mars maiden

you examine your face in the mirror, expression scrunched up in thought. you and your girlfriend have a party to go to tonight, and you’re pondering what to do with your makeup. it’s just a casual hangout, but you always want to look nice. behind you in the reflection is vi, arms wrapped around your waist like you’ll disappear if she lets go. you’re perched on her lap, the way you always are when you do your makeup- vi swears she just likes to watch, but more often than not, your makeup is the last thing she’s focused on. you’ve barely sat down before she’s buried her face into your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your skin while you try your best to concentrate on your makeup.

“do you think i should put my blush below my eyes or like on my cheekbones?” you wonder aloud, pursing your lips thoughtfully at your reflection in your vanity. you tilt your head to the side for a better angle. “or maybe i should do my concealer first and then decide?”

“whatever you feel like,” vi mumbles absently into the crook of your neck, dropping feather-light kisses from your jawline down to your shoulder. her voice is muffled by your skin, and she takes a long inhale. “look pretty either way.”

you consider this, then set the pan of blush back down. “mm… it’s whatever. i’ll just do my concealer first and then decide. but what about for my lips? my outfit is pink, so i want it to coordinate,” you muse, more to yourself than your girlfriend, because she’s obviously not listening. you lean over your desk, vi’s arms around your waist holding fast, and pluck two pink tubes of lip gloss from their shelf before sitting back and twisting slightly in vi’s lap, trying to get her attention. “do you like the nude pink or the brighter pink? i’m kind of into the bright one, but i don’t want it to look tacky.”

vi glances up from your shoulder with slightly hooded eyes, her hand already sneaking under your top. she sighs and wrinkles her nose, vaguely irritated that you’re all distracted with your makeup. in her opinion, this time would be much better spent on getting in a quick fuck before you have to go; but admittedly it is cute watching you fuss over your face like this, even if vi thinks it’s perfect as is. “what’s the difference? they’re both pink.”

you’re bewildered at vi’s indifference. “what do you mean, what’s the difference? they’re completely different shades!” you insist, like it’s obvious, because it is, but vi’s not paying a lick of attention. seeing as she’s totally useless, you turn to glance at your outfit hanging on the closet door. “hmm. maybe i’ll just go with the one that’s closest to the color of my top.”

you lift both glosses to eye-level to compare, and vi takes the chance to slip her hands under the hem of your slightly lifted tank top to squeeze your tits unceremoniously, flicking her thumbs over your nipples. she lifts her head to kiss your cheek. “sounds good to me.”

the way she suddenly grips your breasts makes you squeak in surprise, and you whirl around in her lap to shoot her a look. “you’re distracting me! we need to be at this thing in like an hour and i’ve barely started on my base,” you scold vi. she hums dismissively.

“it’s not even like you need it,” she murmurs, rolling a nipple in between her fingers until it hardens beneath her touch, making you squirm. she adds, unimpressed, “too many people come up to you already.”

you just scoff at that. vi clearly has no plans of leaving you alone, so you resign yourself to just trying to ignore her— not the easiest thing in the world, because you can never resist when she plays with your breasts, but you’re on a time crunch. “anyway. i definitely think the brighter one matches better,” you decide, satisfied. “so that means i’ll just do my blush the same color.”

she mumbles her agreement against you, still idly fondling your tits. “okay, sweet girl.”

vi lets you get through your base routine without distracting you too much more, but of course the second you need to be still to do your eyeliner, that’s when she decides to lick a slow, wet stripe up your neck, from your shoulder to your ear, and of course you can’t help but react to that, squealing and jerking your head away. “vi! stop, i’m trying to do my eyeliner!”

vi laughs out loud, delighted at your reaction, and delivers a sharp slap to your thigh that makes you jump again. “oh, come on, baby. i barely did anything.”

still, she relents, nuzzling her nose back into your neck as she breathes you in. “just finish your makeup already, ‘kay?”

“i’d have already been done if you’d just cut it out,” you insist, trying to sound stern, but the blush and the smile that breaks across your face gives you away. luckily, she actually lets you finish your makeup, and after one last once-over, you put down your setting spray with a pleased sigh.

you turn around in vi’s lap fully now, straddling her thighs with yours on either side of hers. “so? what do we think about the final look?” you ask earnestly, smiling brightly as you show off your makeup. “it’s not too crazy?”

vi grins right back up at you— you’re just so endearing, framing your face with your hands and puckering your lips to show off your makeup— which, despite all of her interference, admittedly did turn out cute. her hands slide from your waist to grip your ass as she straightens up to kiss you, purposefully slow and deep, so that when she finally does let you up for air, she gets the sheer satisfaction of seeing your freshly done lip gloss smeared all around your mouth.

you whip right back around to face your mirror again, horrified at the mess of pink smudged over your face. “vi! that was my lip gloss!”

The hot Fijian sun beats down on the villa, the air already heavy with humidity as the islanders begin to stir beside their partners.

In one bed, Aang and Katara remain tangled in each other's arms. Katara is the first to wake, sitting up almost instinctively as the warmth settles over the room. Beside her, Aang lets out a quiet groan, tightening his hold in a half-hearted attempt to keep her from leaving.

The other couples, Zuko and Waika, Sokka and Syzu, and Toph and Kuse, are still asleep, though a few begin to stir when Katara leans down to press a quick kiss to Aang's forehead before slipping away to take a refreshing shower.

One by one, the women slip out of bed and head toward the bathroom, all except Toph, who remains buried beneath her blankets. Their departures leave behind a chorus of sleepy sighs from the men they leave in their wake.

"So," Zuko says, pulling his sleep shirt over his head with a slight grimace as the damp fabric clings to his skin. "What do you guys think of your girls?"

"I wouldn't call her my girl yet," Sokka replies, studying his reflection while trying to tame his unruly bedhead. "Syzu's definitely my type, but we're still getting to know each other. I'm not closing myself off this early."

Zuko hums in agreement before casting his gaze to Aang, who was sheepishly looking back at the other two. "And you?"

Aang smiles to himself, rubbing the back of his head. "I really like Katara."

Sokka's eyes roll so dramatically that both boys swear they nearly disappear into the back of his head. "We know," he says flatly. "You haven't taken your eyes off my sister since the first coupling."

A fierce blush spreads like fire across Aang’s ivory skin. His muscled arm lifts upwards, the palm of his slightly rough hand coming to rest against his bald head and rubbing at it in the same nervous gesture he often did in his confessionals. "Has it really been that obvious?"

"Painfully."

Aang lets out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing his scalp once more. "Right…"

"What about you, Toph?"

The three of them turn toward the final bed, only to find the earthbender sprawled across the mattress, blankets twisted around her legs. Her mouth hangs slightly open as quiet breaths escape her, and her hair has become a frizzy mess from a restless night.

"Toph." Sokka strides over and pulls the comforter off her in one swift motion. "Come on. We have to make breakfast before the girls get back."

"Quit nagging me," Toph mutters, reaching for the blanket and attempting to pull it onto herself again but failing. "I'm sleeping."

"You've been sleeping."

"And I'd like to continue."

A reluctant smile tugs at Zuko's lips before he speaks. "You should probably get up," he says. "Waika mentioned Kuse hasn't exactly been impressed with your breakfasts."

That earns the first, proper response from the earthbender. Toph cracks one eye open before slowly pushing herself upright. "…She said that?"

"That's what I heard." With that, Zuko disappears into the bathroom, leaving the others alone.

Sokka throws the comforter back at Toph, who easily catches it with one hand and throws it back on the bed as she moves to stand up. "I'm just saying, maybe put in a little more effort. If Kuse starts exploring other connections, don't act surprised."

"Kuse and I aren't closed off." Toph responds, a slightly grumble catching the edges of her voice.

"No," Sokka agrees. "You're not."

"If she wants to get to know someone else, that's her choice." Toph stretches, another yawn escaping her. "I'm not going to stop her."

Aang watches her for a moment before speaking. "…Do you even like her?"

Toph stills. For a long moment, she says nothing before turning toward the door of the shared bedroom.

᯽

"Do I like Kuse?"

Toph leans back in the confessional chair, idly rolling a pebble between her fingers. With the smallest movement of her hand, the stone bends to her will, stretching into a narrow spike before collapsing back into a smooth sphere.

"I mean…" she shrugs. "She's funny. Confident. Doesn't take herself too seriously."

The pebble spins lazily in the air.

"But it feels like she's always got something to say about the way I do things."

The sphere sharpens again before splitting neatly into two pieces.

"And she doesn't bend."

She watches the fragments hover in silence.

"I grew up around benders. Almost everyone I know bends. It's hard to picture building a life with someone who doesn't."

The stones crumble into dust and fall into her waiting palm.

"…Maybe that's unfair." A faint frown crosses her face. "I don't know. There isn't really anyone else here I'm interested in, either. So…I think I'm going to try being more open when it comes to exploring things with her."

᯽

Inside the glam room, Waika, Katara, Syzu, and Kuse sit perched on blush pink barstools, chatting as they work through their morning routines.

Katara finishes first, her makeup routine consisting of nothing more than concealer, a touch of blush and contour, mascara, and a swipe of pink lip gloss. She's laughing with Syzu, who has just asked what she thinks of Aang.

"He's really sweet," Katara says, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Very affectionate, too."

The other women exchange knowing smiles.

Waika tilts her head. "Do you ever feel like he comes on a little strong?"

Katara considers the question for a moment before shaking her head.

"I wouldn't say strong." She smooths a final layer of lip gloss across her lips. "I think he's just very honest about how he feels. If he likes someone, you'll know it."

"See, I like that," Kuse says, adjusting the straps of her light brown bikini top in the mirror. "I like feeling wanted. If a guy's too laid-back, I start wondering if he's even interested."

"I'm kind of the opposite," Waika admits with a small shrug as she finishes the wing of her eyeliner. "I like someone who's independent. Someone who has his own life, handles his responsibilities, and still comes home excited to see me."

Syzu nods. "That's exactly why I'm enjoying getting to know Sokka. He seems like he has that balance."

Katara laughs softly. "You're lucky you're meeting the grown-up version of him. When we were kids…" She trails off with an amused shake of her head. "Let's just say he's matured a lot."

Syzu laughs alongside Katara. "I can definitely see some of that in his humor."

As if summoned by the conversation, Aang steps through the open doorway, a bright smile immediately finding his face the moment his eyes meet Katara's.

"Good morning," he says warmly, setting a magenta plate down in front of her. Fluffy scrambled eggs, a stack of golden pancakes, and neatly arranged slices of fresh fruit decorate the dish.

"Good morning," Katara replies, returning his smile before leaning up to press a quick kiss against his cheek.

Aang's grin widens ever so slightly.

Sokka enters a moment later, carrying another plate over to Syzu while exchanging an easy "Morning." Close behind him, Zuko and Toph each make their way toward their respective partners.

Though Toph cannot see it, the moment she approaches, Kuse's smile falters almost imperceptibly.

"Morning," Toph says, holding out the plate she'd prepared. "Made you breakfast."

"Thank you," Kuse replies, drawing out the last syllable just enough for it to sound almost uncertain. She accepts the plate with both hands before quickly setting it on the vanity.

Instead, she steps forward and wraps Toph in a brief side hug. Toph returns the gesture with a small pat against her back before the pair separate.

With breakfast delivered, the islanders exchange a few lingering smiles and kisses before the boys and Toph file out of the glam room, leaving the women to enjoy the quiet once more.

For a few moments, only the clink of forks against ceramic fills the room.

Katara is the first to take a bite, humming softly in approval. "This is really good."

Syzu nods, her mouth full of fluffy, syrupy pancakes. "Sokka definitely knows his way around a kitchen."

Waika smiles as she cuts into her eggs. "I'll give Zuko this, he seasons everything perfectly."

Across the vanity, Kuse simply stares at the untouched plate in front of her.

The eggs look overcooked around the edges, the pancakes are unevenly stacked, and the fruit is scattered haphazardly across the plate. It isn't inedible by any means, but compared to everyone else's breakfasts, it looks rushed.

She looks away from the food a sighs, the sound catching Katara's attention immediately. The water tribe girl's eyes soften into a sympathetic gaze. She knew Toph to be rough around the edges sometimes, but it was clear to her that the earthbender had tried her best despite her limitations.

"...You're not eating?" Katara asks queitly.

Kuse lets out an awkward laugh. "I know this is going to sound really bad..."

The other three women look over.

"...Can I try some of yours?"

Without hesitation, Katara slides her plate between them. "Of course."

Kuse spears a small piece of pancake with her fork before taking a bite.

Her eyebrows lift. "Oh."

"What?" Syzu asks, her eyebrows creased together with slight worry.

"...It's actually really good." A sheepish smile spreads across Kuse's face before she glances back toward her own untouched breakfast. "I feel kind of bad."

Waika follows her gaze. "You haven't even tried Toph's."

"I know." Kuse sighs. "I just...couldn't get past how it looked."

The four women fall quiet.

Katara rests her chin in her palm. "Maybe you should pull her."

"Yeah, I think I will." Kuse picks absentmindedly at one of the strawberries decorating Toph's plate.

᯽

Kuse descends the stairs from the glam room into the heart of the villa behind the girls. She hesitates for a moment on the last step, but before she can psych herself out Katara gives her shoulder a slight nudge, and an encouraging look.

Kuse lets out a deep breath and nods before taking the last step down and lingering around kitchen. Toph was there, talking with Sokka who was washing the dishes he'd used to make Syzu's breakfast.

"Toph, can I pull you for a chat?"

Toph turns her head in Kuse's direction and nods. The earthbender had abandoned the comfortable shirt she'd been wearing to sleep and now sported bandages across her chest, allowing Kuse to see her her muscly arms better. The green swim trunks she was wearing also exposed her thighs as she kicked off the sink counter she was leaning on. "Sure."

Toph followed behind Kuse's lead, who took her to the cusioned daybeds that overlooked the pool. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Kuse only shifts in her seat uncomfortably and sighs. Sensing her nervousness, Toph breaks the silence first.

"So..." She leans back against the cushions, one of her arms coming up to cushion the back of her head. "Did you like breakfast?"

Kuse's heart skips. She takes a second to lick her lips before answering. "...Yeah."

A beat passes.

"It was good."

Toph tilts her head in the girl's direction, her expression so neutral that Kuse feels almost blind sighted at her next words."...You're lying."

Kuse blinks. "What?"

"You hesitated." Toph shrugs, "Your heart, it started racing the second I asked."

The firebender's eyes shift to her hands, the heat of embarrassment embellishing her body like a suffocating blanket.

"And you never ate it." Toph finishes.

Silence stretches between them.

"...I'm sorry," Kuse admits quietly. "It wasn't bad."

Toph waits. Although she admits it hurt to hear that Kuse hadn't bothered to try the food she had made, part of her almost felt like they were starting to find major holes in their connection.

"It just..." Kuse rubs the back of her neck. "It didn't look very appetizing."

Another long pause cam after her sentence.

"I got the guys to help me make it," Toph says matter-of-factly. "I don't really cook."

"I figured." Kuse's stiff body language clearly conveys that she's on edge, and everyone else in the villa could spot it from a mile away. Syzu and Waika give each other a knowing glance from inside the pool.

"I was trying." Toph adds. "I heard you didn't like how I'd been cooking the last few days so..." She trails off, finding it almost futile to continue what she'd been trying to express.

Kuse closes her eyes and grimaces. "You heard that?"

Toph simply nods. "You could've told me, y'know?"

"I thought I could just suck it up—” Kuse closes her mouth quickly, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that.”

Neither of them speaks for several long seconds.

Finally, Kuse exhales, mentally preparing herself for the possible fallout of the words she's going to say. "...There's something else."

Toph stretches her arm instinctively so that she can turn her attention fully toward her.

"I think..." Kuse begins carefully, "...I think I want to start exploring other connections."

Toph's expression barely changes. "Okay."

Kuse frowns slightly. "...That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?" The earthbender shrugs, her lips tilting downward.

"I don't know."

Toph lets out a quiet breath. "We're not closed off. We never agreed to be closed off."

Kuse purses her lips, almost looking like she regrets bringing up the topic.

"And if you think you'll find someone you're more compatible with..." Toph trails off before she continues. "...then you should."

