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doumadono · 7 months

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Warnings: smut - oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v, f!Reader, semi-public

Synopsis: you and the Duke find yourselves sharing an intimate moment within the confines of his office when unexpectedly, Neuvillette chooses to pay Wriothesley a visit

A/N: I dedicate this piece to @crystalwolfblog & @arthurbristow - this is my first attempt at writing for Genshin, so please be gentle

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

In the opulent office of Wriothesley, the Duke of the Fortress, a symphony of soft rustles echoed as he sifted through the papers strewn across his expansive wooden desk. The room exuded an air of authority, adorned with rich tapestries and antique furnishings that spoke of a legacy steeped in history.

The Duke, a figure of power and refinement, reclined in his plush leather chair, an emblem of comfort amidst the grandeur. His legs were casually spread, an embodiment of relaxed dominance.

Positioned between his legs, you knelt down, skillfully taking his rock-hard dick into your mouth with deliberate and measured intent, striving to provide an experience of unparalleled pleasure. You were drawing him into the depths of your mouth at a leisurely pace. Your dedication was evident as you explored the limits, the tip of your nose delicately brushing against his groin in tandem with the deepthroating.

As one of the guardians laboring within the esteemed Fortress, your daily existence revolved around subservience to none other than the formidable Duke Wriothesley himself. Life in this capacity was far from easy, marked by numerous challenges inherent to your responsibilities. Yet, amidst the intricacies of your duties, the most unforeseen development transpired – you found yourself captivated by an unexpected love, directed towards the Duke. In a twist of fate, your sentiments were reciprocated by the very figure of authority you served. In the grand tapestry of your experiences, this revelation of mutual affection unfolded as a stroke of fortune.

A guttural mixture of grunts and hisses escaped him, a visceral response to the teasing graze of your teeth against his sensitive member. Amidst the intensity, a low, warning growl emerged from him, "Watch your teeth, babygirl," a cautionary note laced with a blend of desire and insistence.

With an audible pop, you withdrew his cock from your mouth, casting an upward glance at the Duke. "Sorry, your grace," you offered in apology, the tip of his dick resting against your extended, flexed tongue.

Wriothesley deftly slipped his hand into your hair, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against your scalp. "That's my girl. Keep on sucking."

A warm smile graced your lips as you obediently took his member back into your mouth, a silent acknowledgment of your commitment to fulfilling his desires.

With a deliberate pace, you resumed the act of deep-throating him, emitting a soft moan that reverberated around his shaft.

The Duke, momentarily abandoning his pen, leaned back against the chair, a series of breathy curses escaping his lips. "Oh God, you're sucking me so fucking well," he lauded, his words a testament to the pleasure he was experiencing. "Just like that. Work your tongue for me, babygirl," he encouraged, his voice a seductive melody guiding your actions.

Being the dutiful subordinate you were, one of your hands delicately manipulated the skin on his cock, mirroring the rhythmic motion of your head's bobbing. Upon withdrawing his member from your mouth, a glistening trail of precum had already emerged from the slit at its tip. Reverently, you planted a series of kisses along his length, descending to the base where you enveloped his weighty, seed-laden testicles into your mouth, all the while emitting sultry moans that bespoke a certain carnal abandon.

In response, he tilted his head backward, and his other hand seamlessly found its place in your hair, securing a hold on the back of your head. "Yeah, just like that," he echoed, his praise punctuated by repetition. "You're so good for me, Y/N, so obedient, and your mouth's so skilled."

Suddenly, a brief knock resonated through the massive wooden door, interrupting any potential acknowledgment before Wriothesley could utter a polite "come in." In a swift response, Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine, entered the room.

In the nick of time, Wriothesley managed to adjust, shifting slightly and leaning forward, creating the illusion of engrossment in the scattered documents on his desk. With head bowed, he endeavored to compose himself, suppressing any telltale signs of the lingering arousal that had adorned his cheeks with a delicate shade of pink.

The creak of the opening door initially startled you, but upon recognizing Neuvillette's voice, a mischievous grin played on your lips - it presented the ideal opportunity to playfully taunt your beloved Wriothesley.

"Wriothesley, I believe you overlooked the report I requested," Neuvillette exclaimed, closing the distance to the desk.

Wriothesley subtly shifted, ensuring that the Iudex remained oblivious to your discreet presence, kneeling between his legs with his fly undone. "I… Uh… Ah, the report! Yes, yes, I'll bring it to you promptly," the dark-haired man nodded hastily.

"Ah, so you've prepared it?" Neuvillette inquired, halting right in front of the expansive desk.

Wriothesley affirmed, "Yes."

"Excellent. In that case, you can present it to me now. I'd rather not risk you forgetting it later," Neuvillette teased lightly, a genial smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Meanwhile, you once again took Wriothesley's member into your mouth, creating a firm suction as you sensually bobbed your head, skillfully massaging his arousal with your tongue. The dichotomy between the professional exchange and the clandestine pleasure beneath the desk added a layer of tension to the scene.

Wriothesley regarded Neuvillette with a certain bluntness, as though grappling with the comprehension of the words directed at him. After a moment, he shook his head, scanning the surroundings and shuffling some papers in a futile attempt to locate the elusive report. The throbbing ache of his dick in your warm, wet mouth posed a distracting challenge, threatening to unleash his essence right then and there — a far-from-helpful circumstance.

"Uhm, can I bring it to you later, Neuvillette? As you can see, I'm a little… busy," he stammered, a hint of discomfort in his tone.

Neuvillette raised an eyebrow in a deliberate, slow manner. "All I can see is that you can't keep your desk tidy. Maybe if you clean it up, you'll not have any issues with delivering stuff I'm asking for without a delay. Do you need a hand with those papers?"

"NO!" Wriothesley exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock at his own unexpected outburst. "I mean, no need…"

You deftly withdrew his manhood from your mouth, beginning to jerk him, the tip of your tongue dancing over the sensitive mushroom head.

Wriothesley licked his lips briefly, a soft pant escaping him as he covered his mouth with a curled palm, his vulnerability momentarily exposed.

Observing the Duke's flushed countenance, Neuvillette frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are glistening. You appear as though you might have a fever. Perhaps I should send someone to check upon you?"

Wriothesley shook his head, struggling to maintain composure. "No need, Neuvillette, I'm just a tad fatigued, that's all."

The Iudex acknowledged with a sigh. "As you say, my friend. But do remember, it's a crucial document, and I need it, right?"

"You have it," Wriothesley affirmed eagerly.

Neuvillette surveyed the expansive room, nodding to himself, and then turned around to depart.

Simultaneously, your actions took a more intimate turn. You intensified your movements on Wriothesley's dick and deftly squeezed his testicles, eliciting a climax that painted your face with three swift spurts of his cum. The seed adorned your nose, lips, and cheek, while a trickle descended down your chin, gracing your exposed décolletage as your dark shirt remained provocatively unbuttoned.

The sudden release prompted a loud moan from Wriothesley, a sound he managed to stifle only after it had echoed through the room.

Certainly, Neuvillette overheard the unexpected noise, prompting him to swiftly pivot around, fixing the Duke with a quizzical raised eyebrow.

Wriothesley endeavored to conjure a quick falsehood, his eyes meeting Neuvillette's with feigned innocence.

Meanwhile, your tongue skillfully traced the sensitive part beneath the Duke's dick which turned out to get even harder than before, focusing on the most prominent vein.

Wriothesley, attempting to maintain composure, offered a sly grin and replied, "Ah, just reminiscing about a particularly amusing anecdote from the Court of Fontaine, my dear Neuvillette. Nothing more."

Neuvillette sighed audibly, his concern evident. "You're spending an excessive amount of time in your office. Maintaining work-life balance is crucial, remember," he gently reminded before departing from the room.

In response, Wriothesley shifted in his chair, leveling you with a stern gaze, his brow quirked, and lips pressed into a thin line. "What the hell, babygirl? Did you genuinely aim to get me caught red-handed with my cock stuffing your mouth, huh?" he inquired, a tad of frustration in his tone. One hand found its place in your hair, while the thumb of the other was used to wipe away his seed from your cheek.

Undeterred, you turned your head and sensually took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it provocatively, your gaze never leaving his. When you released his thumb, a playful smile adorned your lips as you expressed, "I just wanted to savor the taste of your semen, your grace."

A rosy hue graced Wriothesley's cheeks, his grin taking on a mischievous tilt. "Get on the desk," he commanded.

As an obedient girl, you rose, deftly undoing your belt and shedding your pants along with your panties. His gaze lingered, his tongue moistening his lips in anticipation, as you gracefully hopped onto the desk, perching on the edge and sensually parting your legs, a display crafted exclusively for him.

"So perfect," he murmured, this time relinquishing control as he knelt before you. His fingers delicately parted your folds, and his tongue traced a deliberate path up and down your moist slit, paying particular attention to your throbbing clit.

A symphony of moans escaped your lips, your hand finding solace in his dark locks, fingers entwining in a silent plea. "Oh, fuck, Wrio, more," you urged, surrendering to the escalating waves of pleasure he orchestrated.

Wriothesley moistened two of his fingers with a deliberate lick before expertly guiding them into the warmth of your pussy.

The consequence was your supine form sprawled across his desk, your back gracefully arched, and your legs enveloping his head, seeking intensified friction. In the midst of burgeoning pleasure, a fervent moan escaped your lips, carrying his name in a breathy melody.

Wriothesley's skilled tongue danced over your engorged clit, synchronized with the rhythmic exploration of his fingers within your velvety, slippery walls. "You're delicious, Y/N," he murmured, savoring the moment before bestowing a tender kiss upon your aroused clitoris.

Once you were thoroughly drenched, and your runny juices cascaded onto the marble floor, he rose from his position. With a deliberate motion, he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his fly fully, allowing his uniform pants to slink down his legs, forming a pool at his ankles.

Seated, you took a moment to unbutton his uniform, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he joined in the effort. Soon, his greyish waistcoat and shirt beneath were opened, unveiling a canvas of a muscular torso and abs, each etched with scars that whispered tales of battles endured.

"You're goddamn handsome," you whispered, your lips barely moving.

A gracious smile adorned his face as he expressed his gratitude. His hand then found its place on your chest, exerting a firm pressure that guided you to recline once again on his desk. With practiced ease, he parted your legs with one hand, while the other indulged in jerking his cock.

Wriothesley, driven by an unbridled desire, pressed the tip of his dick against your entrance. With a single, commanding thrust, he fully immersed himself in the warmth of your pussy, bottoming out, leaving you breathless, lips parted, emitting a seductive whine. "God, you're so wet and tight, holy shit," he groaned, fingers gripping your hips as he embarked on a deliberate, slow, and profound rhythm.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, an urging plea for him to fuck you deeper. "Fuck me hard, my Duke," you implored, locking eyes with him, fingers clasping his forearm. "I know you've yearned for the taste of my pussy, and now it's yours, all yours," you playfully teased. "I've missed you so much, my grace."

"I missed you too," he whispered, punctuating his words with a potent thrust. Leaning forward, he captured your lips in a slow, passionate kiss, tongues dancing as his dick skillfully explored every gummy spot within you, igniting a symphony of pleasure that resonated through the intimate encounter.

