to that standard when the position seemed to be filled already? You shook it off and put your faith in your partner, surely nothing would happen between the duo if it hasn’t already, right?

Wrong.

On the night you had planned to meet your Exs ‘bestie’ they had warned you it was going to be a double date. However, 10 minutes after your arrival, you realized your companion for the evening would not be your own. The two were, to say the least, close. Very close. You werent sure how you had gone this long without meeting her in the first place. Of course you had heard lots about your exs friend, but the honey moon phase had consumed you two, prolonging you meeting the person they held in such high regard. Coincidentally, it wasnt a problem between the friends. Just as you and your Ex became close so did Ellie and the infamous “bestie”. Leaving the four of you to become wrapped up in your relationships until that day.

During that first double date you got to know a little bit about Ellie because your partners had completely ditched the both of you to catch up. They were so wrapped up in one another they had forgotten to introduce you and Ellie. Luckily they didn’t need to, you recognized her from your art history course.

You had seen some of Ellies art here and there, particularly taking a liking to her sculptures. She was infamous for being good with her hands…in more ways than one.

Throughout the night you and Ellie would get to know each other due to the nature of your significant other’s conversation. Their banter was filed with long stories about things the other missed during the last few months. You will never forget what Ellie whispered in your ear that night. You two had become so consumed in watching them interact a little too intimately that Ellie leaned into you and whispered a soft

“I think we are in trouble”

nodding towards the increasingly affectionate “platonic” duo, sealing your fate.

Fast forward to twelve days ago. The day on which you and Ellie had found out your partners were leaving you, for each other.

It was hard to ignore. The constant hangouts with the four of you had become default. You never saw your partner without the other two accompanying you. Awkward moments you and Ellie would share became so regular that you began to hang out on your own every once and awhile. It was always something small like studying at a local coffee shop, or walking to your art history class together. One day when Ellie didn’t meet up with you at your usual spot before class and when you went to give her a call, you were met with a text on your screen that read;

911. ditch class. come to mine. ASAP.

Upon your arrival to Ellies you were winded from running/jogging/speed walking across campus. After a sturdy knock on Ellies door you were met with a disheveled looking Ellie and two guilty looking faces sitting on the couch that belonged to your partners. Ellie grabs your wrist and pulls you to them.

“Tell them.”

Shes shooting an icy stare at the pair that deepens their look of guilt. After a few moments of silence they muster enough courage to tell you they had fallen in love and wanted to give things a “shot”. Amongst other excuses that made your skin crawl. Things like “We owe it to ourselves to be happy” and “We don’t know what happened” and “Its nothing you did.” Ellie didn’t let the act go on for too long before kicking the pair out after hearing enough.

Leaving you two to where you were now. Single and miserable in art history class.

“Yeah. Its crazy you think I would feel a little better by now, but something about someone you thought you were in love with leaving you for her their best friend really makes this whole healing process much worse.”

“Well at least you don’t have to feel that pain by yourself right? I mean you could always be suffering alone, but at least we both feel like death.”

“So true, thanks for having a shitty ex so I don’t have to be miserable and lonely alone, Ellie.”

“Anytime”

Theres a new lightness to you both. The self deprecating humor paints a little color back into Ellies dreary demeanor. Truth is, you were grateful to have each other, but you both would be lying if you said you didn’t miss your ex’s. There was too many good times, intimate moments shared that you both couldn’t shake from your heads. You both wish things would go back to the way things were, but that would never happen. So instead you coped together.

___________________

As class came to an end, you and Ellie had gathered all your things and walked towards the door. With each step out the classroom, you began to dread the oncoming depressive episode due to the loneliness that is going home to an empty apartment. These last few days the pit in your stomach had grown so large anytime you were alone you were afraid the hole would consume you.

“Hey, Can I maybe come over to yours for a bit? I really don’t feel like being alone.”

You ask Ellie in a pitiful tone. Your pleading eyes meet her tired ones as you wait for a reply. She smiles at you, Ellie enjoys that she can be your saving grace in these trying times.

“Of course. Plus I may have already gotten us a frozen pizza…Wanna get high and watch a movie while shoving our faces with unhealthy food?”

You smile softly and follow Ellie out the building. Ellie was always thoughtful like this. You had never met someone so caring, so willing to be of service whenever you needed.

“Sounds perfect, Ill bring the ice cream, and the tequila. Can I crash on your couch? I plan on getting more crossed than Jesus.”

She laughs at this and pats the side of your arm in a teasing nature. You twist dramatically as if the pat affected you more than it actually did, it’s playful.

“Yeah no problem, See you in a few?”

You agree with a nod, then turn on your heels to go to your place to grab a overnight bag.

———-

You arrive at Ellies place bags in hand. After shuffling your belongings to free your hand, you give the door a rhythmic knock and wait for her to open it.

You had spent the night here only once before on accident. The day you were dumped. That night you and Ellie had shared so much rage it had made you both fall asleep on her couch after countless hours of talking major shit about your exs. You would come over from time to time since then but not too frequently because you and Ellie still weren’t extremely close. The whole situation added a layer of awkward between you two. However, it also a layer of understanding. It was nice for the both of you to have someone who knew exactly what you were going through.

“Hey you. Come inside.”

Ellie gestures for you to enter her apartment. As you walk in, the smell of weed and meat lovers pizza fills your nostrils.

“God please tell me you already rolled.”

You glance at Ellie and watch as she reaches behind her ear to grab a neatly rolled joint that was carefully tucked there. She places it between her lips and raises her eyebrows up and down while giving you a goofy sort of smile, the joint bouncing at the thinning of her mouth. Her slender, long hands slither into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a silver zippo lighter. She opens the lid with a snap of her arm and brings the flame up to the joint. Ellie inhales deeply and lights the tip carefully, cupping the flame to insure the wind from the ceiling fan doesn’t complicate this process. Finally, the joint emits an orange hue, she takes one more hit before blowing a cloud of smoke upward. There it is again. Effortless attractiveness.

Ellie hands the joint to you, bowing slightly.

“M’lady”

You pluck the joint from her fingertips and laugh at her mannerisms.

“Why thank you ser.”

You retort. As you bring the joint up to your lips you make way to the couch in the middle of Ellie’s apartment. You plop down on the sofa and inhale deeply letting the smoke fill your lungs. Once you had taken in as much as you can muster you hold the smoke in for a moment and let your head fall backwards onto the back of the couch. Then you exhale.

“Pizza should be ready in five. You know what movie you want to watch?”

You take one more hit and think about Ellies question. The spinning of the ceiling fan occupies your cloudy thoughts for a little then you exhale once your mind settles on your answer.

“Alien.”

Ellie quickly turns her head towards you.

“God I love Sigourney Weaver.”

She shakes her head in awe and makes her way to grab the joint from you. You watch as she hits it twice, ghosting the second time (quite well).

“Me too. She was my second gay awakening.”

Ellie raises her eyebrows at your statement and passes you the joint.

“Second?”

You take it and hit it before answering.

“Yes I had my first gay awakening, then I watched alien and became like way more gay after that.”

You pass it back.

“Who was your first?”

You start to giggle as you feel the weed infiltrating your system and try to think back to when you were younger.

“Her name was Sarah Miller and it was in the 6th grade. She had just moved to my school a week before the winter formal. I realized I had never seen anyone so beautiful after she showed up to the dance in this purple dress.”

You laugh harder and reminisce for a moment.

“I remember I was so obsessed with her after that, it had gotten so bad to the point where she switched out of our math class because of me. Then she packed up and moved back to Austin at the beginning of 7th grade.”

Ellie hands the joint back to you.

“Damn. Thats kinda sad.”

You take two quick puffs before offering it back to her, she declines and you put it out to be finished later.

“Eh it was a quick crush, plus I had Sigourney to get me through.”

Ellie stands up and goes to the kitchen to find two shot glasses in her cabinet. She returns with two full shots of tequila and places one in front of you and holds her glass up.

“To Sigourney.”

You follow her actions.

“May she cure our little gay hearts once more.”

You clink the glasses together delicately to insure nothing is spilt and then slam the shot back as quick as possible.

“Bleh.”

You shake your head and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. As you place the glass on the table in front of you, your mind becomes fuzzy. The warm light emitting from the string lights draped around the living room blur in and out of focus. You can already feel the effects of the substances in your system, which is what you wanted. You just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. Ellie had created an extremely cozy, welcoming atmosphere in her home that was just perfect for you to relax in. You felt comfortable here, safe. You sink a little further into the couch with a satisfied hum.

“Ill grab the pizza, can you put on the movie?”

You nod and grab the remote off the table to turn on your favorite sci fi film.

After a moment Ellie returns with pizza in hand. She places it on the table and hands you a plate. Then, she grabs the blanket draped behind your head and spreads it over the two of you. As the two of you get more comfortable you can feel your muscles relax, the feeling of company easing your tense body by the second.

You take one last quick glance at Ellie, her side profile is barely illuminated by the dark nature of the movies scenery. The feeling of gratitude over comes you for a fleeting second at the tiniest look at her freckled cheeks, then the movie grabs your attention and distracts you from the butterflies forming in your stomach. Ellie can feel you staring, but decides to ignore it and prays it’s dark enough in the room that you don’t see her blush.

————

“I know it was probably some man that put her in that tank top and underwear, but my god she looks so good in the white on white, like that outfit was made for her.”

Ellie stands up as the credits roll and goes to grab the dirty dishes and brings them to the kitchen.

You grab the remote and turn the TV off. The living room has a much more mutually comfortable vibe to it. Throughout the movie more tequila shots and joints were consumed leaving you both in a cross faded state. You could feel the awkwardness dissipate around 10 minutes into the movie.

“I am no better than a man.”

Ellie chuckles and returns to the couch next to you. Due to the alcohol running through her veins she sort of stumbles onto the couch falling close to you. You both laugh at her slightly tipsy mannerisms as she repositions so that her arm is draped behind your head and her body rotates towards you.

The smell of Ellie is impossible to ignore, her breath is tequila and her body is musk. All too intoxicating. She is a little too close for your composure to be kept completely under wraps. You wont protest the closeness of course, not entirely mad at the situation. She bends the arm behind your head at the elbow and you watch as she rests her head on her fist, then lets out a deep sigh.

“You know what the worst part of being newly single is?”

“The horniness.”

Your composure had left the building. You had the tequila to thank for that. Why did you have to say the first thing that came to mind?

“Yes! Whats up with that? I feel like a animal in heat or something.”

You scoff at her words. Of course her mind was where yours was.

“Oh my god Ellie.”

“No but seriously! Before I was able to get by fine, but now its like nothing subsides the constant need for sex.”

“Honestly I think its just the fact that we dont have anyone to fuck whenever we want. Something about losing an outlet for that sexual release makes it worse in my opinion. It as in the horniness…”

Ellie takes what you say in for a moment, taking note of the blossoming heat radiating off your cheeks. She is shocked by your slightly vulgar and honest response. But you’re not wrong, it had been excruciatingly hard for Ellie to not have someone to fuck or to fuck her.

Then you can see a wave of sadness overcoming her as she reaches for her rolling tray. You don’t have to ask what is going on in her head right now because the same thing is going on in yours. You miss your Ex. You miss fucking and being fucked. You miss being held and kissed and loved. You miss it all and you feel shitty that you do because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t miss someone who hurt you in that way. You shouldn’t want to be back with them but truthfully, you would’ve done anything to get them back.

“Sometimes I just miss being held, you know that safe feeling? Like god I miss spooning and cuddling.”

You watch as Ellie nods in agreement as she licks the seal of the joint she just rolled. Maybe it’s the mixture of substances running through your system but you catch yourself staring at her tongue for a little too long. It pulsates slightly as it travels across the top of the frail paper. When she secures the joint with the roll of her fingers and begins to twist it shut her words snap you out of your trance.

“I miss sex so much.”

“Okay Ellie we get it your horny.”

“Sorry! Just, fuck, I don’t know it’s starting to make me angry. Im so pent up I literally want to punch people sometimes.”

You wince at that. Luckily you had overcome that angry sort of phase fairly quickly at the beginning of your breakup. Now you were just left with the feeling of need. The need to have someone hold you and make you feel consumed in their warmth.

“Well don’t punch me.”

“Ha! No promises, unless…you let me fuck you.”

“So my options are get fucked by you or get punched by you? This doesn’t feel like much of a deal that benefits me.”

Ellie laughs and lights the 3rd? Joint of the night. You don’t know how many it’s been at this point. As you watch her inhale you can see an idea flip a switch in her brain. She hands the joint over to you.

“I could…hold you.”

She shyly proposes and doesn’t look you in the eye.

“Oh?”

You take the joint from her and bring it up to your lips.

“I mean. We both need things right? Im extremely horny and you want affection. What if we…”

“Ellie are you proposing we use each other for our bodies?”

Ellie looks up at you finally. Your mouth has a slight grin/smirk to it, obviously amused by her proposal. Which gives her some relief because she was afraid she had overstepped, and you would look at her with disgust. She scoffs and continues.

“I mean look you’re hot, i’m hot, and we both clearly really miss our ex’s even though we probably shouldn’t.”

Ellie thinks you’re hot. Hot. hot hot hot.

“Hear me out. You let me fuck you and we can both think about our Ex’s. Afterwards I will spoon you so hard youre gonna beg me to stop.”

Your mouth has fallen slightly open due to the boldness of Ellies request. There was no way anyone could be this confident. Her proposal plays on a loop in your brain. It’s not a terrible idea. A toxic one no doubt, but if you were being completely honest with yourself you did get fairly horny from time to time. You were only human after all.

The thought of having someone fuck you sparked something that made you nervous inside. Your heart beat with anticipation and curiosity. A feeling you missed for sure. Ellie silently watches you take a moment to gather your thoughts.

You think about it for a little longer. Your brain wanted to deny Ellie, in fear you would lose your new friend. However, everything else in you was sure that you wanted to let Ellie do whatever she wanted to you. You wanted to lose yourself in the memory of when your Ex had made you feel loved, safe. Anything close to the way you felt with them would be enough. After a few more seconds of contemplation you looked at Ellie.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“We can think about them?”

“Yes. I-If thats okay. We will take it slow and if you want me to stop just say so.”

“Alright then. Lets do it.”

Ellies is ecstatic. She feigns confidence but you can tell she needs this. The thought of Ellie being so pent up and ready to pour it all over you whilst playing into your fantasies had you nearly shaking.

You both take one final hit of the joint, hoping it would calm both of your nerves, then Ellie puts it out and looks at you. Your breathing had picked up significantly. She rolls up her sleeves and begins to inch closer to you.

“Okay.”

Ellie looks right into your eyes as she advances towards you. But the closer she gets, the more you can no longer make direct eye contact. The increasing darkness in her eyes feels so foreign it scares you a little. You drop your gaze when shes mere centimeters away from you to where you can feel her breath on your lips. Her tongue swipes slowly across her lower lip as you begin to feel her hand slide against the exposed skin on your waist.

“Close your eyes.”

She pulls your hips forward and guides you to a more horizontal position. When she’s hovering over you slightly, closing the gap between your bodies inch by inch, your eyes flutter shut and you let yourself go.

As the black engulfs your sight and Ellie seals your lips together in a experimental first kiss.

You refuse to move at first. This kiss is slow. Too slow. Neither of you let yourself get too excited in fear that you would remember whose lips were actually on yours and not the ones both of you were picturing.

After a moment the kiss finally deepens, causing the both of your breathing to become harsh. Images of your previous significant other begin to fill your mind making you weak. It doesn’t feel the same as before, obviously, but it gets the job done. You begin to feel your emotional barricade crumbling with each kiss Ellie places on your lips.

You think about the way your Ex would kiss you, hold you, and you begin to sink deeper into the fantasy Ellie has created. Everything tingles with a feeling of such passion that even you cant explain where it’s coming from. Your newfound desperation brings your hands up to snake around Ellies head and tug at the hair on the back of her neck, eliciting a hum to leave her lips that vibrates on yours. You cant help but moan at the feeling, making Ellie kiss you with more fervor than before.

Ellie brings the lower half of her body down to meet your center, causing you to spread yourself open for her. Restless legs run up and down on either side of her body due to your constant search for touch. Ellie relishes in the feeling of you all over her. Your clothed bodies began to seek friction as the kiss became messier. You try to think about your Ex in this moment, but with each kiss and soft whine that leaves Ellies mouth, you begin to realize that they had never kissed you with this much passion. This much need. Sure you and Ellie were extremely needy, but the longer this charade went on the more you were focused on the actual person making you so spent.

“Shit.”

Ellie retracts for a moment to catch her breath. Her lips glossy and swollen, perfect.

“Dont stop please.”

You were a moth and Ellie was the flame.

“I wont just, fuck you’re so-”

“Ellie~”

You whine. It’s pathetic, desperate. It drives Ellie mad hearing you say her name like that

“God damn.”

Shes kissing you again and touching you everywhere. Ellie grips and caresses your soft skin like shes burning the shape of your body into her brain. She grips your thighs, waist, stomach, ribs, and chest, before she is wrapping her hands around your neck with a slight squeeze. Its gentle, only enough for you to feel a slight strain. This simple but desperate coded action coaxes a moan from you thats so sweet, Ellie decides she will do whatever she can to make sure you don’t stop rewarding her with the pretty sounds of your voice.

She releases her grip on your neck and moves down to kiss you there. Each of Ellies movements is soaked in need. Shes drowning you in adoration and close attention to your desires. Your hands push back her soft auburn hair that tickles your face.

With every kiss that Ellie places on your neck you start to forget about your ex little by little. The heat you feel from her mouth on your pulse makes your head spin. As your nostrils fill with the scent of her pine scented shampoo, you try your best to remember why you were in this position in the first place. Not because Ellie wanted you, because she needed you to be someone else. But the longer she toys with your body, the more your brain fills up with Ellie, and the less you can pretend to be someone you’re not.

“Need you.”

You say as she moves to kiss lower and lower down your body. The lower she moves the higher her hands push your shirt upwards and off your body completely. This leaves you in your cotton bra and sweatpants. Ellie sits up to observe you for a moment.

“Sigourney got nothing on you baby.”

You laugh and punch her arm, slightly embarrassed at your exposed state.

“Oh shut up Williams.”

She makes a shocked open mouth expression and rubs the tender flesh.

“Owww, Is that anyway to treat someone who’s about to fuck you?”

“Are you going to fuck me? Or are you going to keep talking?”

“You’re an impatient little thing aren’t you?”

“I can be patient, sweet even, but right now i’m leaking through my panties and my patience is wearing thin.”

“Fuuck me.”

“I thought that was your job?”

You taunt underneath her. You’re done with the playful banter. You need Ellie to fuck you and you need it now. You shoot her sultry puppy eyes as you shimmy your breasts upwards slowly as an attempt to lure her in. It works. Now Ellie is pulling you to sit up and tearing your bra upwards and off your head. Once your chest was freed for Ellie to admire she couldn’t keep away for long.

“Pretty fucking tits.”

Ellie is practically drooling as she latches on to your left boob with her mouth, whilst toying with the right one in her hands. Her actions send you flying back to a lying down position once more.

“Oh my god Ellie.”

You cant fight it anymore. Any thoughts of your ex had been long gone. Now all you could feel, smell, think, was Ellie. She had sucked any memory of your old partner’s betrayal right out of your system. It’s a dirty scene. Ellie doesn’t let up, too wrapped up in the taste of you.

As she made you a babbling fool at the sinful sucking of your tits, you tried your best to remove her button up. You needed to see her, feel her.

Once Ellie felt the tug on her shirt she unlatched from your nipple, followed by a final lick on your sensitive buds that sent shivers down your spine. She sat up straight and the both of you fiddled with her buttons as fast as possible. Once you had undone the shirt completely she let you tear it down her shoulders. The woman basks in the feeling of your increasingly hungry eyes. The way you bit your lip and blushed even harder once Ellie had revealed her bare chest to you, skyrocketed her confidence.

Ellie missed the feeling of someone gawking over her. Something about you gawking over her when she knew you wanted to think of someone else, unlocked a feral side in her.

“You gonna keep staring or are you going to touch me?”

Your a heaving blushing mess at the sight of Ellie above you. She looks at you with such anticipation and want, you wouldn’t dare deny her any longer. You prop your self on your elbow and move your hand to touch the small of Ellie’s back, taking her in for a moment as your hand travels across her skin. The feeling of your hand on her body sends Ellie reeling, the tiniest touch making her boxers become damp. When your hand lands on her waist you tug her down to you meet your lips. She pushes her messy hair backwards and leans into the kiss. Its different now. Now you’re both relishing in the feeling of each other, the thought of your respective ex’s out the window.

Your body feels hot. The feeling of Ellies bare skin on you sends you into a frenzy. Its nothing like your Ex. Its new and intoxicating to your senses. Maybe the substances are clouding your judgment slightly, but theres one thing for sure, you have never felt so good.

The longer the kiss goes on the needier you two became. Your clawing at each other now, squeezing your bodies together as close as possible. You cant take it anymore, you needed to have a release. You sought out more friction. Frustrated with the lack of relief you felt due to the obstruction of your pants, you push Ellie off you and go to stand. She is curious of your actions but as soon as you begin to slide your sweatpants and underwear down your thighs, she stands to match you and begins to unbutton her jeans. Once you are both stripped down you both pause. Your breathing syncs with Ellies as you take in her naked state.

Shes statuesque. Molded to perfection. Okay the tequila was definitely getting to you. You have never needed your hands on something so badly. You slowly step towards her and Ellie mirrors you. Your arms dangle at your side fighting the urge to cover yourself. Ellie takes one more step to you then places her hands on your fully exposed waist and turns you to face her with the couch at her back. She sits back slowly and maneuvers you to sit on her lap.

Ellies eyes rake over you as she bites on her lip so hard you’re sure she will draw blood. She looks up at you with an almost painful look in her eyes. The way you had settled on her lap caused your knees to reside on either side of Ellie, thighs wide open. In this position you’re spread out for her, everything on display. Ellies eyes can’t help but travel to your pussy, your folds glisten under the light due to how wet she had made you.

“Your dripping baby.”

She hisses and runs her thumb over your weeping cunt, applying slight pressure. The feeling of her digit on your sensitivity has you falling backwards. Ellie has barley touched you there and you are already dizzy. She swiftly catches you before you can fall.

“Easy, easyyy. Stay with me okay?”

Carefully she pushes you forward and places your head on her shoulder. Ellie massages your thighs and whispers praises in your ear that have you sinking further into her body.

“Such an easily manipulatable thing you are, what happened to that impatient brat from earlier? Hmm? I make you all dumb when I touched your pussy?”

Her words make you shudder. She has made you so shy. You sink deeper into the side of her neck out of embarrassment.

“Ellie please.”

You can barely get the words out at this point. You are too lost in the feeling of Ellies hands on you, hips stuttering with every grip she places on your thighs.

“Awe you poor thing. You need to be fucked huh?”

You nod in her neck.

“Yeah?”

She grips the top of your thigh dangerously close to your sensitive area, not touching there again just yet.

“Yes!”

You shout due to the sensitivity.

“Please fuck me.”

Your begging. Ellie is running her hands all over you. You are such a mess under her touch you begin to suck on her neck from pure desperation. You kiss, suck , and lick that area mixing in whines and pleads for Ellie to touch you where you needed her most.

“Shit, okay. Fuck youre being so good for me baby. What did I do to deserve this huh?”

Her neck tilts to give you better access to continue your advances there. Finally she brings her fingers back to your heat. You bite her neck even harder when you feel the pads of her fingers on your cunt. You are sure to leave a mark, but Ellie doesn’t care. She is fueled by your need for her, she wants to reward you.

Ellie presses her fingers against your pussy harder and her movements there begin to speed up. She massages big and small circles on your sensitive clit faster and faster. Those sweet noises start to leave you tenfold. The closeness of your sounds in her ear only makes her work harder to make you feel good. One of your hands wraps around Ellies neck as an attempt to bring her closer and for you to keep upright. Ellie hums at this, she loves the feeling of having you close.

“You hear that? You hear how wet you are sweet thing?”

Ellie has set a painfully fast pace on you now. The sound of your wet pussy fills the space, furthering the lust you feel in this moment. You subconsciously grind down on her hand because somehow its still not enough. You needed more.

“More.”

You finally leave the safe space in Ellies neck to meet her eyes. She looks at you with dark eyes but they are laced adoration. You look so beautiful like this. Spread open and desperate for her, begging to be fucked.