Kuse's blue eyes dip downward to study the earthbender's physique again. "I am attracted to you."

Toph raises an eyebrow. She wishes she could say the same about her, but without eyesight, she could only assess on what she felt. And while she could tell Kuse was conventionally attractive, the recent events that had unfolded between them were making her doubt their emotional compatibility.

"But I feel like that's all it's been." Kuse says. "We flirt."

Toph nods.

"We get along."

Another nod.

"But I don't feel like we're really getting to know each other."

Toph doesn't answer right away. "...Fair enough."

᯽

"I knew she was lying."

Toph sits comfortably in the confessional chair, idly rolling the pebble from her previous interview over the backs of her fingers. It glides effortlessly between each knuckle before lifting into the air.

"People hear 'blind' and think that's all I am." The stone stretches into a thin ribbon before curling back into a sphere. "I can't see faces."

A small, confident smirk tugs at her lips, though it never quite reaches her eyes.

"But I hear hesitation." The pebble pauses midair. "I hear someone's heartbeat pick up."

It cracks cleanly down the middle.

"I hear when someone's trying too hard to sound convincing."

She catches both halves in one hand easily, letting them rest against her palm.

"Does it suck hearing that Kuse isn't as interested in me as I thought she was?" She lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "Yeah. I'm not exactly used to being rejected."

She rolls the two pieces of stone between her fingers before continuing.

"And it's not like I'm the type to jump into relationships." She shrugs. "Most people don't really hold my attention long enough for me to care."

A brief silence follows.

"So…this one stings a little more than I'd like to admit."

She exhales quietly, the admission sounding almost foreign coming from her.

"But I'd rather hear something that hurts than something that isn't true."

The stones lift into the air once more.

"The breakfast wasn't really the issue." She leans forward to rest her arms on her legs whilst she spreads them. "It was that she'd rather tell me what she thought I wanted to hear than trust me enough to tell me the truth."

᯽

"I really am attracted to Toph." Kuse sits cross-legged in the confessional, her eyes downcast. "I think she's beautiful, and confident. ...Maybe even a little intimidating."

The small smile she had been kindling fades into something more contemplative.

"But attraction only gets you so far." She sighs. "I don't feel like we're building anything deeper."

Kuse glances toward the camera.

"And if I'm being honest..." She pauses. "I don't think either of us is giving the other what we're looking for." She offers a small, apologetic smile. "I just don't know."

᯽

After her conversation with Kuse comes to an end, Toph pushes herself off the daybed with a quiet sigh. She brushes the sand from the backs of her legs before making her way toward the kitchen, her seismic sense quickly picking up the familiar vibrations of Sokka's footsteps.

He was still there.

Or, at least, pretending to be.

The rhythmic clink of dishes against the sink had become noticeably slower ever since she'd sat down with Kuse. If Toph had to guess, he'd probably only managed to wash the same plate three times over while listening in on every word of their conversation.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips despite herself.

She rounds the kitchen island, already opening her mouth to call him out.

Before she gets the chance—

Ding!

The sharp chime cuts through the villa like a lightning strike. The various conversations the other islanders had been holding die instantly.

Everyone in the villa freezes before instinctively turning toward the source of the sound, anticipation written across nearly every face.

Syzu's eyes light up. "I got a text!" she exclaims, already fumbling for her phone as an excited grin spreads across her face.

The girls erupt into a chorus of squeals and laughter.

"No!"

"Oh my goshh!"

"Read it!"

The girls begin to squeal, while the boys exchange noticeably more apprehensive glances.

Syzu clears her throat dramatically before reading aloud.

"'Islanders, it's time to undress and get ready for bed, because tonight the villa will be hosting a slumber party. Try not to dirty the sheets! #PillowTalk #SleepTight'"

A beat of silence passes.

"…That's it?" Sokka asks, his brows knitting together.

Waika snorts. "I don't think production's sending us to bed in the middle of the day just for fun."

"There's definitely a catch," Zuko says, folding his arms across his chest.

"I don't like the sound of 'slumber party,'" Katara admits, eyeing the phone suspiciously. "That usually means a challenge."

"And challenges usually mean drama," Kuse mutters under her breath.

Toph lets out a quiet huff through her nose.

"Guess we'll find out."

Sokka finally tears his attention away from the phone and looks toward Toph, one eyebrow lifting knowingly.

"Talk after the challenge?"

Toph scoffs. "You weren't even trying to be subtle, were you?"

He raises his arms in defense. "I was washing dishes."

"You've been washing the same bowl for the last ten minutes."

"…It was a really dirty bowl."

Toph elbows Sokka in the side, making him let out a surprised sound and groan in pain. "Right." She folds her arms across her chest, turning her attention back toward the group. "After the challenge."

The islanders break off into their respective groups to get ready for the challenge. By the time everyone retreats indoors, the Fijian sky has surrendered to the night, an endless blanket of black stretching over the villa. Neon lights bathe the walkways and pool in shades of pink, purple, and blue, while countless stars shimmer overhead.

Inside the glam room, the girls slip into matching white lingerie sets, each styled slightly differently to suit their personalities. The room buzzes with laughter as they touch up the makeup softened by the island heat and curl loose strands of hair that had escaped throughout the day.

"I need to see all of our partners in boxers," Syzu giggles, fastening a white garter around her thigh before admiring the result in the mirror.

Waika laughs, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the lace hugging her waist.

"I know! The lingerie they gave us is gorgeous." She turns from side to side before flashing the girls a grin. "We all look hot."

Katara adjusts the straps resting on her shoulders, cheeks dusted pink. "I just hope Aang doesn't get too flustered."

"Oh, he's absolutely going to," Kuse teases with a laugh, applying one final coat of gloss. "He's gonna combust."

Katara hides a smile behind her hand.

Meanwhile, across the hall, the boys and Toph prepare in the bedroom. The men are dressed in fitted white boxer briefs, while Toph, after firmly refusing anything with lace, was given loose white boxers and a matching tube top that was much more comfortable.

Sokka looks over at her outfit and smirks. "Didn't know production made exceptions."

"They didn't," Toph replies flatly. "I told them I'd walk out naked if they didn't give me something that covered more than my crotch and tits.”

Aang nearly chokes on the sip of water he'd just taken.

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. "…Somehow, I believe that you would."

Toph barks a laugh before she responds. "They made the right choice."

A quiet chuckle passes through the room before Zuko claps his hands together. "Alright," he says. "Let's go get the girls."

The group follows him downstairs, stopping at the foot of the staircase leading to the glam room.

One by one, anticipation settles over them.

Aang bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, an eager smile threatening to break across his face despite the obvious nerves in his stomach.

Sokka rubs his hands together with barely contained excitement. "I've been waiting for this all day."

Zuko stands with his arms folded across his chest, his expression composed, though the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips gives away his curiosity.

And Toph…

Toph shifts her weight from one foot to the other, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her boxers. Outwardly, she looks as relaxed as ever.

Inwardly, though, her mind keeps drifting back to the conversation she'd had with Kuse.

She'd accepted it.

She meant every word she'd said.

Still…

The knot sitting low in her chest hadn't quite loosened.

Before she has the chance to dwell on it any longer, the doors to the glam room swing open.

Katara and Kuse are the first to emerge from the glam room, carefully making their way down the steps hand in hand to steady themselves on their heels. Waika and Syzu follow close behind, laughing as they do the same. The girls are all smiles, only Kuse's being more pensive than the rest.

The boys instinctively gravitate toward their partners. Toph, however, can only focus on how tense Kuse has become. Every shift of her weight, every subtle change in her breathing carries through the ground beneath them.

Without a word, Toph extends a hand.

Kuse accepts it almost immediately.

"You good?" Toph asks quietly.

Kuse nods before realizing the gesture alone isn't enough. "Yeah," she says quickly. "I'm good."

Together, the islanders make their way toward the center of the villa, only to stop short at the sight before them.

Where the lawn had been only hours earlier now sits an enormous pristine white bed, complete with an ornate bedframe, impossibly fluffy pillows, and enough blankets to fit the entire villa.

"So that's…normal," Sokka mutters.

Before anyone can speculate further, the familiar click of heels echoes across the stone walkway.

Every head turns.

Azula steps into the villa in a floor-length crimson silk gown, the rich red fabric standing out boldly against the sea of white surrounding her. She moves with effortless confidence, her posture flawless and her expression perfectly composed.

"Good evening, Islanders."

The chatter dies instantly. Even Zuko can't suppress the small, awkward smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he still couldn't believe he had chosen to be on the season of Love Island that his sister would be hosting.

"Oh my spirits," Waika breathes, tightening her grip around Zuko's forearm. "You look incredible."

"You look amazing!" Syzu calls over the applause breaking out among the islanders.

Azula acknowledges the compliments with nothing more than the slightest inclination of her head before letting her golden eyes drift toward the oversized bed.

One of her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "It seems you've already made yourselves comfortable."

The islanders glance toward the bed.

The once-pristine sheets are already rumpled from everyone excitedly climbing onto it moments earlier.

Katara winces. "…Whoops."

Aang laughs sheepishly, one hand still resting comfortably around Katara's waist.

A ghost of a smirk crosses Azula's lips. "I'll pretend I didn't see that."

A few relieved laughs ripple through the group.

Azula steps to her designated spot at the foot of the oversized bed before clasping her hands neatly behind her back.

"Islanders."

The chatter dies almost immediately.

"Take a seat."

Without hesitation, they do as they're told, settling onto the mattress in their couples while Azula surveys them with an unreadable expression.

"How are we feeling tonight?"

"Good!" the islanders answer in near unison, several of them clapping enthusiastically.

A knowing smile tugs at the corner of Azula's lips. "Hm." Her golden eyes sweep across the group. "I sense a little hesitation."

Almost instinctively, everyone glances around at one another.

"Boys…" Azula begins, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Do you get nervous in bed?"

A chorus of laughter breaks out.

"No!" Sokka blurts out immediately.

Aang chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "…No."

Zuko simply shakes his head with an amused sigh.

Azula raises a skeptical eyebrow. "I'll choose to believe you."

The villa erupts into another round of laughter.

Her attention shifts back to the group as a whole. "You've spent the last several days sharing beds, cuddling, and becoming increasingly comfortable with your partners."

She pauses, allowing the anticipation to build.

"But girls…"

Her gaze flicks briefly toward Toph before returning to the others.

"…do you think you could recognize your partner without ever seeing them?"

The women exchange confident looks.

"One hundred percent," Waika answers, earning several nods of agreement.

"Excellent." Azula folds her hands together. "Then tonight's challenge should be easy."

The islanders cheer, several of them slapping their hands against the bed and whooping in excitement.

When the noise finally dies down, Azula continues.

"Here's how this works." She gestures toward the massive bed behind her. "Boys…" Her gaze shifts toward Toph. "…and Toph, you'll each take a position along the headboard."

Toph gives a single nod, climbing further onto the mattress and resting her calloused palms against the soft duvet while the others get into position.

"The rest of you will be blindfolded."

The girls glance around in confusion before noticing the small satin pouches clipped to their hips.

"And inside each pouch at your hip is a different color of body paint."

Curious murmurs ripple through the group.

Azula points toward a row of blue chairs set neatly beside the challenge area.

"To your right, you'll each find a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs."

Sokka's eyebrows shoot up.

"…Handcuffs?"

Azula doesn't so much as blink.

"They're for the challenge."

"…Right."

More laughter echoes through the villa.

"Collect your equipment," Azula instructs. "We'll begin shortly."

The girls rise from the bed and make their way toward the chairs, excitement bubbling through the group as they inspect the blindfolds, handcuffs, and colorful paint attached to them.

Only Toph remains where she is, her expression unreadable save for the small, confident smile that rests on her lips.

"Now, take one of the cuffs and secure it around your arm, and make sure you have your blindfolds ready."

When the girls are settled and ready, Azula continues.

"Once those blindfolds go on, you'll have to rely on touch, chemistry, and instinct as you make your way around each others couples, feeling your way to find your partner." Azula smirks. "Don't be afraid to to enjoy your journey and have a little fun as you go. Just remember, you will be leaving your mark."

Everyone glances at the girl's paint pouches, their hearts racing with anticipation.

"By the end of this, everyone will be able to see exactly where you've been and who you've been with. When you think you've found your partner, lock in your answer by handcuffing yourself to any part of them."

The islanders share nervous smiles.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes!" They all shout in unison.

"Girls, blindfolds on."

With one last look at their connections, the girls put their blindfolds on.

"Boys and Toph, take your positons."

The boys shift around along the headboard in a final attempt to throw the girls off. Sokka settles on the far right, Zuko takes the spot beside him, Aang slides into the third position, and Toph claims the far left.

One by one, they fasten a handcuff around a wrist before securing the other end to the headboard.

Azula surveys them all. "No peeking," she says, her gaze settling on the blindfolded girls. "And those already handcuffed…no talking, no helping, and absolutely no giving yourselves away."

The villa falls silent.

"First up," Azula announces, "Katara."

The water tribe woman smiles nervously beneath her blindfold.

"You'll be searching for your partner, Aang. I'll guide you to the edge of the bed."

Aang watches as Azula carefully leads Katara toward the mattress.

The moment Katara's fingertips brush against Sokka's bare foot, she pauses. Rather than feeling across his body, she immediately reaches upward, her paint-covered fingers searching around the back of his head.

The instant they catch the end of his ponytail, she smiles. "My brother," she murmurs under her breath. She quickly moves on.

Zuko is next.

Again, Katara avoids lingering any longer than necessary, brushing her fingers up until they find the small topknot resting high on his head.

"Zuko."

She withdraws her hand almost immediately.

Aang can hardly contain the grin spreading across his face.

By the time Katara reaches the third islander, she barely has to search.

Her fingertips glide across smooth skin before meeting the familiar blue arrow tattoo stretching over Aang's scalp.

"There you are." Without another thought, she cups his face and kisses him deeply.

Aang melts into it without hesitation.

A chorus of quiet cheers erupts around them, Toph snorting under her breath.

Zuko shakes his head with an amused smile.

Meanwhile, Sokka dramatically gags. "Can we move on already?" He whispers.

Katara laughs as she pulls away. "I think I found him."

"You may handcuff yourself," Azula replies, "or continue searching if you'd like to be certain."

Katara doesn't hesitate. She secures herself to Aang's free wrist, much to his pleasure.

Syzu follows. By sheer luck, the first person she reaches is Sokka.

The girl barely suppresses the grin spreading across his face before Syzu pulls him into a quick, enthusiastic kiss.

"Definitely him." She immediately handcuffs herself to his arm.

"That was easy," Sokka says with a smug laugh.

Waika isn't nearly as fortunate.

Her hands first find Sokka's chest.

The boys have to hold in their laughs as she kisses him, leaving streaks of green paint splashed across his chest and jaw.

Only after moving to the next islander does she recognize Zuko by the broadness of his shoulders and the familiar shape of his hair.

This kiss she shares is slower and more certain. When she finally pulls away, green handprints decorate Zuko's chest and the waistband of his white boxers.

The instant Waika clicks the handcuff around Zuko's wrist, Azula nods.

Finally…

"Kuse."

The Fire Nation woman inhales slowly before she is guided toward the bed.

She quickly makes her way to Sokka, and starts kissing him. She rules him out soon after their lips meet before she heads over to Zuko.

Click.

Click.

Click.

A different sound echoes through the villa.

Not footsteps, but heels. Every non blindfolded islander’s head instinctively turns toward the entrance.

Toph stills. She can't see the source of the unfamiliar footsteps, but she immediately notices how measured they are.

Confident, and unhurried. As though whoever they're attached to already knows every eye in the villa is following them.

Then… a new scent reaches her. It's sweet and warm, completely unfamiliar. Her curiosity piques almost instantly.

The other islanders don't have the luxury of imagination, because they can see you. Nearly all of you.

You step into the villa dressed in delicate white lace that catches the glow of the surrounding lights, the fabric accentuating every graceful line of your figure. Confidence settles naturally into your posture, evident in every measured step you take toward the oversized bed.

For a heartbeat…

Nobody speaks.

᯽

"Damn." Sokka covers his mouth during his confessional, a bright streak of red still visible across the muddiness of the other colors painting his chest. "…She's incredible."