Wriothesley gradually increased his rhythm until the only sounds reverberating within the confines of the room were the amalgamation of your labored panting, impassioned moans, and the rhythmic slapping of skin meeting skin.

His dick pulsated within you, responding to the tightening pressure of your inner walls. "Oh, Y/N, you're so eager to milk my cock, aren't you?" he grunted, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation evident as the tension coiled within his abdomen threatened to unravel. "I'm cumming, holy shit, I'm cumming!"

In an explosive release, he reached the climax for the second time, dispensing the entirety of his thick, heated seed within your pussy, the involuntary contractions of your pussy still clenching his member.

A whimpered cry escaped your lips as you called out his name, your hand slipping between your thighs to tenderly stimulate your swollen clit. "Fuck, oh God," you panted, the intensity of the experience etched across your features. "It was so good, oh God." The room lingered in the aftermath, a symphony of shared pleasure and sated desire.

Wriothesley withdrew from you, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips as he admired the mingled releases oozing from your cunny. Opening a drawer, he retrieved a box of tissues. First, he tended to himself, methodically cleaning and readjusting his attire — zipping his tie and buttoning the shirt, securing his belt, and settling his pants around his hips. Then, with a meticulous touch, he ensured the same care for you. "I needed this," he confessed, picking up your discarded panties and gently guiding them up your legs, assisting you in dressing, "It's been a while, and the tension was oh so painful."

A playful grin adorned your features as you deftly maneuvered into your pants and buttoned your shirt. "I know, my Duke, but you're well aware I've been dispatched on a clandestine mission, leaving me with little control over the situation," you responded, a trace of understanding in your voice.

Wriothesley nodded solemnly. "I know," he affirmed, drawing you into a close and reassuring embrace. His lips pressed gently against the crown of your head. "Thank you."

"Anytime, my grace," you responded, a warm smile gracing your features. "Now, you should deliver the report to the Iudex. None of us want him angered."

#wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x reader smut #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x you #wrio smut #wrio x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin smut

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txttletale · 2 months

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is there any more reliable fact behind what people some trans people say about like cults of cybele

yes! the galli, their practice of self-castration, and their feminine dress and presentation are very well attested by many sources: among them catullus, ovid, varro, livy, and polybius, off the top of my head.

of course, we have no actual accounts from the galli themselves: we can only speculate as to what their subjectivity wrt gender might have been, let alone to the myriad different relationships any individual gallus might have had. however, we can at least know that their presentation was feminine by choice: there is archeological attestation for honorific monuments and art depicting galli in feminine dress, often commissioned by galli themselves, and for them being buried in it. so unlike elagabalus, who in his commissioned statues and coins is always depicted purely masculinely we do have some definitinve information about how the galli at least purposefully presented themselves to the world.

attitudes to them shift throughout Roman history and from source to source, from mild curiosity, to contempt, to violent hatred--we don't, unfortunately, have a lot of writing about the galli in and of themselves--many of their mentions are cautionary tales, a 'what not to do' guide for aristocratic roman men seeking to avoid effeminacy or gender deviance. different authors describe them in different ways: varro calls them 'half-men' (semiviri), while catullus' attis says 'ego mulier' (i, a woman) but also 'ego epherbus, ego puer' (i, a young man and a boy) in her lament over the loss of access to the world of manhood her devotion has resulted in.

but yeah, there is absolutely a gigantic body of evidence for the existence of the itinerant priesthood of cybele being a known and constant part of Roman life, for their having flouted gender roles, practiced self-castration, and adopted feminine presentation, clothing, and appearances of their own accord. take from this what you will! i certainly think that in the project of attempting to locate transfemininity throughout history, it is certainly a more fruitful and worthy ground than the lurid tales of elagabalus and his Big Dick Surveillance Squad.

some recommended reading if you're curious:

“Fabulous Clap-Trap”: Roman Masculinity, the Cult of Magna Mater, and Literary Constructions of the galli at Rome from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity, Jacob Latham

Transgendered Archeology: the Galli and the Catterick Transvestite, Renato Pinto & Gretel Luciano

Looking for eunuchs: the galli and Attis in Roman art, Shelley Hales (in Eunuchs in Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Shaun Tougher)

#ask #Anonymous

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obaex · 1 year

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better start practicing - rafe cameron

summary: you see a soft and unexpected side of rafe, leading you both to confess your true feelings about the future.

word count: 1k

___

The barbeque was in full swing as Rafe guided you by the hand through friends and family alike on the back porch of Tanneyhill. You were more or less a permanent fixture at the Cameron's at this point, but this was the first time you had gotten to meet Rafe's extended family and it felt like a significant step forward in your relationship. Plus, you got to see another side of him that was so sweet and soft, drinking in the familial affection he didn't get on a regular basis from doting aunts and proud uncles. He glowed, even through pinched cheeks and endless heckling about you: "Rafe Cameron, pictures simply do not do this pretty girl justice. How did you get so lucky? You take good care of her, you hear?" You were both drinking in the compliments and love, such a welcome divergence from the usually dark and critical pallor that Ward cast on Tanneyhill.

After awhile you had gotten separated from Rafe when one of his uncles pulled him aside to talk. Wanting to give him time to catch up with everyone, you wandered over to Sarah and your friends. Despite the distance between you, you could feel Rafe's eyes tracking you wherever you went, and when you finally caught his eye, he grinned goofily at you and winked before he was distracted by something at his feet.

You couldn't see what it was, but you saw him quickly set his beer down and lean over before standing back up with his youngest cousin, Leyla, in his arms. She was only three years old and you could tell that the long day of playing with her cousins had worn her out. You could see Rafe say something sweetly to her, causing her to smile as he brushed her hair out of her face and she snuggled into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rubbed her back gently before picking up his beer and resuming his conversation, like toting this little girl around and letting her fall asleep on him was the most natural thing in the world.

You could have died on the spot. You could have melted into the floor and washed away with the tide at the sight of the strong, fierce, indefensible Rafe Cameron cradling a little girl in his arms. All you could think to yourself is that you hoped you were looking at a glimpse of your future, on another porch, in another house with the same man snuggling your sweet daughter in his arms. You don't know how long you stood there, drinking in the sight that was tugging at your heart before Rafe's aunt came by, gently taking his sleeping cousin out of his arms. You took that as your cue and made your way over to him.

"Rafe, can I borrow you for a minute?" you asked, trying to tone down the urgency in your voice. He knew you too well, though, his brow furrowing, "Absolutely, beautiful, is everything okay?" he asked, following you as you tugged him by the hand around to the front of the house, away from prying eyes. "Babe, you're worrying me, what's wrong?" he asked again. You took his hands in yours, taking a cautionary glance around to be sure you were alone before passionately pressing your lips to his, your hands coming up to cup his face, your body pressing into his. "Mmpf!" he replied as you caught him off guard, pressing him into the siding of the house. He tossed his beer into the bushes, long forgotten, as he wrapped his arms around you. Your kisses grew more heated as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He tasted like the IPA he had been drinking and you couldn't get enough as he matched you kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, before smiling and breaking away briefly enough to say jokingly, "I guess I should leave you with my Aunt Linda more often? Where is this coming from? Not that I'm complaining in the slightest" he said with a smirk.

You began kissing him again, attempting to explain between the crashes of your lips.

"You" kiss "are the sweetest" kiss "most gentle, loving man" kiss "and" kiss "one day" kiss "you are going to be an amazing father."

At that, he pulled away to look at you, a confused look on his face, scanning yours for any hint of a joke. You knew those words held weight for him. He clearly didn't have a good father figure and he was insecure about what that meant for him as a father, for his children, for his future.

"I saw you with Leyla" you explained. "You're a natural, you are such a giver and a lover. You have a heart of pure gold, Rafe Cameron, despite what you want the world to see. You are going to be the best damn father our babies could ever hope for."

"Our babies?" he said smiling. He was grinning ear to ear at that.

Shit. You had let slip the fantasy you had been playing in your head of Rafe as the father of your children. You had both talked casually about getting married, about having a family. You knew you both wanted that at some point, but you had never said anything this serious before.

"Babies, you know, in general --" you tried to walk your words back, afraid at what his reaction would be before he interrupted you.

"Nuh-uh, don't even try that, pretty girl, I heard you loud and clear: our babies," he said, his hands cupping your face. "You want to have my babies?" he was smiling and he let out a small, earnest laugh. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had dreamt of that future with you, but didn't want to cling to something he thought was too good to be true.

You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile as you nodded earnestly.

"WOO!" Rafe shouted, the joy of the moment and the realization that you wanted the same thing, that you trusted him, that you believed in him, that you were going to make his dreams come true overwhelming him. You were giggling at his reaction when he hoisted you over his shoulder, firefighter style.

"Rafe!" you shouted, surprised, amidst peals of laughter, "What are you doing!? Where are we going!?"

"Better start practicing" he said, carrying you inside.

#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #obx fanfiction

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thedarkmongoose · 6 months

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the usage of the "goldberg variations" in hannibal has always fascinated me, even more so now that i know the origin of why bach composed them in the first place:

so basically, the variations were created to soothe the count who was ill/sleepless which hannibal mirrors in the books (and in the silence of the lambs film) by being calmed by them. in fact, we are first introduced to hannibal in apéritif with one of the variations playing in the bg while he calmly dines on a fancy dish of people. then in fromage, hannibal plays the aria variation on the harpsichord after his fight with tobias, presumably to return to a state of stasis.

the next time we hear aria, it is a piano rendition in kō no mono when will and hannibal ritualistically devour the ortolans. it seems that will is a calming, grounding force for hannibal and it eventually becomes their shared melody. heartbreakingly, a song called "bloodfest" by brian reitzell which is based on the variations plays in dolce (when hannigram reunites in the uffizi gallery) and in digestivo (when they talk in the cabin after escaping muskrat farm).

a similar slowed down version plays in the series finale called "the wrath of the lamb, pt. 2 / bach aria, pt. 2" when will/hannibal are in the glass house, right before they defeat francis. even throughout the series, there are variations to the variations such as this, as well as hannibal's own composition "suite no. 4 - III. sarabande: la d'aubonne" by antoine forqueray & christophe rousset, which has similar vibes to the goldberg variations. perhaps inspired by them?

but the body of music isn't simply used as a calming metaphor or an ode to will - rather, it is a deeper, existential contemplation that was nicely summed up by jeremy denk & donald francis tovey: (Hannibal Lecter's Guide To The 'Goldberg Variations'; NPR):

the goldberg variations are a representation of a cycle, a reflection, a "becoming" of sorts; a longing to be free but also a cautionary tale that once someone is seen for who they truly are, there is no turning back. and in the blink of an eye, this beautiful lie that we call life is over.

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solargeist · 11 days

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Watchers are known to enjoy a bit of chaos and destruction, right, but they're also very into their rules and Players obeying them, taboos are very serious to them.

I think Xelqua is a Saint of destruction, a destroyer.

Despite working so hard for this and giving up his entire life for the Watchers, he becomes too much. He reaches sainthood and tears his own timeline apart, fragile things to a deity, threads of a sweater to him, but in the same movements he is solidified within all other universes as something that's always existed in Watcher's stories. belief, and stained glass.