“You want my fingers inside?”

She prods her middle finger at your entrance and watches as your face twists in pleasure. You bite your lip at the feeling of her slightly inside on you. You cant believe it. Ellie williams is making you dumb before even fully entering you. Your walls clench around next to nothing.

“Answer me sweet thing.”

You look down at where she refuses to connect you two. Ellies middle finger tickles your leaking hole and gathers your slick to fuck it back into you again. The sight makes your hips move down her finger involuntarily. You whimper a drawn out “Please.” As you both move together to bury her middle finger in your soaking pussy.

“Oh shit baby.”

You look back up at her with furrowed brows and a ‘O’ forming at your mouth. Ellie moves to kiss your top lip, then your bottom one as she begins thrusting her finger into you.

“So-mmwarm and-mmwet for me.”

The feeling of Ellie pumping in and out of you at this slow pace makes your whole body radiate pure heat. Sweat begins to form on you and Ellies skin. The temperature rise from both of your bodies makes the room grow hotter causing things to become slippery. Your wetness drips to the underside of your thighs, making your ass glide over Ellies thighs with such ease that it makes your oncoming release build twice as fast. Its filthy.

Ellies digit curls as her pace picks up slightly. She prods at your g spot tactically, every time she graces you with her touch there your hips grind down seeking out any extra pleasure. It still isn’t enough.

“M-More.”

“You want another?”

“Please.”

“Up.”

She guides your hips upwards with her free hand to add another finger in your entrance and bring you back down again. The extra intrusion in your pussy fills you up. Ellie can feel the way you squeeze around her fingers and she feels like she could pass out.

Now its almost too much. Your wrapped up entirely in the feeling of Ellie, and she can feel it now. She can feel you kiss her, not the image of your ex. Ellie could cum untouched just from how desperate you were being.

“Your fingers feel amazing Ellie.”

The girl below you is no longer a cocky one. Shes in awe of you and growing wet with every thrust of her fingers that gets lost in your gummy walls.

“Yeah?”

She cant believe how beautiful you look. Ellie watches you like if she misses a moment of your pretty body bouncing on her, she will die. It’s driving you insane. Shes getting off just on the way you look riding her fingers.

“Wanna touch you…”

Before Ellie knows what’s going on, distracted by your, well everything, you move a hand down to Ellie’s neglected pussy and begin toying with her pulsing clit.

“Oh fuck.”

Ellie wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you closer, she rests her head on your shoulder as you both get each other off. You rub quick circles on her folds, hoping to catch her up to your fast approaching feeling of release.

“Keep going baby, just like that okay? Oh god.”

Ellies panting now. Her forehead rests on your shoulder as she watches you toy with her, the sight bringing a wave of pleasure to come at any moment. Your bodies swell back and forth into each other at a rhythmic pace. You’re both humping into each other’s advances and losing strength by the second.

“Ellie im-”

“Me too, shit. With me okay?”

You nod. Ellie moves to look at you. She doesn’t want to miss the way you look when you orgasm because of her. Ellie begins to pump into you so fast you start to see black. You carefully but quickly enter two fingers into Ellie’s heat and pump her at the same pace.

Your lips crash into one another from the feeling. The way you both fuck each other with your fingers sends a shock of electricity throughout your connected bodies. Both of you are a moaning mess, your muffled voices increase in pitch until you can no longer kiss and are practically screaming each other’s names. Your hips grind into Ellies and hers into your hand chasing the oncoming orgasm you are both feeling, and finally, release.

Your lips detach as you fall forward, unable to support your weight anymore. Ellie slows the pumping of her hands in your weeping core. As do you, the both of you slowly ride out your highs until you’re over stimulated. Shaking hands retract from each other’s walls and you adjust to hold on to one another. Your bodies spasm from the newly empty feeling.

The grinding of your hips has yet to stop. Ellie runs her hands all over you again, the sensitivity making you shiver. As she smooths her hands over your ass and back, clawing softly at your skin, you can feel a twitch in your pussy. You whine at the feeling and wrap your arms around Ellies shoulders tighter.

“You sensitive?”

She doesn’t stop. You moan in response, answering her question.

“Mmm”

She hums and then kisses your shoulder sweetly. The intimacy of the action retracts you from your grasp to observe her for a moment. Ellies eyes are half lidded and shes got a dumb grin plastered on her lips. Her hair is wet and sticking to her temples and forehead, slightly obstructing her face.

You swipe your finger across her forehead, delicately moving the hair out of her face. Once you can see her fully, you blush. Once again dumbfounded by Ellies effortless ability to look so, good. She is still caressing you, holding you tight like you would float away if she didn’t. You grab her cheeks and place a kiss on her lips. Ellies hand moves to hold your jaw and deepens the kiss slightly.

Once you pull back you simultaneously slide off her thighs feeling the soreness due to your spread out position on her lap. You begin to rub the crease on the top of your thighs but Ellie stops you.

“Here, let me.”

You lay down on the couch as Ellie grabs your underwear and slides it back up your legs. Then she dresses you both halfway and moves to sit in between your legs once more so that she has better access to massage you.

You cant help but close your eyes and hum as Ellie uses her magical hands to rub away any soreness you had felt from earlier. She smirks at this, Ellie cant get enough of your sounds. For a moment its silent with the exception of your small sighs of pleasure.

“Can I confess something?”

Your eyes open slowly and you nod.

“I wasnt really, thinking about my ex just then.”

You blush hard. You should’ve known by the way she stared at you, fucked you, moaned your name as she creamed white on your fingers…But it felt good to hear your suspicions confirmed.

“Oh well, me neither.”

She has that ecstatic look on her face again. It’s adorable and makes you giggle slightly.

“Really?”

“Mhhmm.”

You smile shyly. She smiles wide like she just won an award and bends down to kiss your thigh.

“Well, good. Fuck em anyway.”

“Yeah” You thought. “Fuck em.”

“Now move over, I gotta fulfill my end of the deal. Im gonna big spoon you to death.”

You shift down to make room for Ellie to climb behind you on the couch. Once she is settled, her whole body wraps around you. Any other time you would’ve declined because you were still leaking and sweaty. Right now though, you wouldn’t dream of moving. Ellies hold on you had brought you back to the safe space you missed so dearly. The feeling of being absolutely ruined then handled as delicately as a flower had your mind going haywire.

With every second that went by in her arms a calmness began to set in, and you could finally let your mind settle. This was the most relaxed you had felt in weeks and you had Ellie to thank for it.

[madame-fear]

Hello, Amira! Hope you are okay 🫶🏻 Since you opened your requests again, I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to see you give life to my ideas hahaha.

Here it goes: Lucerys survives the attack in the end of episode 10. Luke is found unconscious at the sea by a commoner reader and she takes care of him. She doesn’t know he is a prince, until he tells her. Luke stays in her house until he is healed, which makes them grow close to eachother and eventually fall in love. But one day, he decides it’s time for him to return to his family and duties. Reader respects his decision, but she can’t help but feel sad at his departure. Years later, when Lucerys is 19 and has already become Lord of Driftmark, he comes back for her and makes a proposition: for her to join him and be his Lady of The Tides.

Sorry if it’s too long.

*ೃ༄ 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒. .ೃ࿐

★ amira speaks! : Ju, I literally love all of your requests !! They always motivate me and keep me eager to write ahh 💕💕 Hope you enjoy this sweet love, and it was what you expected !! — summary : request. — word count : 11.0k (longest so far!)

— pairing : lord!lucerys velaryon x commoner!reader — genre : fluff.

Thin trails of dark crimson leisurely blended into the transparency of the continously moving tides, coming from all the visible open wounds from the body of the unconscious young Prince. From the skies was heard a wailing sound, accompanied by the faint sounds of a flapping motion. It came from a small flying beast; a wounded dragon.

More especifically, it was the wounded Prince’s dragon; being as harmed as his rider was. The current of the vast sea delicately carried his body along the sea waves, the brightly shining sunrays hitting against his face, and reflecting upon the tides.

His body was carried to the coast of a small village, leaving it there, remaining unconscious. A rather tranquil one, where only the faint squeak of seagulls and the waves clashing against the rocks in the sand was heard. And you happened to be taking a scroll on the coast.

It was a hobby of yours, to peacefully walk around the coast to invade yourself only with your thoughts, and carry your basket hanging loose from your arm moving along the rhythm of your steps, using it to collect conchshells and precious rocks you found. The traces you left on the sand were all rapidly washed away by the waves reaching the coast, but not that you focused on such thing.

From afar as you continued with your quiet stroll, you noticed the body of a young boy thrown across the coast. He seemed unconscious, as the waves continued to hit against his already wet body. Being concerned for a strange young man abruptly appearing at the coast of your village, you quickened your footsteps, practically running, and decided to approach the boy.

Reaching his body, your body fell to the ground on it’s knee with a soft, smooth movement. You dropped the basket by your side, and decided to tenderly take hold of his head, placing it on your lap as you scanned his face dedicately. He was badly injured; his face was bleeding with several scars, and other bleeding wounds across his arms, legs, and chest, which were visible as parts of his clothing had been ripped.

But he was still alive. You noticed his chest very faintly rising and descending. “Hello? Can you hear me?” you inquired, beginning to softlt shake his body to bring him into reality. The bright sunrays that hit on his face seemed to highlight his features, and he was rather adorable.

With a slow motion of frowning eyebrows, his eyes became a little bit more tightly shut as he regained consciousness. His body felt like a heavy burden, his injuries were a sharp pain, and his head was aching and throbbing. A little groan rolled from his lips, opening his eyes. His eyes were narrowed, adjusting his blurry visions to the sight and the bright skies. With a lazy movement, he moved his sight to stare into your eyes. He was placed on your lap.

Even if his sight was blurried and dizzy, he could tell you were a rather beautiful girl, with delicate features. “What happened? Are you alright?” you continued to question, with small hope that the boy could enlighten you with some information. His lips were partly open, mumbling whispered nonsense before he formed something coherent. Or slightly coherent, at least.

“Arrax, I need him...” was all he managed to respond with a raspy tone. His head on your lap became heavier, as his eyes fluttered shut once again and fell back into being unconscious on your lap. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his answer, but were more than determined to take good care of the young, enigmatic boy.

Lucerys fluttered his eyes open. It felt as if he had been sleeping for hours, but much worse. His head continued to frustrate him with a discomforting headache, and a body that shivered with slight cold and pain.

But, as he opened his eyes very softly, he noticed he had been taken inside a small, cozy chamber. Lucerys laid on a comfortable bed, and his body was covered with two long furry blankets up to his neck that kept him warm. Seven Hells, even his clothing had been changed into another one. It seemed that someone had changed him into night clothing.

As Luke shifted on his place trying to take notion of where he had been taken, a small whine rolled from his lips from the pain of his afflicting headache; but that was merely all he felt, as he noticed the rest of his wounds were patched, and even had got some bandage for the worst injuries around his arms and legs.

“Ah! It seem you are already awake.” lucerys turned his head to where the tenderly-sounding femenine voice came from, being yours. You sat by his side on a wooden chair, with a large book being placed on your lap, offering him a warming smile. “How are you feeling? I just had some herbal tea prepared for you when you for when you woke up.”

Standing from your seat, you quickly took hold of the little pot where you kept boiling water, pouring it inside a small cup that contained a teabag full of healing herbs you collected from around your village. Cautiously, you walked up to him, approaching him the tea. “Drink this, it contains healing herbs. They will help you heal your wounds better.” lucerys took hold of the cup you extended to him, flashing you a sheepishly weak grin.

“T-Thank you.” he muttered weakly, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip from it. Not that it tasted like the best excellency of teas, but for some strange motive not even himself could understand, he wholeheartedly trusted your words regarding the way they would make him feel better. “M-My head still aches heavily, as well as my body...” lucerys explained, with his hazel eyes dreamily gazing into your own. “May I ask, who are you?”

His question never had the idea to sound impolite to you, and of course, you understood the reason why he would inquire for your name. “My name is (y/n). I found you unconscious on the coast terribly injured, so with some help I took you inside my home, and took care of your wounds.” you answered, offering him a kind smile that made his heart shyly flutter. “May I know yours? Do you remember what happened to you?”

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon.” your eyes widened, having been completely unaware that you hosted and took care of a Prince, who was none other than Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen’s son as far as you knew. Of course, you were going to be as respectful and careful as you could with him, but such fact had made you feel off. Not in a bad way, thought, rather pleasantly surprised.

His gaze wandered around your bedroom, trying to recall what had happened before he woke up in your bed. Lucerys was well aware he had been in Storm’s End, running away from his uncle Aemond, but not what happened after that. Softly, he flinched his gaze in pain. Any memory he tried to have, worsened his headache.

“I... Can’t remember, m-my Lady. I remember being on Storm’s End, but not what happened.” you had a brief idea about House Baratheon and Storm’s End, pressuming he must have been there for political alliances, or anything related. Swiftly he passed his tongue through his lips, before speaking up rather weakly again. “Have you seen a small dragon around, the moment you found me, m-my Lady?”

Of course, Luke knew you surely had never seen a dragon in person, perhaps had a bit of knowledge about them, and especially would know any less if he had mentioned the name Arrax. You had read about Targaryens and their dragons, but you were clueless about whether or not there was a dragon flying around the moment you had found him unconscious. Lucerys had been your top priority, and still was, but the young future Lord was more than notoriously preoccupied for the wellbeing his dragon companion.

“I apologise, my Prince, I-I do not recall having seen a dragon,” you explained anxiously, and rather timidly. “I... Was truly concerned for your wellbeing. But perhaps if you give me a description of the dragon, I may be able to stay aware?” a little grin formed at the corner of his lips at your proposal. He nodded.

“That would be very much apprecuated, my Lady. Arrax is a small dragon, pearly coloured and with amber eyes.” you took mental note of the dragon’s description, kindly giving him a single nod with your head.

“Understood, my Prince. You should rest, for now. Do you need anything else?” as you walked towards the door to leave, you gave him one last look. It was nearly impossible to take your eyes off of him, he had such beautiful features and an adorable little expression despite being in pain. Unbeknownst to you, he felt slightly flustered of sharing the same opinion you had on him, but with you.

Slightly, he shook his head. “No, my Lady, thank you.” politely you kept your smile towards him, nodding as you swiftly opened the door and, as you had began to leave, he called back for you. “Wait, (y/n)!” his voice was still a bit quiet, but enough for you to hear him. Especially in your room, where there was nobody but the two of you. “Yes, my Prince?” you asked back.

There were a few moments of silence in between the two of you that felt like everlong. You kindly awaited for him, noticing he struggled to say what he had to say before you left him to rest in your bed. Not because he was embarrassed of it, or disliked the idea of what he had to tell you, but strangely enough... His heart had little butterflies flapping their wings at the mere sight of you. His cheeks turned crimson, as he licked his lips rapidly and discreetly.

“I don’t think I could ever thank you enougn, or possibly repay your kindkess, my Lady. I owe you my life.” he mumbled, timidly.

Your own cheeks mimicked his, as some slight chuckles spurred from your lips delightfully. Oh, he charmed you right away with that sweet nature of his; very humble, and delicate. “Don’t, my Prince. You have nothing to thank me for.” you whispered back, looking into his hazel eyes. They stared at you lovestruck, like a little lost puppy mesmerised.

“Call for me whenever you need me.” curtsying down to him as you stood by the door of your quarters, you then quickly left and softly closed the door behind of you. Fortunately, he couldn’t see you as you had closed the door, but you had stood there for a few long minutes, gushing over how preciously adoring he was with you already. But you knew, it couldn’t be. Not yet, and most obviously, not ever.

The course of several moons had passed. Prince Lucerys had remained with you and agreed to stay with you until he had fully healed from all the injuries caused at Storm’s End provoked, as he told you, by none other than one of his uncles.

Over the course of the passing time, you bonded better than you could have ever bonded with anyone else. Even if he had slight difficulty walking, Luke often offered himself to help you cooking for the two of you, even if you had to guide him through the way and occasionally he accidentally burned food - but you shared nice evenings together. You spoke of your lives, your cultures, the thoughts in common you had, you taught him about how healing with plants and herbs worked; Seven Hells, he even helped you bond with his dragon Arrax as soon as the young dragon returned in search for his owner, overcoming your fear for the large beasts, and having the sweetest relationship with Arrax just like you had with Lucerys.

There was something about the way he was so ever gentle and delicate with you that swooped you right off your feet, for example when he took you to walk around the gardens of your home and offered you his arm for you to take, and how he cuddled with you whenever you felt too cold and he was warm. Or, when he gifted you a pretty flower that bloomed in your gardens, and silently stared at you in awe of your grace.

The young Prince was simply a delight you couldn’t resist. As much as you felt off admiting it, you were head over heels for Lucerys. And he felt the same towards you.

His dragon laid on the sand of the same beach where you had found his rider. Both of your backs were laying against the dragon’s body, resting silently and caressing delicately his pearly scales. The brightly shining sun was slowly disappearing into the sky, leaving across the mixed tints of vivid orange and some faint shades of pink. The bright light hit your faces, but you enjoyed the peaceful moment you spent with the Prince, listening to the splashing sounds of the ocean waves hitting against the rocks and shells of the shore.

“It’s delightful, is it not?” he spoke, in a cooing tone, making you crane your head towards him as you snapped out of your thoughts. His own smile made your lips quiver into a similar grin as well. “It is, Luke. I often come reading or doing patchwork here at this hour, because no one can bother me.” you had the luck of being able to call him by his nickname. And, he for sure did enjoy hearing the way your tongue rolled off his name so smoothly. The young Prince often spend nights with the way your voice said his name echoing on his mind.

A hint of concern was on his expression as you responded to his question. Luke had been quieter than he usually was around you, and there was a certain atmosphere on tension with him. Maybe even nervous, but you hadn’t asked, so you weren’t entirely certain of his causes for concern, and behaving in such strange way. Furrowing your eyebrows and tilting your head to your side ever so slightly, you decided you should ask. “Are you alright, Luke?” you spoke, muttering nearly. “I have noticed you seem... Nervous? Concerned, perhaps?”

His fingers fidgeted, resting his hand on his lap as both of you laid against Arrax, whom rested. No one had to see him, knowing how commoners were even if you were hosting no other than a Targaryen Prince himself, but luckily for you it was rare for someone else to wander around the beach at such hour. A soft sigh escaped from his lips, lingering his sight rather reluctanctly on the ground, not being able to manage staring into your eyes. “It’s just...” a brief moment of silence was awkwardly growing, “But I am nearly fully healed, (y/n). I believe it would be best to return home and continue preparing myself to inherit Driftmark. I wouldn’t wish for mother to be preoccupied, or saddened as well.”

In a way, hearing those words come from him, felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water to you. It felt as if the atmosphere and the world surrounding you faded away, stopping it’s natural course. A deeply, harrowing sensation burdened you on your chest, as you had grown tenderly close to the Velaryon Prince. “I see.” was all you simply responded, a bit bitterly.

You knew the day would come. The day where he would have to return back to his family, amidst the war. You had mentally prepared yourself for it, but you were not ready to let go of him just yet. Though, you understood. You never wished to be selfish, and being on his mother’s position, you pressumed she must have been dealing with a great deal of anguish about her son’s probable death on Storm’s End. “I know, Luke, don’t worry.” one of your hands shyly went to take his own, squeezing it rather lightly to offer him some comfort. His hazel eyes were fixed on your own, a bit dumbfounded at the feeling of your warm, velvety skin when you held hands simply to reassure him.

“You should await for a few days until you’re fully healed, though. In the meantime, we could prepare for your departure so you can return back home safely.” despite being weary of being the next heir of Driftmark, Lucerys knew what duties he had to fulfill, and not that he could forever escape from them, either way.

Much like you, the young Prince felt a rather uncomfortable pressure tightening his chest, as well as a small knot that formed on his throat noticing your clear disappointment. He wished he could spend more time with you and cling to you like a lost little puppy, rather than just a few days that would obviously be spent being miserable and with a gloomy atmosphere, knowing that soon he’d return back to Dragonstone.

But, deep inside, Luke had already promised to himself that he would not just leave your side forever. He had to be with you, no matter how long he’d have to wait until he was almost fully an adult. It would be a few years, but either way... He would find his way back to you.

Several years had passed since the young Prince, Lucerys Velaryon, had been taken into your care when you had found his unconscious body being dragged by the seawaves to the beach shore.

The memory of your last day together still bitterly lingered. You could still feel the warmth from his body, and how tightly he had pressed your body against his own in your last embrace as if it had been just yesterday. The way his green eyes shone whether the sun, or the moon reflected their light upon them. Every inch of his beauteous features, you remembered them vividly. The Prince had promised he would return to you, and occasionally visit you; and even if you were keen in trusting his word, a deep part of you felt as if it was clinging to hopeless fantasy.

You could even remember crying your eyes out for the entirety of the day, not long after you stood in the beach for a few minutes, observing Arrax fly away, until you could no longer see them, and their presences vanished away amidst the clouds. The next days after his departure, you could not stop thinking about him for a single moment. The days felt grey and a burden to you, but you knew you would have to carry on.

It was something so temporary, you doubted whether taking care of him was a blessing or a curse. In one way, a blessing because you had never felt so deeply enamoured by a boy, and more joyful in your life. And a curse, on the other side, because you would have to live knowing it was simply something brief; not knowing if you would have the chance to feel his warmth against you ever again, or even, if he remembered you.

Quietly maneuvering the needles in your hands, you worked on some patchwork. You sat in a wooden chair outside your home, right at the door, allowing the cool windy breeze smoothly sway strands of your hair, delicately hitting against your face. As silent and peaceful as it was, the atmosphere remained with a lonely aura. The same lonely, empty aura remained ever since Lucerys left. While your eyes attentively lingered on the patchwork you sewed, you kept thinking about the Prince.

Abruptly, as if a sudden impulse inside of you forced your actions, your gaze moved upwards towards the sky. The bright light blue colour was leisurely fading away as the sun vanished, leaving place for rich orange tones and light pink shades to be smeared all over the sight, with the sunrays reflecting down onto the seawaves.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you noticed from afar a slightly large figure... flying? It seemed as if a large beast flew above the sea, fluttering it’s wings intensely. The closer the flying beast approached the seashore, the better you could notice it was a dragon being ridden by someone towards you. But it wasn’t any dragon — which was already rare enough to see for you —, but rather, it was none other than Arrax himself.

Blinking several times, your heart began violently pounding against your chest. Could it be, or could it be just the anguish taking a toll on your body, to the point it made you see things that were never there? But no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself you were simply imagining things in the span of a few minutes, the more vivid the sight of Arrax with Lucerys on top of him became.

Lucerys was just like you remembered, and it seemed his baby face remained with him. His green eyes were as bright and vivid as ever, with delightful dark, messy curls that had grown larger than last time you had seen him. Though, despite his baby face still living with him, it was notorious he had grown up into a handsome, young man.

Standing from your chair, practically tossing the patchwork aside, the dragon landed on the ground. A wave of dusty sand was spurred into the air as the dragon landed; Arrax had grown up along his rider. And the young Prince — now Lord — was notoriously more than eager to meet you after a long time, having missed that precious face of yours he so adored.

Whilst you ran towards them, Lucerys got off of Arraxes’ back. “Luke!” you shouted, as some giggles escaped from your lips. Your wide, toothy grin couldn’t help but br contagious to Lucerys, as he vastly opened his arms to receive an embrace from you. Without a doubt, rather than giving him am embrace, you threw your entire body on top of him, having Lucerys catch you in the air, as he giggled along you.

Both of you nearly stumbled to the ground as your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, and your legs around his waist. Discreetly, you buried your head in the crook of his neck, iinhaling his sweet boyish scent that never failed to bring you a comforting sensation.

“Oh, how have I missed you, Lucerys.” being spinned around playfully and leisurely in the place by Luke, you simply allowed your body to relax in his presence. All the gloom you had once felt, was abruptly vanished from the ambience the second you fell into his arms again. It felt as if you had been given life again. “I was afraid I would not see you again.” you confessed a bit mindlessly, as if the words escaped from your lips subconsciously.

Slowly, your feet went back to being placed on the ground, releasing a soft huff when you released him from your tight embrace. Either way, Lucerys felt as if he could never stop a single second from touching you, as one of hia gloved hands was placed on your waist, and the other one tenderly cupped your cheek adoringly. Gods, he craved to touch you. After many years, it was nearly like a dream to have you in front of him again, so lively and sweet as always.