᯽

Back in the villa, Azula raises a single finger to her lips.

"Shh."

The handcuffed islanders quickly close their mouths, although their expressions are still filled with shock.

You simply smile. Instead of heading toward Kuse's side of the bed, you walk toward the far left, toward Toph.

Your gaze lingers on the woman sitting quietly against the headboard. The white tube top covering her chest, the defined muscles in her arms. The abs that are clearly visible due to her lack of a long shirt.

Your lips curve into a wider smile. You managed to land on your type as your first kiss in the villa.

Dipping your hands into the pouch at your hip, you coat your palms in vivid crimson paint before climbing carefully onto the mattress.

The slight dip of the bed is all Toph needs to lock in on your movements. She feels your weight shift toward her, hears your heartbeat. It’s steady, and confident, not nervous in the slightest. A slow smile spreads across her own lips.

Interesting.

Gentle fingers brush against her jaw before sliding into the tufts of hair that had fallen from from her updo. Without a word, you lean in and press your lips to hers.

For just a moment…

The rest of the villa disappears.

Toph doesn't hold back. She slides her tongue into your mouth without hesitation, the action makes your insides warm and butterflies burst in your belly.

Toph was an amazing kisser, and her body language matched her actions perfectly. Her free hand found your ass in a split second, grabbing the fat there and squeezing it, a small hum of vehement approval leaving her lips.

Although the kiss was making your head spin and you wanted nothing more than to continue, you had to continue your duty as a bombshell and make a mess on the other islanders.

You reluctantly pull away, your lips lingering for the briefest moment before you create enough distance for the two of you to breathe again.

Without saying a word, you let your paint-covered fingertips brush lightly against Toph's jaw, leaving two vivid crimson streaks behind before climbing toward your next victim.

The blindfolded women handcuffed to their couple were completely unaware of your presence, yet the tension in the air of the villa was undeniably thick.

Toph sits frozen for half a heartbeat, her lips still parted. She can still feel the warmth you'd left behind, but more importantly…

She can hear you.

As your knees hit the cushion of paint-filled bed, Aang watches you with a nervous smile, he can't help but to glance at Katara who is blissfully unaware of you approaching him, worry reaching his eyes.

A quiet huff of amusement escapes Toph. "…Huh."

Sokka's eyes dart between the two of you before a grin slowly spreads across his face. "I don't think I've ever seen Toph speechless."

Toph immediately scoffs, hearing him despite him being on the opposite end of the bed. "I've got plenty to say."

As you move to kiss Aang, you notice the familiar water tribe braid that his partner sports. That alongside the familiar physique they have, makes a figurative lightbulb go off in your head. You decide to be respectful at the revelation, and settle for a quick peck on Aang's lips, and keep your hands above the neck.

At the same time you get off Aang, Kuse had finished her exploration of Zuko, and was making her way to to the airbender. You bite your glossy bottom lip, making sure to avoid bumping into her as you essentially swap places with her and hop onto Zuko's lap.

He gives you a calm smile, he only brushes the back of his hand against your cheek before you lean down to kiss him. His kiss is significantly more restrained than Toph's although it isn't bad at all. He is also noticeably respectful, and doesn't grope at you. Not that you would be much opposed, anyway.

Simultaneously, Kuse is on Aang's lap, her blue hands starting from his abs before landing comfortably on his chest.

Azula raises an eyebrow, whispering, "She should know by touching his chest."

You end your kiss with Zuko and smile, then turn to his handcuffed partner, you look her up and down before leaning over and placing a kiss on her lips as well.

Blindfolded, Waika seems surprised but she reciprocates, her eyebrows furrowing together, not in displeasure, but instead slight confusion. Zuko watches you, his jaw nearly dropping but before it does, you leave Waika and wink at him, then shift towards Sokka.

Kuse was still somehow finishing her kiss with Aang by the time you started yours with Sokka. Katara shifts next to her couple, clearly uncomfortable with the prolonged smacking sounds right next to her ear.

Kuse finally pulls away from Aang and shakes her head. The Avatar looks thoroughly stunned and embarrassed because of the kiss, but has no time to process it as the firebender heads to her couple, Toph.

Her counterpart could seem to care less about her clearly exaggeratedly long kiss with Aang. She's far too busy tracking all of your movements with her seismic sense. It's almost ridiculous how she's already jealous of the fact that you're kissing Sokka. She wishes instead you could continue to kiss her, and have your body against her's.

When Kuse's blue paint touches Toph's skin, it’s far too late, now red is the color seeping into her body and mind. By the couple share their kiss, the fire that used to be there is nowhere to be found.

As you finish with Sokka, Kuse does with Toph, a small frown on her lips. She handcuffs herself to her just as you hurry off the bed, sending an air kiss to the islanders that aren't blindfolded before hurrying away.

Azula smiles as your figure disappears, clearly impressed by your performance. "Islanders, now you've all handcuffed yourself to your couple...or so you think. Take off your blindfolds and see if you cuffed yourself to the right partner."

The girls all take off their blindfolds, all of them yelling and celebrating in surprise at the fact that they had correctly found their couple.

Kuse gives Toph a small smile, about to speak before her eyes catch two red, distinct steaks on the earthbender's cheeks. She stares at the color in confusion, wondering why it was all over Toph’s jaw, chest, and stomach. "Who's red?"

The boys glance at each other, then look at Azula who can only smirk in response.

Katara looks at Aang, her voice quiet, "I knew I heard you kissing someone for a long time."

Aang grabs her hand and squeezes it tightly. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's not your fault. But there's almost no red on you, just a lot of blue..."

Before she can continue, Azula speaks up. "Oh, I forgot one more thing."

All of the islanders grow quiet yet again.

"You girls weren't the only one getting up close and personal with the boys and Toph."

The girls instinctively bite their lips, their gazes drawn to the crimson handprints decorating their partners' skin. Unease settles heavily in the pits of their stomachs, each of them wondering just how much had happened while they were blindfolded.

Azula calls out your name, "Our new bombshell."

You step back into the center of the villa, now with all of the islanders able to see you. Well, except Toph of course. But she doesn't need to see you to feel your presence.

Offering everyone a smile, you step next to Azula, your red palms resting next to your sides. "Hi!"

Toph can only smirk at the sound of your voice.

Yeah… you were about to make a mess of things.

She had been with her aunt when the Blacks landed, spending most of her days with the Dowager Queen in the wake of her own daughter’s death. She did not mind, knowing herself to be Alicent’s greatest comfort in that period, as well as the fact that she had also gone without the gentle touch of a mother since she was a child. Jaehaera often joined them, blissfully unaware to the fact that her mother had died months earlier, These prayer and tea times that they spent together were sacred to each of them, until, of course, they turned their gaze to the window, where Syrax’s golden scales glittered in the sunlight as she landed in the courtyard with grace.

Aegon had been in no position to defend his crown. He was dragonless and crippled, both at the hand of his younger brother, and Daeron was still leagues away from the capitol with his own dragon Tessarion. As Rhaenyra’s mount snarled and snapped at the white cloaks around her, they were quick to surrender as they took in the sight of the five other dragons circling in the clouds above; there was no way out. 

Those loyal to Rhaenyra were quick to storm the castle, keeping everyone inside until she could discover exactly who her enemies were and who were simply complicit. She had swiftly had Aegon executed, as well as Otto Hightower and the rest of the Small Council, save for Alicent. She’d been far too close with the Dowager Queen to have her publicly humiliated and put to death, and considering that she had admitted to making such a grave mistake in regards to the succession, she instead had her locked in a tower until further notice. Her only request was that she would be joined by her niece and granddaughter until Rhaenyra made other arrangements for them, which Rhaenyra was merciful enough to oblige. She was not a tyrant, and felt no desire to punish the innocent for the crimes of men. 

Nine days they were locked in the tower with no word from Rhaenyra. The white cloaks guarding their door were curt when asked, and only opened the door for their meals and the bare necessities to be delivered to them. It was a tight space, one that was likely intended to be a luxurious cell for one, though luckily Jaehaera took up little to no space at all as she was usually physically attached to either her cousin or grandmother. Both women made an effort to keep the young princess comfortable and entertained in some way, whether it be by telling her stories, singing with her, creating makeshift games for them to play together…they both understood that she was just about that age where everything could suddenly begin making sense, and they wanted to delay her realisation of the situation as much as possible. They spent their nights huddled together for warmth, being so high up in the castle as winter came upon the realm made for some very cold nights, and they were all eager when a handmaiden arrived in the morning with a jug of warm water for them to clean up with. 

Finally, on the tenth day, Alicent had decided she had had enough. She had woken the two younger females up with her banging and yelling at the door, demanding to see the queen. Jaehaera clung to her cousin in fright while Y/n watched in anticipation as the door swung open, one of the guards stepping forward to confront the Hightower woman. 

“It’s been ten days,” she hissed, straightening her back in an attempt to reclaim any authority that she may have left, “I demand to see the queen. Not for myself, but for the sake of my niece and granddaughter, who are being punished for crimes they are wholly innocent of.”

The white cloak rolled his eyes, “You demand? Just as you have for the last ten days? The queen is busy, she has a realm to recover from the war you caused. Now, be quiet, your concerns will be brought to the queen and, no doubt, be dismissed, just as all of your others have.”

The door rattled with the force that he closed it with, leaving Alicent to slouch and huff in disbelief. How had her life turned out this way? How had she fallen so far from her position as queen to become nothing more than a prisoner and a nuisance to her guards? Her shoulders began to tremble as a sob tore its way from her throat, though no tears escaped her watery eyes. This was not sadness or anger that she was feeling, nor was it grief for the loss of each of her children, having received word of Daeron’s death in battle only days earlier. No, this was complete and utter defeat; everything she had ever worked towards gone and abandoned beneath the rubble of utter destruction. Her family and legacy, destroyed because of a simple misunderstanding on her part, because the lords of the realm would see the world in flames before a queen sat the Iron Throne. 

Alicent sank into the embrace of her niece and granddaughter as they gathered around her. She stroked each of their hair, absorbing the last ounces of love that she would be offered in this world. 

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, her thumb caressing Jaehaera’s soft cheek and wiping away the tear that slid down her flesh. In that instant, she was transported back, staring down at her sweet Helaena; what she wouldn’t give to have only a few moments more with her, to have been able to be there and wipe away her tears and stop her from throwing herself to her own demise. “Everything is alright, my little dragon. And you, my sweet niece, you are both going to be alright.”

A few hours later, the three were stirred awake as their guards banged on the door, announcing their oncoming entrance. Alicent bounced to her feet, placing herself between the door and the two younger girls. 

The knight stepped inside the room, his face as stern as ever, “Queen Rhaenyra has decided to be merciful, and meet your demands. Come at once, or not at all.”

The Dowager Queen was quick to motion the other two to follow, taking each of them by the hand as she rushed after the knight. She would not waste the one opportunity to help what was left of her kin as much as she could, even if it meant that she would face a long and desolate future all on her own. 

They finally reached the throne room, and of course Rhaenyra would only agree to meet the remaining members of her enemy’s family in front of the entire court. Y/n noticed immediately how empty the room appeared, numbers dwindling quickly within the Red Keep and leaving only those who bent the knee behind. Some were blindly faithful to the Hightowers, even to their graves, which brought the girl some comfort, but very little considering that it meant that she too would need to abandon every value she’d been taught since she was able to walk. 

The remaining courtiers leered at them, no doubt having the most offensive swears and curses on their tongues, only holding back out of fear of the new queen. Regardless of the fact that they had bent the knee, more than half of these lords were undoubtedly hating the fact that a woman had ascended the throne and only surrendered out of fear. Y/n hoped that Rhaenyra might have some mercy for Jaehaera at least, if not for herself. Of course, she mourned the deaths of her father, grandfather, and cousins; she had once accepted a betrothal to Jason Lannister’s eldest son on behalf of her family’s cause, so there was some evidence against her own odds. The young child, however, could not be blamed for the work of her father by anyone with half a mind, though she has heard that Rhaenyra has grown mad since the death of her son Lucerys, so half a mind may have been too much to ask for. 

Rhaenyra herself looked nothing short of regal as she sat upon the Iron Throne, the crown placed neatly upon her tight nest of braids previously belonging to her father, and her great grandfather before him. Her violet stare was piercing as they grew closer, but her eyes were trained entirely on Alicent as she tucked her niece and granddaughter behind her, jaw shifting back and forth, signalling that she had been grinding her teeth in anticipation. 

Beside her stood her two remaining children, Aegon and Viserys, both seeming far too young to truly understand what sort of position they were currently in, how much power they wielded over the rest of the souls in this room. They were both toddlers when the war began, and Aegon did not appear to be any older than six or seven.

One of her queensguard stepped forward, his booming voice echoing around the partially empty chamber, “You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. You come before her as traitors for conspiring with the pretender and usurper Aegon the Weak. How do you answer these claims?”

Alicent let out a shuddered breath, “Yo-your Grace. I–we come before you to humbly ask–”

Rhaenyra let out a pitiful laugh, one that held nothing but malice behind it, “Humbly? You come before me humbly?”

The court let out a unanimous, nervous chuckle, all anticipating the queen’s next words.

Alicent’s face drained of colour, “You-your Grace?”

“Your niece and granddaughter who you hide away from me, they may come to me to ask for mercy, humbly, as you say. They are innocent in all of this, only the pawns of a greater game.” The queen grinned, “A game that all began with you.”

Alicent scoffed, quickly wiping the single tear that fell down her cheek, “Your Grace, last time we spoke face-to-face, we seemed on the same page. Forgive me for my confusion at your animosity.”

“Animosity?” Rhaenyra leaned forward, fingers gripping the arms of her throne in rage, “When we last spoke face-to-face, you swore to me that your usurper of a son had agreed to abdicate, that he was too crippled to even sit his own throne. Then, I come to learn that none of this was true, and that he had instead taken advantage of my lack of preparedness and had instead invaded the territory of my own allies. So explain to me exactly how my anger at your lies and betrayal to be displaced animosity.”

“Rhaenyr–”

“You will address the queen with respect to her title, traitor.” The same member of the queensguard spoke with an edge to his voice.

Alicent sighed, “Your Grace, I come to you, humbly, as a woman of the Faith, as you well know.”

“Faithful enough to take a lover before my father’s corpse was even cold,” She laughed, eyes looking out at the members of her court, who all seemed in shock at the admittance, “The words came from your own lips when we last spoke face-to-face, do not deny it to me now.”

Y/n frowned, tears pooling along her waterline as she tucked Jaehaera into her side. As if to protect her from these slanderous words, although she did not doubt any truth behind them. Her aunt had always been a faithful woman, so chaste it was almost impossible to believe, so it did not surprise her to find the woman who had once been her closest confidant airing out her darkest truths before the court. She did not blame her, despite the fact that she had drilled into her head the importance of virtue and chastity as a woman, but in truth, her aunt was the strongest woman she had ever known; she was forced into a marriage with a man who was more than double her age, taking on the role of queen at sixteen and consequently losing her best friend; she was the mother of four mentally unwell children, one unable to keep his wits about him, one who was tragically more in tune with the world than anyone gave her credit for, one who was maniacally vengeful, and another who grew up away from her protection. Perhaps Daeron had been the luckiest of them, considering how his siblings had fared, but Y/n knew that he had experienced his own ailments that had been kept well concealed on behalf of her great-uncle, the Lord of Oldtown, and she also knew exactly how the lack of a maternal figure affected a child.

Her father had done his best, but often admitted that he wished his sister had been there to help him guide her to womanhood. The septas could only do so much, though they taught her more self hatred than anything. Her great-aunt was a stern woman, and had no patience for her questions or girlish dreams, and pushed her away as much as humanly possible. 

“Your Grace,” her voice carried through the hall before she could even think, all eyes turning to the meek figure hiding behind her aunt and standing before the queen as a traitor. Rhaenyra herself seemed surprised to hear from her, violet eyes staring down at her curiously, “Forgive us. Forgive us for our crimes against your reign. My lady aunt speaks the truth when she tells you that we come to you humbly, three women guilty of nothing but being under the control of the wrong men. You, yourself, have experienced this cruelty, as has every other lady in this room.”