He is a cautionary tale amongst Watchers against falling out of order, there has to be balance for everything.

All of this only happens because Grian agrees to join the Watchers, despite this version of Grian running away, this one act still sets off a chain reaction, other timelines, and in one of those timelines Xelqua is born.

Grian is guided by a version of himself that he unknowingly created and doomed

#xelqua is tragic 2me (draws him as an innocent little kid) (crying crying)#theres something a little haunting abt grian staring at stained glass of himself and not knowing it #all of this happens at different points in time. Xelqua is old. he stayed with the watchers for YEARS #he is Made years into grian's future. but he exists within his past as well !#the possibility of current xelqua meeting current aether and she reacts as if hes dangerous. but hes just like. im your son too #im just rambling !!!!!!! this is as close to it making sense as its gonna get

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aealzx · 9 months

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By the time Raphael reached Don at the main computer the alarm had already glitched out several more times. To the point that Don had disabled the sound aspect and just had the reports populating on screen. He’d barely started pulling up various live camera feeds when Raphael leaned on the back of his chair. “So what’s the noise about?”

Giving a huff of amusement, Don tapped through the points that were triggered. “You know I’m not that fast, Raph,” he chastised, still analyzing what he was looking into.

“My bad. I meant, ‘what have you found so far’?” Raphael snorted, having forgotten Don could be slightly too literal sometimes. “Do Leo and I need to go on a patrol?”

“Leo’s not going anywhere for at least another five hours,” Don declined quickly. “Just because he got an antidote doesn’t mean his lungs are miraculously healed. Same with the other two.”

Raphael gave a small snort at the eye roll Don gave to emphasize his point, but reigned his words in for a moment. He wanted something to act on, and it was hard when there wasn’t anything yet. “Fair enough.”

Giving a moment of silence to see if Raphael wanted to say anything else, Don started vocalizing what he was finding. “Something is triggering our perimeter alarms. But there’s nothing showing on the camera feeds, and the points being tripped are…. Inconsistent,” he explained, touching a few parts of the screen to bring up a map of which perimeter locations had been notified. It was something Raphael could understand easily enough when it came to reading it. But what he saw definitely explained Don’s confusion. The map almost looked like someone had just thrown a bunch of red dots on it randomly. Or, near randomly. Looking at the timestamps and locations of the alarms, Raphael frowned. “... Is it just me, or is it getting closer?”

Don didn’t vocally answer, but he didn’t have to. Not when the alarm message displayed on the screen changed from ‘perimeter breach’ to ‘intruder detected’, flagging Raphael’s room first. With only a glance at each other, two more messages popping up for different rooms in their lair, Don and Raphael grabbed their weapons.

—----

The bubbling of broth in the pot Mikey currently had on the stove was accompanied by him humming random songs. Leo had already checked in on him, so he was content to know that all of the medical treatment was at least almost complete. Now he just needed to finish cooking so they could have a warm meal to unwind with. It was a habit he’d picked up years ago. He wasn’t much help with medical knowledge, so after getting sick of being the one stuck doing nothing he’d started cooking for everyone after missions. Provided he wasn’t the one that was injured of course. Today’s choice was a thick chicken stew, with plenty of beans and other vegetables. Leo had mentioned the new Donnie’s main ailment was blood loss, so Don wanted something high in iron, with orange juice as a drink. They weren’t sure when Donnie would wake up, so it was best to have it ready, even if they had to warm it up later.

His current task was the reason Mikey hadn’t moved from the kitchen even after the broken alarms had gone off. They had only been cautionary alarms, so he had deemed it acceptable to focus on finishing the food. And yet it seemed someone wanted to stare at him without announcing themselves. That slight prickle at the back of his neck that caused Mikey to pause, turning to look up where he thought the new presence was. The fact they were in the ceiling, and the quick sight of blue made Mikey briefly think it was Leo pulling a weird prank on him under the guide of training. But the eyes were distinctly not warm chocolate brown, and were also accented by curved red markings. Mikey knew they both knew each other knew they were both there, but he didn’t have anything to say before Don’s voice came over their intercom.

“We might have an intruder. Location unknown. Keep a lookout.”

“...Huh,” Mikey voiced, continuing to stare at the newcomer. He barely had time to connect the dots between them being there, and Don’s announcement before his instincts caused him to dodge towards the door with a yelp, silver blades swiping through the air where he’d been. Looks like the intruder decided to give up hiding. “Hey guys, I found the intru-EYAH!!” Mikey started to call out, cutting off with a startled shriek and darting into the main room when the figure came at him again.

“MIKEY!” Raphael’s responding yell was louder than usual in reaction to Mikey’s panicked scream. Darting towards the kitchen, Raphael caught sight of Mikey attempting to use the ladle he had to block an incoming attack, only to have the utensil sliced in half.

“HEY! That was my favorite- EEP!” Mikey protested, ducking his head while covering it with his hands, then swinging a lazy kick towards the intruder. His attack was definitely half hearted, but that didn’t prevent him from being shocked when he hit nothing but air. The intruder had just been in front of him as Raphael reached them, but in a blink he was gone in a haze of blue energy that fizzled out in less than a second. It was only after Raphael let out a startled noise, and the clang of blade hitting sai resounded that Mikey realized what happened. “Guys I know how he got in!” Mikey blurted, half keeping an eye on the others and half looking for a proper weapon.

“He teleports!?” Raphael sputtered, his own attack whisking through completely vacant air. Chasing his surroundings with his eyes, Raphael opened his mouth to warn Mikey as he caught sight of the intruder apparating behind him. It was too late, but at least Mikey was able to turn and block the kick with his forearms instead of taking it to his shell. He still got knocked back slightly, and the intruder vanished once more.

“That explains the glitching security,” Don realized, taking his own turn to block a series of slashes from dual swords. This newcomer was fast, but with Don’s skill level he was able to keep up with the exchange, the blades thumping into the reinforced wood. It should have been easy for Don, but there was something unrefined about the newcomer’s fighting style that added a strain of unpredictability to his moves. Especially when a flicker of blue light came from underneath Don, and his feet immediately lost the ground they were on to sink into the newly appeared blue disc.

“DON!” Raphael sprang forward on instinct, crashing into Don midair and sending them tumbling for a moment before they both twisted to their feet.

The intruder was once again in a different location, back to Mikey. “Don’t get caught by those! I don’t know where they lead to.” Don warned, extremely grateful Raphael had saved him from a first hand experience to find out.

“This is- SO COOL- but also- AHH!” Mikey sputtered between blocking more blows. An upward swipe smacking the hand holding the sword off course, foot sliding back as he turned slightly to get in the way of the intruder getting behind him, stepping forward and raising a hand to block an incoming kick towards his head before the intruder disappeared again and an abrupt slash came towards Mikey’s skull.

A lunge forward from Raphael to try and grab the intruder only earned him empty air, and a swift kick to the back, causing him to stumble forward into Mikey. Giving a slight growl, Raphael whirled around, fists ready. “Rrrgh! Enough tricks! Come fight me face to face!” he belted, sick of the popping in and out of sight the newcomer was doing.

Don wasn’t sure what in the last few seconds had triggered the change, but the next attack towards him was notably different. A faltering course forced into a last second adjustment, and backed up by a sudden increase in force. It was alarming, but also concerning in a different way. There wasn’t venom behind the attacks. Just…fear? It was hard to get any words out around the new barrage of borderline frantic attacks. Was the kid panicking? The shifts in location had increased in frequency to all of them, to the point none of them could get any words out around their focus on reacting to the attacks. It felt like a stalemate, but only because the three of them were holding back. They didn’t think this was an actual enemy. More just a misunderstanding. But it was hard to get a good look at the newcomer when they were always moving.

The battle ended up shifting when Leo joined them, launching from the infirmary stairs and almost crashing into the intruder if it weren’t for them disappearing milliseconds before. “You picked the wrong home!” Leo shouted, skidding on the tile in a crouch next to Mikey.

Unexpectedly, the response to Leo was a sudden stretch of silence in place of where they had come to expect the intruder showing up in someone’s blindspot. After a brief consideration that the intruder was elsewhere in the lair, a ring of blue swirled into a diagonal disc above them. But instead of a figure appearing from it Don’s eyes snapped wide as a familiar chemical storage cabinet came hurtling towards them.

“MOVE!” Don snapped, hurling himself towards Mikey to get them both out of the way, being relieved to see his brothers also fling themselves to the side, and covering his and Mikey’s heads with a hand. Only now did he remember that one of the recorded breach points was their chemical storage room. A fact that was emphasized by the crashing containers inside the large cabinet causing materials to mix violently with each other, crackling into a small explosion that made their ears ring. All Don could think was ‘What a waste of materials’ as well as ‘That cabinet had been bolted to the wall with five centimeter thick screws!’ as he waited for the reactions to stop.

“Anyone hurt?” Leo called out as soon as the deafening silence that followed explosions fell over them.

“Mikey and I are fine,” Don called back, removing his hand from Mikey’s head so they could both push themselves to their feet.

“...Where’s the other guy?” Mikey voiced, flinching and flicking his eyes all over to see if he could see where the intruder went.

“Raph?” Leo’s call came after a second of not hearing from their remaining brother.

Raphael would have responded, but he’d ended up in a minor situation. As soon as he’d tried to get back to his feet after the danger had passed his own sai was being stabbed through the soft section of the tactical armor on his calf, wedged expertly into the ground to secure his leg. Then the opposite arm was yanked behind him and hooked behind the intruder’s knee as they leaned their body weight into him, attempting to pin him. They honestly didn’t weigh much, and it would have taken little effort for Raphael to shove them off. But the cold sting of metal tapping against his throat caused him to freeze, more from curiosity than fear. Huh. This was an interesting move. At least the kid had stopped jumping through the air.

When the others didn’t get a response from him Raphael saw them skurry around the pile of fresh debris to the side he was on, only to skid to a stop when they realized why he hadn’t answered them. A small gasp escaped Don as he froze where he was, and Leo gave a small snarl as he shifted to a defensive stance.

“Dude! Not cool!” Mikey guaffed, quickly checking his options.

“...Let him go…,” Leo hissed, his entire form tense, sliding his foot forward slightly in warning.

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It was tough to decide if I should hide the pick below since it's kind of spoiler for the end. But then I just decided to keep the same format as the others. It's semi eye catching anyway

Also I'm fully aware that Leon is too small for that hold to be effective against Raphael. |D It was deliberate.

Fun fact: I had 2 scenes (more than 2 posts worth) written way back when I scribbled the first picture for this story. This one, and Donnie blowing stuff up earlier were both of them. But I did have to rewrite almost everything to fit the rest of the story X'D oh well.

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #cross dimension kidnapping #03 raph #rise leo #writing #long post

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trevlad-sounds · 6 months

Text

Wednesday 29 November Mixtape 400 “Kosmische Village”

Wednesdays & Sundays. Support the artists and labels. Don't forget to subscribe or tip so future shows can bloom.