“But I kept my promise, have I not?” he teased, making you roll your eyes in a playful manner. “You have, yes. Lucky you’re different than most boys.” a small chuckle escaped from his lips, making his eyes twinkle in the process. And your eyes amorously gawked upon his features, as if you could melt from love right at that moment.

“You remained the same as always. You have no idea how badly I missed you.” at the last words, his voice dropped very slightly, tilting his head to his side discreetly to tenderly appreciate you. You had grown up as well into a proper, ravishing woman. “I have so many things to tell you, from the moment after I left. But now, I came in a bit of a hurry, you might say.”

At his words, your eyebrows were raised with curiousity, attentively awaiting to hear whatever thing he had to say. “Hurry?” you inquired, “Is something the matter?” immediatly, Lucerys shook his head. “Nothing too serious, but rather, important.” his eyes lingered timidly the ground for a few seconds, as the hand that cupped your cheek descended to your own hand, delicately holding it. A faint rosy tint began forming on his cheeks.

“I’ve finally become Lord of Driftmark, as I have come to age.” he began explaining, nibbling his lower lip briefly, in a discreet manner. As his sight was raised to stare at you, his heart nervously beat against his chest noticing your kind stare fixed on him. “And... Mother has been looking to betroth me to someone who could be... m-my future Lady of the Tides.” some stutter escaped from him rather sheepishly, having to force yourself to hold back a smile.

Though, your heart, much like his own, as well was beating rather rapidly expectantly. “And, at that time, I could not help b-but... Think of... you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, partly beginning to open your lips to respond. It was a shock, but it was rather a pleasant shock — he could not be serious, you felt as if you actually misheard him. “You have taken such care of me, that you have no idea how comforting that was when I was far from my own home,” he briefly continued speaking, a bit stumbling around his words shyly. “You’ve been more than sweet, and gentle with me. You truly have no idea how badly I missed the way you played with my hair, the way you laugh, stared at me when we talked...”

His gaze was never setting anywhere else, it simply wandered on the ground anxiously, feeling as exposed as he could ever be from expressing his true feelings. The previous faint rosy tint became in a notorious crimson colour, smeared all over his face. “I-I missed your warmth, I missed everything about you, b-but... Of course, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to—”

Unexpectedly, one of your hands cupped his cheek while the other pulled the collar of his clothing to bring him closer to you, and tiptoeing, you tilted your head to a side to press your lips against his own, kissing him rather freeingly. His lips were plushy enough for you to nibble on, if you wished. You could savour his sweetness, and the feeling of remaining with your lips locked together increased with every second that passed.

His green eyes had widened in surprise, initially, but then, his eyes began leisurely fluttering shut, melting into your own taste as his arms were wrapped around your waist, firmly holding you against him. An overwhelming feeling of excitement tightened his chest, feeling a small curve form upwards on the corner of his lips in between the kiss.

Though you had to pull for air, you remained close enough for your lips to be merely inches away, grasping against one another tenderly. The slight panting that came from both of you hit against your skins, desiring to remain that way and keep kissing for the entirety of the day, if you could. “You could never make me feel uncomfortable, Lucerys.” you whispered, smiling against his lips.

“Take me with you, my Lord.”

♡ taglist : ♡

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[bitchin-beskar]

hehe now your turn for some ale content 😌 just imagining your first time with him...

ooooh, first time with Alejandro... a v good thot indeed 😏

Colonel Alejandro Vargas x First Time...

It'd been only six short months of dating Alejandro when you decided you wanted to take the next step in your relationship. You'd had other relationships before him, your longest lasting two years, but you'd never had sex before. Never even considered it with other partners, if you were being honest. Even though you'd only been together with Ale for half a year, you felt far more comfortable with him than anyone else. Maybe it had to do with knowing him since you were a teenager? You were close with him, in a way you hadn't been with previous partners.

Ale had always been very careful with you, soft touches and gentle kisses, never asking for more than you were willing to give. You thought he might suspect that you were still a virgin, but you'd never asked him outright if he knew, and he'd never asked you outright if you were, either. It was something unspoken in your relationship, something that just never seemed to be discussed.

It hadn’t really been an issue in previous relationships either. If pressed, you simply broke off the relationship. You weren't interested in being with someone who was willing to pressure you if you weren't ready. And most relationships, you'd just... never wanted to have sex. At least, until Ale.

You know he isn't the kind of man who would tease or make fun of your naivety, and he's always so gentle, it's hard to imagine him ever hurting you the way you'd secretly worried about when listening to your friends talking about losing their own virginity. Horror stories of bloody sheets and aching bodies, being left unsatisfied and unfulfilled that first time.

Still, it's hard to broach the subject. You're not quite sure how to ask for what you want. It's not like you have experience in this, and while you don't fear judgement from Alejandro, you're still nervous. A deep, dark part of your mind tries to suggest that he'd not initiated anything because he wasn't attracted to you that way, but you know that can't be true.

Right?

The opportunity presents itself somewhat unexpectedly. It's late one night, the two of you dozing together on the couch. Ale is propped up against the armrest, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, and you're nestled into his side, head resting on his shoulder and hand splayed against his ribs as the soft strains of some unknown tv show plays in the background.

You're brought out of your sleepy, lazy state by the sound of an unexpected–and surprisingly loud–moan. You blink, raising your head from where it had been nestled against Ale, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Alejandro lets out a low groan, coming out of his own daze.

Your eyes fall on the tv, and you immediately feel your heartbeat pick up. The show the two of you had been watching has long since finished, and you're not sure what is playing now, other than the fact that includes a very steamy sex scene, apparent by what's currently on the screen in front of your eyes.

A woman is reclined on a bed, gauzy, sheer white drapes fluttering around the canopy. She's naked, arms stretched above her head and completely baring her nude form. Between her thighs lays a man, the shock of dark hair and strong, broad shoulders the only things visible as he buries his face into her cunt.

There's no other possibility for what he's doing, not based on the way her face is contorted in such exquisite pleasure. Breathless moans continue to fall from the tv speakers as your own body temperature rises, and you're unable to prevent yourself from physically reacting to the erotic scene before you. You shift, growing hotter and more uncomfortable, but unable to look away.

"Hold on, I can turn it off," Ale offers, already shifting under you to sit up, eyes searching for the remote from where it had fallen off the armrest of the couch. You realize he's taken your own shifting as nerves, that you might be uncomfortable with what's on the tv.

"Ale, wait," you breathe, and when he turns to look at you, you press your hand to his jaw and lean up to kiss him, your other hand pressing against his shoulder to maintain your precarious balance.

Never one to deny you, Alejandro presses his lips against yours, his arm coming off the back of the couch to wrap around you, providing a grounding presence. You shift to straddle his lap, letting him pull you closer and press you tighter against him. Your hands trail across his jaw and up to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly and moaning when he kissed you harder as a result.

His hands settled on your waist, fingers sliding under your shirt to press into your heated skin. He was just holding you there, but you could feel the press of his erection through his sweats and the tiny shorts you had on. In an instant you made a decision and began to slowly roll your hips, rocking back and forth over the bulge in the fabric of his sweats. Moans escaped from your throat as you rocked in his lap, the pressure and friction just perfect.

You whimpered when Ale pulled away, his eyes dark as he watched you rock in his lap, your hips not ceasing their movements even though he was no longer kissing you. Your own noises drowned out the sounds from the tv, and you were focused entirely on Alejandro.

"What has gotten into you, mi amor?"

Biting your lip, you look away from Ale's piercing gaze, even though your hips do not slow their roll. He's always had an intimidating gaze, and you find when he looks at you like this, you can never maintain eye contact for long.

He suddenly and abruptly stalls your rocking on his lap, and the whine that tears from your throat is almost inhuman, pitiful and desperate. You've never made a noise such as that before, and you're hopelessly embarrassed by the fact that it came out of you.

Fingers on the curve of your jaw turn your face back towards him, from where you’d looked away. The look on Ale’s face is unreadable, almost appraising as he looks you up and down, takes in the way you’re panting softly, the twitches of your hips he’s not quite able to still with his firm grip, the slight sheen of perspiration dotting your forehead.

"Ale," you say, the word more a whine than any actual recognizable speech. You're so caught up and turned around by the sensations that it's difficult to tell which way is up, let alone how to form the words to express your wants and desires.

Unfortunately, and as much as you might sometimes believe otherwise, Alejandro is not a mind reader, and he reminds you of this.

"Princesa, you need to use your words." He scolds softly, the bite of his words soothed by the fact that they carry no heat, and by the way his thumb is caressing your jaw.

You can actually feel tears start to gather in your eyes, and if you weren't so turned on right now that it was borderline painful, you'd be embarrassed about it. The sheen of tears makes your eyes sparkle in the low light, and as you look at Alejandro through your lashes, he's unable to help his own body's instinctive reaction and his hips jerk up into yours, driving a punched-out whimper from your chest at the unexpected sensation.

"Dime."

The rough growl of his order sends shivers down your spine, and you're opening your mouth before you realize it.

"Need you," you gasp, unable to control the way your hips fight against Alejandro's grasp. "P-Please Ale, please!"

Alejandro growls against your lips, before he claims you in another consuming kiss. His hands begin to guide you to rock against him, controlling the pace and movement, allowing you pleasure on his terms.

Your hands clutch at the soft fabric of his tee-shirt, holding yourself closer and letting the sensations wash over you. Ale's always been incredibly competent in everything he does, and it seems this is no different than any other situation.

Even so, the aching emptiness inside you cannot be ignored. You've never felt it quite this keenly, although it's a strange sensation since you've never really known what it feels like to be full. But you want to. You want to know what it feels like. And you want Alejandro to be the one to show you.

"Ale," you gasp against his lips, words muffled because he refuses to stop kissing you for anything. "Ale, want you to fuck me."

The groan he lets out is loud and roughly edged, from somewhere deep in his chest. He grips your jaw with one hand, forcing you to meet his dark, dark eyes.

"Yeah? Is that what my princesa wants?" At your shaky nod, restricted by the hold he still has on you, Alejandro's eyes darken even further, pupils blown wide, a shark smelling the blood tainting the water. "I'll give it to you, mi vida. Right after you come on my lap, like a good girl."

Your lower lip pushes out into a pout, surely looking ridiculous with his grip still tight on your jaw. But you don't care. Your brain only registers that he's denying you, that he's not taking you to bed right this second and impaling you on his cock.

"Ale-" you whine, hands scrabbling uselessly at his shoulders, as though you can somehow force him to move through sheer will alone. "Please!"

He seems to know what you're begging for, even if he refuses to grant your wish. You're honestly surprised when he offers an explanation for his refusal, even if his words cause the fire inside you to burn brighter.

"Need to get you nice and wet, princesa. I'm not a small man, and I hate hurting you more than anything else. So you're gonna come for me, right here and now, and then I'll make you come as many times you want on my cock." You can't help but moan at his words, his frankness familiar but the dirty words spilling from his mouth unusual and strange, albeit arousing. "How does that sound, hm?"

You go to answer an affirmative, the promise of his cock and countless orgasms to come enough to persuade you, but Alejandro doesn't wait for you, gripping your hips tighter and actually lifting his own up and off the couch, actively rolling his hips against yours. The pressure is just the right side of painfully exquisite, and you cannot control the near animalistic sounds that are falling from your lips.

He's held you right on the edge without you knowing, merely a mockery of an active participant, and now that you're seeing what it really looks and feels like when he's got that incredibly intense focus solely on making you come, it rushes up on you like a tidal wave. It takes no more than a few rolls of his hips before you're coming with a shout, body shaking and eyes rolling back in your head as pleasure consumes you.

Alejandro continues to grind against you, greedy flames licking at the oxygen of your release, spreading the blaze into a goddamn wildfire, uncontrollable and all-consuming. Your vision goes dark, and you swear you're teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

When awareness comes back to you, its to the sensation of being carried, Alejandro's arms under your ass and around your back, cradling you to his chest as he climbs the stairs to the bedroom.

He's whispering praises against the delicate skin of your throat, a jumbled mix of English and Spanish, mostly unintelligible. As he shoves open the door to your bedroom with his foot, hands gentle and possessive as he arranges you on the sheets and you look up into the eyes of the man you've loved for half your life, you're well aware there's nothing for you in this world if you don't have Alejandro Vargas by your side.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 44/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder watches Abby from across the small table in their motel room as she eats a bowl of Frosted Flakes, her newly blonde hair hanging in a tangled curtain over half her face and her one visible eye glued to the TV.

She woke at 6:00 am, as she seems naturally inclined to do, and asked him what was for breakfast, giving no indication of distress despite the sleepless night they suffered. He hands her a vitamin and she wordlessly pops it into her mouth, smiling a secretive smile at the antics of the cartoon character on the TV screen, and he feels something warm blossom in his chest. 

Nothing about this situation is ideal. He can’t rightfully say that he’s glad Cal is dead—that seems inhumanely callous—and the stress that Scully is under is painful to watch, but playing the role of “dad” has only confirmed for him that this is something he wants. The chance to do it with Scully, even in these objectively fucked-up circumstances, is, in some respects, a dream come true. 

He looks over at the bed where she and Peter are still sleeping, her dirty blonde hair splayed out over the pillow and Peter’s leg flung haphazardly across her hip, and he feels it again. That warm pull. That sensation of rightness. If it feels this good now, he can only imagine how incredible it will feel when they’re no longer in danger, when they can enjoy a lazy morning and then take the kids to the park. His mind is quickly filling up all the empty spaces left by his stolen memories with dreams for the future—a future that will begin in just a few short days. 

Thinking about what’s to come helps distract him from his anger towards Diana. When he allows himself to think about her, his jaw tenses and his muscles quake with hatred so intense it frightens him. Each day brings new revelations regarding the depth of her deception, and the lengths she went to in order to deny him his own reality and erase Scully from his life. If she walked into the room right now, he might just throttle her with his bare hands. He might just enjoy doing it. 

Mulder shudders, shaking the thought away, and he hears a familiar sound from the bed that makes him smile. Scully lets out a disgruntled little groan and carefully moves Peter’s leg off her hip before she rolls to the edge of the bed and sits up, her lighter hair momentarily catching him off guard. His head aches as a collection of memories burble up: snippets of Scully tired and grouchy early in the morning or in the middle of the night, snatching a cup of coffee out of his hand with an irritated glare. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says brightly, not even attempting to hide his smile when she turns her head and levels him with that very glare. 

“You’re chipper,” she croaks flatly, then gives Abby a long look. “How is she?”

“Seems fine,” Mulder says with a shrug. “She doesn’t remember anything.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Scully says, then yawns. 

She slowly stands, wincing at her sore back. Hours in the car and muscles full of tension from constant stress aren’t easy on the body, and he’s noticed that she isn’t eating much. 

“The tub’s pretty nice, given the establishment,” he remarks as she crosses the room stiffly and steals a bite of his gas station danish. “You should take a bath.”

Scully grimaces, perhaps at the low quality pastry, or perhaps at the idea of taking a bath in a questionably clean motel tub. After a quick glance at both of the children, she leans down and kisses him on the cheek. 

“That doesn’t sound terrible, actually,” she says. “Will you be okay with the kids?”

Mulder looks at Peter, who is still asleep, and Abby, who is giggling at the TV, and then back at Scully. 

“I think I’ve got it covered,” he says lightly, and she smiles a grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” she tells him, squeezing his shoulder before she disappears into the bathroom. 

When water starts pounding loudly against the bottom of the tub, Peter sits up and looks around. 

“Morning, Bear,” Mulder calls out to him, and the little boy turns on his belly and slides off the side of the bed, then heads straight for the bathroom. “Your mom’s in there,” Mulder warns him, but Peter pushes the door open anyway, and Scully lets out a surprised shriek. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” she admonishes him. 

“I have to go potty,” Mulder hears him explain.

When Peter returns from the bathroom, he retrieves his stuffed blue dog from the bed and climbs onto the chair beside Abby. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Mulder asks him, peeking into the double-layered paper bag that serves as their traveling pantry. “Cereal, Pop-Tart, muffin,” he lists off. 

“What’s a Pop-Tart?” Peter asks, and Mulder feels a surge of joy at the idea of getting to introduce him to something new.

“You’ve never had a Pop-Tart?” he asks incredulously, already tearing the shiny foil wrapper open. He sets one of the frosted rectangles in front of Peter and keeps the other for himself. Peter examines it closely, scratching off one of the multicolored sprinkles with his fingernail, and then takes a cautious bite from the corner. “The good stuff’s in the middle,” Mulder tells him, breaking his own Pop-Tart in half and showing Peter the filling. 

Peter does the same, breaking his Pop-Tart into two, and then takes a hearty bite from the open edge. His eyebrows lift and he gives Mulder a thumbs up, and again Mulder is struck by the dichotomy of his emotions. He ruffles Peter’s hair and takes a bite of his own Pop-Tart, feeling so completely normal it’s almost obscene. 

He watches TV with them for a bit, unsuccessfully attempting to follow the plot of a little girl with a football-shaped head who carries a talking backpack and asks her audience to repeat things back to her in Spanish. There is an occasional splash from the bathroom or a clatter of voices on the sidewalk outside their room, at which Frenchie stands from her post in front of the door and growls menacingly. 

“Easy,” Mulder coos at her each time, and she walks in a circle before settling again. 

“Is there more Pop Parts?” Peter asks, and Mulder looks over at him to find the child rubbing his knuckles against his eyes firmly. 

“I think there might be,” Mulder says, rifling through the pantry bag. “You okay?”

Peter pulls his hands away and looks up at Mulder. His eyelids are slightly puffy, the skin red from his aggressive rubbing. 

“My eyes are itchy,” he complains, squeezing one shut. 

“Did you get something in them?” Mulder asks, tearing open another package of Pop-Tarts. 

Peter shrugs and descends on his second tart. Mulder’s mind is beginning to wander when Peter groans. 

“It’s hurting,” the child complains, and when Mulder looks at him, he’s surprised by the significant increase in swelling around his eyes in the space of just a few minutes. 

“Come here,” he says, taking the Pop-Tart from Peter’s hand and setting it on the table. “Let’s go rinse your eyes out.” 

He guides Peter to the bathroom door and knocks lightly three times, waiting until Scully grants them permission to enter. He pokes his head in and his eyes immediately go to her naked body beneath the water. By the time they wander up to her face she’s smiling at him coyly, her blonde locks piled on top of her head. 

“Can I help you?” she asks teasingly. It’s clear that the bath is improving her mood. 

“Bear got something in his eyes,” he explains. “Can we sneak in and use the sink?”

Scully’s eyebrows furrow and she sits up, wrapping her arm across her breasts. “What’s in his eyes?” Mulder pushes Peter in front of him, and Scully’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god,” she says in a tone that makes Mulder nervous. “He wasn’t like this when he woke up, was he? I didn’t notice anything when he came in to use the bathroom.”

Scully holds out her hand and motions Peter closer, and he stands at the side of the tub while she gently pulls his eyelids open with her wet fingers. 

“No, he was fine when he woke up. This just popped up in the last ten minutes or so,” Mulder explains. 

“My mouth feels funny,” Peter says mournfully, and the color drains from Scully’s face. 

“Did he eat something?” she asks, standing up and reaching for a towel. 

“He had a Pop-Tart,” Mulder says helplessly as Scully steps out of the bathtub. “Why?”

“What kind?” she says even as she’s leaving the bathroom, heading straight for the pantry bag with Mulder hot on her heels. 

It hits him like a punch to the chest, making his ears ring. Scully turns around and holds up the empty box, her mouth slightly open and her breath coming out in pants. Strawberry. He bought strawberry Pop-Tarts. 

“Fuck,” Mulder says loudly, and Abby’s head snaps over to him. 

“That’s a bad word,” she announces. 

“I forgot. I didn’t even think about it when I bought them,” he says, crouching down in front of Peter, who is looking increasingly puffy and uncomfortable. “What do we do?”

“I’m taking him to the ER,” Scully says levelly, and when Mulder turns to look at her she’s already half dressed. “I don’t know how severe the allergy is, and he’s already in early stage anaphylaxis. He needs epinephrine.”

“What if someone recognizes you?” Mulder asks, and the dirty look she shoots him makes him feel like absolute shit. 

“The reaction could be fatal,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull her shoes on. “We don’t really have a choice.”

“Where are you going?” Abby asks. 

Scully pulls in a deep breath and her demeanor shifts slightly. 

“Your brother isn’t feeling well and I need to take him to see a doctor. You can stay here with Fox and Frenchie, okay?”

“I don’t want to go to the doctor!” Peter objects, and Scully again inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. She rises from the edge of the bed, crouching down beside Mulder without looking at him. 

“I know you don’t, Bear,” she says with a sad smile, taking the child’s hand. “But your body is really upset right now and we need some medicine to help you feel better. I’ll be right there with you the whole time, okay?”

Peter nods, his swollen eyes wet and his bottom lip sticking out. 

“Do you want me to get him dressed?” Mulder asks, and Scully barely glances at him before she stands and picks Peter up. 

“No, it’s fine,” she says curtly, retrieving her purse and the keys to the van. “Hopefully we won’t be gone too long.”

She moves toward the door and he follows after her, feeling useless and guilty. He should have remembered. It’s his job to remember these things now. 

“You have your new ID?” he asks, grabbing Frenchie by the collar to keep her from following them. Scully nods. “What if I need to reach you?”

“The burner cell is in the glove box. I’ll take it with me,” she answers, stepping through the open door and into a blue sky morning, Peter on her hip. 

“Sc—” he starts, then catches himself. She turns around anyway, her jaw set and a blonde tendril hanging down the center of her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says meekly, and she sighs, then hikes Peter up a bit higher. 

“I know,” she tells him, her tone a touch softer. “It was an accident. I just need to take care of him right now, okay?”

Mulder nods, and she holds his eye for a beat before loading Peter into the back of the van and pulling out of the parking lot. He watches until they disappear around the corner, then pats Frenchie’s hip and ushers her back inside. 

In the motel room, Abby is still watching TV, too young to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Frenchie trots over to her, tail wagging, and butts her nose up against the child’s leg. Mulder opens his mouth to call the dog away, but to his surprise Abby plucks a soggy frosted flake out of her bowl and holds it out for Frenchie to lick from her fingers. 

“Ew, her tongue is wet!” Abby says with a smile, scrunching up her nose. 

Mulder sits heavily on the edge of the bed, overcome with tiredness as the adrenaline begins to fade. 

“You wanna take her on a walk?” he asks wanly, and Abby nods.

-

Scully approaches the front desk in the emergency department, her nerves a jumbled mess. Justin Davenport, Justin Davenport, she repeats in her head over and over, terrified that she’ll call him by the wrong name. 

The young woman behind the counter lifts her head and gives them a perfunctory smile that doesn’t reach her seafoam green eyes. “Hi, how can we help you today?” she asks, smoothing her hand over her jet black hair, which is tied up in a bun on top of her head. 

“My son is having an allergic reaction,” Scully explains, and the woman looks at Peter’s face and frowns. “He’s allergic to strawberries and he inadvertently ingested some about thirty minutes ago.”

She resists the urge to explain the stage of his anaphylactic reaction or dictate what kind of care he needs. Both because this woman isn’t in a position to provide care, and because Lisa Davenport is not a medical doctor. Scully doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention. 

“Oh no, buddy,” the woman says to Peter, whose face is swollen and uncomfortably tight. He’s not yet struggling to breathe, though his constricted airway is audible by the slight whistle he produces with each inhale. “Let’s get you feeling better, okay? What’s his name please, mom?”

“Justin Davenport,” Scully recites flawlessly. 

“And do you have your ID and insurance information, please?”

Scully wrestles her British Columbia ID out of the back pocket of her jeans and watches a flash of irritation cross the woman’s face before she self-corrects and smiles thinly. 

“Is this address up to date? We’ll need to mail you an invoice for the cost of treatment.”

Scully has no idea whether the address on her ID is accurate, but she nods nonetheless. 

“Okay, Mister Justin, I’m going to give you this really cool bracelet,” the woman says, holding out her hand to Peter. 

Peter moves his mouth close to Scully’s ear and whispers, “You telled her my spy name.”

Scully flashes her eyes to the woman, who quirks her head at them curiously.

“Let her put the bracelet on,” Scully encourages Peter, pulling his puffed-up arm away from her waist. The woman secures a plastic hospital bracelet around Peter’s wrist, and he examines it closely. 