The queen seemed taken by her words, sitting back against her throne thoughtfully, “You mean to appeal to my mercy based on our shared experiences? On our mutual sex? Do you truly consider the three of you completely innocent of any crimes?”

“Innocent?” Y/n asked, “I–”

“Step forward,” the queen commanded, “You muster enough courage to speak before me. Speak to me plainly and speak to me truthfully.” 

Y/n’s gaze fluttered to the ground, then to her aunt, whose eyes were wide and glossy with fear. She shook her head, pleading with her not to speak any further. She inhaled deeply, sliding her palm over the crown of sweet Jaehaera’s head before she finally stepped around her aunt and stood directly before the queen.

“We do not have all day,” the queen smirked.

She clenched her jaw, growing angry with how much the woman seemed to be enjoying their humiliation, “My aunt admitted to her mistake, and yes, she is partially responsible for this war and her lapse in judgement is one that cannot be so easily forgiven or forgotten.”

“There we agree.”

Y/n swallowed harshly, “But you must not forget, that the plan to…usurp your throne existed from the moment that Aegon was born. You better than anyone must know that. While your father lived, you were protected, but he was the only man in this world who has ever wanted you to succeed.”

Rhaenyra gulped, “You speak as if you know me. As if you know my life, or the people in it.”

“I do not mean to offend Your Grace, I only wish you to understand,” a stray tear trickled down her face. “I accepted a betrothal made for me on behalf of my grandsire, a man who you executed for his crimes. I have never met the man I was meant to marry, nor was I ever going to prior to our marriage. I was nothing short of a game piece. My sweet cousin, Jaehaera, barely old enough to understand the fate of her own mother, or her brother before her,” Rhaenyra’s face paled at the mere mention of little Jaehaerys, “I have no doubt that my grandsire had similar plans for her in the coming years. As for my aunt, she has made mistakes, yes, many of which she will never be able to repent for, but she was victim of only the same treatment as I, only she was given to a gentle man rather than one who is known for nothing but his ability to hunt, as I was. If you cannot find the forgiveness to spare myself or my aunt, I beseech you to take your niece into your care, for she is the only one of us completely innocent.”

Rhaenyra averted her gaze, silent for a moment before she finally waved her hand dismissively, “I’ve heard enough. Take them away.”

Y/n kept her eyes steady on the queen as the guards dragged her away. She wanted nothing more than to climb those stairs and weep directly at her feet, to beg for mercy, whether it be through a quick death or a pardon, but instead she held her stare firmly, forcing the queen to stare into her eyes as long as she could before the guards dragged her into the corridor, and back up to the tower.

A day passed before they heard anything more about or from the queen. Servants came and went with their meals and the guards ignored Alicent’s insistent yelling, until the door finally opened and a white cloak stepped inside the small room. 

“The queen has summoned you.”

Alicent stood from the small writing desk near the window, wringing her fingers as she took a nervous step forward. 

“Not you,” his voice stopped her, his gloved finger extending to point at the younger woman who cradled the child on the bed, “Her.”

“Her?” Alicent barked, “No, she is innocent. What could the queen possibly have to speak to her about?”

“That isn’t any of your concern, traitor,” he scowled at her, “She can come with me peacefully, or we can do this the hard way. I have no preference.”

Y/n shared a glance with her aunt, slowly moving to slide Jaehaera out of her lap. The child clung to her, small hands grabbing her tightly as she wept in resistance. 

“Jaehaera, please,” her voice cracked at this rare burst of emotions from her cousin. The girl had been through so much in such a short amount of time, and she didn’t even truly know it. “It will be alright. I will return.”

Alicent peeled the child away from her, cradling the child as she screamed while her niece was grabbed by the arm and roughly led out into the hallway. 

Y/n was shocked when the guards led her away from the throne room and up into the palace where the royal bedchambers were kept. 

“Where are we going?” She asked the guard. 

He ignored her, finally stopping before the largest door in the corridor, a room she had once known as Aegon’s chambers, but were now Rhaenyra’s. A shiver worked its way up her spine as the guard knocked, roughly forcing her through the door when the queen called out for them to enter. 

The queen sat in a large chair before the roaring fireplace, far too close to such heat for anyone but the blood of the dragon. Her eyes were pulled to the door, a small curve appearing on her lips at the sight of the woman in front of her. 

“My lady,” she nodded her head, “You may leave us, Ser Rychard.” 

The guard gave her a slight shove forward out of the way of the door as he closed it behind them, leaving the two women almost alone, save for the handmaidens that scurried around the room around them. 

“Your Grace,” she lowered into a curtsy, “I must ask–”

“Save the pleasantries,” the queen hummed, turning her gaze back to the fire, “You were bold enough earlier. Do not tell me it was all for show.”

“I apologise if I overstepped earlier. I believe that you, of all people, can understand my desperation to preserve my cousin’s innocence.”

“I can,” the queen reached for the cup of wine at her side, taking a slow drink, “I have no intentions of harming a hair on Jaehaera’s head.”

“You mean it?” a weight was lifted from her shoulders, “What will you do with her?”

“I will keep her as my ward. Regardless of her parentage, she is a Targaryen princess and will be raised as such. She will know her histories, and she will have the finest things.”

“And will she know of her mother?”

Rhaenyra paused, “Helaena, for better or worse, is involved in such histories. I want the child to know not only of this war and the losses she has faced, but why they occurred and what we could learn from them.”

Y/n tilted her head and frowned, “No.”

“No?” the queen gasped, disbelief clear in her voice, “Tell me then, what would you have me do.”

“For better or for worse,” the younger woman scoffed, “For better or for worse, Helaena was nothing short of a victim. I understand that you had little relations with your siblings, for reasons I cannot fault you for. But in this war, for better or for worse, there were innocent lives lost on both sides.”

“Helaena took her own life.”

“Out of grief!” Y/n paused after her voice rose in volume, collecting herself before the queen, “Perhaps you had no part in the butchering of her son, as you say, but her death was nothing short of a casualty, I’m sure you can agree.”

Rhaenyra stood from her chair, crossing the room at a frightening speed, “You dare question my involvement in such…such…”

“Senselessness?”

The queen paused, staring at her with that same curious stare she had worn the day before in front of the court. 

“I believe you when you say that you had no part in this, Your Grace,” the young lady diverted her gaze to the floor, “But regardless, the order came from your late husband. The job was done in your name. Jaehaerys was not the first victim of this war, but the pain that this caused Helaena is one that you can almost understand yourself.”

“Do not speak of it.”

“This war has caused nothing but loss and heartache. Do not teach Jaehaera that her brother was butchered with purpose, or that her mother was a tyrant who chose to leave her.” her eyes had glossed over, and her grief had overcome the strength in her voice, “Helaena was special, she mattered, and for better or for worse, she was forced to watch as her son was brutally slain in his own bed, forced to submit to their will in order to not only save her own life, but Jaehaera’s as well. Teach her of her mother, and who she truly was. Do not paint her as a villain or a coward for her choice to leave this world.”

Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment, a rare glimmer of understanding appearing in her violet gaze before she lunged forward, taking the younger woman in her arms. Only then did the Hightower woman allow herself to weep for the first time since her imprisonment. 

The queen soothed her and brushed a hand over her hair. She held her close, allowing the younger woman to nuzzle into her neck as close as she needed. After a few moments, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks dry as she attempted to compose herself.

“My apologies, my queen. I do not know what has overcome me.”

She shook her head, hand coming up to brush her thumb across her cheekbone, “Do not apologise. You are right, I know just as well as anyone that you and Princess Jaehaera are innocent of any crime beyond being born a woman. I understand your grief. The princess will learn of her mother as she was, not as she will be remembered. She will know her brother and she will understand that I had no hand in his death. She will know her father, who, beyond his many faults, I am told, was as attentive a father as he could. When she is older, I will propose a marriage between her and my own son Aegon, so that she may carry on her mother’s legacy as queen consort and finally end this feud.”

“Only if she agrees,” Y/n whispered, “You claim yourself to be different from men like my grandsire. Do not force her into an unwanted marriage.”

Rhaenyra scoffed out a laugh, “You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

The younger lady let out a small giggle of her own, glossy eyes staring into those of the queen. Neither of them took any notice of the curious stares of the servants around them as their foreheads came together, noses brushing as Rhaenyra teased her lips against the younger lady’s. She smiled at the surprise on her face, testing the waters once more before finally pressing their lips firmly together. 

Y/n was still, unsure of how to react. She had not been so intimate with anyone before, let alone another woman. She had been raised as a woman of the Faith, which warned against the dangers of such temptations, but there was something so alluring about the silver-haired woman that made her not want to pull away.

The kisses shared were soft at first, but slowly grew in passion as Rhaenyra took a handful of the younger woman’s hair in her hand, guiding her mouth along with her own. 

One of the servants cleared their throat, clearly uncomfortable with the display. Rhaenyra pulled away just enough to turn her head.

“Your Grace, your bath is ready.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, “leave us.”

The handmaidens made quick work of fleeing the queen’s chambers, no doubt eager to spread such gossip through the staff of the Red Keep. Once they were gone and the door was closed behind her, Rhaenyra turned her attention back to the starry-eyed girl in front of her.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Your Grace?”

“You heard me. I imagine you have been longing for a proper bath after days in confinement. Take off your clothes, and get in the tub.” The girl stared at her for a moment, causing some concern to appear  in Rhaenyra’s eyes, “Forgive me. You may leave if you wish. I will send some servants to your quarters for you to bathe in private if you so choose. However, I would like you to stay.”

At a loss for words, she mumbled out her most pressing concern, “What of the servants? Word will spread quickly, especially among suitors.”

“Suitors,” the queen snorted, “you complain of betrothals one minute, and demand one the next.”

The lady shook her head, “Not for me. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I had assumed you would wish to remarry once the throne was secured.”

“I have no desire to remarry. I have been widowed twice over, and not a single one of my lovers outlived this war. I do not wish for more children, or for company offered to me by any man. I cannot deny that we would face ridicule, but if you were to become my lover, I can protect you from unwanted betrothals and you will never face hardship again in your lifetime so long as I can protect you. Regardless of your answer, you are more than welcome at my court, and I encourage you to speak to the princess of her family, for no one could do her mother justice as I know you could.”

Y/n was stunned at the sudden change in demeanour. The woman who had called them before the court to interrogate and humiliate them for their parentage was now offering her a place in her bed. The woman who had only just gotten cross with her was here offering her a permanent position not only in her court as a subject, but also as an equal within these rooms.

“Say the word,” Rhaenyra breathed into her flesh, dragging the bump of her nose down the column of her throat, “And you will be free of me. I shall never ask you of this again. Or, take off your clothes, and you may have everything you could ever want.”

Y/n inhaled sharply before a nervous smile appeared on her lips, “Help me with my laces?”

Rhaenyra smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips as she took her by the hand, leading her further into her bedchambers to where the large wooden tub had been prepared. She forced her to turn, making quick work of the laces at the back of her gown and helping her strip. Luckily, the gown was rather plain, simple blue cotton over her shift, and she was bare before the queen within moments. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned up and down her figure, a satisfied smile rising to her lips, “Your beauty exceeds my expectations, my love.”

The shift from enemy to lover was swift, so quick that Y/n felt like her head would begin to spin. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she gingerly allowed the queen to take her by the hand, guiding her to step into the steaming water and sink into the warmth. She sighed at the feeling, having only had access to a small basin of lukewarm water between the three of them for the past fortnight. 

“Would you like some wine?” Rhaenyra asked her, already beginning to pour her a cup before she answered.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Y/n answered bashfully, accepting the cup and taking a long sip from it before allowing Rhaenyra to set it aside. 

Rhaenyra allowed Y/n to bathe in silence, sitting at her side and helping to scrub the oils away from her scalp with tender hands, manicured nails massaging the gentle skin and causing the girl to tip her head back and let out a small noise of contentment.

After she was cleaner than she had ever felt in her life, Rhaenyra’s hands moved down the back of her neck, softly massaging the tense muscle until she reached her shoulders. They then pushed down her back as far as she could reach before her flesh met the side of the tub, and began crawling around her front. Her nails tickled the flesh over her ribs, settling just beneath the slouched underside of her breasts, but made no effort to crawl any higher. Her soft pink lips ghosted up the side of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the oils in the tub. 

“Tell me to stop,” the queen whispered, “And we will never speak of this again.”

The younger woman exhaled shakily, slowly turning her head to come face-to-face with the queen. Their noses brushed one another for a moment as Rhaenyra waited with bated breath as she waited for her answer.

“Do not stop.”

The words were out of her mouth no more than a second before Rhaenyra’s lips descended on her own, fingers crawling up and firmly cupping her breasts in her palms. The younger woman gasped in surprise, but quickly relaxed into the queen’s touch as she rolled her already pebbled nipples between her fingers, completely disregarding the fact that the long sleeves of her gown were now doused in the water. One hand began to descend further into the water, tracing across her ribs, the soft pudge of her belly, and just barely reaching the thatch of curls that just barely protected her modesty. 

She pulled away with a gasp, “Wha-what are you doing?”

Recognition appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her features softening, “You are a maiden?”

The girl shook her head, “My great-aunt once told me that if I was not chaste until my wedding night, I would be damning not only myself, but my entire house as well.” 

“If that were true, I can promise you that many of these great houses would be damned, my own included,” Rhaenyra scoffed, “With a man, it can be painful, but nice. I admit, I am not quite as experienced with my own sex as I am the opposite, but I find it just as if not even more enjoyable. Women are more…in-tune with one another.”

She stared at the queen inquisitively, “What do you mean?”

“You would understand what feels nice to you based on your personal explorations, just as I do.”

“Explorations?”

A small chuckle escaped Rhaenyra’s throat as she pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, “My sweet, you are truly so innocent, aren’t you. Do not tell me you have never pleasured yourself.”

The girl shook her head, brows furrowed. Pleasure? What could she mean? Everyone had told her that coupling with her lord husband would be unpleasant for the first while, but may begin to feel nice after some time, but no one had ever mentioned anything of her own pleasure. 

“Then I would humbly request that I be the first to show you,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “just say the word.”

Her nimble fingers played with the hair between her legs, tracing over it playfully and laughing to herself at the jump of the younger woman’s hips under the slightest of touches. Her thighs clamped together, this familiar feeling pooling between her thighs becoming more overwhelming than ever; she would normally wait this out, clean the wetness away and carry on, but she did not think that the queen was going to allow her to this time.

“Yes,” she uttered out, mouth feeling impossibly dry, “yes, please, Your Grace.”

The title sent a shiver down Rhaenyra’s spine, perhaps something to be reused at another time when she did not need to be so gentle with her. 

“In here, we are equals, my love. You may call me Rhaenyra, or whatever you wish.”

The queen’s name rolled off her tongue fluidly, and Rhaenyra revelled in the sound. She finally pulled away, standing to her full height and extending a hand to the woman and carefully helping her step out of the cooling water and onto the stone flooring. She led her back to where the fire continued to roar within its hearth, and turned her back to her. 

“Help me?” She called over her shoulder, moving her long braid to the side as the younger woman eagerly helped her undress.

The young Hightower woman stared in awe at the sight of her queen, appearing like a goddess before her as the firelight flickered off of her milky-white flesh. Rhaenyra was nothing short of beautiful, if that word was even suitable for a woman so divine. Y/n felt an overwhelming urge to bend to her every whim and desire.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” she whispered as Rhaenyra turned back to face her, chests brushing against one another with every heaving breath. 

“Have you seen many women in such a state, my lady?” Rhaenyra teased, an easy smile appearing on her lips.

The younger woman looked down bashfully, “I have not. But I doubt any other could rival you.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, kissing her so slowly it felt more like heavy breaths falling from their lips than anything else, “But you do, my sweet.”

Rhaenyra pulled her impossibly closer, deepening their kiss until her tongue was able to familiarise itself with the interior of her mouth. Y/n’s gentle fingers found their place on the queen’s jaw, holding her close as Rhaenyra reached around her, one hand gliding up and down her back while the other shamelessly grasped at her bottom, softly massaging one cheek in her grasp and smirking at the squeak of surprise it drew from her new lover. 