Trevlad Sounds-Welcome in you wonderful listener 00:00

Dividenthal & Aumgn-Kosmische Ice Cream 00:31

Charif Megarbane-Souk el Ahad 05:40

Hello Meteor-Way Of Lakes 08:20

Cautionary Guides-Mersey Travel 12:02

Fontän-Gangri - Khjinda Remix 14:54

Duolant-Glean 20:49

Arkaean-Ring Cairn Aurora 23:02

Panamint Manse-Harmony Borax 30:42

Eulipion Corps-Lourdes 34:41

The All Golden-The Wild Future 38:07

BVSMV-Input - Output 40:01

Dark Fidelity Hi Fi-Tender Tension 43:17

Asmus Tietchens-Intrada 47:05

HNNY-Yesterday 48:39

Wojciech Golczewski-Sunspot 51:39

Varsity Star-Spring Heat 54:03

Vic Mars-The Road Through the Village 58:09

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punkpandapatrixk · 1 year

Text

🕷Awakening Your Femme Fatale — Timeless Pick A Card

Why would you allow undeserving asses to look down on you when you are a literal Goddess? Every woman has that Lilith sleeping deep inside; just waiting for the right temperature to unleash her HOT GIRL POISON🕷

SONG for all piles: Forgive Me by BoA

MOVIE for all piles: Death Becomes Her (1992)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

Reading guide 1: My readings are always unisex, but Lilith in astrology is a definitively fatalistic Female archetype. If you identify as operating more on the Feminine energy, this PAC could be about what's hidden or awakening inside of YOU~💄Or, if you resonate with being attracted to the Feminine energy, this reading might shed a light on the type of ‘dangerous woman’ you tend to recklessly fall for… or secretly fantasise about🙃

Reading guide 2: Some of you may be wondering why Death Becomes Her is a movie vibe for this PAC, due to the fact that our main characters do not end well at all😜It is a cautionary tale of when Lilith goes berserk beyond control. When Lilith has no self-control, her sense of rivalry towards women and disappointment in men cause her to become a reckless danger to herself as much as she is a menace to everyone else. With great power comes great responsibility. The characters in that movie were not responsible the slightest bit except that man (Bruce Willis kyah!) who eventually came to his senses🤷🏻‍♀️Remember, not all men are as idiotic as they appear to be🤭

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Amorous Manipulator

VIBE: Kimi ni Muchuu (crazy about you) by Utada Hikaru

your hidden poison – 8 of Cups

Are you aware of the fact that people tend to run to you for comfort? Something about you draws people in; you seem trustworthy, protective, reliable and strong, and they feel cared for in your embrace. They feel understood. You provide a sense of camaraderie. Little do they know, you really don’t care that much. You’re just nice, kinda. You like to chit chat every now and then. But you’re usually crunching numbers in your head—thinking how best to use these people for later purposes.

You’re cool, detached, and calculating about your every single move. You never really show people what’s going on in your private life. People can’t figure you out as you seem flighty… more like, elusive. You’re like a bird or fish ready to escape anytime the temperatures around you get burdensome. Deep down, you feel like you’re the one who wants to run away from these clingy admirers. ‘I don’t understand why they keep following me!’

Thing is… you’re kinda hard not to notice, you know. No matter what type of beauty you are—and you might as well be cute as a rabbit—there’s an animal magnetism about you. People want to please you and gain your validation. In essence, you have the natural ability to attract a lot of simps! How you deal with that, entirely relies on your wit.

your potion of seduction – Ace of Pentacles Rx

Sometimes you feel suffocated about the way people view you. But everyone behaves irrationally nervously because you’re too blindingly hot for the average person. You break down people’s sensibility, rationality, and wit. You leave those you’ve kissed witless for days, weeks even. Because of your nonchalant hotness, some people fantasise about keeping you to themselves in the dark. People… fantasise about you a lot. Like, a lot. All kinds of things they would be embarrassed to let anybody know—unless they’re sinfully shameless—which tends to only increase their nervousness when they see you again.

Due to the degree of people’s endless fascination with you, you may not be inclined to entertain just about anybody. But sometimes, you see a few intriguing fools amongst your admirers and think to yourself, ‘Ugh, I need entertainment. Let me amuse myself with these fuckers and see what happens.’ The results are often devastatingly hilarious. Those who chase you end up looking pathetic in your eye.

Those of you who are more empathetic sometimes feel a bit sorry that people crave your attention—your company—that much when they should know better not to expect anything remotely sincere from you. But those of you who don’t remotely care, gosh dang, it’s all just a silly game of winners and losers. And you, will never end up the loser in this game of manipulation.

Realise to RELEASE! – Queen of Wands Rx

There’s something almost evil in the way you perceive a sense of rivalry with those whom you perceive as being on the same level of hotness as you. It pisses you off when your puppets are looking at someone else and praising them for whatever low-quality beauty/charm/behaviour you find distasteful to yourself. But hold on, I’m not saying you’re entirely the bad bitch for feeling this way every now and then, because… The truth is, some fucks really be doing you dirty by praising others in the presence of you!

There are those who feel dreadfully intimidated by your unmatched beauty and charisma that they—ever so stupidly sneakily—try to bring you down by elevating others in such a manner. Hoping they’d be able to witness your feeling uncomfortable because that would bring them the greatest sense of reclaiming their power from the grip of your hypnotising sensuality. Honey, you don’t even have to be the prettiest gal in your country, people still perceive your beauty as unmatchable because of your inimitable attitude!

Eh, if you’re totally in control of yourself, you don’t compete. You know there is no competition. How can there be? There can be only one you and nobody can emulate what you do. Like for real for realzz nobody can. Have you noticed that not even those close to you have any idea how to imitate your behaviours? You’re some kind of unreal hotness that’s on a whole of another level.

Lilith’s Revenge🔻💙

Scorpio’s secret transformation – Silver Magus (Merlin)

Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Protection

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Dangerous Temptress

VIBE: Run Devil Run by Girls’ Generation

your hidden poison – 4 of Pentacles Rx

At some point in life, an ass you would’ve trusted with your safety left you for dead when you needed shelter/protection/assistance the most. This kind of scenario might’ve been a recurrent pattern in your life. Constant abandonment and betrayals that have caused you to believe you’re very unlovable. People’s sharp knives of rejection made you realise you’ve never been anybody’s most important person. You’re never anybody’s top priority. That realisation hurt you so much but also gave birth to your almost dangerous courage now to face any kinds of hardships.

In this world, there is no challenge scary enough to stop you from getting what you want. You’ve survived the scariest chapters of your Life—you’ve dealt with periods of lack, cold and nothingness that would’ve killed most people; what could faze you now? You’re a motherfucker daredevil and people know that. People can see your nonchalant courage and they’re frightened as fuck. You notice nervousness in their eyes all the time. You know they think you’re reckless, but they don’t know your story. And you don’t care, obvi.

You’re fiercely independent. Through abandonment and neglect you’ve learnt to refine your manifestation skills. Now, there’s nothing you can’t have through your own efforts. You don’t need anybody and never will you need to rely on another only for them to let you down. You’ve got all your own bases covered and there’s still more to be hedonistic about. You’re royal, almost scary to the people who are way below you. They may worry that you’re being irresponsible with your resources. But you don’t care; you’re nonchalant AF. Easy come easy go, baby~ There’s always more to make.

your potion of seduction – Page of Cups Rx

Clearly, you’re a hard worker on top of being extremely intelligent. That’s how you managed to bring yourself to such safety after everything that’s happened in the past. There was simply so much lack and restriction it was literally embarrassing what the world had delivered to your doorstep. But now, the fact that so many pretty and expensive things come easily to you intimidates people and they might secretly feel envious of you. They will never say it out loud though, since they want to be on your good side—because they know they could benefit from your royal attitude when it comes to your spending.

Something about you spells CrAzY to a lot of people. Even the dullest dumbest ass can intuitively sense that you’re a daredevil for whom there’s quite literally nothing you’re too afraid to do/attempt. And you exude this dodgy aura that announces to everybody you’re not the bitch to mess with. Unless they wanna risk getting burnt by you. Your feelings run deep but you don’t let your emotions get in the way of your achieving your goals. To others, it almost looks like you’re a heartless temptress no man could hurt.

Your secret though, is that you treat practically everything in life as a Game. Whether you’re having fun, working hard, or dealing with tough situations; it’s all a Game you do not intend to lose. But all games require a loser, and you don’t even care if sometimes you lose a game or two; it doesn’t bother you. It’s all play and the world never runs out of Games anyway. There’s always the next thing to entertain yourself with. This do or die attitude of yours captivates everyone as much as they’re terrified of your fiery but cold intellect.

Realise to RELEASE! – 6 of Wands

A lot of people watch you and they form opinions around your public conducts. You know you command attention—both the bad and the good. Does it bother you though? Well… sometimes. When you’re not on your best day and you have a lot of sad thoughts, you get irritated, a little, that people only see the bad in your conducts. You want to burn every single one of them to ashes and never deal with people anymore. But you are so singular in your beingness, what can you do about it?

People talk about you because they know if they were to talk about themselves nobody would be interested. You’re the most interesting creature most people have ever known! Whatever you do, you’re on top of your game. And you always allow yourself to come first. To you, you’re your most favouritest person ever. Yeah, that’s a mouthful but say that again🤪You are your toppest top priority, and this is a hard skill to get because most people have never learnt how to survive on their own the way you have.

You’ve been to low places others wouldn’t survive in; they can’t understand why you are the way that you are. Who cares though. Live and let live. You’ve got your own abundance to take care of now.

Lilith’s Revenge🔻❤️

Scorpio’s secret transformation – Red Geographer (Marco Polo)

Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Innocence

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Glamorous Destroyer

VIBE: Monster by Red Velvet - IRENE & SEULGI

your hidden poison – 5 of Cups Rx

Are you some kind of god? Well yeah, you ARE a Goddess! I sense you’re so otherworldly in that you’re not typically one who dwells on the past or even regrets that much, if at all. The world is so vast and it keeps spinning, there’s always a new day for a positive mind for braving new territories. You’re already a master at spiritual/emotional healing, but maybe… it’s also because you’re not so feeling.

You’re a realist, to say the least. You look at the world glass half full and everything that’s run its course, you let go without a care. You move right on to the next entertaining endeavour. In fact, you devour all of life’s little and big pleasures. You’re jet set; you don’t even plan that carefully. Details in plans bore you, you would rather do the deed first, then see what the experience gets you. If it falls short, you leave on the spot to find the next interesting thing… or person. You leave people high and dry. You don’t even give a fuck how that makes them feel. You have other people lining up for you to fuck over.

You are the epitome of a cruel femme fatale. You’re this uniquely powerful individual who has like the strongest mentality ever. I’m sensing, either you’re a very young person who has the most advanced Soul wisdom/perspective ever, or you’re very advanced in Life (age wise) and have learnt a lot of lessons that have made you the indestructible Goddess that you are today.

your potion of seduction – Knight of Pentacles Rx

You are unpredictable to a lot of people. Like, they can’t really figure out what your next step would be. One minute they’re certain you’re this typa person who’d choose this typa action, only for you to choose that typa shit no one would’ve guessed you’re that type to do that. There’s always an element of surprise to you. Some love it, some hate it. You attract an equal balance of curious followers and cowards who want to quickly run away from your hot mess.