“Does this say my spy name?” he asks, and Scully resists the urge to chastise him. 

“It says your legal name,” she explains, offering the woman a smile that she hopes conveys that children say the darndest things. 

“Do your mommy and daddy call you something else?” the woman asks, leaning forward on her elbows, and a spike of adrenaline rings in Scully’s ears. 

“We’re big on nicknames,” she explains curtly. “Should we sit down or do we go directly to triage?”

“You can sit right there in those yellow chairs and the triage nurse will be with you in just a few minutes. You should be seen pretty quickly for an allergic reaction,” the woman says with a bob of her head towards a small cluster of chairs upholstered with mustard yellow fabric. Scully begins to turn away when the woman speaks again, directly to Peter. “What do your mommy and daddy call you, honey?” she asks. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to delay his treatment,” Scully tells her, and the woman’s face sinks into a chagrined smile. 

“Of course, sorry,” she says meekly, and Scully breathes a relieved sigh as she walks away. 

She sits in one of the ugly yellow chairs and sets Peter in the one just beside her. There are a handful of other people littered throughout the expansive waiting room in various stages of distress, including a man in a dirty bomber jacket who is clutching his stomach and groaning loudly. There’s a familiar antiseptic smell to the air, paired with stale cigarette smoke and body odor that clings to the upholstery on the chairs. 

“How are you doing?” Scully asks, resting two fingers over the pulse point on Peter’s wrist. “Are you able to breathe okay?”

Peter nods, though he looks miserable. His eyes have been reduced to slits and his mouth hangs open to accommodate his swollen tongue. 

“You telled her my spy name, Mommy,” he lectures her, his nasally voice rounding out the consonants. 

Scully gently pries his eyes open to check the dilation of his pupils. 

“Remember what Daddy said? We only use spy names when we’re around other people,” she reminds him. “Your real name is the one that’s a secret,” she says quietly, though there is no one else sitting in the triage area. 

Peter looks at her for a beat and then smacks the heel of his hand against his forehead. 

“I forgot!” he exclaims, smiling though he looks like a bloated marshmallow. 

“Justin Davenport?”

Scully turns to the triage nurse, who has skin the color of henna and long box braids pulled into a high ponytail. 

“Here,” Peter says, holding up his hand as though she’s taking roll. 

The nurse smiles a wide, pearly smile and holds her hand out to Peter.

“Hi Justin, I’m Cynthia,” she says brightly, taking Peter’s hand and shaking it while he looks at her bemusedly. “You look pretty uncomfortable. Let’s see what we can do to help.”

Scully stands guard in the corner of a curtained-off area while Cynthia takes Peter’s vitals and asks him a series of questions. 

“So what did you get into, Justin? What was for breakfast today?” she asks as she presses her stethoscope to his back. 

“Tart tarts,” Peter says, then sucks in a big breath, per her direction. “My daddy gived it to me.”

“It was a strawberry Pop-Tart,” Scully elaborates. “My husband forgot that he’s allergic to strawberries.”

“Let’s try and have Justin answer for himself,” Cynthia says firmly with a warm smile. “I’ll let you know if I need more information.”

Scully nods and swallows, flop sweat dampening the underarms of her T-shirt. 

“Open up your mouth really big like an alligator,” Cynthia tells Peter, then shines a penlight down his throat. “Definitely looks like an anaphylactic reaction,” she says to Scully while she palpates Peter’s lymph nodes. “The doctor will likely treat it with epinephrine, and then we’ll need to monitor him for a few hours to be sure the reaction has subsided.”

A few hours. Standard protocol, but they don’t have a few hours to waste. Scully wants to get out of this city as soon as possible. 

“We have a plane to catch this afternoon,” she says, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “Is there any way I can monitor him myself?”

Cynthia gives her a long, appraising look. 

“Boarding a plane would be relatively irresponsible,” she says coolly. “If his reaction worsens, you’d be stuck at thirty-thousand feet with no way to treat him.”

Again, Scully nods and swallows. 

“What’s this?” Cynthia asks, leaning forward to look at the back of Peter’s neck, where Scully knows there are two small sutures over the site of his exorcized chip. 

“It’s—” she begins to explain, not even entirely sure what she’s going to say, but Cynthia holds up her hand. 

“Please let Justin answer,” she says sternly, and Scully clamps her mouth shut. 

“That’s where Mommy cutted my bug bite off,” Peter says, and Cynthia raises her eyebrows, throwing Scully a quick glance. She bites her lip to resist speaking.

“Mommy cut your bug bite off?” Cynthia repeats incredulously. “Why would she need to do that?”

“We drived in the van aaaaaall night,” Peter says in his thick, nasally voice, miming his hands on a steering wheel. “And a bug bited me, but just a small one, and Mommy cutted it off.”

Scully waits, her heart hammering, and finally Cynthia turns to her. 

“What’s the story there, mom?” she asks, making a note on Peter’s chart. 

“He did have a bug bite,” Scully explains. “He wouldn’t stop scratching it and it became infected. His doctor decided to treat it with surgical debridement, but I did assist with keeping him still. That’s likely why he thinks I performed the procedure.”

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head with a confused frown. “Hickey’s not a doctor.”

“Hickey?” Cynthia asks, and Scully heaves a sigh. 

“It was rather traumatic for him, and now we’re dealing with this,” she says with some frustration. “Justin has a very active imagination.”

There’s a beat of silence. Cynthia looks at Peter, and then at Scully, deciding whether the child’s seemingly fantastical story is worth closer examination. Scully holds her breath, her heart pounding in her ears, and waits. 

“I’m going to move you to an open bed,” Cynthia says. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

“Thank you,” Scully says, closing her eyes briefly as tension drains from her shoulders.

-

In the three hours since Scully and Peter left the motel, Mulder and Abby have walked Frenchie five times, played enough Tic Tac Toe to cover the front and back of half a dozen sheets of paper, and made a blanket fort. 

After lunch, Abby falls asleep on top of the bed with a book in her hand. While she naps, Mulder takes every item out of the pantry bag and scours the ingredients for strawberries, burying the empty Pop-Tart box at the bottom of the garbage can so he doesn’t have to look at it. He keeps waiting for the phone to ring, or for Scully to come through the door. Without Abby to distract him, his mind turns to worst case scenarios. 

The second-to-worst case scenario is that they’ve been discovered somehow. Maybe someone recognized them, or maybe Scully called Peter by the wrong name and aroused suspicion. If the police were called, they could be in custody. Scully could be on her way back to Washington. He shudders to think what would happen to Peter. 

The worst case scenario is that Peter is dead. If he is dead, it is categorically Mulder’s fault. Scully would never forgive him, and even if she did he would certainly never forgive himself. Abby would lose her father and her brother in the space of just a few days. The trauma of her new life might start to rival that of whatever came before. 

He feels anxious and nauseated, hungry but too worried to eat. He calls the front desk and asks for a late checkout, buying them another hour, and then crashes onto the other bed and manages to fall into a fitful sleep. 

She looks pale, even for her. Her skin has a slightly gray cast that reminds him of her battle with cancer, when her hugs were so weak it felt like embracing air. He watches the flash of her heartbeat on the monitor, the rise and fall of her chest, and reminds himself of what the doctor said. A long road to recovery, but she’ll be okay. She’s strong. 

Her eyelashes flutter and he springs out of his chair, sending it clattering against the sink behind him. When her eyes open, he’s right beside the bed, her small hand wrapped up in both of his. 

“Hi,” he says with a smile. 

At some point this became their standard greeting for hospital bedsides, though they never discussed it. 

“Hi,” she rasps, then grimaces. He fetches her a cup of water and helps her take a drink. “I’m alive,” she says, her voice still rough. She sounds surprised. 

“Yes, you are,” he says as he perches on the edge of her bed, raising her knuckles to his lips and dropping a chaste kiss to each rounded joint. 

“Ritter?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he tells her. “But you won’t be working together again.”

Scully’s eyebrows raise in an attempt at a disappointed expression.

“Pity,” she says lightly. 

“Cryin’ shame,” Mulder echoes, holding her hand against his cheek. 

She considers him for a long beat. 

“Are you okay?” she finally asks, and he scoffs. 

“I’m not the one who needed six units of blood to stay earthside,” he says, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I’m fine. Just worried about you.”

Scully sighs and blinks a slow, sleepy blink. “I’m exhausted,” she says, her tongue thick. 

“Get some rest,” he says, standing. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No,” she says, tightening her grip on his hand and then wincing at the exertion. “Will you stay?”

He’s struck by an odd feeling of elation. Odd because he didn’t expect to find it here, in these circumstances. 

“Of course,” he says, dragging over his abandoned chair and sitting at her bedside. “I’ll be right here.”

She smiles weakly and squeezes his hand. He watches her eyes fall closed, and quickly her breathing becomes shallow and even. She doesn’t wake again for another three hours, and he’s right there the entire time, listening to the steady beat of the monitor measuring her heart rate. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

-

Scully taps her shoe against the weathered linoleum floor and checks her watch again. It’s been two hours since Peter was given a shot of epinephrine, and while the skin around his eyes is still red and raw-looking, the swelling in his face has subsided. He’s currently asleep, curled up on his side with his hand tucked under his cheek as a pillow. 

She knows that Mulder must be worried, but there is absolutely no cell reception inside the hospital, and the curtained area that serves as their room doesn’t have a phone. She’d have to ask permission to use the phone at the nurse’s station and call the front desk of the motel to be connected to the right room, then speak to Mulder with an audience. Alternatively, she could leave Peter alone and exit the building to see if the burner cell can find service outside. She’s already nervous regarding their interaction with Cynthia, and she just can’t bring herself to risk arousing further suspicion. 

“Knock knock,” coos their new nurse, Megan, as she pulls the curtain back and pokes her head in. “How’s our star patient?”

“Just sleeping it off,” Scully says with a weak smile. “I’m hoping we can be discharged soon. My husband and daughter are waiting for us back at the motel.”

Megan averts her eyes uncomfortably as she approaches Peter’s bedside and checks his vitals. She’s middle-aged and short-statured with graying curly hair and an ample backside. 

“Doctor G should be doing rounds soon,” she says, a friendly smile plastered to her mouth. “You’ll have to ask him about that.”

“Of course,” Scully says, unsettled by Megan’s clear discomfort. 

Peter opens his eyes, squinting at the fluorescent lights overhead. 

“Well hello there, Justin!” Megan says brightly. “You’re looking much more like a kid than a puffer fish!”

“I’m hungry,” Peter whines. 

“That’s a good sign,” Megan tells him, throwing Scully a wink. “Mom can order something for you from the cafeteria. Just fill out that form there and bring it to the nurse’s station,” she says with a nod towards a small table covered in pamphlets. 

Scully orders macaroni and cheese with a side of applesauce, and with each bite a bit more of Peter’s personality comes back to him, though he is still lethargic and weak. They roll into their fourth hour since leaving the motel, and nervous energy mounts and mounts until she begins pacing the small curtained area like a caged animal. 

“Mrs. Davenport?”

Scully wheels around to see the chief resident, Dr. Gerlick, standing in a gap in the curtain. He’s tall and blonde, thirtysomething, the kind of chief resident she used to resent as a first year, because her cohorts spent more time flirting with him than applying their education. Beside him is a woman in a blouse and slacks who bears a striking resemblance to Diana, enough so that Scully’s heart skips a beat before she realizes it isn’t her. 

“This is Eugenia,” Dr. Gerlick says, gesturing to the woman. “Justin is just about cleared for discharge, but before we do that Eugenia is going to talk with him for a bit.”

Scully’s eyes flash to the badge pinned to the waistband of the woman’s slacks. Eugenia Parker, Social Worker. A wave of nausea hits her so hard that she rests one of her hands on Peter’s bed to steady herself. 

“May I ask why?” she asks gently. 

“It’s standard procedure for accidental injury,” Eugenia says, stepping forward to offer her hand. “Nothing to worry about, we just need to make sure that Justin will be safe after we discharge him.”

Scully’s mind begins racing as she tries to recall what kinds of questions these hospital social workers usually ask, and how Peter might answer them. She realizes that Eugenia is still standing there with her hand extended, her megawatt smile slowly fading. 

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten in a while, I’m a little out of it,” Scully says, accepting Eugenia’s hand. “Am I able to be present while you talk with him?”

Eugenia’s eyes dart over to Dr. Gerlick. 

“Let’s step right outside, Mrs. Davenport,” Dr. Gerlick says, gesturing to the other side of the curtain. “I’ll provide discharge instructions for Justin while Eugenia chats with him. We’ll just be a few feet away.”

Scully hesitates, but, seeing no other option, she leans over the bed and kisses Peter on the forehead. 

“Be good,” she says, offering him a smile. 

They step through the curtain and Dr. Gerlick pulls it closed, obscuring Peter and Eugenia from view. Scully tries to keep one ear on Eugenia and one on Dr. Gerlick, which is challenging. 

“It will likely take a couple days for Justin to fully recover,” Dr. Gerlick tells her in that patronizing way that male doctors speak to women. “He’ll need extra rest, and extra fluids.”

Scully nods. On the other side of the curtain, she hears Eugenia ask Peter how he ended up eating strawberries. 

“My daddy gived me a tart tart for breakfast,” Peter says matter-of-factly. 

“Is your daddy a nice daddy?” Eugenia asks. “Does your daddy ever hurt your body when he’s upset?”

“...anaphylaxis is essentially an out-of-proportion immune response,” Dr. Gerlick is explaining, and Scully nods along, only half listening. 

“How about this ouchie on your neck, how did that happen?”

“...for an allergy as severe as Justin’s, I’m surprised that you don’t carry an epipen,” Dr. Gerlick says, frowning at her. 

“We do,” she interjects. “We just forgot it. Of course the one time we forget is when we need it,” she adds with a self-deprecating laugh. “We certainly won’t make that mistake again.”

She strains to hear Peter over Dr. Gerlick’s lecture regarding what might have befallen him if they’d not been so close to a hospital. 

“...and me and my sister Bunny had to ride in the van with Hickey, Dryers, and French Toast. And we drived aaaaaall night while Daddy and Motor looked for Mommy on the train. A bug bited me, and Mommy cutted the bite off.”

“Wow. Did that hurt, when your mommy cut the bite off?”

“Nope, but when Mommy cutted Bunny’s bite off, it hurted a lot. Hickey and Dryers had to help hold her, and Motor too. I mean Daddy.” 

Scully begins to feel lightheaded. 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Gerlick, I think I need to sit down,” she says, and the doctor ushers her into a chair beside an empty bed adjacent to Peter’s. 

“Let me get you some juice,” the doctor says before hurrying away. Through the curtain, Scully can hear Peter divulging every sordid detail of their perilous trip. 

“We all have to be super spies now, with secret names. And I have a rainbow hat so nobody can know I’m me. And Bunny got new hair so nobody knows she’s her. And we’re going to Camada to swim in a lake.”

“Oh my,” Eugenia says. Scully can hear the scritch of pen on paper as she takes notes. 

“Here you go,” Dr. Gerlick says. Scully takes a small bottle of apple juice from his hands and cracks it open, downing the sugary liquid in a few gulps. She figures her next stop is the police station, and it will be a long while before she has a proper meal. 

The doctor is now kneeling on the floor in front of her, his fingers pressed to her carotid artery. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mrs. Davenport?” he asks, his soulful blue eyes showing genuine concern. 

“I’m fine,” she says weakly. “I just didn’t have a chance to eat breakfast with everything going on with P—Justin.”

On the other side of the curtain, Peter is telling Eugenia that his daddy died in a terrible accident. 

“I thought you said your daddy was the one who gave you the strawberry Pop-Tart?” Eugenia asks. 

“That was my other daddy,” Peter explains. 

“I’m going to be sick,” Scully says urgently. 

An emesis bag is placed in her hands. She doubles over in the chair as the apple juice passes over her tongue a second time, still cold from the fridge but sour with acrid bile. 

“Is somebody throwing up?” Peter asks. “My sister throwed up all her Easter candy once.”

Scully dry-heaves into the bag, tears in her eyes and knots in her stomach. 

-

Someone is knocking on the door. 

“Housekeeping!” 

Mulder bolts upright and looks around. Abby is just opening her eyes, similarly confused and disoriented. 

“Who is that?” she asks, pushing her abandoned book off her chest and sitting up. 

The door snicks open and Frenchie lowers her head and growls a low, menacing growl. A middle-aged woman begins backing into the room, pulling a cart behind her, and Frenchie, identifying her as a stranger, charges the door with her teeth bared. Mulder grabs her by the collar as the woman startles violently, turning to face him with her hand pressed to her chest.

“Sorry, we’re still here,” he says, holding Frenchie tightly as she continues to snarl. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” the woman says, somewhat angrily. “Checkout was at 11:00.”

“I know, we asked for a late checkout,” he explains. 

“It’s almost 2:00,” she says, propping a hand on her hip. “You’re gonna have to pay for another night.”

He looks at the nightstand to confirm the time. He and Abby have both been asleep for hours, and Scully and Peter still aren’t back. His heart sinks, and his throat immediately becomes tight. 

“I’ll call the front desk and let them know,” he says, and the woman glowers at him as she begins to push the cart back over the threshold. “Sorry,” he adds, and she shrugs. 

“One less room to clean. Don’t bother me none,” she grumbles. 

He’s reaching for the phone when Scully appears in the still-open doorway, Peter asleep against her shoulder. 

“Oh my god,” he says, rushing across the room to meet her. “Why didn’t you call?” he hisses, quickly shifting from worry to anger as he takes Peter from her arms and lays him down on the bed. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I just want to get out of here,” she says, and he notices how depleted she looks, like she’s been through hell. “Let’s just go, please.”

“Is Bear okay?” Abby asks, and Scully nods. 

“Yeah, he’s okay, sweetpea,” she says as she bends down to pet an overly-excited Frenchie, her tone softening. “He’s going to be extra sleepy for a bit, but he’ll be okay.”

They quickly pack the room and check out, and when Mulder explains the situation to the woman at the front desk she takes pity on him and doesn’t charge them for a second night. They stop at McDonald’s for Happy Meals, and to his surprise Scully asks for a cheeseburger and wolfs it down in four bites. He steals glances at her as they get on I-94 and continue west toward St. Paul. 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Mulder,” she says, twisting in her seat to look at Peter, who is munching on a french fry with weary, reddened eyes. “I just need a minute.”

She rests the side of her forehead against the window and sighs. He desperately wants to know what happened, and whether they are at additional risk. He desperately wants to tell her how sorry he is, how badly he fucked up. How he’s afraid that he’s not cut out for this parenting thing. But she’s already fading in and out of consciousness, and he can’t bring himself to cajole her into conversation. He reaches behind his seat and grabs a sweatshirt he picked up in Indiana, then sets it carefully in her lap. She opens her eyes and gives him a questioning look, given that it’s over 80 degrees out. 

“To use as a pillow,” he says, offering her a smile. 

She smiles back, reaching across the console to squeeze his thigh. 

“Thank you,” she says, carefully folding the fabric into a square which she wedges between her head and the door jam. 

She falls asleep quickly, and the children are surprisingly somber and quiet in the back seat, watching the midwestern landscape rush past their windows. Mulder turns on the radio, keeping the volume low so it won’t disturb Scully. 

Desperate for changing,

Starving for truth.

I’m closer to where I started,

I’m chasing after you. 

They drive, and drive, and drive. Each mile brings them that much further away from danger. That much closer to home. 

I’m living for the only thing I know,

I’m running and not quite sure where to go. 

And I don’t know what I’m diving into,

I’m hanging by a moment here with you.

There’s nothing else to lose,

There’s nothing else to find. 

There’s nothing in the world, 

That can change my mind. 

There is nothing else. 

There is nothing else.

There is nothing else. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[soupmadeoflilys]

Sirius Black x Pureblood! Reader; Run away with me.

So I was thinking this could take place after Sirius and reader pass the summer in James house. Also mentioning that the reader has younger sibling and she is not in Gryffindor.

Y/n walked fast trough the high weeds that grew from the ground and pretended not to hear the thumping footsteps and callings from Sirius black behind her.

“Dove? Where are you going?”-He asked in a playful tone.

“She turned back to face him, a hand reaching to cup her cheek as she stared up at him. In her whole 17 years of life, she had never hated herself so much. Hated how she was so God dammed scared.

“Home.” _ that one word turned Sirius expression upside down, she saw the same eyes she had been gazing at so lovingly widen in terror.

“What do you mean home...?”

They exchanged glances for a little while. They both knew perfectly what it meant, it just that Sirius really didn’t want to believe it. So, they stood in the darkness of the field looking at each other as the rain pelted down hard on their faces.

 She looked away from his face as she couldn’t handle to see the hurt, she was causing; while her eyes clouded with tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into the hand that cupped her face.

Sirius shook his head, begging her to go with him, to run away, to leave this horrible place in space in time and be finally free. But she stayed in place, this time getting ready to leave and Sirius felt a dull ache growing in his heart. But she turned away to run so he caught her wrist in his hand.

“I need to go Sirius. Please let me, don’t make this harder; please.” He kept the same fiercely stare in his blue eyes as he held her wrist tighter, bringing it to his lips.

“No, you don’t Y/n... Y/n please, come with me. Don’t leave me! Was that kiss not enough for you to understand that I; I need you, I can only breath because of you and only will breathe for you.” She stared back at him, clenching her eyebrows in indecisiveness. Oh, how she loathed his ability to make her want to make depraved decisions.

“With your departing I’ll be only half a man, and I am unable to pretend I’m not in love after all these years. I can’t! I can’t and I won’t! And maybe this is what it takes for me to realize my own foolishness, make me realize I am perhaps not enough to make you stay.”- He was now with his hand holding her in place by her shoulders, he couldn’t let her get away, not now.

“No! Yes, yes you are enough Sirius it’s me who’s not right here. I wasn’t made for this place, for this life. I’m not nearly as courageous or capable to even think of running away. I’m just who I am, I was born in this place of simplicity in extravagance and I’ve always just done what I was told to do, and they’re my family too. I just; I can’t leave my sisters with them alone I can’t!”-And Sirius interjected.

“But you would come back for them!”

“By then it would be too late! Sirius if I ran away the truth is I would just be more scared than I usually am, my mother and father are still very cordial about unforgivable magic and have no wish to force me into whatever business the other purebloods are getting into. But if they one day they do end up wanting that I just wouldn’t bare to live knowing that they’re fending for themselves.”

As she mentioned her sisters Sirius visibly shrank in his clothes and his expression gradually dropped to mimic the pang in his heart. Regulus. It still hurt, knowing he left him behind. Knowing he couldn’t really save him. Although Sirius sometimes thought, late at night or in the middle of heated arguments like this, if he could’ve saved Regulus and he was just too blind or too lazy or too much of coward to be able to give his little brother a chance of another life, a better one.

But he continued to just stare at her in awful silence, and as the rain damped his suit and covered the tear that ran down his cheek, he admired her beautiful soft hair, and her lips, and her eyes, that even sorrowful still managed to flip his heart. Eventually he had to stop, because she left. Suitcase in hand and drenched in rain she left his life and became a memory. A first love.

[ohifonlyx33]

Chapter 16 of The Scarlet Pimpernel had me nearly swooning in a public laundromat. Alas, the plot twist is spoilt for me, but nevertheless... it's all so delicious. The yearning is impeccable. The dynamic being captured is magnificence itself. The little details are delightful. An absolutely captivating moment.

“Sir Percy!”

He already had one foot on the lowest of the terrace steps, but at her voice he started, and paused, then looked searchingly into the shadows whence she had called to him.

She came forward quickly into the moonlight, and, as soon as he saw her, he said, with that air of consummate gallantry he always wore when speaking to her,—

“At your service, Madame!”

But his foot was still on the step, and in his whole attitude there was a remote suggestion, distinctly visible to her, that he wished to go, and had no desire for a midnight interview.

“The air is deliciously cool,” she said, “the moonlight peaceful and poetic, and the garden inviting. Will you not stay in it awhile; the hour is not yet late, or is my company so distasteful to you, that you are in a hurry to rid yourself of it?”

“Nay, Madame,” he rejoined placidly, “but ’tis on the other foot the shoe happens to be, and I’ll warrant you’ll find the midnight air more poetic without my company: no doubt the sooner I remove the obstruction the better your ladyship will like it.”