“Lay down,” she breathed into her, guiding the younger woman down to lay flat on the luxurious white fur rug in front of the hearth, wasting no time in dropping down to lay on her side next to her. “I need you to relax, I have nothing but pleasure in store for you, my sweet.”

Her pink lips traced down the length of Y/n’s throat, quickly descending further down to engulf her pert nipple between her lips, tugging and nipping at it as gasps and whimpers began escaping her lover. She moved to the other breast, taking her time in worshipping the flesh and nipples alike.

“How does this feel?” She asked between kisses pressed to her sternum, “I wish to hear you always, my love.”

“G-good. I cannot–I cannot explain it, but…”

“I understand, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra kissed her lips again this time, the hand that had once been resting on Y/n belly had slid further down to rest between her thighs once more, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the skin, “Will you allow me to feel you?”

The younger woman hesitantly nodded, breath hitching as Rhaenyra parted her thighs and finally breached the curls with her fingertips, a soft sigh falling from her lips as she felt the wetness pooling at her core.

“Feel this?” She asked, moving her fingers around to collect some of her slick before drawing small circles on her sensitive pearl, “feel how much you desire me? Nothing could stop me from having you, my sweet.”

For a split second, that same dark glint appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, the one she had the day prior in the Throne Room. For better or for worse, Rhaenyra was a Targaryen, all bound to have some darkness within them. If she were not so disposed at the moment, Y/n may have felt a sense of fear, but instead it only furthered her desire.

“Oh,” she jolted at Rhaenyra’s movement, legs widening at the warming sensation that appeared in the pit of her tummy, “my love,” Rhaenyra grinned at the name, “I feel…”

“Good?” Rhaenyra asked.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, tilting her head back into the plush rug as Rhaenyra dared to breach her entrance with her fingertips. Rhaenyra watched her face for any discomfort as her finger easily sank into her sweet heat, glad to find none even as she inserted another.

Y/n let out a cry of protest as Rhaenyra removed her fingers entirely, bringing them up to her lips and sucking every drop of her juices off of her digits. Y/n watched in awe, her kiss-swollen lips parted in surprise at the vulgarity of it all. 

“You taste divine,” Rhaenyra cooed, moving to kneel between her parted thighs, “and look how beautiful,” the girl let out a whimper as she traced her finger around the entirety of her cunt, “I fear I may perish if I do not taste you this instant.”

She left no room for questioning or protest as she settled on her belly, back arched with her ass high in the air behind her. Y/n only wished she could step out of her body for a moment to admire the sight from behind, but was quickly brought out of her thoughts as Rhaenyra dragged her tongue slowly up the entirety of her core, from taint to clitoris. 

She pushed herself up on her elbows in surprise, thighs clamping shut around Rhaenyra’s head as she began to alternate between licking around her entrance and suckling on her sweet, swollen pearl of nerves. The first true moan of pleasure was dragged from her throat as the queen sucked her clit, tugging at it with her lips for a moment before letting it slip back beneath its hood with a soft gushing noise. Rhaenyra chuckled, taking great pleasure in noticing how wet and responsive the young lady was to her touch, finally conceding and nuzzling her face into her wetness and focusing on bringing her to the brink.

She was not far off, having never felt such pleasure before in her life. She supported herself with one hand behind her, back arching into her touch as the other hand planted itself on the back of Rhaenyra’s head. Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, the feeling in the pit of her stomach far too strong to fight off any longer.

“Oh, oh,” she panted, “Your G–Rhaenyra, you must stop. I think I am going to–oh!”

Her face burned with embarrassment, thighs closing together as Rhaenyra pulled away. She could not believe that she had just…the feeling had been so similar to that of when she needed to use the chamber pot. Had she truly just peed on the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?

But Rhaenyra was dry as she returned to her side, save for the wetness smeared from her chin to her nose and across both cheeks. She was quick to press an eager kiss to her lips, allowing the girl to taste herself on her tongue as she smoothed her hand over her soft belly comfortingly. 

“You are so lovely,” the queen mused, “every part of you. Now, let me clean you–”

“No,” the lady protested, “let me…I wish to return the…”

Rhaenyra grinned shamelessly, “You wish to pleasure me?”

She nodded bashfully, feeling so vulnerable yet so connected at the same time as she came down from her own orgasm. Rhaenyra nodded, shifting herself across the rug once more until she was facing the opposite direction, stroking her lover’s hair gently.

“Tap my leg if this is too much. Just lay back, and allow me to take my pleasure from you.”

Rhaenyra quickly swung her leg over the girl’s head, straddling her face as she slowly lowered herself. 

“Stick out your tongue, my love. Remember what you liked, kisses and licks, remember?”

Y/n nodded, brushing her own hair away from her sweaty cheeks and following her instructions as the queen lowered herself onto her face, a low moan rumbling from her jaw as her dripping cunt settled onto Y/n’s awaiting tongue. 

Rhaenyra gripped her hair, slowly beginning to grind her hips down against her as the girl lapped eagerly at her core, moaning at the musky taste of the queen’s most intimate centre. She did her best to follow the movements that Rhaenyra had administered on her own core, licking and kissing until she was eventually engulfing the entirety of her cunt in her hot mouth, slurping and sucking at her juices. Rhaenyra laughed in surprise at this, grinding her hips harder.

“I had no idea you could be so greedy, my love,” she chuckled, rolling her head back in pleasure, “Oh, yes, yes.”

The girl was spurred on by the praise, testing the barrier of her clenching hole with her tongue as Rhaenyra rocked her hips harder and harder, forcing her clit down on the girl’s nose. Her words of praise became slurred as her movements sped up, loud yells of pleasure leaving her, no doubt revealing to the guards outside her chambers exactly what was happening between the queen and her prisoner.

Rhaenyra, having gone without touch since long before she invaded the capitol, was almost as quick to finish as her sweet maiden had been, moaning in pleasure as thick drips of white fluid oozed from her tight hole, covering the entire lower half of the younger woman’s face. 

The queen was pleased to find a grin on her lover’s face as she climbed off of her, quick to greet her with a kiss of dying passion, tiredness overtaking each of them as they laid together, hands wandering across naked skin. 

“Stay with me tonight,” the queen murmured, “and I will bring you so much pleasure you will not even remember your own name.”

Realisation dawned on the Hightower maiden, remembering Jaehaera and Alicent locked in that tower while she could sleep in the queen’s own bed that very night. Guilt gnawed at her conscience, though she would never find it within herself to regret any of what had transpired between them that night. 

“I cannot,” she frowned, “Jaehaera, she wept when I was escorted away. I promised her I would be back.”

A soft smile appeared on her face, “You care for her as your own. I admire that.”

Y/n shrugged, “As I have said, she is innocent in all of this. She does not even understand why she does not see her mother anymore.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, “You and the princess will be given proper chambers on the morrow, just allow me some time to arrange it. I would not dream of sending her back to that nursery, so she may stay in the rooms near my own children out of convenience for the maids. You, however, my love, will have the queen’s chambers.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head, “The–Rhaenyra I cannot–”

“You can, and you will.” She pressed, “as I have told you, I have no desire to remarry or take another man to bed. You are the closest I will ever have to another spouse, I swear it to you now. If I could take you to wife and make you consort at my side, I would.”

The Hightower woman felt warmth spread across her cheeks, but a gnawing question tugged at her, unable to deny herself of seeking the answer. 

“And my aunt, the Queen Dowager?”

Rhaenyra’s face hardened, “I shared a love with Alicent as a child, one that I have never been able to replace. For that, and for your sake and Jaehaera’s, I swear to be merciful to her. However, she began this war, and plotted against me from the moment my sweet Jace took his first breath. For that, I cannot forgive. She will be treated well, but she will remain in confinement for the rest of her days, as she has requested in exchange for your own freedom.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, knowing that this truly was the best outcome possible for her aunt at this point, “Will we be allowed to visit her? I knew Helaena enough, but Jaehaera would benefit most from Alicent, who knew her better than anyone.”

She pondered for a moment before coming up with her response, “So long as she bends the knee and accepts her fate, I will grant you visitation once a week, and you may pray together if you must.”

Y/n nodded, leaning in and trailing her own sweet kisses up Rhaenyra’s jaw and to her lips, “Thank you, my love.”

She jumped in surprise as Rhaenyra’s hand enclosed around her throat, applying no pressure except for the slight press of her thumb on her jugular as she pulled her in to meet her kiss once more, this one slower and lazier than the others as their lips dragged across one another’s softly. 

Like fellating the gardener who visits your house every two weeks to trim the shrubs and make sly peeks at the plentiful helpings of attractive young women walking through the lawn every ten minutes or so. He has hay colored hair and a pompous demeanor that more than makes up for the fact that you don’t even know his name.

You let the picture fill your mind, restlessly awaiting the lurch in your belly that notifies you you’re sufficiently turned on. But it never comes, so you knock the thought out of your head with a harsh shake.

Then, you imagine sucking the nipples of the TA from your previous semester’s philosophy course. She was a redhead with the cutest dimples you’d ever seen, and, if memory serves you right, the only interesting thing about that class. You are nearly certain this will be the thing to get you off (it surely did countless times last semester), but your body feels just as it did minutes before: frustrated, antsy, and so very sore.

If you were to put a mirror in front of your vagina and inspect it from above, you’d likely find it to look as though it had been flattened repeatedly under the wheel of an F-150. You rub a cautious finger over your clit only to find that the bud is almost numb and begging for you to give her a fucking break.

So, you do. You throw your vibrator toward the foot of the bed and yank your pants back over your hips in defeat, ignoring the sensation of your juices smearing over your inner thighs and leaking down the crack of your ass.

For a moment, you consider slamming your head against your headboard or letting your body roll off of your bed and onto the floor. Just to feel something, or maybe just because.

You’re asleep for maybe twenty five minutes before a quintet of knocks at your door wakes you. When you swing your legs over the edge of your bed, you have to kick your feet around for a second in search of your slippers.

The early morning sun is trying its damndest to peer through the thickness of your curtains. Though, just enough light shines through for you to take a glance at yourself in your floor length mirror and see the glaring wet spot staining the crotch of your pants. You grab a silk Victoria’s Secret robe and cover yourself in it just before opening the door.

It’s Kingston, the girl who lives just down the hall and has a penchant for making her early risings your problem. “I’m totally late for the gym, and I can’t find my deodorant. Do you have a spray on I can use? Pretty, pretty please?”

The words shoot out of her mouth so fast you hardly have time to process her request. You’re only nodding to make the noise stop.

You allow her in to get what she needs, and the vanilla scent tinging her skin spreads through your room like fungal spores. Her brown eyes are wholly alert, almost as if they’ve been surgically peeled back. It never fails to amaze you how awake someone can be before 6:30 in the morning.

She deodorizes her armpits before you can even make niceties and skips out of your room with a chirpy, “Thanks, see you at brunch later!” without shutting the door behind her.

A recently bought dress stares at you from the purchase of your closet door. You had completely forgotten your sorority’s brunch.

***

Your plate is covered in a hearty helping of french toast and apple slices, a dollop of yogurt, and one omelette. You’re surrounded by about seventy of your sisters, all dressed in white, all talking in place of eating.

An occasional cloud dots the sky, but other than that, the sun has a crystal clear view of Phi Mu’s All White Brunch. About thirtysomething small circular, white tables fill the sunny space of your backyard.

Your yogurt disappears after about two spoonfuls down your throat, and your apple slices don’t stand a chance for much longer. You skewer some elaborately on your fork before practically inhaling them.

Sitting to your left is a girl named Parker, whose entire vocabulary seems to be ripped straight from a social media comment section. “Ugh, I’m scared to even touch any of this,” She says at a volume that makes it unclear if she’s talking to herself or your entire table. “My back is gonna be soooo big later.”

You look down at her modest helping of potato wedges and egg salad. “I think you should just eat your food.” The small smile you lend her afterward is only to signal that you meant it in the kindest way.

To your right is Leila Hanamichi, your sorority’s president—a picture of grace as she demurely sips her grapefruit juice through a paper straw. She is having a rather animated conversation with the girl to her right, about plans for an upcoming party. Something about exchanging numbers and ‘making sure things go smoothly’. Whatever that means, you don't spend much time pondering it as you dig into your omelette.

Then, Leila turns to you.

Still stabbing into your food, you don’t notice her until she chirps, “Hi!” Your name rolls off her tongue, albeit unsurely. It doesn’t offend you. “Oooh, french toast! Delicious. I’ll have to grab some in a bit.” It’s clear she’s attempting to make friendly conversation, so you indulge.

“Oh, yeah, it is really good.” You say, despite not having had a single bite yet.

Her voice lowers to a soft whisper. “Do you think we could talk later? Before we all take pictures?” Almost as if she can hear the quickening of your heart, she follows up with, “Don’t worry, it isn’t anything bad. I just need a small favor from you.”

“Right,” you say, slowly processing her words. “okay.”

She gives you a brief squeeze on your hand. “Perfect.”

After brunch, just before you were all due to have your group photo taken, Leila led you into the empty living room of your sorority house.

“Now,” she says as she guides you into a pacing rhythm across the living room floor. “You know that Theta party that’s coming up?”

You nod with a soft hum.

“Well, it’s been a real hassle for the boys to plan, and they asked for my help. So, I’m—”

Offloading chores onto us to make their load lighter?

That’s not what she says, but it may as well be. At this point, you’d rather her be honest with her motives than sugarcoat it under the guise of purely being helpful.

“I need you to get weed for the party.”

Your poker face doesn’t kick in in enough time for Leila to miss the incredulity on your face. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll Venmo you whatever I need to. And Tucker knows a guy who sells already, so it’ll be easy peasy!”

“If he already knows someone, then why can’t he just buy it himself?”

“Midterms, y’know? He’s been really slumped, and he had to pay for Steve Aoki all by himself, so I just offered and…”

You tune her out without even trying, annoyed that you and your sisters were having to play housemaid to those guys. For a moment, you wonder which one of the Theta boys Leila must be fucking.

***

Do you sell?

???

who’s asking

Me?

do i know you?

Tucker gave me your number.

He told me you did.

ahh, ok

yeah i do

whatu need?

A zip, I think.

I’ve got cash.

cool cool

i can meet u wednesday @ 5

corner of mckinley

behind the old pizza hut

That’s pretty out of the way for me.

Do you know anywhere closer?

u want the shit or not?

Fine. Wednesday at five.

That night, you clean your room as obsessively as ever. Just so you can have control over something.

You pluck every bit of dirty laundry off the floor and separate it into hampers, Windex both mirrors—floor length and vanity—, and clear the empty bottles of water from your nightstand. You clear the rugs and vacuum until the carpet is layered in sleep lines, clean your vibrator under warm water and antibacterial soap in the bathroom, and move any shoes you might’ve kicked off in the path to your bed.

Finally, you take a lysol wipe and polish the framed photo of you and your best friend until the fine covering of dust is gone. For a moment, you lose yourself and you can hear her laugh in your ear as if she’s right next to you. You still have that? she’d say, We look so young.

“I know,” you respond.

It’s the two of you at your high school graduation. Hands around each other’s waists, matching gowns and diplomas. Your smiles light up the photo, her’s especially. 

Her eyes carry the familiar, optimistic gleam of a high school graduate—eager to take the plunge into collegiate adulthood. Only, she doesn’t know she will be dead within a month and a half. Funny how that works. How can someone be here one moment and gone the next?

You finish wiping the photo without even giving it a final look, choosing to instead drown your sorrows in a vigorous workout tape and another round of failed masturbation.

***

The parking lot by McKinley is dimly lit by a couple of blinking lamp posts. Brilliant streaks of orange and pink smear the sky in what looks like a drunken watercolor image. Ellie arrives at 5:13 to find a car is already parked there.

Her primary customers are usually frat guys, nerds who use weed to relax, or nerds who swear weed gives them super-genius brain power. She came across the occasional dad that wanted to relive his teen years and was always stunned by her prices, always commenting, ‘this better be some good skunk for what I’m paying’.

So, she’s uncharacteristically intrigued by the figure stepping out of the white BMW before she can even fully park.

The two of you exit your respective cars at the same time. Ellie, wanting this to be quick, doesn’t even bother shutting off her engine.