Those who can’t see through your web of exaggerated narratives are deep in your clutches, they can’t escape your poison—they want your poison—until you decide you’re bored with them and toss them aside without having given them the high they thought they’d get. A few who do get the high…you’ve kinda ruined them in that now you live in their minds forever. And you’re a bad dream for those poor souls.

Now they can’t stop thinking about you but no longer can they ever have access to you. You’ve taken them to that guilt trip and it lives with them for the rest of their lives. Not only in your story, but in their story, too, they’re the villains who have disappointed or hurt you and caused you to toss them away👏🏻

Realise to RELEASE! – Queen of Pentacles

You’re actually super capable of taking care of yourself. But something about the way you look or speak or tell a story is very unassuming. Maybe you’re tiny and cute; maybe you wear dainty accessories or adorn yourself with bunny or turtle plushies. Giving others the impression of a harmless fawn who’s in constant need of cuddles and support. Your admirers flock to help and serve you. They want to be strong and useful for you. They want to appear big in front of you. Help you get out of trouble’s way when YOU are the trouble.

People are usually slow to realise—if ever—that you’re a glamorous destroyer of people’s sanity. People easily melt at your soft, or high pitched, voice. Something about the way you express yourself is hypnotising and magnetic. People can’t get enough of you nor can they feel like they’ve proven themselves enough to you. People want your approval because you’re so beautiful and talented in a way they think they can never become.

People see that you are deep and knowledgeable. Flailing here and there, they find you mesmerising with the skillsets that you possess but lacking in places they think they can fill in. It’s like, they’re thinking to themselves, ‘She’s a 10, but…’ Those ‘buts’ are but lovely to them. And they’d be blind not to see how little fuck you give about any of their opinions.

Lilith’s Revenge🔻💛

Scorpio’s secret transformation – Gold Geographer (John Dee)

Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Healing

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

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spiteless-xo · 10 months

Note

397 eren??? (:

eek you guys keep picking really good prompts!!

also this is lowkey tbaw!eren 👀

list of prompts

╰┈➤ smut prompts - 397. "I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this."

ft. eren/fem!reader cw. unedited, explicit sexual content (oral, cum swallowing, semi-public sex), explicit language. 1,095 words.

eren jaeger: can i see you in one of the meeting rooms? eren jaeger: i need your help with something

you frown down at your computer screen, watching the messages from eren pop up on your work messenger app.

you: what is it?

eren jaeger: just help me eren jaeger: please? 🥺

against your better judgment, you agree, and he books a meeting room for the two of you for the next hour. you grab your things: your laptop, your coffee, a pen -- but you have no idea what you might need for this.

"where are you going?" jean asks, peeking over the privacy divider between your two desks.

"just a meeting," you explain, keeping things vague as you feel your chest heat in embarrassment. "i'll be done before lunch."

he nods in understanding and you walk off towards the meeting room in the back corner of the office. it's one of the larger ones -- too big for just the two of you -- with a large table in the centre of the room and a view of the city below from the two windowed walls. when you enter the room, eren is already there, waiting.

"what's going on?" you ask, closing the door behind you as your approach eren. you take a seat next to him at the table and you look over at him with furrowed brows. his face is flushed and his hairline is littered with beads of sweat -- he seems nervous. "are you ok?"

he looks over at you, pained, as he rolls his chair back to reveal his lap from underneath the table. he spreads his thighs open and you're immediately drawn to the bulge straining against the thigh of his slacks.

"eren!"

"i can't get rid of it," he hisses, squeezing his cock through his pants. "i need your help."

"how am i supposed to help?"

"suck it?" eren asks, like it's obvious, as he starts to work on undoing his belt.

"eren, what the fuck?" you whisper, eyes wide as you spin around to look at the door. "we're at the office!"

"it's not like we haven't hooked up here before."

when you turn back around, he's got his cock gripped in his hand. it's thick and red and already leaking precum from the tip. he pumps his fist along his length, smearing the precum around the tip with his thumb and his head falls back against the chair.

"fuck," he groans, "that feels so good."

despite your better judgment, you feel your mouth watering as you press your thighs tightly together. "are you close?"

"i'm really close," he pants, lifting his other hand to your thigh and squeezing it gently. "i just need your mouth on me -- it won't take long, i promise."

you take another cautionary glance toward the closed meeting room door before dropping to your knees between eren's thighs. "ok, but just this once," you concede.

you replace his hand with yours, squeezing him firmly and -- fuck, ok, he's really hard.

"holy shit, eren," you murmur, gathering spit on your tongue. "how did you get like this?"

"thinkin' about you," he pants, grasping the back of your head with his palm and gently guiding your head forward. "come on, i don't wanna get caught."

hovering your mouth over the head of his cock, you let a thick glob of drool spill from your mouth. he whimpers at the feeling of your spit sliding against his cock, and then bucks his hips forward as your hand spreads it across his length.

before he can urge you again, you wrap your lips around him and take him into your mouth.

"fuck," he hisses, biting his lip hard as he watches you bob up and down along his cock. you stroke the remaining length with your hand as you press your flat tongue firmly against the underside of his cock. "i didn't think you'd actually do it."

you look up at him with furrowed brows, but he pushes your head down onto him until the head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat. you gag lightly at the sudden intrusion before moving your hand to his base, relaxing your throat as you ease him gently deeper.

eren is a mess above you -- biting the knuckles of his free hand to muffle his moans as his other hand helps guide your pace along his cock. you can taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue and you clench your thighs together as you sit perched on your knees.

you want to touch yourself, but it's too risky. this is bad enough -- you don't want to get caught with your fingers buried inside of you, too!

"shit, i'm close," he groans. his hips start to buck up off the chair to force himself deeper down your throat, causing the chair to squeak loudly. "don't stop, don't stop."

he grabs a handful of your hair as he moves your head in tandem with his hips, fucking your mouth and filling the room with the wet sounds of his cock in your throat.

"fuck, did you remember to lock the door?" he asks, and you feel a chill running down your spine -- no, you didn't.

"someone might walk in --" he says, and suddenly he doesn't sound so desperate anymore -- now, he sounds sinister. "see you -- fuck -- on your knees with my dick down your throat -- you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

the thought has you pressing your palm between your legs and you can feel your pussy squeezing around nothing as eren uses your throat.

"fuck, i knew -- i knew you were a little freak," he laughs airily. "come on, baby -- open wide and take my cum."

he pulls you off of his cock completely, gripping the base as you kneel before him with your tongue hanging out of your mouth. you look up at him with glazed eyes from your arousal, panting heavily to catch your breath as you feel the first rope of cum across your tongue.

he groans loudly, eyes never leaving your face as he shoots his cum into your mouth until the last of it just spills over his fingers. you gather his cum on your tongue, playing with it in your open mouth before swallowing back his load.

"holy shit," he groans, stuffing his cum-covered fingers into your mouth to clean up, too. "we've got this room booked for the full hour -- lemme help you, now."

#eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x reader #eren smut #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #aot x reader #aot smut #snk x reader #snk smut #fem!reader #tiff.fic #tiff.ask #eren #eren.os

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aenyrapoets · 3 months

Text

౨ৎ 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 — 𝐨𝐧𝐞

content warning: fem!reader, slight yandere, suggestive sexual intercourse, obsessive behavior

details: kuai liang x female reader, quick dabble

“please tell me you love me,” he begged.

kuai liang was reduced to downright whining at this point. he would not stop until she told him those three little romantic words back to him. the pryomancer hugged her tighter and tighter, and were she to be honest, she could not tell if he was crying or not when her back was facing him.

the two lovers were laid together on their shared bed, with kuai liang’s arms wrapped tightly around (y/n)’s waist. as her back pressed against his chest, she felt like his held more possession rather than protectiveness—though, she did not mind.

“i love you,” he whispered genuinely against the skin of her cheek.

kuai liang stayed silent, waiting for her to respond. he planted messy kisses along her soft cheek—she didn’t even realize that familiar growing ache between her thighs, nor the positioning from his hips grinding against her.

her entire mind and body felt caged within the pryomancer’s tensed arms, and she felt she could melt under his warmth. (y/n) was held by someone she both loved and feared.

he turned her body around to face him, and then planted a kiss atop on her forehead so loving, that it was past her breaking point.

“i love you,” he repeated again.

there was nothing else to say or do now, expect to become submissive to him.

kuai laing’s hold on her was desperate itself. the way he held her clothes balling in his fist were rough and suggestive. his lips traveled from her head across her neck, both tempting her and pleading with her to answer him back. he wanted her more than anything else.

and as she moved her body to place underneath his much larger one, she had let go of every cautionary restraint she held on herself. she searched his brown eyes for any signs of deception, and she only saw his eyes clear.

“i love you, too,” she admitted below him, consenting to give herself away to him.

the pryomancer responded almost immediately with an uncanny smile of both relief and delight.

kuai liang pushed her down roughly, pulling apart the top of her dress almost desperately in an attempt to open it. he could not stop the desire that clouded his mind as her bare skin revealed itself to him, waiting to be touched.

she allowed him to take her, because she truly loved him, and she would be brutally lying if she said she didn't want this, too. she consensually guided his mouth to lock with her own deprived ones in an desperate need.

#mortal kombat dabble #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang imagine #kuai liang dabble

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blainesebastian · 1 year

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you fit right here (ccg universe)

words: 4,059 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (combined requests): anon requested: "first red carpet with Austin, anxiety and panic attack" + @aloversblog requested "paps accidently hurt the reader and austin is protective" notes: tweaked the prompt here and there but the general premise is the same! ccg universe but for the most part, could be read alone warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv

Sometimes on lazy Sunday mornings, when the sun hasn’t even pushed through the curtains yet, you find yourself thinking a lot about what’s happened to you in a short period of time and how you have to convince yourself that you’re not dreaming. No one wrote a how-to guide about what it was going to be like to date a celebrity and admittedly you’re figuring it out one step at a time. It’s definitely not always easy or what you expected but you find you wouldn’t trade it for anything either, even when you’re not quite sure how you fit into Austin’s world.

That isn’t to say that he hasn’t carved out space for you, because he has, but you worry that it won’t always make a difference. There are plenty of places in which you stick out, requesting that sense of belonging that is automatically given to others who have already earned it. It’ll take time, you know that, but it doesn’t remove the anxiety and waves of frustration as much as you’d like.

“You’re aware of how much that’s in your head?” Jillian, one of your best friends, had told you once. “Austin clearly doesn’t care and neither should you.”

And she’s right, you know she’s right. Austin doesn’t want you to be an actress, or the kid of a famous producer, a model, wrapped up in a celebrity story or Hollywood cautionary tale—he simply wants you to be you. No changes, no strings attached.

You let out a soft sigh as you press your cheek into your pillow, turning onto your one side.

You’re still working on accepting that.

Reaching over onto your nightstand, you turn your alarm off before it can interrupt the morning stillness. The mattress shifts underneath you as Austin turns, a soft shiver running down your spine as he wraps an arm around your torso. He shifts closer, letting out a long breath from his nose that flutters against the back of your neck. You can’t stop the smile from tugging the corners of your mouth as warmth pools in your stomach, working its way down to your knees.