He turned once more to go.

“I protest you mistake me, Sir Percy,” she said hurriedly, and drawing a little closer to him; “the estrangement, which, alas! has arisen between us, was none of my making, remember.”

“Begad! you must pardon me there, Madame!” he protested coldly, “my memory was always of the shortest.”

------

Once again he attempted to go, once more her voice, sweet, childlike, almost tender, called him back.

“Sir Percy.”

“Your servant, Madame.”

“Is it possible that love can die?” she said with sudden, unreasoning vehemence. “Methought that the passion which you once felt for me would outlast the span of human life. Is there nothing left of that love, Percy . . . which might help you . . . to bridge over that sad estrangement?”

His massive figure seemed, while she spoke thus to him, to stiffen still more, the strong mouth hardened, a look of relentless obstinacy crept into the habitually lazy blue eyes.

------

“Percy! I entreat you!” she whispered, “can we not bury the past?”

“Pardon me, Madame, but I understood you to say that your desire was to dwell in it.”

“Nay! I spoke not of that past, Percy!” she said, while a tone of tenderness crept into her voice. “Rather did I speak of the time when you loved me still! and I . . . oh! I was vain and frivolous; your wealth and position allured me: I married you, hoping in my heart that your great love for me would beget in me a love for you . . . but, alas! . . .”

------

“Twenty-four hours after our marriage, Madame, the Marquis de St. Cyr and all his family perished on the guillotine, and the popular rumour reached me that it was the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney who helped to send them there.”

“Nay! I myself told you the truth of that odious tale.”

“Not till after it had been recounted to me by strangers, with all its horrible details.”

“And you believed them then and there,” she said with great vehemence, “without a proof or question—you believed that I, whom you vowed you loved more than life, whom you professed you worshipped, that I could do a thing so base as these strangers chose to recount. You thought I meant to deceive you about it all—that I ought to have spoken before I married you: yet, had you listened, I would have told you that up to the very morning on which St. Cyr went to the guillotine, I was straining every nerve, using every influence I possessed, to save him and his family. But my pride sealed my lips, when your love seemed to perish, as if under the knife of that same guillotine. Yet I would have told you how I was duped! Aye! I, whom that same popular rumour had endowed with the sharpest wits in France! I was tricked into doing this thing, by men who knew how to play upon my love for an only brother, and my desire for revenge. Was it unnatural?”

------

Marguerite Blakeney was, above all, a woman, with all a woman’s fascinating foibles, all a woman’s most lovable sins. She knew in a moment that for the past few months she had been mistaken: that this man who stood here before her, cold as a statue, when her musical voice struck upon his ear, loved her, as he had loved her a year ago: that his passion might have been dormant, but that it was there, as strong, as intense, as overwhelming, as when first her lips met his in one long, maddening kiss.

Pride had kept him from her, and, woman-like, she meant to win back that conquest which had been hers before. Suddenly it seemed to her that the only happiness life could ever hold for her again would be in feeling that man’s kiss once more upon her lips.

------

“And to probe that love, you demanded that I should forfeit mine honour,” he said, whilst gradually his impassiveness seemed to leave him, his rigidity to relax; “that I should accept without murmur or question, as a dumb and submissive slave, every action of my mistress. My heart overflowing with love and passion, I asked for no explanation—I waited for one, not doubting—only hoping. Had you spoken but one word, from you I would have accepted any explanation and believed it. But you left me without a word, beyond a bald confession of the actual horrible facts; proudly you returned to your brother’s house, and left me alone . . . for weeks . . . not knowing, now, in whom to believe, since the shrine, which contained my one illusion, lay shattered to earth at my feet.”

She need not complain now that he was cold and impassive; his very voice shook with an intensity of passion, which he was making superhuman efforts to keep in check.

“Aye! the madness of my pride!” she said sadly. “Hardly had I gone, already I had repented. But when I returned, I found you, oh, so altered! wearing already that mask of somnolent indifference which you have never laid aside until . . . until now.”

She was so close to him that her soft, loose hair was wafted against his cheek; her eyes, glowing with tears, maddened him, the music in her voice sent fire through his veins. But he would not yield to the magic charm of this woman whom he had so deeply loved, and at whose hands his pride had suffered so bitterly. He closed his eyes to shut out the dainty vision of that sweet face, of that snow-white neck and graceful figure, round which the faint rosy light of dawn was just beginning to hover playfully.

“Nay, Madame, it is no mask,” he said icily; “I swore to you . . . once, that my life was yours. For months now it has been your plaything . . . it has served its purpose.”

But now she knew that that very coldness was a mask. The trouble, the sorrow she had gone through last night, suddenly came back to her mind, but no longer with bitterness, rather with a feeling that this man who loved her, would help her to bear the burden.

------

Tears now refused to be held back. All her trouble, her struggles, the awful uncertainty of Armand’s fate overwhelmed her. She tottered, ready to fall, and leaning against the stone balustrade, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly.

At first mention of Armand St. Just’s name and of the peril in which he stood, Sir Percy’s face had become a shade more pale; and the look of determination and obstinacy appeared more marked than ever between his eyes. However, he said nothing for the moment, but watched her, as her delicate frame was shaken with sobs, watched her until unconsciously his face softened, and what looked almost like tears seemed to glisten in his eyes.

“And so,” he said with bitter sarcasm, “the murderous dog of the revolution is turning upon the very hands that fed it? . . . Begad, Madame,” he added very gently, as Marguerite continued to sob hysterically, “will you dry your tears? . . . I never could bear to see a pretty woman cry, and I . . .”

Instinctively, with sudden, overmastering passion, at sight of her helplessness and of her grief, he stretched out his arms, and the next, would have seized her and held her to him, protected from every evil with his very life, his very heart’s blood. . . . But pride had the better of it in this struggle once again; he restrained himself with a tremendous effort of will, and said coldly, though still very gently,—

“Will you not turn to me, Madame, and tell me in what way I may have the honour to serve you?”

She made a violent effort to control herself, and turning her tear-stained face to him, she once more held out her hand, which he kissed with the same punctilious gallantry; but Marguerite’s fingers, this time, lingered in his hand for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary, and this was because she had felt that his hand trembled perceptibly and was burning hot, whilst his lips felt as cold as marble.

------

Perhaps he divined what was passing in her mind. His whole attitude was one of intense longing—a veritable prayer for that confidence, which her foolish pride withheld from him. When she remained silent he sighed, and said with marked coldness—

“Faith, Madame, since it distresses you, we will not speak of it. . . . As for Armand, I pray you have no fear. I pledge you my word that he shall be safe. Now, have I your permission to go? The hour is getting late, and . . .”

“You will at least accept my gratitude?” she said, as she drew quite close to him, and speaking with real tenderness.

With a quick, almost involuntary effort he would have taken her then in his arms, for her eyes were swimming in tears, which he longed to kiss away; but she had lured him once, just like this, then cast him aside like an ill-fitting glove. He thought this was but a mood, a caprice, and he was too proud to lend himself to it once again.

“It is too soon, Madame!” he said quietly; “I have done nothing as yet. The hour is late, and you must be fatigued. Your women will be waiting for you upstairs.”

------

Hot tears again surged to her eyes, and as she would not let him see them, she turned quickly within, and ran as fast as she could up to her own rooms.

Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more on to the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear—a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footsteps had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last.

[embodyingchaos]

❥ heart to heart | chapter two

pairing: abner krill x oc genre: best friends to lovers! warnings: angsty wangsty, very short oof, mention of murder word count: 1.9k masterlist: heart to heart last chapter: chapter one next chapter: -

eden yawned as best as she could with the head gear that was somewhat like a scold’s bridle that was placed over her head and mouth. she was very tired from everything she had to deal with over the last week. not only did she get arrested, she had to deal with the press, had barely any time to say goodbye to nellie, wyatt, viola or abner, and to top it all off, she was sent to good ol’ belle reve.

her cell guard opened the door, “you got a few visitors, ‘37.” she said, making eden flinch at the sound of the name. she got up, “can’t you just call me eden, flora?” she asked, muffled. flora pressed her lips together, “you know i can’t do that.” she told her, holding onto her as they walked to the non-contact visits room. when she got there, she turned to the woman. “could you take this off? kinda hard to talk with it on me.” eden said, pointing at the mouth guard. flora sighed and took it off before moving her to sit at the first counter. 

she stretched her mouth muscles before picking up the phone, “hi there, wy.” she greeted with a lazy tone, looking unbothered. “hi, eddie.” he greeted back with the nickname he fashioned for her a long while ago.

“weren’t planning on telling me and nel that you escaped from a lab facility that was experimenting on you and that you killed all the scientists and guards?” eden remained expressionless. “i’m pretty sure you would have called the police, wy.” “no, i wouldn’t have. you’re like a daughter to me, kiddo.” he said, his gaze softening. “it’s not right that they’re keeping you here.” eden sighed heavily, “i killed people, wy. yes, they did horrible, unspeakable things to me, but i killed them, and that’s a crime. the last person alive has to take the blame, and i don’t mind. i’m happy i was able to spend the last ten years with freedom, with you and nellie, and viola. i got to see the stars at least more than once, and that’s enough for me.” wyatt wasn’t one to cry or get too emotional, but seeing her behind the glass accepting her fate and not even trying to defend herself, it hurt him.

he stayed quiet for a bit before speaking up again. “there’s someone else here to see you.” wyatt told her, eden nodded as he left to go get them. the person who came in fidgeted as he took a seat. eden smiled at them as she picked up the phone, “hello, abner.” she greeted, happy to see him.

abner looked horrible. it seemed that her whole situation definitely affected him. his facial hair had grown much more since a week ago, it was much more prominent. the bags and dark circles under his eyes were also very visible, he hadn’t been sleeping. “abner, you look like you just came back to life-” “i miss you.” he cut her off immediately, tears threatening to escape his eyes. eden was trying to lighten the mood with a joke but it didn’t seem like it would work. “i miss you too, abbie.” she said, fiddling with the end of her shirt. abner sniffled, “it’s not fair. those people deserved to die.” eden gave him a small smile. “nobody deserves to die, abner. it’s not my job, or anyone else’s job to decide who gets to live or die. we don’t have the right to do so. i was wrong to do what i did.” she suddenly let out a choked sob, “and i ended up killing everyone, even the other patients, the kids. it was all my fault.” seeing her crying was something abner was not used to. he had never even seen her cry this much before.

abner didn’t know what to do, or say. he couldn’t even hug her to comfort her since she was behind the glass. then, he thought he should say exactly that. “if i could right now, i-i would hug you, and- and tell you everything is not your fault.” he nervously said, “you’re human, and you lashed out and made a mistake, and that’s okay. those kids are in a better place now thanks to you. they would have been in misery if they stayed in that lab any longer, ed.” eden looked up from her lap and stared at abner through her blurry vision. she wiped the tears from her face.

“i’m sorry i told you i love you, abner. now, you have to deal with me being in here and i’ll probably never be able to hug you ever again.” she apologised, her voice cracking. “i'm such an idiot." "no. you aren't." he adamantly said, determined to get his point across. "i am so happy you told me. it’s not your fault, you didn’t know they’d found you are that they’d been following you for a month now.” he teared up, “i’m going to visit you every day and-” “belle reve doesn’t allow more than three 1-hour visits per week, ab.” eden cut him off and he huffed in frustration, “then, i’ll visit you every gosh darn week! back-to-back with a day break! i’ll visit you on monday, wednesday, friday and repeat!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

abner slid back into his chair, “this isn’t fair.” he whispered, but not to eden, to himself. abner looked back up at her and found her staring at him with her old, empty, black eyes. “life’s never fair.” she simply said, her lips falling into a flat line. in a matter of moments, she was entirely detached and that terrified him. being terrified was nothing new to him though, was it?

as days passed by, eden only spent time in her cell. she had asked for a book or two, and they allowed her to have a few. the most annoying part of being at belle reve was the fact that she constantly got ridiculed for having to wear the scold bridle. even if it did annoy the living shit out of her, she honestly didn’t care, she couldn’t care. plus, she was able to take it off during meal times and when she wanted to brush her teeth so it wasn't so bad. eden had been warned many times that if she even thought about spitting at one of the guards, she’d get tasered and sent to solitary.

as a year passes by, time has never been slower yet faster. eden spent most of her time sleeping or doing chores around the facility. she made a friend, the only problem was that the friend liked rats.

“i still don’t understand why out of all the animals your father could have chosen, he had to choose a rat.” eden mumbled as she played around with her plate of food as she sat opposite of her friend, cleo cazo, also known as ratcatcher 2. “what’s with the judgement, eddie?” “do not call me that, caz.” the older girl warned as she glared at cleo who only gave her a cheeky grin. “sorry.” she was not sorry when she said this. the two of them always spent a lot of time together, mostly because when cleo doesn’t feel like talking to her pet rat, sebastian, she talks to eden. eden usually just endures it, she didn’t like to talk when using her dehumanising muzzle.

after lunch, cleo had decided to go back to her cell early because she wanted to sleep. eden looked around the lunch room until a familiar head of hair stopped her in her tracks. there was no way that was him, right?

she slowly got up from her table and made her way to the man that sat at the table in another corner. he kept his head down, his black hair covering his eyes. there was no doubt about it, this was him. “abner?” eden’s voice was barely above a whisper when she called out his name but somehow he had still heard it. abner’s head snapped up as his eyes glistened from the lighting, “eden…” he said in disbelief, “wh-” eden scrambled to sit opposite of him, “what happened?! why are you here?!” she asked, obviously shocked at the fact he was in belle reve. “you haven't visited me for a whole month. i thought something happened. clearly, i was correct.” abner smiled sadly, nodding.

“i’m sorry. i was going through a hearing, and-and then trial, and there was no time to see you at all.” he rambled before taking a deep breath, “i killed her. i didn’t mean to.” the words were so quiet, eden didn’t pick it up. “and now, she’s everywhere.” she looked at him with perplexity, “what? i didn’t catch that?” abner looked at her with teary eyes, “i killed my mom. i thought she was going to hurt me. i didn’t mean to.” eden’s gaze softens, “it’s okay, abbie. it’s not your fault. your mother was a horrible person for putting you and your siblings through all of the things she did.” she reached out to grab his hand under the table which he easily accepted.

he whimpered, “but now she’s everywhere, everyone looks like her.” eden looked down at the table, “do i look like her to you?” abner stared at her face and her eyes, shaking his head. “you’re the only one who doesn’t.” he confessed, making her grin, “then, i guess you should stick with me, huh?” she nudged his foot with her own and a tiny smile finally took over his lips.

for the next few months, the two hung out around the facility whenever they could. they’d try to get the chores where they would be able to clean at the same time so they’d get to have a conversation or two. on more than two occasions, other prisoners would start picking on or insulting abner. this caused eden to get into more than a few fights, resulting in solitary confinement. 

abner was never one to complain, but he hated the fact that they made her wear a scold bridle. “it’s dehumanising!” eden smiled as she sweeped the floor, “well, they have to take precautions.” she mocked amanda waller’s voice, remembering the exact words she used when eden herself complained about the bridle. the girl didn’t care about it that much, but she did care about how it kept her from being able to kiss him.

they tried their best to keep their relationship on the low. word was getting around that waller had been trying to recruit villains for a task force of some sort. eden knew amanda waller would try to use their relationship to her advantage, and the day she was proven right came quicker than expected.

the crinkling of potato chip bags and the click-clacking of keyboards were the only sounds that filled the room. a woman with long curly hair stood up from her chair and headed over to their chief’s office.

she knocked on the door before turning the handle, “ms. waller?” she asked, “yes, crawley?” waller answered, not looking up from her computer. “i’ve got the files for the prisoners you wanted to recruit.” crawley said as she placed the information on her desk. “all of this includes 037 as well?” waller asked, opening up the first file which consequently was eden’s. “yes, but they called her eresidae in the lab after they’d studied her powers so that’s her name for her file.” crawley explained and was immediately dismissed. “thank you, crawley. you may leave.” waller stared at eden’s headshot before looking back at the computer screen.

there on the screen was eden having a conversation with abner, sitting closely to him. waller knew exactly how to get her on the task force now.

[visceravalentines]

Scare Me

Halloween, Friday the 13th, and Scream Crossover College AU

The best, most hardcore game of tag ever, in which an immortal final girl must outlast four slashers racing to be the first to take her out. Winner gets to pick the dinner place. Ready...set....

Rating: Mature

Length: 2k

CW: stalking, chasing, stabbing, major character death (and resurrection)

This is a take on a concept from @ur.ghoulfriend on TikTok (@ur_ghoul_friend on Twitter). She makes dope slasher art, go check it out!

What is it about summer evenings? 

Crickets were going wild in the flowerbeds. The last vestiges of the sunset were just visible behind the humanities building. Clouds scudded across the sky, lazy and free. I felt weightless, like if I skipped a little bit I might just ascend into the heavens. Keys jingling in my hand, I hopped once, just to try it. No luck.

Campus was sparsely populated. Summer semester had a different kind of energy, plus it was Friday night. Most everyone was in their dorm or at a party, only a few unfortunate souls like myself wrapping up their summer jobs. Once I passed the library, I was alone.

Well. Almost.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. My eyes swept over my surroundings. I didn’t see a soul. I slowed, turned to look behind me, walking backwards.

A shadow ducked behind the corner of a classroom building about fifteen meters away.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to spot them again, but saw nothing. Best not to take chances. I turned and changed direction, circling around the west side of the engineering building instead of my usual path to the east.

Ahead of me, the buildings fell away to make space for the green, wide open and dotted with old sycamores. My head was on a swivel as I moved into the open space. The lamps that lined all the pathways on campus switched on automatically as the sun retreated below the horizon. I suddenly felt very visible, a rabbit realizing it has wandered into a clearing.

Movement in my periphery. I snapped to attention. A hulking figure lurked behind a tree just outside the reach of the wan lamplight.

Shit.

I took off sprinting without a second thought. Keys gripped tightly in my hand, sneakers pounding the sidewalk, the night air rushed past my face and I hit a comfortable stride. I loved to run and it had carried me all the way to the college on a track scholarship. The green whizzed past, the wind picking up and rustling the trees. Maybe I could fly after all. Stranger things, you know? 

I ran past the law building and rounded the corner. There was a stairwell leading to a basement door surrounded by a brick wall and I scuttled halfway down, crouching in the darkness, barely panting. I kept a tight grip on my keys to keep them from clinking, eyes locked on the top of the stairs.

I counted to thirty before creeping up the staircase on all fours, peering around the wall, staying low. The big guy had passed my hiding place and was pacing slowly down the walkway, scanning for me. The bold white number 13 on the back of his jersey practically glowed in the evening blue.

Carefully, quietly, I maneuvered myself to the second stair from the top and looked for that first shadow. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I wasn’t going to move until I knew where he was.

There – prowling around the far building. No mask yet, not on campus, but from this distance, I still couldn’t make out who it was. There was no telling if it was the same one I’d seen before, but I didn’t want to hide for too long. I double-checked that neither of them were looking my way and snuck out of the stairwell, back the way I had come.

Once I was out of their sight I started running again, along the edge of the green, towards the west side of campus. The house lay to the north, but my plan was to head for the football field, cut through the woods that bordered the school, and then beeline for home. Seemed like a good route – not too direct, but not so far out of the way that they’d have a chance to cut me off.

I left main campus behind and saw the football field up ahead, floodlights blazing, attracting every moth within a square mile. The surrounding parking lot was nearly empty, nothing like it was in the fall. Again, I felt exposed, but I slowed to a brisk walk to conserve energy. I spun in a circle as I walked, keeping an eye out for anything moving. I saw nothing. This was concerning.

Should I take the long way around?  It would take longer, and the far side behind the visitors’ bleachers wasn’t well lit. Easy to get the drop on someone over there. But I’d be in the spotlight on the field.

I took a deep breath and decided to run it. It was just 100 meters. I could do 100 meters in 13 seconds.

The edge of the field was approaching. My adrenaline spiked. I could feel it in my chest, in my legs. Showtime.

The second my toes hit turf I exploded into a dead sprint. The fake grass was firm and springy under my feet, rustling with every step. I crossed the yard lines one after another, approaching the 50, and then the sound of footsteps behind me, fast.

“Get back here, bitch!” came a gleeful yell.

I screamed, knew who it was without looking, dug deep and tore across the field. My keys were digging into my palm, slick with sweat. The floodlights were blinding and I almost missed the second shadow racing out from behind the home bleachers.

“Surprise!” A gleeful grin, the glint of a knife.

I practically skidded on the turf, nearly lost my balance, wheeled to my left and narrowly avoided the blade. “Nice try, motherfucker!” I sprinted off the field, crossed the street without looking, and darted into the trees.

“C’mon man, that was it!” I heard one of them whine.

“Don’t give me that shit, come on!”

As soon as I knew I wasn’t visible from the road I started to zigzag through the foliage, trying my best to be light-footed and avoid cracking every stick on the forest floor beneath my sneakers. The ground rose into a low hill. I was panting, heart thundering a runaway beat.

Hopefully the big guy hadn’t made it this far; nobody knew these woods like he did. I hadn’t even seen the shape yet, but that wasn’t unusual. He would almost certainly be waiting near the house. The last leg of the chase was his favorite part.

Near the crest of the hill, I decided to risk a feint. I ducked behind a large boulder, breathing in through my nose, exhaling out of my mouth. My palm felt almost permanently etched with the imprint of my keys. I stuffed them in my pocket, ran my hands over the surface of the boulder, found a small ledge.

With a soft grunt, I pulled myself up, shoes scuffing on the rock, clambering all the way to the top. The night was dark, the full moon still low on the horizon. I pressed myself flat against the boulder and watched my two pursuers pick their way through the trees.

Their banter had ceased. They were hunting. One of them had donned the mask already. I watched the other pull it from his back pocket and slip it on over his head. Each of them gripped a hunting knife. They moved like wolves, always just outside of the other’s sight, covering the most ground possible.

I pressed a hand over my mouth as one of them circled the boulder. His head was just a few inches below me. He didn’t look up.

I considered throwing a rock as a diversion, but I didn’t think they’d fall for that. Instead I waited, measuring my breathing, sprawled like a spider in the darkness. When they left my sight, I tracked their movements with sound. They were quiet, but not silent. Eventually, they were far enough away that I could no longer hear them.

My plan now was to follow close enough to see where they split off to hide and wait for me on our street. That way I could avoid them, and then – provided the big guy hadn’t made it all the way up here yet – I’d only have one killer to contend with.

I slid down the side of the boulder and managed to land without making too much noise. Half-crouched, I moved in the direction they had gone. I caught up to them quickly, hung back where I could keep them both just within my field of vision. My eyes were trained on them, my ears straining for the sound of anyone approaching behind me.

My mistake. The shape didn’t make a lot of sound.

A hand seized the collar of my shirt, yanked me back. I barely had time to gasp before I was flung to the ground, pebbles and sticks biting into my palms as I threw them out to catch myself.

I tried to scramble away, clawing at the forest floor, but he grabbed my shoulder and flipped me onto my back. His silhouette loomed, black against the trees, and I shrieked. He dropped to his knees, straddling me, gripped my throat and choked off my cry. Instinctively my hands flew to his wrist, squeezing, trying to pry him off.

In his other hand he held a huge kitchen knife. He raised it high. I struggled for breath. The knife plunged down, pierced through the left side of my chest at an expert angle. I could feel my heart beat around the steel of his blade once, twice, and then my vision tunneled around his blank, pale face, and I fell backward into that place that felt like sleeping.

It didn’t take me long to come to. It wasn’t like waking up. There was nothing gradual or gentle about it. One moment, oblivion; the next, breathing!  Thinking!  The residual clench of pain in my chest.

“Look who’s up,” Stu said. “Welcome back, living dead girl.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, sitting up, rubbing the place where Michael had stabbed me. “Goddamn, Mikey. I never saw that coming.”

He was wiping the blade of his knife on his jeans, smearing my blood across the denim. His mask hung from his free hand. “I know.”

“Where the hell were you?” Billy demanded. “Stu and I walked right through here.”

“Like I’m gonna tell you,” I scoffed.

“Come on, you gotta,” Stu said.

“No way. Four against one is plenty, I don’t need to be giving you hints.”

“She was on top of the rock,” Michael said helpfully.

“You bastard.”

“I knew it!” Stu clapped his hands. “I told you Billy, I could sense her!”