She’s pretty

The thought eclipses Ellie’s better judgement, but she is wholly unable to help herself. It’s true. It’s all there in the deep furrow in your brows, the slight crinkle in the bridge of your nose. The anger visible in your eyes should give way to unease, but it only incites embers of newborn curiosity within Ellie. She wants to know how she can soften them.

The headlights of her car illuminate the delicate sheen of sweat on your collarbone and forehead. You look as though you have just worked out. A likely possibility, considering the athletic tank top, jacket, and leggings you’re wearing—all of which accentuate curves Ellie feels a guilty letting her gaze linger on.

Her eyes are just beginning to draw over the bow of your lips when they part to say:

“Do they not teach punctuality at drug dealer school?”

The words are so bluntly absurd that Ellie finds trouble being offended. “What?”

You heave a world weary sigh before rolling your eyes. “You’re, like, fifteen minutes late. I thought I was walking into a sting operation or something.”

She’s surprised at how forthcoming you’re being. Most patrons don't care that she turns up late. Usually, they’re nothing but elated that she showed up at all and are itching to get whatever she has off her hands.

However bizarre your statement may be, Ellie lets it roll off her back with a mirthless laugh. “You’re real prissy for someone buying a whole zip.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for—oh, who cares.” You cut yourself off with another eye roll. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

You step closer to Ellie, fully bathing yourself in the warmth of her headlight. You’re even prettier when she can see you crystal clear.

She extends the package out to you and you take it, reaching into your pocket with your other to retrieve a modest wad of cash. When the exchange is made, your fingertips brush over the heel of her palm. It’s a familiar skin to skin that usually carries no weight, but now makes the hairs on her nape stand at attention.

Against her better judgement, she calls out, “I’m Ellie, by the way.” as you make your way back to your car.

You shoot her a, “Yeah, nice meeting you.” before you disappear behind the deep tint of your windows.

***

Theta parties suck ass—a fact you’re only just fully realizing as a clammy brother shoulders you in the back for probably the third time. You’re still somewhat tipsy from the shots you threw back at the pregame, but not enough to ignore the blatant discomfort of the atmosphere.

Frankly, you’re not even sure why you convinced yourself to come. Something about being a supportive sister and needing to get out of the place where orgasms went to die (your room).

Sufficiently annoyed, you venture from the backyard and into the house where the haze of marijuana smoke and perspiration has transformed the air into a murky abyss. It’s asphyxiating and pungent and it reminds you of Ellie.

It was unlike you to kick yourself for any reason, but you had been for two days over your interaction with her. She seemed nice for the most part, despite how viciously upset you were at her.

Truthfully, her presence intimidated you in an odd way. She was stupidly attractive, so much so that it almost made you angrier at her the moment she stepped out of her car.

A smattering of freckles covered her face. From the crown of her head to the column of her neck, right where the collar of her pitch black hoodie censored any further showings of skin. Her hair was tinged the sweetest flavor of auburn you had ever seen and framed her face perfectly.

And her eyes. You had never felt your body betray you on such a visceral level until you looked into her eyes. They were a bewitching shade of green that sent your heart lurching into your throat.

You could go on and on. Her lips that settled somewhere comfortably between a smirk and a pout. The half a second of contact you made with her hand—a barely there graze you were still reeling from a whole forty eight hours later.

Guilt swells in your chest.

You quickly weave your way through the sea of inebriated bodies until you were behind the door of nearest bathroom.

It’s not exactly the Ritz Carlton, but you’re not there to pee. You retrieve a shooter from your purse and down the thing in a few paced chugs. The guilt is promptly replaced with a delicious burn that your body is more than elated to host.

When you come out, the party’s a lot more bearable. Without even thinking, your hips sway to the rhythm of whatever song is playing, even if normally you’d find it a little repulsive. For a moment, you feel in with everyone else. Not like you’re tiptoeing along the outskirts, awaiting permission that will never be given to you.

That is, until an arm snakes along your shoulders. So confident and sure, as though it’s meant to be there. The touch is accompanied by the scent of cologne so sharp you can taste it.

You choke back a cough as you look up at the person. “This your first time at Theta?” he asks. He’s blond and confident enough in his approach that you can tell he’s been successful in it before.

“Excuse you?” You say, shrugging out from underneath him.

He’s offended as though he’s the one that’s just been unconsensually solicited by a strange drunk man. “Don’t be rude, baby.” He slurs, taking a closer step toward you. “I just wanted to show you around, that’s all.”

You push through the congregation of people until you’re outside. It shocks you how fast you moved in the span of only a second. But it isn't enough to just be outside with more people and music and possibilities of discomfort.

Your feet carry you what feels like miles down the street until you are completely alone on the sidewalk. You find a car parked against the curb park yourself atop the hood.

Occasionally, a gaggle of drunk girls will skip past you, moving from one party to the next. One of them will say, “You’re so pretty!” or “Ohhh, I just love your hair,” or “That’s such a cute dress. Where’s it from?”

While it does lift your spirits just a tad, you cannot help the feeling nagging at you within. The feeling that you don’t belong here, or anywhere at all. If you could shake that feeling at all, maybe you would have joined those girls at the next party.

You look down at your dress and fix its hem just a tad. It’s a white, strapless number that flows freely around the tops of your thighs. It’s a shame you had to waste it on a night like this.

A soft ahem cuts through the silence, and you snap your neck toward the noise. Behind you is Ellie, walking slowly toward the car you’re sitting on as if she’s approaching a wild tiger.

“Ellie?” It’s the first time her name has ever left your lips, and it feels wonderfully foreign rolling off the tongue. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was at the Theta party and—”

“You were at the Theta party?” You’re unable to stop yourself from interrupting her, try as you might. “Sorry, continue.”

Ellie chuckles. “Friend invited me.” She explains. “Anyway, I saw you running out and thought I’d check on you.”

“Oh,” Your lips quirk up in what’s sort of a smile. “Well, thank you, but I’m fine. Really, I am.”

At that, Ellie raises her hands in surrender before walking closer to you with a more relaxed gait than before. She sits next to you on the hood of the car at a more than respectable distance. You highlight that part because you count the inches you are apart (five) and feel the urge to scoot closer to her.

“I never got your name,” She says. You can smell her from here. A twisted mix of mahogany and vanilla. It’s deep and sweet at the same time. You look toward her, slow and cautious, trying not to drink too much of her in at once.

She’s wearing a shortsleeved black band T-shirt that showcases the subtle definitions in her freckled arms. As well as the vague, inky patterns of a tattoo that travels from her elbow to her wrist.

“Figured you could at least tell me that. Since we’re exchanging pleasantries on top of my car and stuff.”

Your sadness is quickly eclipsed by embarassment when you look down to ee that you are, in fact, siting atop the hood of Ellie’s black Chevy sedan.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” You move to get up, but her hand reaches out to stop you.

Still, though, she isn’t touching you. Her fingertips only graze the fabric of your dress. “No need,”

“Why? Are you enjoying your time with me or something?”

“Oh, yeah,” She smiles, “Lot more fun than my time at drug dealer school.”

Your forehead falls into your palm. You’re not entirely shocked she would bring that up now, but that doesn't take away the embarrassment of having said it. “I’m—” You cut yourself off, feeling as though a plain sorry is insufficient.

“It’s okay.” Her voice drops to a lower register, like she’s trying to whisper it into the shared space between you. Even though the street is virtually deserted now. “Next time we meet, I’ll be perfectly on time.”

Hope tinges your voice. “Really?” You ask, even though Leila and Tucker will have to pay your remaining tuition balance before you buy drugs for them ever again.

You whisper your name and hope Ellie catches it before it disappears into the inky black night. She does. And she repeats it, trying it out on her tongue a couple of times. The sound sends waves of warmth rolling down your body.

Ellie moves her hand away from your dress and you feel cold without it there. She runs her palms over the denim of her jeans, and you begin to think she’s ridding herself of you bit by bit. That is, until she heaves a breath and asks, “Wanna go for a drive?”

***

Ellie’s car is a separate embodiment of her. When you slide into the passenger seat, you’re bombarded with the scent of her, multiplied by about fifty. She cranks the engine to life, and an Oasis song stirs from the radio. It’s one you recognize from an episode of The OC you watched ages ago.

You jam your seatbelt into place, pull down the passenger side visor to take a quick look at yourself. Your makeup doesn’t look horrible. A little smudged around the eyes, but it adds to the spontaneity you feel. You catch Ellie’s gaze through your peripheral vision. “Sorry,” You say, folding the visor back up. “Am I touching too many things?”

“No,” Ellie says, her tone light. She puts her seatbelt on and pulls the belt so it’s pressed under back instead of against her chest. “Touch whatever you want.”

You open her glove department and peek in before turning an overhead light on and off. Then, after a second of shallow deliberation, you poke your index finger gently into Ellie’s bicep. It’s a feeble attempt at humor that makes you immediately bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry,” You say, even though Ellie’s giggling silently under her breath. “I was, like, trying to be funny, and I’m not very good at it. That’s my fault.”

Ellie heaves one more boisterous laugh as the car drives down the road. “I’m a little drunk, too,” You say, the speed of the car making your body feel light as a feather. “Sorry.”

“Stop that.” She replies.

“Stop what?”

“Apologizing for shit,” She’s a vision as she maneuvers a smooth turn with just one hand, the other finding purchase on the back of your headrest. The contact moves her just barely an inch closer to you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an unbecoming sound.

“It’s okay.” Ellie’s voice breaks through your reverie. “There’s a joke book in the console. If you ever wanna be as funny as me one day.”

“Really? You haven’t made me laugh yet.” Hesitantly, you pull the little book from her center console and flip to a random page. “Why do mushrooms get invited to all the parties?”

“Hm,” Ellie hums as she comes to a stop light. The blare of red does something to her beautifully concentrated face that is almost trance-like. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

“Because they’re such fungis.”

“Oh-ho!” She chortles, a full belly laugh, as if the joke was that funny. “I hadn’t heard that one before.”

“Looks like I’m the one that’s making you laugh.”

“Hey, don’t rush greatness.”

Silence purges the air for a moment, giving way to the guilt that still lingers in your chest. You glance at her focused face, your gaze drawing over the furrow in between her brows. It feels wrong to be enjoying her so much after how cruel you were.

Your voice is a squeak over the music. “I know you told me to stop apologizing for shit,”

“Then, why does it feel like you’re about to?” Ellie says, the sentence scored with a throaty chuckle.

Despite yourself, you smile. Somehow, she manages to make the hardest thing in the world (apologizing) just a little easier.

“Because, I really am sorry about the other day. I…” have been going through a hard time for the past two years. “…was having a bad day, and I took it out on you. I’m…” You want to finish with, not usually like that, but you are unsure if that’s completely true. Instead, you just say, “…sorry.”

“Can I be honest with you?” She inquires earnestly, whilst also seeming wholly unmoved by your apology.

Whatever she is about to say, you’re not sure you’re ready to hear it. Still you hum, “Mhm.”

“I think you take yourself way too seriously.” She says it lowly and a little fearfully, as if she’s trying to convey bad news in a soft way. “It’s okay to chill every now and then.”

“I am chill sometimes!” You erupt without meaning to, moving from the comfort of your seat and fully turning to face her. “I am,” you repeat in a softer register, only after proving her point.

“No, you’re not. I mean, even in your texts, you sound like a fed.” The statement is so jarringly and absurdly sincere that you can’t even bring yourself to be offended. Instead, you laugh so hard for so long that stitches cut up your sides. Ellie continues, “Who texts someone, do you sell? Like, okay. Good morning to you too, officer.”

She’s so right, you think. You are incredibly hard on yourself. You do think about yourself much more than any twenty year old girl ought to. It’s been an issue for so long that you’ve began to see it as a fact of life.

“It’s not intentional.” You say. Leftover giggles thread through your words. “I’m a very no-nonsense sort of person.”

“Life is all about balance. I think you can fit a little nonsense in.”

“Alright, o wise one.” God, this girl was all sorts of bad for you. You’re joking with the sole purpose of making her laugh and saying things like o wise one completely unironically. “Where do you suggest I start?”

There’s a mild timidness to her voice when she asks, “You ever smoke weed?” as if she’s heavily anticipating your response. Maybe, to her, you don’t look like the type to smoke. Hell, twenty four hours ago, you probably would have thought the same of yourself, too.

Your answer, though, is short and long. Yes and no. You had definitely hit a joint in an effort to impress some stoner boys in the ninth grade. And from what you could recall two years prior, you quite enjoyed the lack of inhibition that accompanied a fifty milligram edible.

“Not really,” you end up saying to Ellie. “Why?”

“‘Cause, you’re going to tonight. And you’re gonna like it.”

There’s something about the finality in her voice that makes you explode on the inside. Her telling you what you will do and what you will like without any room for dissent invokes a swell of warmth through your body. It spikes behind your ears, in your chest, right in between your thighs where you’re beginning to need her the most.

Still, you tease, “What makes you so sure?”

“I’m the o wise one, remember?” She parakeets your words from earlier, and you swat playfully in her direction. “Just trust me. Can you do that?”

Mhm, you ache to say, I can do whatever you want me to do.

You just say yes instead.

“Atta girl.”

***

Ellie drives to the old parking lot on McKinley, where the two of you met just days ago. You conclude to yourself that this spot holds some comfortability for her; whether it be for its vacant nature of vast amount of space.

It’s different from Wednesday, though. The place is blanketed in darkness, only dimly brightened by faraway amalgamations of stars and those same twinkling lamp posts.

Ellie rolls a blunt with all the finesse and care of someone performing surgery. After sprinkling and dispersing the weed over crisp rolling paper, she appraises it for a while. You stare at it too, though you’re not sure what it is you’re supposed to be looking for.

Then, Ellie darts her tongue out to wet along the hem of the paper.

It’s a methodical motion that feels like it lasts forever. You definitely want it to. You don’t even hide the way your eyes drink in the pink muscle. So full, so wet, you want to suck it into your mouth and caress it with your own, over and over again.

“Based on our first interaction, I wouldn’t have expected you to be much of a partying type.” She hypothesizes, pulling a lighter out of her jean’s front pocket and sparking the blunt to life. Graceful tendrils of smoke fill the air like tiny dancers.

“It’s on and off,” You say, watching the gentle purse of Ellie’s lips as hits it once. “Theta parties, not really. Phi Psi is usually fun, though.”

“Yeah?” She asks even though you’re positive half of what you’re saying sounds like gibberish by now.

“Yeah. They play good music, and they serve real alcohol. If I have to try and get drunk off another beer I might kill myself.”

Ellie hums a soft, throaty chuckle, and you feel as though you have hit the lottery. But, like any gambler, it isn’t good enough to win once. You want to do it again and again and again until you touch that ever elusive state of euphoria.

Dopamine rushes through your brain so turbulently that you don’t even feel nervous when she passes the blunt to you. You put it to your lips and suck for only a second. Just long enough to keep you from falling into a coughing fit.

When you breathe it in, it spreads throughout your body real slow and warm. Like you’re sinking into a bubble bath. You blow it out, and surprisingly only cough once.

“Anyway, yeah, they’re usually a good time.” You repeat the process, subconsciously uncrossing your legs. “You should come to their next one. It’s for St. Patrick’s Day.”

Stray light from a lamp post catches a portion of Ellie’s face perfectly. One of her eyes, the smooth valley of her cheekbone, that flash of auburn at her hairline.

“See, thing is, I’m not really much of the partying type.”

The sting of rejection feels unnatural to you. “It’ll be fun, though. The theme is Nothing but Green. You could, like, sell some of your weed there. I don’t know, is that allowed?”

You go to hit the blunt a third time, but are interrupted when Ellie deals a prompt pinch to your arm. It commands your attention without being altogether painful. You let yourself imagine how it would feel for her to pinch your nipples. Would she start off more gentle than that? Would she do it harder if you asked her to?

“Don’t do that shit,” She says, summoning the blunt from your hand.

“What?”

“Puff puff, pass.” She faux demonstrates. “All the time, every time. Golden rule.”

“Got it,” You nod. “Puff puff, pass.”

You are not sure if this teaching moment embarrasses you or turns you on. Perhaps it does both at once. Maybe, the fact that you’re embarrassed turns you on. Or the fact that you’re turned on embarrasses you.