This has to be one of your favorite morning routines, the slow morning wake-up, the way Austin’s body feels against your own, solid weight and soft skin. He presses a few kisses into your shoulder, mapping across until his nose and lips dip into a crevice near your neck—

You squirm a little, a soft huff leaving your mouth, “Stop—I’m ticklish there.” Though there’s really no indication in your voice that you actually want him to stop.

Austin smirks lightly but backs off, “I know.”

His hand slips down along your side, arm muscles flexing a little as he pulls you closer. Your head tips back, fitting perfectly against his shoulder, shifting so that your nose and lips brush along his jawline. You plant a kiss there, your hand settling along his own, tracing his fingers with your thumb.

“You got in late last night.”

He nods, brushing his lips on your temple, “Had a few drinks with some castmates after the late night talk show. I was gonna call you but—already knew what your answer would be.”

You chuckle lightly, amused—he definitely knows you. It was probably at least eleven, maybe even midnight. You were wrapped up in a burrito blanket by then. “Was it a good time?”

“Would have been better with you,” He squeezes you briefly, “I didn’t wake you when I came in, did I?”

You shake your head, turning so that you can face him. His touch slips down along your back and a pleasant noise leaves your lips as your hand moves up and under his shirt, “Barely, just remember you gettin’ into bed. Definitely not like that one time where you tripped over the comforter.”

Austin groans, tipping his head back a little in an eyeroll that makes you laugh, “Never gonna live that one down.”

“You knocked over the nightstand, almost squished my cat.”

“He was perfectly fine,” He attempts to kiss you but you playfully move your head in the opposite direction a few times. He grins before he finally clasps your chin between his fingers, keeping you still, and leans down to press his lips against yours.

“You want breakfast?” You ask, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his full lower lip.

He plants a kiss to the pad of your thumb before shaking his head, “Gonna sleep a bit more, got that fashion event tonight and that always comes with an after party.”

There’s a slight eyeroll before he lifts his hand to run it over his face, a yawn slipping out of his mouth. God, that’s right. You completely forgot about that fashion thing that Austin invited you to as his guest, and a small pit begins to build in your stomach. While you’ve gone with him to plenty Elvis red carpet events, this is the first one you’ll be attending that has nothing to do with his film. There’s a certain comfort that’s automatically gone—at least with Elvis events, you felt like people knew you, maybe there was even some less judgement given that you were on the same set as everyone else through filming.

This though is completely different—your first outside event as a couple. Nerve-wracking for a bunch of reasons you can name and even more that you can’t.

Austin tilts his head a little, looking down at you, his hand trailing up and down your arm, “You’re shaking.”

You swallow, pushing those thoughts away as you give him a soft smile, “Just cold.”

He hums lightly, holding your gaze as he tugs the blanket up to cover you a bit more. He doesn’t quite look like he believes you but he doesn’t press either. Instead, he continues to rub your arm, creating small, patterned circles with his fingers.

Austin’s quiet for a few moments, both of you lingering in touches and shared breathing. You’re almost convinced he’s fallen back asleep but you know he’s just giving you time to consider words in your mouth.

“I have no idea what to do with myself for tonight.”

There’s a soft smile on his lips, as if he might have considered you’d say something like that, “I asked one of my stylists to come over, she’s worked with me on a few past events. You’ll like her,” He brushes hair over your shoulder, “She’s nice.”

You offer him a small nod, the twinge of your lips tugging up into a tired smile. You appreciate the gesture, you know he’s trying his best to make you feel comfortable but you can’t help but feel as if you’re beating down waves of imposter syndrome. Maybe a bit more sleep for yourself wouldn’t hurt either, time to approach this event head on.

You deserve to attend it as Austin’s guest, not only that, but you deserve how happy Austin makes you as his girlfriend.

“C’mere,” He whispers, encouraging you to lean against him as he turns to lie on his back. Letting out a soft sigh, you drape your arm across his waist, molding yourself along his chest. You fit directly under his chin, like a puzzle piece slipping into place.

Your eyes flutter closed as you memorize the sound of his breathing, the thumping of his heartbeat lulling you back to sleep.

Penny, as it turns out, is definitely one of the nicest people you’ve met in the industry. You suppose you shouldn’t have suspected any less when Austin said he’d worked with her in the past. She’s not pushy or judgmental when she arrives, which maybe you were a little bit afraid of. You’ve experienced stylists on set that can offer crude feedback as if they’re doing you the favor of being critical.

This lovely older woman is the exact opposite—she brings a selection of dresses that match what Austin’s going to wear, which is a navy pin-stripe suit, and then tells you to pick whatever shade of makeup you think your skin tone wears best and she’ll provide a series of options for ‘looks’. When you choose a silver dress, she suggests brown shades for eyeshadow and lipstick with a hint of sparkle just to tie everything together.

You really appreciate her attention to detail.

“Austin is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever worked with,” Penny tells you as she takes your hair out of a heated curler, “He listens and speaks with intention, you know? Doesn’t matter who you are.”

You hum lightly, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. Not a lot has changed, not some big movie reveal or something like that. Just you with your hair curled and makeup professionally done, a mix of soft neutrals and silver highlights.

“Yeah, he’s wonderful,” You agree, smiling at her through the mirror, “It’s one of the things I love about him.”

She smiles, taking another curler out. She then reaches for a big round brush, slipping the prongs through your locks to give the waves body. A bit of hairspray…then all done.

“You should know, he talks quite a bit about you too.” Penny takes a step back, giving you a onceover. “Nothing but proud of you.”

You can’t stop your cheeks from kissing pink, shaking your head because you’re still working on accepting sentiments like that. That you do, in fact, deserve them. Taking a breath, you stand from the chair and move to go put your dress on—you’ve got about a half n hour before you have to get going to make the event on time. Which is apparently the fashionable ‘ten minutes late’ sort of thing.

“Well thank you,” You smile as Penny reaches for your hands to squeeze, “I really appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do too much,” She laughs, “You’re beautiful darling—I just added some sparkle.”

You swallow, holding her gaze for a long moment and suddenly you feel compelled to tell her this fear that’s been sitting in your chest like a flurry of moths, gnawing holes into your ribs.

“This is the first event that I’m going to as Austin’s girlfriend outside of Elvis and…” You hesitate, wondering if it sounds silly or foolish. “I’m just not sure how I fit.” And then you realize that…probably requires some sort of explanation or…evidence of support?

You shake your head, getting ready to take the whole conversation back when Penny moves a step forward with a somewhat knowing smile. She places a hand on your chest, right over your heart,

“For Austin, you fit right here—okay?” You hold Penny’s gaze for a long moment and nod because…even though you know that? For some reason, you really needed to hear it. It doesn’t completely remove all your apprehension, but it does help. “That’s all that matters.”

Hoping to keep as much comfort as this conversation provides in your back pocket, you move to get finished for tonight’s event.

Despite the fact that Austin isn’t on social media very much, when you move to get into the SUV to leave, he snaps a candid of you to put on his Instagram story.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” He says, pocketing his phone.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you approach him, resting your hand on his chest. “Stop.”

He’s really one to talk—he looks perfect, like straight out of a GQ magazine or something. The suit hugs him attractively, making your stomach swoop down to your knees, heat settling between your legs.

He hums, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you close, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, “Really nothin’ compared to what you had on last night before bed, but—”

You playfully push on his chest to get him to stop talking, a pretty flush resting on your cheeks.

Austin smiles, pulling the SUV door open for you to slip inside. The ride to the event is quiet, traffic a bit busy which…just ends up making your anxiety worse, the entire thing lengthened every time you stop at a red light. Running one of your hands nervously along your dress, you play with the soft fabric between your fingers, swallowing over your heartbeat in your ears as you look out the window.

You know it’s ridiculous to be scared about this red-carpet event—you know how Austin feels about you, you deserve to be there by his side, and even though others might see it differently? It doesn’t matter. The last thing you want to do is have Austin think that you can’t handle this.

“Y/N.”

You blink, turning your head to look at Austin who…seems like he’s been talking to you and you hadn’t even heard him. “What?”

His eyebrows crinkle together, his one hand moving across the middle of the backseat to rest over yours, “You alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” You give him a soft smile.

He holds your gaze for a long moment but doesn’t press, you’re sure he doesn’t believe you. “You know, we don’t have to stay at this thing for very long. I pretty much just need to be seen, talk to a few cameras, answer some questions, mingle after a few drinks.”

There’s a way out there, you can sense it but…really, you’re sure you’ll be fine after you have a glass or two of wine yourself. Just need to settle the nerves, take some deep breaths, follow Austin’s lead. It’ll be fine.

And you completely believe that until you begin to pull up, a block away, and see the massive crowd of people. Not just celebrities exiting their cars and walking onto the carpet, but a sea of fans embanked on both sides, lines upon lines of photographers and interviewers and—

Your heart begins pounding in your ears louder than before as the SUV pulls out of traffic to let you out and suddenly you feel utterly naked underneath this dress, a fraud, and it seems like something so obvious, tattooed on your forehead for everyone to see. You gulp down a breath, reaching a shaking hand for Austin’s forearm as he begins to open the door,

“Wait,” You choke out, “I can’t do this.”

Austin draws himself back into the SUV, frowning as he reaches to touch your shoulder, “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

A harsh laugh leaves your lips and you straighten your shoulders, almost wanting to get out of the car because it doesn’t feel like oxygen is circulating into your lungs. Like the dress is too tight and you just want to tear it right off your skin, or move, something to stop your hands from shaking.

“No, it’s not—I can’t breathe.”

“Hey,” Both of Austin’s hands settle firmly on your shoulders, squeezing, preventing you from pulling away, “You’re okay, shh, just breathe.”

“I c-can’t,” Your hand falls to your chest, taking in a pathetic breath, your head spinning. Your eyes begin to fill with tears as you panic and Austin shakes his head gently, inching closer to you in the back seat.

“Yes you can,” He assures, voice gentle, smooth like honey, “Look at me, you’re okay. Take a slow breath, try and hold it in your lungs.”

Your eyes seek out Austin’s gaze, calm and collected, and somehow that helps you do exactly as he asks. You draw a deep breath in your lungs, hold it, and then let it out. It’s shaky at first but it does the trick, the next breath easier than the last.

“There you go,” He whispers, bringing his hand up to stroke through your hair, settling along your neck as you calm down.

You sniffle, running your fingers along the underside of your one eye, trying so carefully not to mess up any makeup even though you feel like a splotched mess. Shaking your head, you allow Austin’s hand to slip around the back of your neck and pull you into his chest. You feel relief flood through your system, your eyes closing as you rest against him, face tucked into his neck.

He strokes a hand up and down your back, letting you take some time to breathe easier for a few minutes before,

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were feelin’ uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look at him. You can’t imagine how much of a mess you must look like now, all of Penny’s work gone to waste. “Because I was bein’ ridiculous.”

Austin shakes his head, lacing your fingers with his, “Don’t do that,” He says gently, “Your feelings are not ridiculous.”

You sniffle again, glancing down at the silver accent jewelry he has on, the cool metal of his rings pressing against your skin. “I just—I’ve been to events with you before, I don’t understand why this one has me so wigged out.”