“You could not,” I said. “I watched you walk right past me. I could’ve pulled the mask off your fucking head.”

“Why didn’t you then?” he taunted.

I tugged at my shirt, examining the damage. The blood blended in with the black fabric, but the tear was pretty big. The clothes in my closet were lucky if they lasted a week. “Where’s Jason?”

“Here he comes,” Billy said.

The big man waved lazily at us as he climbed up the hill. He had donned his hockey mask somewhere between here and the green and he slid it off as he approached. Who won? he signed. Michael lifted a hand. Guess that means we’re going to the burger place, huh? 

“We just went there,” Billy groaned.

“Hey, if you’d just win for a change, we could hit up that taco truck,” I said.

“Shut up.”

“What’ll it be, Mikey?” I asked.

He shot Billy a smug look. “Milkshake sounds good.”

“Burgers it is.”

Billy groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you need to change?” Stu asked. “Maybe opt for the topless look?”

“Nah, I’m good. Barely a scratch. Nice try though.” He winked at me and clicked his tongue. I got to my feet, combing leaves out of my hair. “Man, I need a beer.”

Maybe we play Kings when we get back to the house?

“Hell yeah,” I said.

“You in a rush to lose again?” Billy said.

“You’re one to talk.”

“If you die drunk, would you come back sober?” Stu wondered aloud as we made our way down the hill.

“That’s a good question, I…don’t actually know.”

“Well let’s test it out.”

The woods fell silent behind us as we headed towards town. Just a group of college kids on a Friday night. A veritable pack of nightmares under the moon.

[luihyakuya567]

The White Butterfly In A Black World

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞

Name: Lilliana De Obelia (lili for short/close friends)

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Personality:Character Example-- Lumine/Traveller---

Lilliana's personality can range from stoic, humble and helpful to boastful, lazy and short tempered. She is also pointedly uninterested in getting involved with the issues caused at gatherings or any parties and the troubles caused by other nobles as well as most of the problems in the dukedom and only concerns herself with dealing with matters such as getting out of the empire and divorcing her fiance so she wouldn't die. She gets visibly frustrated not wanting to meddle with both the affairs of other people sometimes or anyone even with a simple task like taking one letter from one person in a social gathering to someone in the nobility hierarchy.

Yet despite the hesitation to get involved with either of them she is ultimately a compassionate person. Due to her experience with past troubles and other situations that she needs to get involved in she immediately puts her guard up at the mention of something to do with either one of them. Lilliana also shows significant concern for Pollux and some of the others like Arcky as her initial goal to leave the empire after a week of marrying the duke was scrapped and had changed to looking through any documents of information or and social gatherings so she could understand what she would have to do in order for her to actually successfully leave the empire.

However sometimes she can be stoic and reaction-less in certain situations but other times she's cheerful, yet she always makes small but visible warnings on first time meetings with people to not anger her otherwise she might hit them, either way she wouldn't care if something happened to them(unless they were close friends but wouldn't care if it was someone else that she hates either way).

Appearance: She has long white hair that stops at the middle of her thighs while she had two pieces of hair that reached the middle of her waist and an uneven fringe, she has bright ruby red eye with small snowflakes around the pupil, She wore a cream-coloured dress with deep-pale green accents, the dress reached all the way down to the floor with dark grey embroidery around the bottom then deep pale green ruffles at the bottom, the top of the dress went across her chest with a small ruffled layer revealing the strat of her clevage as well as her collar bones, the sleeves of teh dress were the same green colour with a darker green pattern ontop, they puffed out a bit near the the top of the dress before going thin and covering a bit of her hand with a darker green lace around the cuffs.

The middle of the top on the dress was a very pale dark green with a light coloured pattern on top while above that was a dark green bow with a red broach surrounded by a gold backing while there were a couple of decorative beads in the same colour as the bow at the top of her dress, she wore a dark green ribbon choker on her neck and a necklace stopping around the base of her neck while she wore white earrings, her hair was left down and the two strands from the front were tied in the back with a deep-pale green ribbon while on her feet were heels in the same color with a small cream bow at the back.

Hidden under all of her clothes she has five hidden scars one on her upper left arm, one of her inner left wrist, one on her outer left wrist, one on the back of her neck and one on her spine towards the centre, a long scar that reached the middle of her upper arm, a long one that reached halfway of her neck and a long one that looked like a huge chunk of a broken mirror on her lower back.

[mathtml]

@qblester​

[PRIVATE]

[Just as promised! A fun little video! It starts off in the same scenery Enya's selfie was taken. Now, though, the camera is on the ground, facing upward at a higher angle and showing mostly sky. Enya pulls away from the screen once it starts, sitting back on crossed legs just a touch below frame. The grin still sits loosely on her face, but something about her gaze seems... off. Wilder, twitchier than photos can show.

She doesn't say anything as she pulls from below frame, a knife. Or, a bit of stoned shaped like a knife, judging by the coloring. It's nothing too impressive, the blade maybe 5-inches, edged on both sides. She maintains a very direct gaze with the camera as she presses the tip of the knife against the underside of her (at this angle, left) jaw. Slowly, with a small twisting motion, she adds pressure to the point. At first it's just enough to show it was, indeed, sharp. A few small streams of blood drip down bright against the black of her neck. A few more seconds are empty time of her doing nothing else.

Then, with choked laugh, she shoves the entire knife into her throat. Her hand convulsively tightens around the handle as her body shudders and tightens. More blood seeps from behind the entry, but nothing dramatic. Her eyes and grin are fixed in place before they begin to flutter and twitch with uncontrolled movement. It seems like a long moment of this scene before her grin slackens and she slumps backward. The knife comes free as her body collapses back and mostly out of sight - though a single stream of blood sprays from an angle that, one can figure, originates from her neck.

Being a fully raw, unedited video, the next minute and a half is nothing exciting. Whatever is visible of Enya's body shows small twitching and body convulsions, with soft gurgling as the score before silence envelops the scene for one, two, three...

With no other indicators that anything has changed but in one swift movement, she inhales sharply and sits up. Enya is... a mess; blood stains her neck, hair, and clothes in a coagulated mess. She's lost the unhinged expression and now stares at the phone as if rudely awoken from a nap. Another few seconds pass before she grins, lazy and triumphant. The hand that had previously held the knife, now red with blood, runs through her hair in some comical attempt to straighten up the mess. Instead, causing more blood to muss her curls and against her face as she leans toward the camera and, with a wink, turns off the video.

When the video finishes playing, a popup enters the screen; RuntimeError: failed reading file data/0: .mp4 or archive is corrupted.]

[unfortunately-obsessed]

"You left without saying a word"

( Previous ) | Part 2 of We Can Make This Place Our Home

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Original Female Character

Word count: 5.9K | AO3 Link

A/n: I was so lazy to post it in here because of all the formating, but I needed to if I want to post the next part, so here it is.

Summary:

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

Gotham kills and takes away.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there.

"Your Bristol accent was showing."

One of the greatest pleasures of life is seeing Bruce Wayne visibly scrunch his eyebrows. He learned how to tuck his emotions away very carefully, at a very young age, but sometimes it seemed like his eyebrows had a will on their own.

Helen sits on the balusters and his eyes shine. Bruce is ten minutes later than her, walking without vigor to fight the way she risks her life so carelessly. Or to say she also has a Bristol accent.

They hide where there's no audience to perform to, on one guest bedroom of dozens in the Blackwood Manor. Bruce looks to her like he didn't expect he to be there but knew she would, cold exhaustion in blue eyes, tossing his butterfly tie somewhere and leaning on the stone by Helen's side.

There's more tension on his eyes than should ever be allowed to be. He's handsome using that suit. Alfred could make anything fit anyone with enough prep time, indeed.

"You're smelling like cheap perfume," she says the moment some wind brings the scent to her nose.

Bruce groans and Helen can imagine perfectly the old ladies trying to get a chunk off of the Wayne heir. Her jaw tightens.

"I hate this," he says, putting the glass of champagne between him and Helen.

He's not old enough to have a driver's license but of course someone put alcohol on his hands. Bruce rolls with it, seething this is Gotham, enraged. He is its prince, after all.

"Your speech was good, pretty boy," Helen promised, maybe trying to comfort or distract, carefully adjusting herself on the edge. "Although I didn't think my father would call you to the floor."

Bruce sighs, not flinching if Helen is the one calling him that.

The situation had the underlying humour of Bruce Wayne, rebellious teenager that was in a fight every other week, talking in the podium about whatever her father rambled about his distorted concept of charity.

Two floors below, in marble floors and under candelabra crystals, her father is getting drunk on white wine and promising to change the city once again. The ballroom is packed with politicians and influential people, bubbly champagne flowing or otherwise her father wouldn't allow.

It's designed to demonstrate wealth and power. Even the celling is ornate in intricate golden paint, intended to ease those people's obsession with pointless rivalry and redirect their energy in compliments to her father.

The chilly air makes her shiver, briefly. Behind her lays the almost endless darkness of Bristol, where things don't happen and time is frozen in place, past the garden lights and tall trees, Drake Manor. Then, over it and their just as over-exaggerated luxury, stays Wayne Manor burned to ashes.

Bruce graze at it with a ten-yard stare, even if his eyes can't reach it. A rage flies over the first layer of numbness, burning as Gotham did.

Helen leans back, stretching her arms up. Bruce's eyes change focus then, trained on her like she might fall from the edge at any second.

The height makes her stomach flutter. "Wanna to go downtown, eat some fast-trash?"

The story goes like this: Helen steals her father's most forgettable car so she and Bruce spend time on a cheap diner where the streets still alive but no one pays attention to their faces.

One of those days, this story will have a bad ending.

They're royalty, smell and talk dirty rich. The story will repeat itself on spilled pearls.

But until Helen's is met with blood, she will be trying to make this all sound normal. Like ordinary teenagers planning a little adventure.

Bruce tilts his head, looking up to meet Helen's eyes. "We have a chemistry test tomorrow."

There's some fun on this, too. Bruce's getting a perfect score on every test after having a week-long suspension for cursing the principal straight in the face.

Helen huffs. "As if you ever cared about that." Bruce looks somewhere else, not daring to meet her gaze. "If you don't want, just say it."

Again, there's a comical timing on Bruce's eyebrows as he scrunched it so childishly, it throws Helen years back when he pouted on Martha's arms about how much he hated carrots.

Bruce's head falls between his hands. "Why your father..."

He doesn't even finish his complaint, voice dying halfway through.

Helen smacks her lips together, training her tongue on the inside of her mouth where a scar is placed.

"He's just like that." Making other people take on a speech without any warning, a teenager no less. "I don't know what do with him."

And people would agree with what the Prince of Gotham says even if he had a mouth full of hot potatoes and was babbling nonsense. Up in the tower that watches from above, lives the most fitting rich person to talk about sorrow.

Her father is a politician at heart. She jokes with it.

"You're so pitiful," Helen rubs salt on the wound, swinging her legs.

Bruce groans harder, in despair. Makes her get off the balusters and stand on her feet, balancing herself on designer heels.

"How about a..." Helen pauses in calculated suspense. "Blueberry chiffon cake?"

He runs a hand through his hair, white strips covering the knuckles. "Explain to me how you know to do that but don't know how to make tea."

Helen collects herself, proper and elegant like she should, inspecting her outfit with precise hands. Bruce stands little feet away, observing and only occupying space like he has no coherent thought on his mind.

Like she didn't pause to check herself, Helen elbows Bruce mean on the ribs. "Einstein didn't know basic math."

And like clockwork, Bruce scrunches his eyebrows everytime she says something unfathomably untrue. "This is a myth–"

"Yeah, right, pretty boy," she babbles, adjusting the heels on while using Bruce's shoulder to level herself. "I'll just leave you safe and sound at home then, stomach empty."

Which sounded like an awful excuse to go downtown and crash at his house, but sometimes he's as blind as a door.

Bruce's mouth sets in a hard line. "Alfred will come get me."

A boy with constant cherry-red lipstick marks on his lapels, walking over flashes of cameras and greedy hands that won't love him right, getting cuffed and uncuffed because of the trouble he causes, there's loss on his heart.

But now he looks like just it, a boy. 'Wayne Heir' that tabloids love to plaster on first pages be damned, Helen hates to share.

After the cleaning crew finished working and the golden lighting no longer had value, night on the Blackwood Manor would be considered hell by most people. The deafening silence only breaking by her father reaching for an unopened bottle of champagne, searching for her.

And Helen would prefer being where he can't find.

"Although, I think that..." Bruce starts, unsure and wishful, white strips on his knuckles, "Alfred promised cookies."

Helen's face spikes a bright smile. "Who are you to not to pay attention when says cookies?"

Bruce looks away. Like a telltale story, Helen can see a brash immature Bruce Wayne arguing all the way to her house, cursing her father to Alfred. Arguing is the only thing that would make him not pay attention to such important matter.

"Will you come?"

Not the after-party she's most used to, but the one she loves the most.

"As sure as the sun rises," she answers.

(-)

Golden lights under crystals.

"Well, prom is here," she says, spinning.

Bruce holds her waist a little tighter, leading the dance. And she leaves him to it, all the eyes on them like their lives depended on it.

Him, pretty much like her, has a dozen of invitations waiting an answer, made by people that will start to brag the second they hear a yes.

It is almost funny how Gotham Academy holds a prom for those filth rich brats, as if they aren't attending just as pretentions parties every month.

On marble floor, Helen spins with all eyes on her. Soft glistening golden light, the same color of her gown.

People expect it of them. Bruce grabs her hands and spin her around.

"I didn't even bought a dress yet," she whines, "I don't even know what color I would choose."

A week away from prom, but she hasn't showed much hurry for anything in those past years.

Her father looks from the crowd.

"Red," Bruce demands, as spoiled he always has been.

"Red?"

"Burgundy."

Helen doesn't tip her head back with laughter, but almost. "Oh, you know the name of the color." Bruce narrows his eyes on her. "What makes you think you can decide, though?"

Blue eyes burn into her.

Bruce Wayne looks at her with a question.

Helen has to admit, she's a little selfish at it.

"Rachel Dawes," Helen taste the name on her tongue. "Why don't you invite her?"

Bruce looks at her with several questions, now.

Rachel, Dorothy's granddaughter. Has a scholarship for Gotham's Academy, same year as Bruce but different classes. Pretty and clever, straight A student, lacking an etiquette class or two but charismatic and gentle, well-mannered and well-intentioned. Volunteer at fundraisers on weekends, winner of the debate team.

Most importantly, Helen knew pretty well how Bruce watched Rachel intently as the girl rushes through the halls.

He likes her. Helen is yet to understand the criteria but it's enough.

Bruce scrunches his eyebrows. "Why?"

She watches from the corner of her eyes, her father and his perfect friendly smile.

"Because I'm saying so," Helen answers without missing a beat.

All but Bruce is dull, twirling. And he looks at her with pain, having his heart at her hands while watching her handle it to someone else.

He likes Rachel.

Rachel Dawes doesn't have the supermodel type of beauty but she's adorable, and she'll be lovely by Bruce's side.

Rachel is a familiar face and gentle enough.

And Helen's own heart drops to the floor of the ballroom, crashing like gass.

When the dance comes to an end and Bruce stares at her with a myriad of questions, under soft golden lights.

He likes Rachel but she's not the one he wants.

Helen is a little dramatic at it. She sees blue eyes shimmering, hold his jaw, won't let him be hurt by no one, much less her father.

And she wouldn't hurt him if it killed her.

"Go chase her," she whispers.

Bruce can't do nothing but comply.

Helen Blackwood doesn't show up to prom.

(-)

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway station.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

But Helen Blackwood wouldn't know.

She's part of royalty, has a lavish lifestyle, unreasonably wealthy. She never had to wait for the train.

Even with blood hiding under their cuffs. Guilty of all the crimes and all the sins, and innocent lives lay on their shoulders as their fault. Even them, she's still a Blackwood.

The train never comes. Now she has another gun touching her forehead.

She stands on the floor not like someone mourning could.

"As most of you know," she starts, people buzzing to their seats, "my father passed away yesterday, deep in his sleep."

Reporters, journalist, executives, shareholders, noisy rich people, crowding, hold their breaths up to their chest. The room falls silent, people have their faces covered in shock.

Helen Blackwood stands on the floor, has her eyebrows furrowed together. Pearls and a sharp black suit, a look on her eyes that could melt metal.

"I'm his eldest and only daughter, the one who he left as new CEO of the Blackwood Industries."

The flashes of cameras trying to catch the perfect angle don't distract nor blind her.

As if life is worth living but not fair.

She has blood under her nails, like her mother before her.

"It's a prestigious company, with a legacy and a name to uphold," Helen declared. "I plan to continue my father's work, serving this country like he did."

As if life is fair at all, this says something about her.

It could have been easier. If she was the daughter of a strong woman, of a honored man.

"I know there is those who criticize the industry."

As if she stripes naked every reporter, dare them, order them to make her words immortal, she reduces them to bones. Her voice is not imposing because of the microphone.

"They say we profit from war," she remarks, "say we profit from violence."

People will easily underestimate her. She smiles, easily now, not like someone mourning could. "I, however, am proud to play a role in protecting our country and its people."

She's doesn't like what this situation says about her.

Helen pauses. This is what everyone expect of her. Smile natural, pretty face.

Woman don't talk and don't see. They look beautiful and smile.

A memorized speech, charisma. Because she's a stunning face and just that. "That's why I'm honored to announce or new 3d printing technology."

And then everybody holds their breath. Air suddenly thick when the screen behind her changes to show the technology in action.

"This technology will allow us to create complex designs with greater precision, to produce at a much faster rate."

The pitch-black is scratched into the walls of her throat. Swallowing it whole is better than letting anything out.

The silence is palpable, so she explains matter-of-factly, "This new 3D printing technology utilizes cutting-edge additive manufacturing techniques, operating at the astonishing speed of 13.000 millimeters per second."

Her posture changes a little, to be more straight, as if she's proud of it.

She licks love out of this one more bullet. Tasting bitter, gunpowder explodes on her mouth.

"This means," she proceeds, like spelling to children, "that our troops will have access to the best possible weapons when they need them most."

Just like gunpowder, the crowd explodes. Question after question. She meets every one of them with an equally competent answer.

They doubt her and what she says.

So day after say she has to prove herself.

The situation says, she's a horrible person.

She would sit and watch the printers work for hours, way after everyone on the building left.

Helen could use them to make something useful. To make prothestics, or simple car pieces.

Instead, she creates a tool to shed blood. Because she's a Blackwood.

Because that's what about her.

There's blood on her hands, under the cuffs, under the nails, on her teeth. Not a flick of what run on her veins is honorable.

Everyone she goes, people know her as Death.

She makes space for herself. Gets comfortable up on the throne. Main defense contractor is not a badge of honor, not one she feels proud about. People pay attention to what she says.

And her hands are cruel. Either she destroys it or creates something to destroy it.

A bottle of champagne popping open puts her on the edge. She watches from her spot.

Helen see the years pass. Soft golden lights and false promises, the chandelier sparkly, starry nights where she lies like her father before her.

The quietness around when she speaks is deafening, people are listening.

(-)

"Helen Blackwood."

Helen realizes, fairly quickly, she doesn't like how her name sounds on his mouth. The voice is suave and calculated, and a snake recognizes another.

She smiles, tucking away any discontent carefully.

"Lex Luthor!" she exclaims, and they both shake hands cheerfully. "It's a shame that we're only meeting now."

He smiles back. "It really is."

Golden lights. A man that is two decades older and doesn't like to lose.

They shake hands firmly, looking each other in the eyes and reading purposefully for a weakness.

"Your speech was impressive," Lex compliments, so naturally it makes Helen's eyebrows genuinely shot up.

Quiet tall, bald, green eyes, suit expensive even by rich's people's standards. Polished, shook her hand firmly but taking care to not hurt.

On a charity event that doesn't do anything besides waste everyone's time. His eyes are not very kind but strangely passionate. They don't burn like Gotham but they're intense like Metropolis always has been.

Impressive, he says. You're a good liar, he doesn't.

Only fools would fall for them, anyway.

"Thank you, Mr. Luthor." Helen gives him a glass of champagne, like dancing.

Friendly, if not trying to sound magnanimous for giving her the honor, he says, "Lex is fine." He takes the glass. "You know, Miss Blackwood, we should partner on something."

Helen Blackwood has her veins flooding with adrenaline. She has to take careful note to not smile too wide.

"Oh, please, you should call me Helen." Her voice is silvery, dripping honey and genuine excitement. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lex. We should definitely partner on something."

Looking at Lex Luthor makes her shiver, agony creeping under the skin. He is, somehow, everything she heard about but not as terrifying as she imagined.

Not as terrifying but not harmless.

A snake recognizes an equal on the wild. Many species will hunt and eat each other opportunistially.

Bloodlust, she realizes, is a hell of a drug.

With masterfully-concealed curiosity, they talk the night away, voice singing:

(Dies iræ! Dies illa

Solvet sæclum in favilla

Mors stupebit et natura)

[-]

Because it has been the first time in years that she cried.

Her mind rushed with possibilities, every single way of dying because of the explosion. Choking, being burned alive, being crushed by a wooden column–

Bruce Wayne was dead, dead, dead.

He died and she couldn't do anything.

He died and she wasn't there.

He died and hadn't have been given the chance of a goodbye.

She hadn't cried when her dead died. On his sleep, peacefully. Helen felt a kind of creeping shiver under her skin hearing her father flatline. She wanted him to suffer, to die screaming.

Death is final.

Watching the Wayne Tower burning on live TV was nothing like actively seeing her father die.

He heart roared on her chest, suddenly hallow and echoing.

Helen couldn't even begin to wrap her head around that concept. Bruce Wayne dead.

She didn't allow the tears, either. She hadn't the chance to allow them. Only on the airplane, in the almost-private cabine of the first class, Helen bent over her knees and howled.

Bursting into a helpless cry. Didn't it sound melodramatic and theatrical? It was exploding on her mouth without regard of etiquette.

Bruce Wayne, dead. Her mind was hovering around this concept for the whole flight, holding her head between her hands like she was bleeding off. Maybe if she stays just quiet enough it'll be a lie.

It's all wrapped around her sternum and hands, closed together in a crying without words.

Didn't it meant something of her died too? The best part, that part that feels like summer and sunlight. The part that is like laughter and childhood.

She couldn't afford to have this part of her dead.

But there she was again, making everything about herself. And maybe having him dead, this best part of her dead, was a closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach. This was closure.

Bruce's laugh, small and almost unnoticeable, was the only thing that she could connect to being a good person.

And looking at him now was like seeing a dead man.

Because he was dead.

Until he wasn't.

Until he was there, standing there. Offering tea, talking, disapproving every singe decision she'd made without saying a word. Tender like sunlight, the only shining on Gotham.

"I was actually surprised when I saw the news," Helen sips. The tea is not so bad, a little watered and she would prefer cream with it.

Bruce looks over his shoulder, trying to find something to chew along the tea. As always, he looks like a caught-off-guard animal.

He stayed the same, after all those years. Helen finds it funny, if not a knot on their throat that doesn't let them talk about it.

You left without saying a word.

"Bruce Wayne gives half his fortune to reconstructing the city..." Helen recites the headline. "I don't think no city needs that much money."

Which says something about them two. Billionaires. Sitting on enough money to rebuild three Gothams and build two more.

Which says something about how much this world is unfair.

How much Helen is acid. But not really.

She just needs to know. It is ugly.

"Rebuilding the city and the orphanage..." Bruce starts, hoarsely so, and he's still looking pale. "It takes a lot of money."

Helen leans back on her chair, calculating a way to make the stubborn Bruce Wayne sit down and tell her why his teeth is fake.

He's breathless. Titanium implants, as far as she can see when he talks. Fake but crooked enough it doesn't look like it. So imperfect it is perfect.

"Doesn't matter," she says, a little cursed, "I saw the report of the last WE fiscal year. You're gonna make the same amount until the end of the year."

Bruce scrunch his eyebrows. Briefly. She almost couldn't caught it by how brief it was. Haunted.

Helen wonders if he finally noticed how selfish she is. Wanting to hold more and more power as long it means keeping herself safe, consequently reflecting this wish on him.

It locks her jaw and not a single word or tear is set free. She keeps the grief on her throat and it doesn't die. It doesn't disappear.

Helen thinks of Martha Wayne. Gentle and caring. A merciless death, bullet to the heart.

But what could have been done?