“When will it start to kick in?” You mumble, entranced by the sight of smoke leaving Ellie’s lips and dispersing into the air.

“You said you don’t really smoke, right?” You nod. “Then, probably around now.”

Ellie hits the blunt again, a longer one this time. She lets the smoke come out of her mouth and nose in some entrancing trick of magic.

“Mmm,” She hums, brows furrowing in inquisition. “Your lip gloss is all over it.”

You’re so turned on you don’t even notice how you nearly grit your teeth to the point of stubs. “I’m sorry,” You whisper. It’s all you can say.

“Don’t be.” She reassures you, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. It’s clear she’s the teacher to your pupil. “‘S just got a little bit of your taste on it now, that’s all.”

“What do I taste like?”

The words leave your mouth before you can even assess them properly. Strangely enough, you do not care to. It’s freeing to not have to think about anything.

Ellie licks her lips—slow and pensive, the way someone would if they were in deep thought. But she isn’t. She’s just trying to get an accurate appraisal of your flavor before it dissolves in her mouth.

She tasting me, you think. I’m all over her tongue right now.

“Peaches.” She decides after a moment. “Like the kind they make in Georgia, y’know. Fresh. Sweet.” Ellie softly smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth a couple times. A slow, deep gulp from her follows. “Pure.”

You feel anything but. There’s nothing pure about the way you feel right now, or the things you want Ellie to do to you.

Your mind is mangled by desire, but the usual bashfulness around it completely disappears under the weed’s influence. If she asked you right now (What do you wanna do?) you would answer with full sincerity (I want to sit on your lap, and grind against your thigh until I cum. Then, I want to do it again and again and again and again and…)

Arousal begins to drip out of you at a sedated pace, rendering your panties a sticky mess.

“That’s really sweet of you, Ellie.” You smile. “You’re really sweet.”

“Yeah,” You know you aren't hesitating when you feel her gaze ride over you in a slow, long once over. Individual hairs on your body point up under her stare. It smooths up your calves but pays extra care to the buttery softness of your thighs.

When your four eyes meet, Ellie knows that you know she was just ogling you. But she doesn't care. She doesn’t even afford you the politeness of looking away, flustered at having been caught. She isn’t embarrassed of wanting you. You just wish she would take you already. Instead, she just says, “You’re not too bad yourself.”

When the blunt has been smoked down to basically nothing (a roach, Ellie calls it) your limbs feel like big hackysack bags, and your heart is beating maybe twenty times per minute.

You use an inordinate amount of strength turning your body towards Ellie. She’s began fiddling with the aux on her radio, flipping back and forth through songs in search of what she deems perfect.

Despite being a little out of your sound mind, you cannot fight the desire you have for her to fuck you anyway. You hope that by the time you get out of her car, the evidence of your want has soaked through your panties and into the suede passenger seat, leaving a little piece of you behind for her.

Ellie calls your name just as she’s picked what she deems the perfect song—Mac Miller’s Skin. She relaxes in her seat, narrowing her eyes on you and whispering, “You feelin’ alright?”

“Mmmhhmm,” You hum, soft and content. “Does it always feel this good?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” The low rumble of her voice softens your chest like hot tea. “Helps when you have someone to shoot the shit with.”

“Am I a good… shit shooter?” You ask, though not a hundred percent certain you’re even saying the right words.

“Not bad for your first time.”

Ellie drops you off in front of the Phi Mu house not too long after. You slink out of her car just as the clock strikes 2:53 in the morning. “Thank you, Ellie,” You say through open passenger side window. “I had fun.”

“So did I.” She says. Then, after a moment of tensed staring, “Will you text me whenever you get settled in? I don't want you bumping your head or anything.”

“Okay,” You grin. “Drive safe.”

You turn away and begin walking to the door, only looking back once you’re a few paces away from her car. Ellie watches you the whole way up.

***

You slump against your bedroom door, pushing it closed with a loud thud. The space is so dark you can’t even see your own palm in front of your face. You don’t care. You kick your boots and socks off before shoving your panties down to your ankles.

Your spine goes soft at the first brush of your fingertips against your pussy lips. You spread yourself open, exposing your clit to the stiff chill of your bedroom. A soft hiss escapes your lips as you take a finger and dip it into the cleft of your hole, collecting a gush of your slick, before lathering it over your cunt. Wetting the softness of your clit and labia minora.

“Ellie,” You whine as those first few embers of goose flesh prickle over your skin. If you focus just enough, you can still smell the deep scent of her lingering against your skin. If you close your eyes, you can imagine she’s right in front of you, egging you along.

You couldn’t even make it to the fucking bed, she’d murmur into your lips, her breath fanning over tongue. The thought of her seeing you so vulnerable makes you rub your clit in a steadier rhythm.

“No,” you mewl, “I couldn’t.” Already, you feel that pull behind your navel that tells you you’re gonna cum soon. You’ve never gotten so close so fast before and the shock of it has you whining.

Is this what you were thinking about the whole time? You nod so hard that you bump your head against the door. ‘Cause I could’ve given it to you. All you had to do was ask.

That sends you over the edge. You come apart with a sharp gasp that tears through your throat. Your teeth lock together in an attempt to stop any further sounds from escaping, but you can’t help the desperate sob that comes with the relief of your orgasm.

Don’t stop, you hear Ellie’s voice say again, and your hunger is back as though it never left. Your middle and ring fingers return to your clit like reunited lovers.

“Please,” You breathe out. You’re scared of the fire erupting inside you. You’re scared that you won’t be able to stop now that it’s started.

Answer me, Ellie says, is this what you wanted?

“Yes,” you confess in a short grunt. You didn’t care that you were too high to hold your head up straight. You didn’t care that you wouldn’t be able to fight her off even if you wanted to. You just needed her so bad it made everything else seem foolish. “I wanted it so bad.”

Yeah? Her voice is so taunting it almost feels humiliating. Wanted me to reach over and lift your dress up?

“Mhmhmhmhm,”

Wanted me to play with your pussy?

“I did, I did, I did,” You pant, moving your fingers off your clit and dipping them into your sopping hole. The stretch sates you, though you have to imagine your fingers as Ellie’s just to tame that fire burning in your gut. A prurient chorus of wet sounds fill the air.

While you fuck yourself, you grind your clit against the heel of your palm, hungry for as much stimulation as your pussy can take.

Look at how wet you are for me, Ellie taunts, and I’m not even fucking here.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you so quickly, you have to clamp down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming Ellie’s name into the pitch black air. Your cunt flutters around your fingers as you ride it out.

As you begin to come down, your knees buckle together and you tumble onto the floor. You’re totally spent by this point—toes crinkling in aftershock, legs completely liquefied, heart hammering through your ears.

The scent of carpet deodorizer makes you sneeze but keeps you from knocking out on the floor. You pat around the floor for your purse, hastily retrieving your phone to text Ellie.

All settled in :)

Your text is read, and about a minute later, telltale typing bubbles pop up on her end of the screen.

goodddd

take it easy tomorrow

***

The next couple of weeks are punctuated by texts. For days after your first rendezvous, you weren’t sure if you should be the one to text first or vice versa.

Then, you were heading to your car after the end of a midday class when your phone pinged twice.

there were peaches at the dining hall td

ate one and thought of u

You responded quickly after skipping the rest of the way to your car.

Wowww

How were they?

Five minutes pass, and your heart is on edge for all of them.

nice i guess

not as good as the real thing

From then, you don’t feel so apprehensive texting her first or at all. Coming up with the most perfectly cool-sounding thing to say does leave your stomach in knots the first couple of times, but you get over it soon enough when you read whatever she sends back.

While picking up a study book at Barnes & Noble, you convince yourself to get one of those joke books on the next aisle over. You purchase it quickly so that you have no time to regret it. When you make it to your car, you send a picture of it to Ellie.

Picked this up at the bookstore.

Gonna be just like you lols

oh yeah?

spit me smth

Why don’t melons get married?

mmmm

i don’t know

tell me

Because they cantaloupe.

lmaooo

that’s a good one

i’m proud of you

Better step your game up!

At night, when you’re in the midst of sleep, three pings would startle you awake, only to be promptly delighted when you process Ellie’s name attached to them.

u up?

sorry that sounded weird

couldn’t sleep thought i’d text u

Lol. Nothing better to do?

woahh ur awake

You woke me!

Are you alright?

yeahhh

just up thinking i guess

About what?

What you’re gonna wear to the NBG party?

very funny peach

The three words on your phone nearly burn your eyes. Your chest floods with a surge of ecstasy as you process the nickname she’s given you. You read the message about seven times over, your smile stretching bigger each time, imagining the words leaving Ellie’s mouth exactly as they’re written. You’re about to read it again when a new message springs forth.

you really want me to come?

You’re the only person I want there

***

Ellie sighs as she places her cards in the center of the coffee table.

It’s one of relief and anticipation—she can finally pick her phone back up and see what texts have materialized on your side of the screen.

“One three.” Jesse says, placing his cards down to the right of her.

Dina follows excitedly after. “Two fours.”

She can barely get the words out of her mouth before Jesse is declaring, “Bullshit,”

She scoffs and pulls the pile of cards at the table into her own deck.

While this is happening, Ellie is silently swooning over a photo you’ve just sent her—posed in front of your bedroom mirror, clad in a blush-pink athletic jacket and breathy white tennis skirt. Your eyes are just the tiniest bit softer, and Ellie swears she can see a kaleidoscope of emotion threatening to burst through your irises.

She’s not even sure if you’re trying to, but you look perfect. You always do. On the day the two of you met. On the night of the Theta party. On those Instagram stories Ellie isn’t sure if she’s supposed to heart or not (though, she always ends up doing so after an embarrassing amount of deliberation).

Fit check before my run later.

She’s about to respond when Dina’s voice sifts through the chaos of her thoughts. “Ellie,” She calls, “It’s your turn.”

Ellie diverts her attention back to her hand of cards. “One five.” She quickly lies, sliding it toward the center of the table, faced down.

She surveys the caption of words under your photo, swiftly and carefully preparing words of her own to send. love it peach, Ellie types. Then, once she’s gathered the confidence, lol run to my place.

Butterflies run fretful laps around her stomach as she awaits your response. Ellie presses her eyes closed for a moment, but only sees your smile twinkling behind the lids. She goes to worry her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping to find remnants of your taste still there, like some sort of perverted scratch and sniff.

“Three sixes.” Jesse announces, no doubt present in his voice.

“Bullshit,” says Dina, just as confident, “I’ve got all the sixes.” After a few moments of whispered counting, she offers, “Two sevens.”

When Ellie opens her eyes, three texts have appeared.

Haha, you wish

Come to the party tomorrow

Then I’ll consider.

Before she can think of a charming enough response, Dina nudges her leg under the coffee table. “Earth to Ellie!” She calls out. Ellie looks up—really looks—for the first time since before the game started to see Dina and Jesse staring back at her with annoyed albeit slightly amused faces. “Hey, we’re playing a game here.” Dina cajoles.

“Yeah, Ellie. Is it phone time or friend time?” Jesse joins, clearly equally motivated by curiosity and messing with her just for the sake of it.

Ellie breathes a soft laugh. “Sorry guys,”

“What’s got you all smiley, anyway?” Dina asks with a quirk of her brow.

“Nothing.”

“Bullllshit,” Jesse says, as confident as ever.

Ellie places her cards down, trying to conceal the lump passing through her throat. Despite being surrounded by her closest friends, she can’t help the spike in her heart rate.

“It’s just this girl I sold to a couple weeks back.” Ellie confesses.

“Oh,” Dina says, utterly delighted. Ellie doesn’t miss the look her and Jesse exchange across the table. “She nice?”

Just talking about you gets her going. A rush of heat blooms beneath her cheeks. “Yeah, she’s real sweet,” Ellie says before realizing that may not be completely true. So, she adds, “once you get to know her.”

Jesse pipes up from the other side of the table.“Is she cute?”

Dina reprimands him with a glare. “Don’t be such a pig, Jess.” Though it’s likely Jesse’s only said that to make her jealous. Her features soften as she turns her gaze back to Ellie. “But, I mean, is she?”

Ellie pulls a low whistle between her teeth, her own modest way of saying fuck yeah.

She pulls up your Instagram to show Dina and Jessie. Frankly, she couldn’t help the intimidation crawling up her back when she first looked at the page. One post, sixteen hundred followers, and a bio with only two characters—ΦM.

“Woah,” Dina blurts as she taps on the lone post. It’s a single photo of you outside a restaurant. The gown you’re wearing is a deep shade of scarlet, and your full, glossy lips are tilted upward in a coquettish sort of half smile.

Jesse claps a firm, proud hand over Ellie’s shoulder. “Sorority girl,” He says the two words as if they alone convey something much deeper. “Nice, man.”

“Yeah,” Dina chirps, “when can we meet her?”

“Woah,”

“Slow your roll, D.” Jesse says in the familiar mediating way that only he can. “You gotta let her come to us.”

“Yeah, you heard him, Mom,” Ellie smiles, though suddenly fighting the warmth that swirls in her chest at the prospect of you meeting her friends. “One eight,” She says, placing her last card on the table and revealing that she’s won the game.

“Bullshit!” Jesse and Dina exclaim together.

Ellie turns her card around to show that it is indeed an eight, and is met with a chorus of grunts. “I had a lot riding on that game.” Jesse says, gathering the deck and preparing to shuffle again.

“You bet two slices of your pizza.”

DIna rolls her eyes. “Clearly that was all he had.”

“Fuck it. New game! This time I’m betting the whole box.”

Later, after the pizza boxes and wine bottles and cards have all been cleaned away, Ellie shuffles into bed with excitement purring inside her chest as she opens your messages.

i’m back peach

Hi!

How was game night?

pretty fun

told my friends about you

Oh?

What did you say?

that i sold to a pretty girl a couple of weeks ago

& we hit it off

Lolll, I don’t remember it happening that way

uhh it happened eventually

also told them i’d go to your party tmrw

The screen goes still for a few moments after Ellie last message. Only alight with your speech bubble making disjointed appearances on the other side of the screen, fading in and out in the manner of a thready pulse.

YAY!!

I could just kiss you right now.

Ellie stares at the wall long after you’ve fallen asleep, trying fruitlessly to run the thought of you out of her mind. Still, no matter how many invisible constellations she draws with the popcorns in her ceiling, no matter how many sheep she counts or puffs she takes of her weed pen, she can’t calm her brain.

The only thing that sates her is the image of you.

Figuratively, because when Ellie finally allows herself to think of you, a slow warmth rushes over her body. It begins at the tips of her fingers and doesn’t stop until its peaked at her longest eyelash.

Literally, because she pulls up a photo of you to feed the fire burning in her heart. It’s the first picture you ever sent her—a selfie of you in a cream colored, off the shoulder sweater, your face only brightened by the glimmer of a nearby candle.

You look like a dream. Ellie’s concerned for a moment that the vision of your face may be the result of her own prolonged, feverish hallucinations.

Don’t mind my eyes. Just finished a study sesh lol. Ellie reads the texts you sent under the photo countless times. When she looks back at your eyes in the picture, they do seem to show the quaintest signs of sleepiness—soft and low and too relaxed to hold up your guard.

Ellie imagines your eyes to look that way after sex. The soft, sweet, romantic kind you have on Valentine’s Day or prom night. The kind you tell your girlfriends about a couple days later over salads. (“It was the most romantic night of my life!”) Love making.

What scares Ellie is that she doesn’t want to do that to you. At least not right now. Right now, she wants your back pressed flush against her chest as plows into you from the side. She wants to grip one hand at the junction under your knee, keeping you anchored open so that there’s nowhere to go but deeper.

Does it always feel this good?

Your previous words reverberate through her head. Ellie wonders if that’s the kind of thing you would say after sex. The kind of delirious, euphoria-drunk question you would ask after she’s coaxed a fourth or fifth orgasm out of you. Does it always feel this good, Ellie?

With a heavy sigh, Ellie closes her phone and her eyes, resolving not to think about you for the rest of the night, lest she unravel her remaining bit of sanity. She fails.