Austin leans his shoulder against the backseat, glancing out the back window at the event down the street. Flashes of cameras, the roar of the crowd, the brightness of the lights. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand for a few moments,

“I understand more than anyone how overwhelming it can be, there’s no shame in that.” He offers you a soft smile, picking your hand up and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “There’s no timeline on this thing, you can take as much or as little as you need.”

His words plant seeds of comfort in your chest and it does make you feel better to know where his head is at with this whole thing. There’s a slight bit of foolishness heating the back of your neck because…a lot of this probably could have been avoided if you just would have talked to him in the first place. You replay his words a few times over in your mind and he’s right. There’s no blueprint to this thing, you gotta figure it out for yourself.

And what better way to do it than with Austin by your side?

Giving him a genuine smile, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you.”

Austin smiles back, squeezing your hand in his before motioning towards the event with a slight head nod, “Want to try again?”

And you know if you asked, you could skip this event with Austin altogether. But that’s the last thing you want to do. So you draw a soft breath into your chest and nod, pulling out a small compact to check your makeup, wipe away any smudges, and reapply a bit of lipstick. Turning in your seat, you open the SUV door and climb out, meeting Austin halfway.

He takes your hand into his again, easily lacing your fingers. Austin had once told you—the only opinions that matter are here in this trailer. You and me.

With that thought settling warmly in your chest, you straighten your shoulders, squeeze Austin’s hand and walk towards the red-carpet.

All in all, the event itself goes pretty smoothly. You don’t let yourself worry about how you're perceived by others, about what people might think about your relationship with Austin, whether they might ‘speculate’ about where you belong, where you fit. But it's right there, right next to Austin, your hands joined together as you walk down the carpet towards the event.

There's pausing every so often for photographs and interviews, but Austin always makes sure to include you. You hope he understands that it's not necessary, that you understand that you're still dipping your toes into this world, that Austin's place is a bit more etched out. After photos of him are taken, he opens his arm out towards you, inviting you to stand right next to him. When questions are thrown his way, he draws you into talking, or brings up the script you're writing.

Penny was right, he is proud of you—you can see it as plain as day on his face, the way his eyes kinda light up when you speak. It means more to you than you can put into words.

The event itself is fun—you mingle, have drinks, meet people in the industry that aren't just interested in you being Austin's girlfriend. You’re pleasantly surprised and feel a warm glow about the entire night wrap around you as you leave with Austin after a few hours. He shrugs off his suit jacket, placing it over your shoulders as he takes a look down the carpet for his usual driver.

There's a few lingering paps, getting photographs and attempting to ask questions about where you’re going for the night, if there's any other after parties that you’re interested in going to. You kinda let out a soft laugh because—you're interested in going home, maybe grabbing a large pizza and a bottle of wine.

Austin shares a look with you, giving you a smile—he knows you well.

You've learned, for the most part, that paps keep their distance while asking questions and taking photos but you also know that there's a select few that don't care about personal space. They want that one shot, that one question that'll set them apart from others, and unfortunately you can feel someone come up from behind you as you and Austin walk towards the curb to cross the street to where the SUV is parked.

It's a bad combination of not enough space and you looking over your shoulder instead of where you're stepping and you misjudge the curb, twisting your ankle. A sharp noise leaves your lips and you grab onto Austin's arm to steady yourself so you don't hit the pavement. And you think it'd be enough for the pap to back off but he keeps coming, shoving the camera in your face, reaching out his hand to...help maybe? You're not sure. Either way, Austin isn't having it.

"Don't touch her," He puts an arm out to create a barrier between you and the pap.

"Was an accident Austin," The pap replies, lowering his camera. You frown, lifting your ankle to briefly rub at the bone before putting your foot back on the ground again. Not terrible, you can walk on it.

"I don't care if it was an accident or not, you need to put some distance between yourself and my girlfriend, man. There's a certain respect that goes a long way."

You gently squeeze onto his forearm to assure him it's fine, but the pap at least seems to understand that, nodding before he backs up. Austin helps you cross the street, opening the door for you to get in, a breath of relief leaving your lips as the SUV pulls out into traffic and you head back home.

You sigh gently from the corner of your couch, in your pjs, with fuzzy socks absolutely needed. Your ankle is propped up on a small pillow, Austin coming over and shaking an ice pack before wrapping it in a dish towel. He gently lifts the pillow and slides underneath so that he’s sitting next to you, your ankle on his lap.

“Think it’ll need amputated or are you gonna make it?” He teases, the warm palm of his hand resting along your leg as he gently positions the ice pack.

A short laugh leaves your lips, “Are you calling me dramatic?” You crinkle your nose at him but you’re smiling, “I’m not the one who was yelling at the pap.”

Austin rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair. He’s got these large curls near his forehead today—literally unfair how beautiful he is. “Yeah, well, should be no surprise at this point that I’m protective of you.”

Giving your boyfriend a soft smile, something warm blooming in your chest, you reposition yourself to lean over and plant a kiss on his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. Austin hums lightly, turning chin to rest his lips along your forehead, a ghost of a kiss too.

Despite how the day started out, the nerves threatening to spill over, and now the swollen ankle—not a bad way to end the night. You certainly wouldn’t trade it for anything else. This, after all, is exactly where you fit. Right against Austin, perfectly.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

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qvrcll · 11 months

Text

a love like this

summary: the love shared between you and ellie blossoms, thuds, weakens and throbs. but never once does it die.

warnings: angst (comfort), nsfw implied in some parts, vomit mentioned, violence / alcohol / blood mentioned

a/n: had my playlist on blast whilst writing this and im 110% i rushed the end but god i love writing like this and for ellie too! enjoy :-)

Imagine Ellie fessing up the courage to confess to you; awkward, toothy and flimsy lipped, she cups her heart in her hands when she treads over the threshold of your home with nothing other than a circuitous smile twitching against her lips when another person greets her.

She preferred to be doing anything other than attending parties; Dina knew it, curtesy of their conversation a few weeks prior that hued just how much Ellie preferred the smell of coffee coloured journal pages, guitar strings, twines threaded without the heat and vigour of sweaty bodies, alcohol and the unbearable thought of returning home (“Really, Ellie, just come. You’ll have fun, I promise!”)(“I really, won’t, I promise. I’ll make it up to you… just… please?”)(“…Fine.”)

But this one was different, it always has been.

You were hosting it.

She offers a tight lipped smile to passing bodies, lets their denim and cargo and rough edged apparel scratch her fingers as she squeezes past them — (“Ellie, good to see you man!”)(“Hey, how you doing?”)

And maybe she’s in for some peace, a moment of respite. A room with windows and furniture as creaky and awkward as her. Her guitar, resting mothballed under her elbows when she rasps a breath.

And it’s different, like it always has been.

She starts to think of you — the reason for her arrival, her prior approval of even being here, in her sombre flannel and coarse converse sneakers. Your breathy laugh, the stint of your smile. It makes her heart jitter, makes her flatline and hit a curb, makes her think and think and think, until she’s not functioning manually and relying on muscle memory to guide her through the wooden walls of your house.

And it’s loud, hot and utterly chaotic — some rooms carry the smell of weed, others sex, some smell of love and others of quiet aptitude. But Ellie doesn’t stop for a greeting or invitation, not even a small gaze. She keeps at her pace, wandering like her feet had carried her a purpose all along.

It’s stupid.

I should’ve stayed home.

Why did I—

“Ellie!”

Her body is putty in seconds, molten and uncaring in their attempt to remain careless. Suddenly, she’s embarrassed, full of the emotion as she swings around and — god, have you ever looked at her with so sweet of a gaze before? It makes her throat bleed with desiccation, her hands clammy when they weren’t meant to be, clamouring for ground. But they’re disappointed and she’s anxious, swallowing harshly as she tries to remain idyllic.

“Hey, cool party,” she pauses, nearly bites her tongue whole for the absurdity of the comment, but continues when you puff a smile so large it makes her melt from the inside, “couldn’t have missed it for the life of me.”

You offer a laugh, tapping a hand against her arm in friendly fashion; it registers as a cautionary tale to the auburn haired girl, who compresses with vigour and eyeballs your palm for where it lay, splayed against her upper arm like it could burn her any moment. Her brain, however, is as quick as her and she shifts her eyes back to your own, overstrung with her ability to blotch your friendliness towards her.

God, Ellie, get it together.

“I’m so glad you came, Ellie, seriously,” she hears your voice break into blocks over the music, waning like crystal over pumice as her ears blur the line between rigour and words — but her heart is breathing, beating, creating new sounds and jitters as you press into her like you’ve known this antsy, scratchy emotion of longing as long as she has, trapped in your chest like leps. A jar of moths, disgusting and upsettingly real.

But Ellie’s brain hums a thought of conviction — get a grip.

She shifts, forcing herself to null her warmth against your touch, forcing the feeling to be as dense as the alcohol you’re nursing in your other hand, the walls that surround her as she flicks her gaze from your face to your nose, to your lips, to her shoes… but you’re light and feathery and the demiurge to all her sufferings — so she quickly begins to hate herself again, for the blush has only worsened.

She hopes you can barely see it.

And so the night progresses. You sway from person to person, but Ellie picks up on your decision to hover close to her — intentional or not, she’s brimming with crusted hope, melted itch and pinning as she tries to cram her crush on you in a box, and mentally sit on it, burn it, compile it in the deepest recesses of her mind.

But your touch, your eyes, the swing of your body and the flit of your air is like the poetry she scribbles on the forefront of her journal, like the endless lines divided into her sketches. And your words are constant, the music she creates and hitches with breaths so shallow, it begins to exhaust her.

And it becomes so real, in the moment almost everyone is filtered out of your house at midnight (except for her, sitting on the couch with a cup of juice, sodden and fresh with ripe feelings) that she’s loved you like she was your heart. And it hurts, worsens, when you take a seat beside her, materialising into the object of all her desires and travails.

“Some party that was,” your lips curl into a deviant smile, back sinking into the pillows like you need a rest. Ellie offers back a scoff, light and airy in tone. Still, she supposes this could be a million times worse — she has you, still. Hers or not, she has you.

“I enjoyed it,” a sip of her juice, “better than most other parties. So, that’s that.”

“Is that a compliment, Miss Williams?” you bite a smile, enjoying the look of faux repulsion that overwhelms her features.

“I don’t know, is it?” She asks, noting the dangerous plummet in her stomach when you rest your head on your hands, allowing your knees to bump against each other. Ellie swallows, and she hopes the action melts into the ebbing lights strewn all over the place, misplaced in the shadows you two are tucked into, bathed in the humming music that makes it way over — Slowdive, she recognises.

You perk up, craning your neck and slotting it atop her shoulder, stifling a giggle as she goes stock like cardboard underneath you — “I’d say a lot of what you do mean a lot of different things, but hey…”

Ellie is gutted. You have her wrapped around your finger.

“Example being?” She asks, her voice reverberating to you like waves against a crested coast — you alleviate your gaze, trying to read her again, trying to pry her eyes for malcontent or maybe a lapse in judgement, and Ellie has never seen you this unsure. This backtracked, this molten, and some part of her aches you feel it too, that numbing pain of loving someone to the point of insanity.

And then, your voice is like a lifeline.

“Like how you look at me.”