By the end of the day, she's a Blackwood.

Helen doesn't know what to do with this grief that haunts; what does she do with blood on her mouth or the words she swallowed?

What Helen must do with the blood on her hands, staining the glass of champagne? That's a hassle, really.

Now Gotham needed the business working, more money flowing than water.

And, even if Helen didn't like the bitter taste of gunpowder, weapons manufacturing was a hell of a lure to rich people. They threw money on anything she mentioned, anyway.

Helen watches as the rightful prince of Gotham ascends to the throne.

This is all she can do, watch.

[-]

"You broke his heart."

It's strange for Helen, returning to Gotham and having everyone know her name. Especially because her father's corpse returned to there before her, buried on the Blackwood Manor's yard like half her ancestors.

Harvey sounds neither happy or sad, nor angry at Helen. The commentary is made aiming something Helen can't see. Maybe testing the waters.

Helen doesn't have energy for it.

She leans back on the balcony, the cold of Gotham burning her, using only a red taffeta dress, unloved.

They've know each other for how long?

It doesn't matter. They've know each other as long Bruce knew Harvey and Helen knew Bruce.

But all of those statements return false now.

Helen is weapons dealer but legal, Harvey is an attorney that hunts bad people. Years passed under golden lighting and pouring rain.

The city is angry.

"I know."

But I didn't, before.

[-]

"He was like a father to me," Helen lies through teeth, easily as breathing.

Gotham is angry tonight. Not like the usual type of angry, its explosive and burning nature wasn't showing like most nights, but a cold drowning type of angry.

The funeral has been quiet. Only family attended.

Helen was almost family.

From one of the windows, the vineyard covers half the wealthy side of the outskirts of Gotham, Helen can only see the city's lights far away.

Carla sits where her brother used to sit. Content, if not dramatically happy, to wield more power. Chicago already between her fingers, but Gotham is where the treasure stays hidden, an ancient gold mine for criminals.

But Helen knows better. Gotham is yet to explode on their faces.

Both women use black dresses. The weeping veil hide Carla's intention, looking much less brash than she used to look in comparison to her, now dead, brother.

"I know that my father..." Helen says, clenching her fists in calculated hesitancy. "He knew Mister Falcone."

Her voice trembles. There's a little audience watching her perform, bodyguards and family. Not too bold, not too loud, Helen makes herself little.

Of course, Carla is a mother and Helen is just a scared little girl that lost another father. It's devastating, it must be.

Carla might still have a little of a mother instinct but she's watching like a hawk, scanning to see a lie. "Your father was more than just friends to my brother."

He was family.

Helen licks her lips. Head down, watching the wine that was poured to her, smiling simply as if comforted. Demure, like she should, submissive to the older and wiser woman. Studying land, the wine that came from the grapes that are still Falcone.

Gotham is yet to explode on Carla's face, a woman that thinks the war is over. Helen makes herself little and Carla sees an opportunity where there's none.

Carla is not really the type to bend, to be mistaken or wrong.

"This was a long time a go," Helen says, smelling the berries on the wine, voice tiny and sorrowful, nonthreatening. "I can only wish to have a friend now."

She wipes off a tear but she hasn't been crying. Is it too much? Helen is always too much or too little, but somehow Carla surpasses her on this aspect.

A hand comes to her shoulder, comforting. Carla's hand, naturally, but Helen never had a mother.

Rubbing circles on her back, Carla smiles to her and Helen graze back with glistening black eyes and sudden hope. Helen watches as the woman's face changes with dreadful desire.

The tears are silent, but she's not crying. Helen's face is all wet and her mascara is ruined, smudged over the cheeks, but she's not leaning to the older woman nor running away. She is simply there, pitiful.

Carla doesn't bend, she folds.

"We can be friends," she declares, as kindly as she could muster with all the emotion of power, of having the Blackwood's heir at her fingertips. Her heart, without a doubt, beats strong with only the possibility.

Blood runs on her veins, as sweet as cherry wine. Helen may taste it by the end of this.

For now, she melts at her with a promise of friendship that sounds almost childish, if not the implications. She makes herself little and harmless, helpless, a perfect prey. A coy without opinion but loss at heart.

Helen never had a mother, but she is Gotham's child.

Using a dramatic velvet dress, starry with a diamond necklace as the Falcone's chauffeur pulls around the grandiose main entrance, the first proof of friendship. She winked at Johnny Viti on the way out.

The ride home is quiet, passing through the endless silence of Mountain Drive where only the moon can light, Helen goes back to the Blackwood Manor.

She's been born with the weight of the world on her shoulders. No mother, no father. Child of a strange city.

Chicago, Gotham, and now Helen Blackwood? Carla is living the dream.

And Helen smiles.

Gotham is proud of her tonight.

The acoustics are excellent, holding one bottle of wine that has been gifted to her.

Tonight, her voice echoes through the halls. The ride home was silent. But now?

She sings.

(Lacrimosa dies illa,

Dona eis requiem,

Dona eis requiem)

[-]

The necklace breaking, a cacophony takes place. Pearls hitting the ground, a child crying out as the father is down on his knees. Thomas Wayne fought with all he had. Martha Wayne bite the man's fingers off.

Everyone knows this story, how Martha and Thomas didn't die until three hours later because they didn't want to leave young Bruce alone. Bruce didn't want to be left behind either. He crawls and beg into his parents bodies.

But before, he brings Helen forget-me-nots. They walk hand to hand on the endless garden of Wayne's Manor.

Their mothers' laughter echoing through green and blue. Happiness and sunlight, Gotham is happy.

Shy tiny Bruce Wayne offers her a flower. Helen takes it.

Martha peels an orange, separating the halves. The smells stains her hands, perfectly manicured nails being ruined with acid. She gives one to her son and one to Helen.

Then Wayne Manor burns.

Everything goes along the way for destruction; Martha's garden that was cared with love, the flowers and blueberries bushes.

Gotham floods, it rages. It kills.

A dream that melts between Helen's fingers. Gotham kills and takes away.

They're stained with blood, children of a city.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there. How brutally Gotham loves and yearns.

[-]

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever happens.

When there's blood must there be bloodshed? Will nothing ever change?

For Helen, then answer is an unwilling yes. It's true, nothing will ever change, she'll stay licking the love our of every bullet.

When something does happen, it strikes Helen on the face first. Filling her mouth with blood and breaking her nose, another gun pointed to her head.

Or, at least, having a gun pointed to her head would be easier to deal with it.

She'd been standing on her office. Gotham's office, one of the only sharp and modern buildings in Gotham. Organizing a lot of paperwork, ignoring how that was her father's office before her and that that information somehow inflicts damage on her brain.

Helen has the weight of leadership, of being listened, crushing her bones.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

She leans on the desk, gigantic mahogany dark wood, her shoulders and back burning. Her mind clouded with exhaustion somehow recognizes that she shouldn't feel Gotham's wind.

But she does.

And this alarms every braincell on her head.

Pointing a gun so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train doesn't arrive, it derails.

A figure standing on the edge of her office, lurking.

Helen's first reaction is to hold a gun, the one she keeps close for emergencies.

This is an emergency.

Aiming directly on what her subconscious identifies as head.

Blood drums mad on her ears, then. Until she realizes who is standing there, the finger was on the trigger ready to shoot.

"You scared me halfway to death," she mumbles, feeling the gun's edge.

One of the new models. Light, it feels clean and unused on her hands. She tested the model herself and closing her eyes she can recollect almost every detail; how fast the bullet travels, shooting sounds like a typewriter's click. Nobody would ever hear if she shot it.

"Helen Blackwood," a growly low voice calls.

The Dark Knight is standing on her office and this is every sign of how bad her life is turning to be.

She lowers the gun, then.

And she has no other option but to sit down, feeling her legs wobbly.

Tries, vehemently, to understand why Batman is on her office. No success at it, it's past midnight, she's tired, a lot has been happening and–

"Yes...?" she sighs, gripping hard on the gun. "I'm honored to have you here, Batman. I would offer you a glass but I don't think you would accept."

Helen points at her half-empty whiskey with the gun, but can't see his reaction. Batman is standing directly on the shadow, supposedly to sound more mysterious and threatening.

All she does see is a man wearing some plates of armor, probably kevlar, and believing hard he is going to survive the night.

It might not be what he is used to, too. Helen slips into familiarity as easily a snake shed skin. She knew one day the Batman himself would make her justify the space she's been occupying.

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there.

Helen tilts her head, placing the gun down, eager to view something more from Batman.

"As far I can tell, you only go after criminals," she says, prompting. "What I do is more legal than vigilantism."

He is, somehow, everything she heard about while not as terrifying as she imagined. Maybe that's the thing about nightmares and dreams: it's always a little disappointing seeing it up close.

She wonders how much anger must be filling him. Enough anger to make him go out every night and seek revenge.

Anger, of course, is the only emotion that could possibly prompt any person to do this.

Batman narrows his eyes, stepping closer but keeping himself on shadows. "Your recent involvement with Carla Vidi–"

"Gosh, you're sounding like an amateur," Helen interrupts. "I attended a funeral, this is not a crime."

But something happened.

Gotham is a derailed ungovernable train. Things happen all at once.

And Helen realizes, when Batman stays quiet analyzing her face for hesitancy, that she might have proven innocence on accident.

It wouldn't be surprising if Carla was already dead, but disappointing. Helen was so sure the older and wiser woman would last at least a whole month.

But, alas–

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there like almost everything on the office. Dark gigantic mahogany desk and oppressive walls, a mirror right behind her back and disturbing paintings of battles long forgotten.

Her shoulders crush with the power of being listened.

Helen stands, then, no intention of pressing that button. Feet hurting with the pumps but very proper and elegant like she must.

She'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity. A closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach.

"I actually do have something for you."

Batman's face spikes with curiosity, carefully hidden below a cowl and an oath.

She slides a pendrive on the desk, for him. Helen knew that one day Batman would want her to justify herself, and here she is, doing it.

It's another approach, Helen is offering something as if Batman's a wild animal and not someone that beats criminals to a pulp every other day.

And, for a blink of a second, Helen sees it.

Trust.

Filled with anger, burning. Batman has trust on his eyes, along hesitancy. An apprehensive animal.

An injuried dog, Helen realizes.

A hurt angry dog that is loyal to its owner. A dog that keeps going back to the hand that feeds but also hurts.

A dog that knows no better.

She doesn't understand why or how, what was the criteria she accidentally met to be trusted. She ain't complaining.

Returning home after getting the paperwork done, she won.

Helen is Gotham's child, doesn't matter what she does.

So her voice echoes.

(S'il lui convient de refuser

Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière

L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère

Il n'a rien dit, mais il me plaît)

[sayurifellfrost]

Prompt 24: Vicissitudes

Character: X’llaya Aoki (Sayuri)

Age: 4

TW: Slight Child Abuse

“Let! Me! Go!”

X’llaya writhed around in Ketenblaet’s grip, with her arms collected above her head and his hand locked around her forearms. The same way he had carried her since she had clawed herself loose from both him and the Z’quohn during their travels.

She had hoped to come across someone who’d try to help her, but the only ones they had passed were people who shared the same blood red mark that the duo carried. Her hope had waned as they had stepped onto a beaten, nigh visible path and disappeared between the mountains - far out of view from anyone who might’ve made an attempt.

This fact had however not made her fight back any less, as she had continued to try to wrench herself free, repeatedly kicking at the mountain of a Roegadyn who carried her - who had given no reaction to it other than a rising irritation.

They had approached a compound, filled with more people carrying the red mark, who had merely lofted their brows at them before resuming whatever they were doing, a man at the door to the facility seemingly a little too keen on opening it for the trio and let them pass through - slamming it shut behind them.

X’llaya would have continued her struggling, had it not been for attention suddenly snapping towards a door in their vicinity as incoherent pleas emit from beyond it, ears flattening wholly against her skull as a loud cracking sound emit alongside a scream of agony. Ice already clinging to her chest expanded in unison with her flinching, a frightened look taking to her features.

“Ye’ don’t need t’worry about that, girl..” Ketenblaet grumbled. “.. Granted ye’ stop bein’ a fuckin’ annoyance.”

“... L-let me go..” she whined.

“Get it into ye’ head that it won’t be happenin’.”

“Come now, Ket.” Z’quohn piped up. “She is just a child.”

X’llaya bared her teeth in a light snarl, flinging her foot in Z’quohn’s direction, yet the older Seeker merely took a step back, offering a small smirk before they reached the door across the hallway - where they came to a halt. Z’quohn raised a hand to knock it against the door’s surface firmly.

“Enter.”

The voice that erupt from beyond the door made X’llaya freeze up a touch. The tone was rough, a hint of agitation clinging to it - making her feel incredibly unsettled. She writhed around in Ketenblaet’s hold once more as Z’quohn began to open the door, holding it open for the Roegadyn to step inside and promptly shutting it behind them. Ketenblaet opted to throw X’llaya downwards, making her slam down onto the floor with a loud whimper before he moved back to lean against the door - blocking it.

She slowly scrambled herself up to sit, keeping her head low and face hidden behind her hair. The room was eerily silent, the only thing heard being her own ragged breaths. That is, until a faint creak emit - making her flinch.

“.. Well, well. This is.. X’aoki’s?”

X’llaya choked on her own breath as the voice heaved forth - the very same she had heard from beyond the door. Being in the same room as it’s owner made her realise how strident and gravelly it truly was - making her dread to find out who it belonged to while she slowly raised her head to glance towards the new individual - flinching immediately as her gaze met his.

Before her was another Roegadyn - with skin equally as pale and green-tinted as Ketenblaet’s. His black hair was pulled into a lazy ponytail, decorated with a few silver clasps that pinned down loose strands that refused to comply. His eyes were clad in a cold, pale green hue - giving him a sinister look alongside the unsettling smirk that resided upon his lips. He, too, had a red mark - placed just beneath his left eye.

“I’d say yes, but he pretty much disowned her.”

The Sea Wolf’s gaze lift from the small Miqo’te, settling upon Z’quohn has he spoke instead. X’llaya’s hands slowly balled into fists against the floor, gritting her teeth slightly as her eyes began to sting - tears threatening to well forth. The Roegadyn shoved himself out of his seat, allowing her to see that he was even taller than Ketenblaet - by at least a whole head. He slowly took a few steps closer, making X’llaya curl together and her head lower as the air in her immediate vicinity grew colder. Z’quohn eyed them cautiously.

“I wouldn’t get overly close just yet, Grym.” he uttered.

The Roegadyn came to a halt, turning halfway to peer at Z’quohn with a lofted brow.

“And why is that?” he questioned.

“Ice tends to fling about when she gets upset.” Z’quohn replied. “Hells, she almost skewered me on a few spikes on the way here.”

An eerie silence lingered, further adding to X’llaya’s unease. She slowly raised her head enough to peek through her fringe, settling her gaze upon the one now dubbed ‘Grym’ - only to find his pale green glare already locked upon her, with a hint of anger dwelling within. She drew a quick, anxious breath at the sight, prompting her aether to whirr and ice to spread across the floor from beneath her hands. The display erased the anger in ‘Grym’s eyes, replacing it with curiosity.

“And there you have why X’aoki didn’t want her.” Z’quohn added.

X’llaya grit her teeth, eyes now brimming with tears as she hissed at the older Seeker for his words.

“She was a fuckin’ pain in the ass the entire way here, too.” Ketenblaet scoffed.

“Is that so?”

“Aye. Clawed wildly ‘nough t’make Quohn drop her, so I took her - only for her t’do the same t’me, and tried t’make a run for it.”

‘Grym’ arched a brow and glanced between Ketenblaet and Z’quohn, the former raising his right hand to show off an uncountable amount of scratchmarks littering the top of it, only for Z’quohn to do the same - albeit with less cuts. ‘Grym’s gaze returned to X’llaya, who immediately flinched. He slowly lowered himself into a crouch a small distance away, peering at her with a tilted head. She curled together a touch, ears flattening and twitching anxiously, as she avoided looking him in the eye while her fangs bared and a hesitant snarl left her - making it obvious that she was trying to drown out her fear in an attempt to seem tougher than she truly was.

“You’re about as frightening as a kitten.” he huffed. “Snarling at me will do nothing in your favour.”

X’llaya grit her teeth at his remark, slowly closing her lips and allowing her snarling to turn into weak growling instead. ‘Grym’s lips drew into a wicked grin, a faint chuckle of amusement leaving him.

“.. I can tell you’re going to amuse me greatly.” he murmured. “What’s your name?”

She frowned at him, keeping her lips sealed.

“Come on, kitten. It’s just your name.”

The girl inhaled sharply through her nose, her features sinking into a deeper frown. She already despised his chosen pet-name. ‘Grym’ merely spent a moment staring at her, his grin fading the looker she took to respond.

“Well?”

X’llaya’s ears pinned back as the previous agitation returned to his tone, alongside impatience. She lowered her head, hanging it in defeat.

“..L-..Llaya..” she whimpered out quietly.

The Sea Wolf nodded slowly, seemingly pleased that she ended up responding - even if he had to press the matter.

“Llaya.” he repeated. “Right then, Llaya. How about we get you settled in?”

“...No…”

“No?”

X’llaya shook her head vehemently, her tiny frame beginning to tremble as she was once again at the brink of tears.

“And why is that, pray tell?”

She averted her gaze to the floor, hesitant to speak up.

“Go on. Speak freely.”

“... I.. want to.. go home..”

Her voice was at the point of breaking, already hoarse from all the screaming and crying she had done the entire way to the facility. ‘Grym’ canted his head, keeping a neutral expression as he addressed the child.

“This is your home.”

Again, she violently shook her head.

“I hate to break it to you, kitten.. But you are now in our care..” He leaned slightly closer. “... As X’aoki wants nothing to do with you.”

“...I want my mom…” X’llaya choked forth, her tears finally welling over and dripping onto the stone floor beneath.

‘Grym’ hushed her quietly, reaching a hand to gently cup it over the back of her head. She winced in retort to the sudden kindness behind his actions, feeling more unsettled than calm.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening.” he uttered quietly.

X’llaya writhed, cringing herself away from his hand and pushing herself up to stand as she felt both sadness and anger swell in her heart - an intense cold beginning to take to the air. Z’quohn notably tensed up, while Ketenblaet pushed himself up to stand straight - gaze locked upon the child. The only one who did not offer a reaction was ‘Grym’.

“I want.. my mom..” she repeated, speaking a touch louder this time.

“You have been discarded, Llaya. They do not want you.”

“I want my mom!”

Z’quohn and Ketenblaet traded uneasy glances, knowing fully well that a child screaming in ‘Grym’s face would test his patience sorely - while a touch concerned about what the girl would do, considering the instability of her aether which reacted to her mood.

“Do you truly believe she was unaware of what was happening? She has abandoned you, as your father did.”

“I want my mom!”

“Stop yelling.”

“No–!”

No sooner had the girl retorted than ‘Grym’s patience ran out. His expression darkened and his irritation was clear in his features as he swiped his already raised hand towards her - snatching onto the front of her clothes and promptly yanking her up to him, cutting off whatever sentence she was planning on continuing. Ice rapidly sprung forth across her neck, spreading up to her jaw and down her shoulder as she stared wide-eyed at the Roegadyn she was way too close for comfort to.

“Stop. Fucking. Yelling.”

He put emphasis on each word by tightening his grip on her, forcing her into an eerie silence as her fear was evident upon her. ‘Grym’ slowly released her clothing, yet she stood before him incredibly still - almost as if she believed he couldn’t see her if she didn’t move. He kept an intense stare upon her, an unamused frown locked upon his features.

“Let's get one thing straight, yeah?”

X’llaya offered no confirmation other than simply staring at him in terror.

“We have taken you in. We have bought you. Meaning, you will abide by our rules.”

He leaned himself closer, prompting a weak whine to leave the frightened girl.

“If I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions, no protests.” he scowled. “I own you. Do I make myself clear?”

She couldn’t muster a response, despite parting her lips ever so faintly - not a single word came forth. She was unfamiliar with such terror this man invoked, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Answer me.”

Her lower lip trembled as she struggled to make a sound - leaving a pathetic whimper as the only response she could give. ‘Grym’ kept a cold glare upon her, as an exaggerated sigh left him. He raised his hand, prompting her to immediately flinch, yet he merely stared at her.

For all of five seconds.

‘Grym’ brought his hand sideways, smacking the back of his palm into the side of the girl’s head and sending her off her feet. She crashed into the ground with a loud whimper of pain, her hands darting up to grip at her own head while ice spread across the floor beneath her - swiftly growing jagged in appearance.

“Answer.” he growled.

X’llaya choked back a sob and curled up on the ground. An incoherent whimper of a sentence left her. Displeased with her lack of an audible response, he snapped a hand forwards and snatched onto her ankle - yanking her back to him with a frightened cry leaving her. ‘Grym’ settled a hand upon her torso, pinning her down without any effort on his end. X’llaya stared up at him in terror, eyes brimming with tears. The ice upon her body expanded further, coating up along the area ‘Grym’ struck - covering up the growing bruise.

“... I can do this for a long time, kitten.” he whispered, tone full of malice. “.. Can you?”

“.. Perhaps we should give her a mo–..” Z’quohn began.

“No.” ‘Grym’ cut off. “She is not leaving this room until she has given me a Twelvesdamned response.”

Noting the agitation in his voice, Z’quohn opted to merely nod and step aside, watching in silence as X’llaya and ‘Grym’ merely stared at each other. The Roegadyn slowly began to press down upon the Miqo’te’s frame, making her yelp in pain from the nigh crushing pressure. X’llaya’s hands reached up to sink her claws into his forearm, teeth gritting as the pressure he put upon her only increased in response.

Ice continued to spread from underneath her, the jagged edges forming into spikes ever so slowly. A particularly hard push upon her prompted the spikes to shoot upwards, crisscrossing over ‘Grym’s arm - narrowly avoiding damaging him. The Sea Wolf remained unflinching, despite the fact that both Z’quohn and Ketenblaet did. He gave her an unamused glare.

“It is a simple yes or no question, kitten.” he muttered, lowering his head a touch - gaze still locked upon her. “Or you can continue your pathetic mewling, and I will hurt you.”

“... Y-yo-.. you-.. A-are..” X’llaya managed to stammer forth.

“.. Hmm?”

“.. H-hurt-..ing.. m-me..”

“You know what to say to make it stop, kitten.”

X’llaya cried out as ‘Grym’ applied more pressure upon her, her claws digging further into his skin in response while she desperately squirmed beneath him - despite the fact she could barely move.

“..Y-yes..!” she finally sobbed.

‘Grym’ began to release the pressure as she spoke, letting his hand shift ever so slightly to lightly brush his index finger across her ice-clad cheek - making her twitch violently.

“Good girl.”

‘Grym’ finally released her, then reached his other hand over to break off the icicles trapping his arm by the girl - and stood up, while X’llaya slowly rolled onto her side and draped her arms around herself, whimpering under her breath.

“I’m expecting a quicker response, next time.” ‘Grym’ scolded, before his attention drifted to Z’quohn and Ketenblaet. “Take her to the room we so kindly put aside for her, then return here. Bring Arnkel with you while you’re at it.”

“Will do.” Z’quohn uttered.

The Seeker stepped forth and reached down for X’llaya, grabbing onto her wrist and guiding her to unsteady feet. She seemed to have turned incredibly docile after ‘Grym’s actions, likely being too scared to attempt anything at this point. Ketenblaet stepped side, allowing him to open the door - holding it open for Z’quohn to step through with the girl, who reluctantly followed along while her gaze was glued to the floor. The Sea Wolf offered a final nod to ‘Grym’, then shut the door - following closely behind Z’quohn as they walked through one of the open doors to continue down a second corridor.

[elpiphorosbearer]

Yuki Daisho (Hyperion) LFRP

The Basics ––– –

Full name: Yukiko “Yuki” Daisho

Race: Xaela Au Ra

Gender: Cis Female

Sexuality: Pansexual/Poly

Marital Status: Single

Age: 19-21

Nameday: 11th Day of the First Astral Moon

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Silver, long and a bit choppy, but is also at times put into a side ponytail.

Eyes: Heterochromatic: One golden, one violet

Height: 5’5

Build: Slim and visibly looks petite, but secretly has a decent amount of muscle

Distinguishing Marks: White freckles

Personal ––– –

Profession: Machinist, Sage, Samurai, Weaver, Carpenter, Alchemist

Hobbies: Sketching/drawing, tinkering, origami, stargazing, exploring, reading, socializing, collecting cool looking things, research

Languages: Othardian, Common Eorzean, Doman

Residence: Lavender Beds

Birthplace: Azim Steppe

Religion: Azim and Nhaama

Relationships ––– -

Parents: Unryu Daisho (Father)

Siblings: Caalun Daisho (Brother)

Other Relatives: Baatu (Cousin), Cotan (Cousin)

Traits ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

RP Hooks ––– –

- Runaway: Yuki ran away from home in order to become stronger, and to prove herself. However, she did not properly prepare, and so finds herself in trouble almost immediately with no food, water, or shelter. Perhaps your muse finds her skulking around their house to find some food? Or maybe your muse finds her wandering the streets?

- Troublemaker: Yuki loves exploring the world, due to being sheltered her whole life. Your muse might run into her while she’s running around getting herself into trouble as usual. Sometimes she gets into fights with animals, or even other people! Hell, maybe she’ll help *your* muse out if they’re in danger. She’s always willing to give a helping hand!

- Lightweight: Yuki loves trying new things, especially now that she’s left home, and she’s trying her hand at alcohol now. Your muse would probably notice her gagging on a strong drink, but she would just keep soldiering through it.

- Finishing Touches: Yuki enjoys sketching things, such as landscapes, animals, even people! Perhaps your muse catches her sketching them, and has something to say about it.

- Fellow Engineer: Is your muse also an engineer? Hell, did they work at the Skysteel Manufactory? Do they have an interest in Allagan tech or other things involving machines? Did they live in Ishgard at the very least? Then perhaps your muse and Yuki have run into one another!

- Flirting: Yuki gets flustered extremely easily. Although it will take a while for her to catch on, when she realizes that your muses if flirting with her, she’ll start blushing and stammering at them to stop. Yuki also gets crushes wayyyyy too easily, all you have to do is look attractive and praise her a bit and she’ll be putty in your hands.

- Mentorship: Yuki loves learning, especially things involving science! She feels a bit aimless right now, so having someone train her in a profession would be ideal!

- We can also make one up in DMs! I’m up for anything really.

About the Mun  ––– –

* MST Time

* Currently in college and dealing with other in real life stuff, so replies will take time but I’ll try my best! I do RP on discord as well!

* Para/Mirror RP

* Partners must be 18+

* Please don’t be afraid to reach out in DMs or on Discord!

* Discord - beau#6947

[tillerman1]

THE WOLF HOUR (Alma's Story & Afterword)

19

ALMAS STORY.

Some light is gray as ash and flies from some fen stinger her sweaty arms and face. Somewhat saying her name per was the sorrow's voice. She looks them around, smites for the insects, saying yes, self is here. Several times. A bird wobbles screaming above her head. So get her sight of him.

He sitter sic crouched behind a wood rot, for looking conceal himself, only is still visible. His eyes are misty with pain and fear cum the mouth trembles. He extends sobbing outward hands. Multiple fingers are broken cum his arms hurt. She crouches herself down at his side. In this manner become those sitting together helpless to come on. Twilight comes fast. The shadows between trees blackness till thick dark. The grey sky becomes with one's spotted with red and burning yellow. The seas swell heard as kind of a low clock. A nightingale begins singing sharp and persistent. Then and then a flutter of invisible bird wings. She sleeps or slumbers may. Then she äwakens are he no longer there. She takes herself in among the trees and wrongs at random. [Neutral with very strong intensity?] In a clear, dimly lit by the night light touch one a horde of shadows, wandering, vacillating, silent, suddenly engulfed by darkness, again condensed. [Neutral with very strong intensity?] They springer, crawl, dance, hooks, lifting the arms over their heads, inaudibly talking, gesturing, are again gone, sometimes is the meadow almost extinct, sometimes teeming. All colorless, trembling, floating. A stank of rotten water rises from some swamp. All the time sings a nightingale swirling sharp. She may view away him. He is approximately middle of the meadow. His white shirt and bright pants are stained and torn asunder. He stands about some head bent down and hanging arms. A big humanoid bird, mostly cadaver a pheasant, rises forward and hacks him in the throat. A big humanoid bird, mostly cadaver a pheasant, rises forward and hacks him in the throat. It goes like a slightly jingling laugh through the floating, flowing crowd. Cast, weak, floating but clear start sound.

– So long thou is may you live.

– When thou falling is it out with you.

– So long you strength be upright.

– Stand remaining!

– Each isn't afraid.

A meager woman with thick up-comb black hair and brown parchment-large hide braces herself fast to his back and begins toil to his shirt. The large pheasant related itself against him in small circles with the sharp bill open and the eyeballs rigidly directed at the sides. In and then eject him a slight hissing. Again sound the voices. – Lay you down as going it faster.

– Add thee down escape you suffer.

– Stand remaining as maybe we tired.

– Stand remaining, stand remaining, standing left.

– Attack us and toil us in paragraphs.

– Have you no humor.

– Understand you none jokes.

– Have thou don't goals on Monday.

Jingle, whispering laughter.

– He can none speak for me have made hack-sausage of his tongue.

– He can not consult for me have demolished apart his ears and plugged yes with a spike.

– He can not see for me have printed broken his eyes.

– He can not wee for me have the prick him on edge cum now is he sure little swollen.

– He may not sit for it has a pebble in the buttocks.

– But he is there and thinking!

– Thinking you or lazy you only?

The pheasant gurgles with laughter. Then beats it together the beak with a small bang and chops. The votes again:

– He falls, he falls.

The old lady raises the pipe. Her red dress shimmers weakly in all the gray, its facial under the large, broadened hat is a white bobbing spot on the narrow neck. The shadows expiry to move oneself, disintegrate as if they haven't endured the immobility, others groping for tree branches and large flowers. Some sinking together into grey piles. Archivist Lindhorst has wide outside its wings and hovers up in a low tree with mist branches and thin foliage. The man in the meadow seems now alone. In the clearing, in the night-light, in the woods, at some sea. The nightingale's drilling, muddling sound all the time. He sways forth and back, breathing roaring, turning his disfigured face at a different hold. She tries a running forward till it, but can none concern her, she attempts a cry, but some scream penetrates silently from her throat. Simultaneously start it sink to the ground, slow folds themselves his knees, the back curved, head pushed forward for that amuse body in balance. He fumbles for support. So down on knees, as plows the chin through the moss, the arms flapping helplessly, legs kicking. At like trice breaks tumult loose. The shadows condensed, the will clock darkness, from the air, the night sky, the trees, the stones, the trees, the wind. The white body swirls in the air, cast high up, sinking back down in the effervescent moss. Clothes flutter and torn, bright limbs glue mare cum extinguishes. On any while is on small the meadow empty and quiet, washed clean in dawn's light. No trace. Not even a bloodstain. Only a mild swindled and one silent stroking autumn rain. She is at turns till the cabin. On the way finds she the shoulder bag with the diary.

20The house. Evening light. Alma sitter heavily bent forward with arms against the tabletop. ALMA: Well(,) one thing has I considered in. Have you hurry now. I have interrogatory to one thing. It is so this. Can it not be thus, that a woman, who lives long along with a man, can so not become then, how she finally becomes like the man. I mean, she loves him and for searching think what he cum sees like him. It says seven that such can change people. Where that because, which I started seeing those where others? Or were they in all fall? I mean that if I had loved him less and not broken me so much about it there, what he had around about himself, had I possible protect him better in that fall? Or was it that I none loved him ENOUGH, which made how I became jealous? Was it why that those there the flesh-eating, as he called them? Was it so, which it went so awful evil for us. About me not had - about me hate could - indeed I may the not express what I mean. I thought that I was so close adjacent him. Sometimes told him that he also was near me - one walk said it that firmly. If I those have could be with him THE WHOLE TIME? There is so very, that man walks around and thinks across. It is about such mass questions. Sometimes vet man neither out nor in, and man becomes all ...

Djursholm August 1964

april 1966

Afterword by Jan Holmberg

One of the first notes till "The Eating Human," gradually THE WOLF HOUR, wrote Bergman for December 1962: "I think still that there must be an ambiguous cleavage in desires and dreams. WHOLE SERIES OF INTRIGUING PERSONALITIES. They come and disappear - very surprising. But this here is clear: He keeps well don't track out of their figures particularly well. He careless well deleted them small occasionally." Yes, enough is THE WOLF HOUR full of interesting personalities. [Neutral with strong intensity]And the ambiguous splitting is still strong at the reading of the film story: I would say that the book THE WOLF HOUR is better than the film, much in reason from that the text more than the film resides itself in an ambivalent zone between desires and dreams, sense and madness, sleep and vigil. Somehow it hesitates about whom that is subject. [Neutral with strong intensity] The "he" that Bergman talks about in the note, he that isn't keeping track of their figures, aims assuredly on the main character Johan and his spook gallery, but also on the author, at him himself. [Neutral with strong intensity] The figures that populate THE WOLF HOUR are properly quite unclear, and not only the demons that haunt Johan (of those expected well isn't rather as sharp contours); Johan himself is contradictory and elusive - as if his author doesn't hold proper track of him. THE WOLF HOUR was ready 1964 hurt a hospital stay, a psychic crisis cum PERSONA came between cum movie had no premiere until 1968.

[wornoutmouse]

Ayo... DOM! Deku with a choking and overstim kink. Like the baku AND DekuSquad both thinks that the reader leads the relationship and is top in bed cuz the difference in personalities and PDA. But the reader just goes along with it cuz she knows that it’s the exact opposite and she wanna get fucked fucked. So in the end the next school day they see the reader limping to school and Deku smiling cheeky. Bro Deku makes me😩 May you do a request to that? It’s ok if you won’t 😊

Question of the Day: What nicknames do y'all find not cringy during a steamy moment?

Cursing, squirting

It wasn’t your fault that people viewed you as the one in charge when it came to the sexual side of you and Izuku’s relationship. You were naturally more energetic and rivaled Bakugou in the terms of attitude and prowess, meanwhile, Deku was one of softer energy. Always smiling awkwardly and blushing at every little joke and jab. Very few people have seen Deku in his prime when he is focused on a goal and will do anything to get there. This attitude graciously carried over to his love life, something you were faithfully reminded of on one faithful day.

As usual, You, and the usual majority of class 1-A sat around each other during lunch. Deku being the nerd he was, sat leaning against you while writing something in his notebook, dusting it every so often when the wind blew flowers off the tree above you. An ethical argument between Mineta and Denki is what started the whole ordeal.

“What do you mean, Mineta?! Deku is totally the submissive one in his and Y/n’s relationship, no doubt about it!” Mineta shook his head adamantly. “I’m telling you, dude, it’s the super nice ones you have to worry about.” Denki gasped, offended, “I can’t believe you are saying this right now, have you no shame!”

Jirou rolled her eyes as she had no choice but to listen to the boy’s stupid conversation. “You do know Y/n is sitting right here right?” Based on the wide look on both of their eyes, they did not in fact realize that. Quickly looking at each other with narrowed features they dig in their pockets in order to retrieve their wallets. “20 bucks that say Y/n is topping Deku.” Mineta scoffed, “40 says you’re wrong.” they both shake on it before scooting closer to you. “So Y/n, which one of us is right.”

Looking between the two boys you open your mouth to answer the truth until you feel Deku shift his weight. He was looking at you, everyone was looking at you, all eager to hear who was right. A hand placed subtly on your back makes your smile widen, for a different reason than everyone else would guess. “Well, I can’t exactly say Denki is wrong, but I can’t say that he’s right.”

The blond whines in annoyance, “Oh come on what does that even mean!?!” While his attention is distracted, Mineta snatches the money from his hands, “That means you’re wrong now pay up.” Denki snaps out of his stupor in order to chase after his smaller classmate, “No the hell it doesn’t!” Now, with everyone’s attention being distracted to the slapstick comedy the two ensue, you realize that the hand you previously felt is gone. Deku is back to scribbling away in his notebook, giving you a false sense of relief.

“Man, Snipe is so aggressive when it comes to history!” Kirishima slouches in his chair knocking Bakugou’s hand as he eats out of a Yogurt cup. “Watch it shitty hair!” is the usual response, as the class congregates together. Asui calls you over to show you something but Deku steps in front of you before you fully stand. “Y/n since we have free time right now, I was hoping you could come and help me with something real quick.” He scratched the back of his head and looked over your head.

On the outside, it was just Deku being shy Deku, nothing suspicious about the ever-present blush he always sported was in full bloom. But from your point of view, it was obvious there was a different intent behind those eyes. “We’ll be back guys.” Deku mutters a hand settled comfortably on your waist as you walk out the door. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jirou watching the two of you leave with an eyebrow raised.

Deku guided you down the school halls, thumb rubbing shapes into your side. He said nothing as you walked, only waving and making small conversation with any familiar face you two passed by. After a long time, you two reach an unfamiliar classroom that Deku curiously peeks inside of. “So what are we doing?” “You’ll see.” Deku ushers the two of you inside before closing and locking the door shut. The mood seems to shift almost immediately.

Deku has a lazy smile on his face as he tugs on his school tie, “So what was that conversation you and Kaminari were having earlier?” Your arms tingle with goosebumps, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” While Izuku talked, his uniform coat is placed neatly on a nearby desk table, the sleeve of his collared shirt was rolled up and out of the way. “Yeah, I figured you would say that, that’s why I wrote it down to help refresh your memory.”

Deku sits down on a desk, motioning you over to him with a twitch of his fingers. A small notebook you hadn’t noticed till now was pulled from his back pocket before being flipped through. When you stood in front of him, his hand resumed its place on your waist so he could pull you much closer. “According to my notes, Kaminari and Mineta were debating on who was in charge of our relationship.” The more he spoke, the more aware you became of his fingers tapping randomly on your back, each touch tickled your spine, “And in response, you encouraged Kaminari’s theory that you were the one in charge.” Deku snapped the notebook closed with one hand before placing it on the other side of your waist forcing you to face him. “Is that right?”

You are silent when Deku’s scarred hands undo your shirt buttons from the bottom up. “I just thought it was interesting that your answer was different from what my memory recalls.” Izuku sucks in a breath when he sees your black lace bra. The fabric covering your chest conveniently hid the faded hickeys he knew he left 3 weeks ago. “Take this off for me?” The soft tone took you off guard making you pause confused as Deku gently tugged off your shirt and tie. He stands up folding your clothes as you fiddle with your bra straps. “I’m done?” You turn around to hand him your bra but squeak out in surprise when his hand grips your neck.

He keeps his hand there as he backs you up, forcing you to sit on the desk he was previously on. “I’m curious….” Deku trails off in his speech, using the time to kiss you deeply, hand never leaving your neck. “Since you are always the one in charge, I figure that maybe I should finally put in the work and make you feel good?” Deku pulls the chair from underneath the desk and sits down, legs spread. “Well, what are you waiting for, come here?” Your stomach flips as you slide off the table, the stale cool air of the classroom makes your skin prickle with goosebumps as Deku faces you the opposite way in order for you to sit comfortably in his lap.

“Deku what if we get caught?” You nervously glance at the classroom door, the lack of a peeking window putting you somewhat at ease. You were the only one exposed and if someone were to come through that door, they would see your half-naked body in all its glory. A hovering hand grabs the ends of your faux locs to pull your head back so he could whisper in your ear. “I’m sure they’ll understand that I’m just trying to pay you back for all my laziness.”

You bite your lips coyly. He was annoyed, you could definitely hear it now from his sarcastic remarks. But that didn’t make you regret your earlier choice, not one bit, and Deku knew that. The real excitement came from seeing how long it would last.

The gentleness returned when he grabbed your chest, massaging and pulling at them for his own enjoyment before releasing them in order to slide down your stomach. As expected he pinches the skin hard between his fingers and then releases before you even have enough time to complain.

“Just relax okay?” Deku places each of your thighs atop of his, successfully spreading your legs apart. You suppressed laughter whenever his fingers grazed your skin just lightly enough that it tickled, there was no need to give him a reason to be more upset. “Wearing briefs again today?”

Your pussy is palmed without restriction as deft fingers rub at the soft cotton protecting it. “Now how am I supposed to get to you now huh?” You knew the unspoken answer, and Deku knew you hated it as he clenched his fingers into the fabric until it ripped, “Oops.” You shook your head pouting at the unfair treatment, “Why do you always have to do that, now I have to be extra careful of my skirt!”

Strike one was raising your voice.

The touch was quick but still ever so stinging. Deku slapped your pussy in response before using his other hand to hold your neck, firmly tipping it up to the ceiling. “If you would have stopped wearing underwear entirely we wouldn’t be having this conversation, you know I like easy access.” The lack of visible reaction meant nothing since you could almost feel the blood rushed to your face. Deku kisses your neck determined to add marks that you could never hide. Your dark skin peppered with purple bruises while Izuku simultaneously rolled your skirt up to your waist.

You were already wet, the small nibbles here and there were enough for your clit to twitch excitedly as Izuku’s fingers danced around it. “Please touch me!” A warm chuckle vibrated from his chest at your desperate plea, “Calm down and relax Princess. I’ll get you where you need to be.” Deku continues to ignore your clit. His fingers, ever precise, slide between your folds in order to collect your arousal. The feeling adds some pleasure but only enough to make you more desperate. “Look at you.”

Deku observed your hips buck every whenever he got close to your clit. The small nerve swelling with blood and begging to be touched, and who would he be to deny that. It was heaven on earth when he finally put pressure on it. “Mhm!” His fingers combined with your wetness as extra lubrication provided the most pleasurable feeling. You wanted to clamp your legs shut and trap him there, but his much thicker thighs kept you wide open and on display.

Deku was never one to do anything half-assed, so while his fingers flicked and pulled at your clit, his other hand got to work. However, your twitching made you clench down whenever his finger barely pushed inside, “You gotta calm down baby, how else am I going to make you cum?” Soft soothing words made you just enough for him to push his index finger inside. Your cunt was tight, warm, and irresistible. The steady pump of his fingers has you closing your eyes as you relax against him like jelly.

Deku knew your pussy like the back of his hand at this point, every ripple, nook, and cranny he knew how to touch in order to make your toes curl. He adds another finger to the mixture, then another, and a fourth one until you are gushing around his digits and onto the floor. You were a slutty mess and no intelligible words could leave your mouth but “please” and “thank you”.

And while exhibitionism was one thing he had no problem with, Deku respected the fact that you would probably not be too keen to it. “You’re being too loud puppy.” Deku retracts his hand in favor of shoving his fingers in your mouth. You could taste yourself as he pushed them in further, rubbing it along your tongue as drool rolled down his forearm.

The sound of his finger fucking your pussy was wet and sticky, It took a large effort on his part to hold you against him every time your back arched away. “I’m cumming!” Your stomach contorted beautifully against his estranged wrist. “There you go.” Izuku kissed on the shell of your ear as you adjusted past your orgasms. “Are you done?”

You turn your head to kiss him, “Yeah..” He nodded, patting your cheek, “That’s good.” Izuku helps you stand up, helping you when you wobbled ever so slightly. You look at him unsure of the constant smile adorning his face, “Now what?” Izuku slouched a little bit more, “Now you get on your knees of course!”

You only have a moment to ponder what he said before a hand on your shoulder is forcing you down to your knees. It was quick enough for you not to feel the pain of your knees slamming down, but not quick enough to see the smirk crossing your initially sweet lover.

He was already hard as a rock when you pulled him out, cockhead with a steady stream of pre coming out the tip. You admired it with a small kitten lick around the edge, pleased when it bobs from your ministrations. “You are taking too long now put it in your fucking mouth.” Your head is pressed down less than gracefully and you are forced to open your mouth less his dick be smeared against your face.

Your mouth spreads as best it could while Deku sheathed all the way down to the base. He pulls out once again as if testing the waters before letting you up for a quick breath. “For someone in charge, you aren’t very good at this.” Deku uses a patronizing finger to wipe stray saliva off your chin before gripping your chin. “Maybe this will help you learn.” Using one hand Deku uses his cock to tap your mouth expectantly. Your mouth opens on reflex and his cock is pushed back in. Deku sighs with satisfaction, “Fuck, your mouth has always been good for this.” The tempo isn’t as bruising as it was in the beginning but it was still harsh.

Tears collected in your eyes ruining the mascara Momo had put on your eyes. Your throat burned from the constant friction and lack of air. “You hear that? This was what you should have said when they had asked you who was in charge.” Deku looked at you, his curly green hair covering his eyes as shook from his arm movement. “Look at those pretty lips.” Deku flinched after you swiped your tongue on the underside of his cock.

His voice sped up in the momentum and pitched in tone, “Y-You tryna make me cum fast huh!?” You bobbed your head faster despite the tight grip on your scalp trying to pull you away, “F-Fuck Y/n stop it!” Izuku’s voice caved and his hips jerked against your chin as he emptied his balls. You wipe your face with a large grin, brown eyes daring green ones. Izuku laughed, “You wanted this huh?” You don’t respond, skin tingling in the thought of what would come next. Deku stared at you, hands gripping his knees as his dick continued to spurt cum. “Fine.”

Deku stands up before dropping to his knees in front of you. Your calves are grabbed and raised until they are placed on his left shoulder. He slides inside of you with little to no resistance and you both groan at the intrusion. “I try to be nice to you.” Your neck is grabbed again with much familiarity, “But you always test my patience.” Deku leans over you to make sure you are listening. His eyes were a light green as sunlight cast itself inside of the classroom. The sound of your hips meeting is sloppy but neither of you are bothered by it.

You moaned as his abdomen rubbed against your clit the faster he went. “Deku!” Your voice is ragged and you’re practically wheezing at this point from the tight grip he has on every inch of your body. “Shut up.” He releases your neck and spreads your legs apart resting each on its respective shoulder. With entranced eyes Izuku watches you suck him in, sneering at how unintentionally greedy you were. The sound of spit startles you as it hits Deku’s cock before being pushed inside you.

You spasm at a particularly hard thrust, you didn’t know what it hit but your spine lit to flames each time it was grazed. “D-Deku!” You reach a hand out near any piece of skin you could reach, switching from his hands to his stomach. It was too much, the feeling of pleasure made it damn near impossible to think. Deku didn’t want you to think. Every time you seemed to think, you always caused him trouble. “I told you to be quiet.” Your mouth is covered almost completely by his hand only giving you the grace of air between his index and middle finger. You cum and you cum hard, so hard that Deku slips out and almost slips into your opposite hole.

Your leg is dragged back and Deku enters you again, this time only focused on himself. You feel him piston in and out of your cunt grunting obscenities as he closed his eyes with bliss. “Come on, I want one more like that. I need you to break for me.” In the distance, you hear the hour bell ring and the sound of students leaving their classroom. You have no energy to warn Deku, not that it would have mattered. Based on the pleasured look on his face and the heightened sound of his whines, the idea of getting caught only made him feel better. “I’m gonna, o-h fuck I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You let out a scream when a thumb finds your clit and your weak hands could do nothing to keep him from forcing another orgasm from you. “Don’t fucking run from it, cum for me puppy, oh god!” He covers your mouth to stifle your noises and that’s when the sensation begins.

The sensation is strange, it starts in your lungs like air before trickling down to your loins. The feeling of holding it back is painful but you still do it for only a moment of sanity. When it releases, it gushes like a waterfall, and for a moment you wonder if you had peed. When Deku feels it, he too is unable to hold back and finally cums inside of you with a reserved grunt when he realizes the danger of discovery.

Wasting no time and feeling no fatigue, Deku moves fast to find his own pants and shirt taking barely any time to pull your skirt down before giving you 4 minutes tops to learn how to breathe again. “Stand up.” You huff as you prop yourself up on your elbow, “You could at least help a girl out after fucking me an inch of my life.” Deku shrugs, “Logically speaking you did this to yourself.” “Logically speaking I should shove my foot up your ass.”

On the way back to class, Deku took pleasure in watching you walk bowlegged. You of course didn’t share the sediment as you did your best to hold in any cum Deku graciously left behind. He opens the door for you and you walk in doing your best to walk right but the limp was clear and true. Bakugou looked bored, the rest had blushes on their faces as you struggled to sit down properly. Denki, of course, was heartbroken as he handed Mineta back his part of the bet. “I told you, dude, it’s always the silent ones.”

From the back of the class, Asui and Jirou shoot each other an impressed look as they eyes the dark lovebites traveling below your shirt collar.