Her heart flatlines. Hits a curb.

“L-Like what?” She stutters, trying to find substantiality in your words, your tone, the way your eyes flicker to find hers — have you ever been afraid like this? Have you ever hesitated like this? Have you ever stared at her like this, clamouring against your insides like you’d burst?

But still, you smile, shift your gaze to the corner of the room. When Ellie reaches it, she spots discarded bottles of alcohol, piles of playing cards, a random shoe splayed against the table — it should make her laugh, but the silence is making her sick.

“Like you want to kiss me.”

Before Ellie can stomach the comment, your mouth opens again, and shuts and she noticed the sheen of sweat against your brow — “God, I don’t know why I said that. I just — I don’t know. I wish you would — maybe you don’t even want to and—“

“I do. I wanna kiss you.”

Ellie is short and sweet in all the right places and the meaning never leaves her words. She smiles when she sees you cracked with relief, burst with colour as your pinkie interlocks with hers so delicately, she might even have imagined it. But your skin is so real, so warm, it reminds her, again and again.

“Then kiss me” you murmur and Ellie flows forward, meeting you halfway with a small sigh and a heart so full it could be shared. And it’s so funny, how you sigh and lick back at her, exploring parts she’s afraid for anyone but you to see, flourishing against the curl of your fingers, the scrape of your tongue like she’s soaring.

She’s been yours for so long. She just hadn’t known you’d been hers too.

Thank god she had come to the party.

It’s different after Joel dies — she spits venom, bites her bullets and scratches against maps. Seattle, Santa Barbara. An aquarium, a camp ground, two rifles, a shot gun.

Everything is automatic when she’s dripping in blood.

She doesn’t love you any less — when she’s curled into herself, alone and beaten in a make-shift bed, she thinks of her limits, and yours too. Of pearly white picket fences, a farm so full it came lined out of a book. A home, walls papery light with paint, a ring. Dinner. Laughter, hugs, warm kisses. Swollen nights with air so hot, it suffocated her — but god, it’s you beneath her, swallowing her for what she is. Smiling at her, whispering I love you, and it’s you.

Those nights, with dreams as vivid as those, end with her pacing her room in worry. And then, immediately, a detour for your room.

And she’s red-rimmed, defeated and painted in exhaustion when you open the door — the hunt for Abby had done a number on her and as much as you’d usher her out of it, make her promise to never pick up a gun, the thought it easier said than done. And it makes you dampen with grief, how this girl you’d loved so fully had reverted to a cold body you’d hold to smooth out and clean the bruises and cuts, so she’d slit the neck of another without a thought.

Still, she’s here.

“Ellie?” You rasp, rubbing your eyes as the girl ripens in your vision. She’s ill with grief and it’s apparent in her shoulders, when she thuds into your room hesitantly and envelops you into a tight hug in the darkness. You blink, eyebrows creasing with worry, as you hold her body over the threshold.

“Ellie—“

“I’m sorry.”

The words seem so quiet and cracked around the edges, it makes your throat hurt. Makes your eyes dampen and hurt a little at the creases, and reminds you that she’s struggling against her skin too.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, guiding her back with a little step. She stifles, like she’s keeping a hold on her tears with nimble hands and craggily arms, keeping a tab on them so roughly it messes up the sewing she’s so meticulously crafted. The smell of ardour and the sting of her violence, all washing down with her tears and her fears and your warm, grounding arms.

But still, she bites her lip, professes herself to look up — “no, it’s not okay—I should—“

She’s silenced immediately when your lips take over.

She’s kissed you before, in living rooms and heated parties. At gatherings and staple lookouts. In the corner of horse stables and on that living room table neither of you love. On that couch, under the fluorescent light. And through tears, salt, scratches against her back as she worked her fingers within you, smirking against your numb lips as she had curled within you again with no vouch for relief.

But this had been different — there was no difficulty with kissing you, as it had always been. Her lips were chapped and rough and she felt awful, but you moved against her like she was made of porcelain.

How can you love me like this?

How can you kiss this broken thing?

How can I live knowing you pick up the pieces I break myself?

“Ellie—“ she hadn’t even noticed when she had begun to cry, just had known that her chest constricted with a pain so billowing, it touched, “Ellie, look at me. Look at me, please.”

She lifts her gaze, eyes red and black where they weren’t supposed to be.

“I love you. And I always have. And I will be here when you need me. Whenever you need me. God, Ellie, I just need you to come home to me,” you stifle a cough, aim to gain ground to comfort her. But it just breaks you, as you clamber against her hold and sink into her arms. It’s a funny thing, a broken thing holding something unbearably broken, but Ellie’s throat is jammed dry with nothing but small whimpers, as she holds you like air. Like relief. Like the small thought of ‘at-least I have this—have you.’

And the night washes away with grief, with glory, with your arms caging her so tightly it wanes the thought of his bloody, cracked skull away. The screams null and Ellie lets the two of you have this, this moment of peace when neither of you are aware, tangled into one another where neither of you know of the people she’d kill tomorrow, gutting them inside out for answers unspoken.

Maybe she didn’t have to know.

Loving you was enough.

But of course it wasn’t easy.

Ellie stumbles in the red-lit room when Abby, with her tight lipped anger and muscle, holds a blade to your neck.

Ellie’s head blares with the colour red, of signs screaming no, of memories where you had held her poor, beating heart in the palm of your hand.

Memories of you strewn against her bed, messy and angular with love seeping against your skin. Of your fingers and your hair. Of your eyes and that crook in your neck she’d seat her chin in forever.

Of the night you’d kissed her, 12 A.M., brown leather couch as she drifted away her fears. And the raw, smitten, scary, devotional way she had loved you, lord, the way she loved you.

“No—No, please. Please, leave her—“ she chokes, gambling with fate as she watches Abby press the blade against your skin, a tight red line forming. The image of you lifeless, spat in blood, crosses her mind and she nearly vomits against the cold, hard floor. But when Abby releases you, spitting some word about getting the hell out of here, Ellie crawls on her bones and skin to hold you against her.

She had known fear, again, that night. She had almost known loss for a second time.

After the ordeal, the two of you gather yourselves and settle into a routine on a farm house. Tommy arrives, breaking the cycle, turning Ellie against her convictions again, and it makes you scared of the day she’d leave.

Until you catch her red handed, bag in her hand, almost leaving without a word.

“Ellie? What are you doing?” you’re perplexed, heart aching with an impossibly large feeling, biting you completely. Ellie is cold, gaze vacant as she fights against your hands, your touch, crumbles your advances as you tell her to stop and come back to bed. To forget this. To remember you.

“I have to finish it,” she says, and the words come out with difficulty. You see the picture of vengeance in her but you don’t care — you curse, turn your back against her, cry into your fist as she huffs.

Why can’t you hug me?

Why can’t you come back to bed?

Why can’t we just tend to sheep in the morning?

The words are hitched in your throat, swallowed unknowingly by your tears as the threat of her abandonment becomes all too real — you question her, interrogate her. She answers, spits back. (“You were just going to leave without a word?!”)(“It’s not easy for me.”)

Eventually, the door shuts with a thud and you bite into your hand, knowing she’s left already. You read the clock, the blurry numbers of the early morning making it all worse — it all doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t seem real. Ellie’s gone, reworked your importance in her life, thrown away those memories like augmented fragments into the dirt, crushed it under a boot.

That day, you pack pack your heart away into that place.

And when Ellie treks to find Abby, to finish it, she feels regret. She feels it when she catches Abby, chokes her in the salty membrane of the sea, when she closes her eyes. Struggles against her breathing as she remembers you.

That night on the couch, a vibrant memory. Your kisses against the corner of her mouth, your hand trailing up the expanse of her back just beneath her shirt, the way your legs lingered on hers in the early morning hours. Your laughter and the stretch of your smile and you and you and you.

And she lets go — “just take him.”

The trek back home is bloodier and more bruised. She stumbles against grass and cries into her hand pathetically. She knows you like the back her hand — but she’s gone too far now. There was nothing you could’ve done to make her stay and it made her sick with spit, with vomit. She curses, biting her tongue when familiar buckwheat brushes her skin and she knows she’s home.

She threads carefully, taking that familiar route back. It’s been some time, but the smell of the place is familiar. The chickens, the sheep, the broom, the table, the fence — all sodden with memories and love. As she ambles up the steps, she crumbles against the door, her hand trembling.

Her body buzzed with nerves and a familiar feeling of sickness so deep it drowned her, until the door creaked open and you stood there, eyes wide in horror at her arrival.

You thought you’d gone mad.

She purses her lips, bites them when you near her with out-stretched hands, and then gasps when you slam a hand into her side, fall into her as you fight her to the floor.

“What the fuck, Ellie!” you screech, balancing against one knee as you force yourself to hate her. Your face is wrinkled with grief, with aimless pain, it makes Ellie scramble for something to hold onto, to press into the floor as though it would let her sink into the wooden surface as a whole — but your rage, your anger, bleeds into her as she silently chokes, weeps.

Your words are fuelled by rage, anger, but never hate. You both barely notice, even after you’d quietened to catch your breath. And a few seconds pass, where you quickly thrust your palm to calm the onslaught of tears, the strength of your heaves as you cried from between her lap. Ellie stiffens and then melts with wracking sobs, trying to calm down for your sake, tentatively touching your hands to reveal your grief for what it was, to her.

But when you open your eyes, they’re caught with the excess blood against her. The image of her new self, dragged back from the hell she sought and rejected, becomes too real — the jaunting splice of skin against her hip, the cut on her cheek, the blood against her brow, the missing chunk of fingers. Her pain, her defeat, becomes too mellow for you to swallow, and before either of you know, you gather her up in your arms so swiftly it knocks the air out of her.

And it makes Ellie weep, hard and raw, into that familiar crook of your neck, where you pick her up amongst other things.

“I’m so sorry—you were right I shouldn’t—“

“Ellie.”

She gazes up, as you scrub against her back later in the shower, gaze rubbed raw with forgiveness.

“Do you remember what I said to you on that couch at my party?”

She ponders, scratchy, wracked with tears as she chuckles lightly.

“That I looked like I wanted to kiss you?”

You nod, lathering soap against the suds of dirt. Cleanse her. Let her shine anew.

“I still think that, even after all these years, And that’s enough for me,” you grin softly, kissing the soft skin of her shoulders, holding her as she breaks against you, “You’re enough for me.”

This was enough.

You were enough for her.

But she wasn’t sure if she was enough for you.

“I wish I could give you more,” she bites the words, holding you like you’d disappear. You towel dry her hair, seat her in bed and turn off the lights, glancing into her eyes and rinsing them for vigour as you tucked a stray hair behind her ear, shifted the blanket to gain better access to hold her gingerly around her wounds.

“You want to give me more?” your words are hot on her lips, as her fingers graze your hips, “just give me yourself. I stayed in this god forsaken house because I loved you through the hurt — just let me love you,” you cradle the words, let your heart spew out in the cold open.

And Ellie shadows it with her own calloused palm, shaky, but genuine. Real. Awkward but registered in her conviction as she nods, presses her mouth again yours to reconcile the hurt, knowing she’d have this and you, evermore, even as time ambled on.

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