***

Ellie’s text comes just as you down your fifth green apple jell-o shot. Checking your phone, you chew and suck the thickness into a smooth dissolution until it’s melted completely in your mouth.

i’m outside peach

A smile splits your face before you even realize it. Excitement surges through you so quickly your body jolts as if you’ve gotten chills.

“Sorry,” You say after accidentally bumping into a guy wearing a simple but effective dollar sign costume. He murmurs a polite, you’re good, and continues flirting with a girl dressed as the green M&M.

The floorboards tremble under the bass of Lil Yachty’s Broccoli and the hundreds of feet moving along to the music. You make your way through the crowd, passing a huddle of girls dressed a leprechauns and one not so convincing Hulk before you make it outside.

You spot Ellie instantly. Firstly, because a few porch and string lights illuminate where she stands at the front of the house. Secondly, because she’s the only person not wearing any green.

Your eyes lock as you storm up to her, and you catch the subtle appraisal she does of your outfit. You’re wearing a green, sequined mini dress that’s hemmed just beneath the curve of your ass and strappy stilettos that curl up your calves. All your jewelry is gold—your big hooped earrings, jangling bracelets on both arms, and mess of thin chains around your neck. And though Ellie can’t see it, you swear her eyes focus in on the thong you’re wearing under your dress. It’s a soft, sheer material of pale green, trimmed with scalloped lace. Two words sit woven into the fabric over your soft mound—Lucky You.

“Now it’s my turn to pinch you,” Your voice comes out familiarly cheery, even if you are trying to reprimand her. “Where’s your green, loser?”

She’s wearing another band tee and straight-legged jeans, her hands shoved into the pockets. “Is it too late to tell you I don’t have any?”

Just the sound of her voice is enough to evaporate your frustrations. It doesn’t help that your eyes are following a trail of freckles down the bridge of her nose toward the soft bow of her upper lip. And her eyes are such a brilliant tinge of olive that you altogether stop caring just for a moment.

“No,” You clear your throat to keep the word from coming out as a whimper. “because we’re gonna get you some.”

You wrap your fingers around her wrist, gently pulling until her hand is out of her pocket and interlocked with yours. Surprisingly, you aren’t as unnerved by touching her as you thought you would be. It’s warm skin against warm skin. And while the softness of her palm encased around yours sends your pulse lurching, you don’t have it in you to be nervous at this moment.

“Where’re we going, Peach?” It’s the first time you’ve heard her say the nickname aloud, and you’re certain the feeling it gives you is akin to snorting a few lines.

“I’m gonna take you to get something green. Just stay close to me and try not to get pinched.”

You lead Ellie through the crush of people, tightening your grip on her hand as you pass through one particularly congested area of clammy, jittery bodies. You occasionally look back to survey her face, gauging her features for any signs of noticeable discomfort. However, you don’t find any. Only delight and a little bit of awe as she takes in everything around her.

One particularly rough wave of movement crushes the two of you together—your back against her front. Just as your balance begins to topple and your grip unfastens from Ellie’s hand, you feel it hitch on to your hip. Her breath is warm and smooth as she whispers into your skin, “Don’t worry,” The words run over the nape of your neck like water. “I got you.”

The two of you are so close, you can feel your ass slotting up and down over the hard steel of her belt buckle. For a second, you swear you feel Ellie tighten her hold on your hip so she can grind herself against you in turn. Just the thought that that could be happening makes you insane.

You turn back to her, nearly curling your body around hers, just so you let your lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Thank you, Ellie.”

You lock the storage closet door behind you. The sound of it is a soft, sharp click that you can’t be certain Ellie didn’t hear. Under the room’s singular lightbulb, she’s ruffling through a bin of beaded green necklaces and Party City shirts.

“Find anything?” You gently squeeze your thighs together before you make your way over to her.

“Just a bunch of shirts that say, I’m Single, Pinch Me Anyway.”

“Better than nothing,”

“True.”

You let yourself idly watch as she rifles through the bin. Her t-shirt rides just the tiniest bit up her back, so you can see the minuscule divots and twitches of muscle at the strong, svelte curve of her abdomen.

“I’m really glad you could come, Ellie.” Her head only slightly twitched toward the sound of your voice, but beside that, she doesn’t pull her eyes away from the bin. Almost as though she’s making a concerted effort not to. “For a minute, I wasn’t sure if you would.”

You stalk over to the other side of the spacious closet, sucking in a sharp breath as your back makes contact with the cold, dusty wall. You wonder if the sound of your heels clicking over the floor will arouse her curiosity, but she only manages a slight glance at you through her peripheral vision.

“C’mon, Peach, I was gonna pull through. Just had to tease you a little first.” Her voice comes out deep and smooth, a glass of whiskey you want to get drunk on any day of the week. Still, she doesn’t look your way. And that irritates you, because she’s been scraping the bottom of the bin for a good minute.

“Ellie,” you allow yourself to murmur once more. “Why won’t you look at me?”

She stops moving then, and you’re stricken with satisfaction. Her voice is a low, tortured sound. “You think I haven’t been looking at you?”

Finally, she stands up, turning her head your way. It pleases you, but only for a second. You outstretch your hand and curl your index finger in a come hither motion. So, she does. Ellie stalks toward you one careful step at a time until there are only two inches of free space between you. With your bodies so close, you’ve effectively trapped yourself against the wall.

“Do you… like my dress?” On the last three words, you voice slurs the tiniest bit. It comes out not at all how you intended. Vulnerable instead of sexy. You think that’s partly because you have to suppress a green apple flavored belch under you speech.

Ellie’s eyes travel over your dress in one steady motion, as if she’s counting the individual sequins. Your nipples stiffen under her gaze.

“Of course I do.” She says after a moment.

You nudge her leg with your foot, gently brushing over her shin a few times. “What about my shoes?”

She’s unfazed, though. She doesn’t take her eyes off yours. Her brows furrow interrogatively as she asks, “What are you doing, Peach?”

“I’m just trying to see if you like my outfit.” You lie, “I wore it for you, anyway.” Well, half lie.

Ellie entertains you for a moment, glancing down at your heeled foot as it pushes the hem of her jeans just the slightest bit over her inner ankle. “You’re beautiful,” she says, “but you know that already,” Blood rushes so furiously behind the shells of your ears that you feel you might vomit right at Ellie’s feet.

“What if I just wanted you to tell me?”

“Then I’ll tell you as many times as you want.” Ellie says, contented and resolved. You want her to tell you as many times as she can muster in one breath, between kisses, against the shell of your ear in the most intimate moments.

Want burns through you so rapidly your body feels as though it may dissolve into a heap of ash. With a shaky hand, you tug Ellie closer by the buckle of her belt and kiss her.

In those few seconds, it’s everything. Everything you’ve fantasized about, everything in this world you could ever want—it resides right here in the plushness of her mouth.

The skin of her lips is tinged with a decadent cocktail of flavors. Traces of mint, honey, and the sparsest bit of sweat. The taste sends a heady buzz down your spine that disorients your vertical. Luckily, Ellie stills you with warm, steady hands upon your hips.

Filled with a new mystical sense of exhilaration, you snake a hand around her waist, letting it sit comfortably at the slender small of her back. You pull her into you, and the movement of your lips grow sloppy as your body takes in this novel contact. Her chest pressed against yours, four legs moving as one at a messy interlock, her belt buckle’s chilled metal caressing your skin even through your dress.

It’s messy, but all the more electrifying. Just as the beginnings of a whimper are building in your throat, Ellie uses the same hands holding your hips to push you closer into the wall, away from her.

Your mouths are still so close that you can taste the warm fan of her breath. “I’m sorry,” Slowly, the pair of you untangle your limbs, Ellie initiating most of it. She lets her hands fall from your hips and puts a step of distance between you. It’s noticeable enough to make you shiver at the loss of contact, yet still small enough that just a single sufficient heave of either of your chests will push you back into the other’s orbit.

“You’re drunk,” She explains finally.

Years of premature alcohol consumption up to now had gifted you the ability of holding your liquor better than most of your peers, so you wonder what gives you away to Ellie. The strong and sickly, saccharine taste of green apple on your lips? Your less than perfect balance? The audacity you had to lock the two of you in a storage closet?

“It isn’t your fault, Ellie,” Your voice is so low it hardly forms any permeation in the atmosphere, a perfect antithesis to your shame that seems to swallow the room. “I kissed you.”

Ellie clutches her jaw, a pained expression shadowing her features, as if you’ve just socked her in it. “Still, I shouldn’t have… fuck,” A moment passes where you cannot tell what emotion Ellie is feeling. Frustration? Lust? Regret? A cornucopia of them swirl through the flecks of sepia in her eyes. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

That word—home—doesn’t help your shot nerves. In fact, it only worsens them. The Phi Mu mansion a few blocks away feels less like home and more like a place where you live. A place with all your things, all the space, all the specially cooked meals you could ever want. And yet,

“I don’t want to go there.” Your own voice catches you off guard. No longer the still, controlled sotto voce of the past. You’re petulant. Teetering on the edge of an emotion you refuse to touch. You sound as though you are about to cry. Shit, maybe you are drunk. “Can I come to yours?” You ask so quickly that the words swallow your previous sentence entirely. Ellie’s face doesn’t even get a chance to express the initial sentiment of Where else are you gonna go?

“Okay,” She resolves, “let’s go.”

***

Ellie’s apartment is only a heap of shadows and abstract heaps of shape. She grabs you by the hand and leads you through the darkness. Even while drunk, you can feel the caution radiating off her in seismic waves.

“My room’s this way.” She pulls you along towards the right (you think), murmuring something about minding your step.

You only know that you’ve actually made it into Ellie’s room when your heels no longer click against the floor but instead putter clumsily through sumptuous carpet. She lets go of your hand and ventures deeper into the space, flicking on a lamp that floods the room with warm light.

Even while drunk, her room feels emblematic of everything cool, in the sense that it is wholly distinctive to her. While her bed is neatly made—a fluffy, tempting slate of onyx and navy blue linen—her desk seems homier, with a slew of artifacts littering the top of it. A notebook flipped open, pages tattooed in indecipherable, wiry scrawl, a laptop plastered in faded stickers, a mug of diverse pens.

An acoustic guitar sits in the corner of her room, staring at you through the gaping maw of its sound hole. “I didn’t know you played guitar.” You remarked, unstrapping your heels. When your feet are finally bare, you fight off a chill as they sink into the soft floor.

“Uh, here and there.” Ellie palms the back of her neck. Her flushed disregard piques your interest, but you just add it to the mental laundry list of things you’ll ponder on further when the sun comes up. “Bathroom’s right through there.” She points to an agape door parallel to another, which you assume is her closet. “I’ll be out here whenever you’re done.”

You aren’t shocked that Ellie is in the living room when you return from peeing. It’s a sobered, impregnable distance away that doesn’t stop you from wanting to kiss her no matter how many extra steps it will take to get there.

She left clothes for you at the foot of the bed. An old, shapeless Oasis tee that swallows your body in its fabric and a pair of boxers that are as comfortable as they are unflattering.

Ellie is setting up blankets and pillows when you join her in the newly illuminated living room. She’s gotten comfortable too, having bartered her jeans and tee for a wife-beater and flannel pajama pants. “Will your roommate be upset that I’m here?” You ask, tiptoeing further into the space.

“Nah, you’re good,” Ellie’s couch is compiled of two blankets. One, you presume, is to shield your skin from the glacial sofa leather. The other, from the air. “It’s about time I brought a girl home, anyways.”

What’s meant to be a joke only sours you for some reason you can’t put your finger on. “Right.” You sigh, feeling dejected by your own murky thoughts. You take to caressing the blankets you’ll be sleeping with tonight. Their fleecy hairs are as soft as plant soil. “Thank you for setting me up out here.”

Ellie chuckles. It’s a coquettish, nubile sound that fills your body with a fresh load of butterflies. “It’s for me, Peach.” She plops her butt onto the middle cushion and spreads her legs in the most territorial fashion, taking up as much space as possible, presumably to keep you from sitting near her. “Bed’s all yours.”

“Are you sure?” You protest, “I’m your guest. Shouldn’t I take the couch?”

“A princess like you, sleeping on a sofa? I don’t buy it.” Her tone is challenging, as though there’s some sliver of possibility she’ll let you take the couch, only if you want it badly enough.

Still, she’s right. Given the choice any other time, you would make a beeline to the nearest available bed. The only reason you can think of for feigning modesty is that it grants you an excuse to talk to her more.

“Yeah,” You relent, though still dipping your knee into the only bit of cushion unexplored by Ellie’s legs. “good point there. You like it though, right?”

The it is unspoken, though clear as day. It’s staring her in the face, kneeing her couch, wearing her clothes. It chewed her out within moments of meeting her, and not long ago, drunkenly kissed her as though their lives depended on it.

You watch her fingers inch their way toward your knee, dither slightly in their path, and then curl into her palm in an anguished fist. “Yeah, I do.” From where you stand, a slit in her eyebrow reveals itself to you. You are unable to tell if it was sliced there electively or acquired from injury. You’re about to reach out and touch it when Ellie speaks again. “You should get some rest, Peach.”

Too tired to fight it, you acquiesce, returning to Ellie’s room with a reserved, “Good night,”

After leaving her bedroom door open so that only a slice of outside light shines through, you pee once more before plopping into bed. You bury your face into a pillow, pleasantly surprised to find Ellie’s scent all over it. The living room light never dims or turns off, but you’re too tired to care.

***

The time on your phone reads 2:37 when you wake up. Nighttime is still in full swing, as evidenced by the sounds of drunk collegiates whooping about outside. Still, your heart hammers wildly in your chest and your bladder screams at you from beneath Ellie’s duvet, eager to be relieved of its green apple jell-o content.

When you finally do pee and get your pulse to calm, you notice the sound of television humming from the small crack in the bedroom door. The thought that Ellie could still be awake both bewilders and delights you. You know won’t be able to fall back asleep until you check.

You poke your head out the door to see that Ellie is still awake and watching a Spongebob rerun. While she’s blissfully unaware of your presence, you dedicate a few moments of your stealth to observing her.

Even the way she lazes makes you blush. Ellie’s head, a warm crush of velvety auburn, is sunken into a pillow, denting its center. Her chest is looped into an even rhythm of breathing, a hypnotic up-and-down that makes you jealous of the air she breathes. One of her hands swings idly off the edge of the couch while the other rests on her belly, fingering invisible patterns into the fabric of her tee.

“Ellie,” Try as you might (though, you did not bother trying) you cannot stop yourself from calling out to her. Her eyes flit from the television to you, and you see them come to life as they do.

“Peach,” Her tone betrays that she’s both delighted and scared to see you. “what are you doing up?”

You push the door open wider, making room for the rest of your body in that liminal space between here and there. “Couldn’t sleep,” Ellie sits up on the couch, and her shirt rides up, exposing that smooth canvass of skin just above the waist of her pants. “What’s your excuse?”

“Same,” she confesses, “bad dream.”

You aren’t sure what part of this minute interaction pushes you into your next train of thought. Maybe it’s the way her gaze pins you to the threshold of the door. Maybe it’s because all those feelings that stormed through you at the party never really evanesced in the way they should have, and you aren’t sure they ever will. Especially not now. I shouldn’t have asked to come here, you think, she should have told me no.

“Come to bed with me?”

It’s a tall order, and you know that. You know Ellie will probably roll her eyes and grumble something along the lines of, go back to sleep, Peach, but just like that night in her car, you lack too much inhibition to care.

You aren’t expecting her to rise from the couch and murmur something beneath her breath like, come on then.

“That didn’t take much convincing.” You quip, thoroughly surprised by your victory, as Ellie flits past you through the doorway.

“I’m in no position to fight it.”

“What, does that mean you don’t want to?” You inquire, “Or that you won’t?”

“Little bit of both, I guess.” Ellie pauses at the foot of the bed as she appraises it. You’ve already dipped one of your knees into the foam and picked up a pillow for fluffing. “You’re on my side of the bed, by the way.”

“Oh, I—” You dither some as you knead the pillow previously dimpled by the shape of your head.

“No, it’s okay. Looks like you slept on both sides, actually.”

Ellie smiles, gesturing to the identical concavities on both pillows, the messiness of the comforter that isn’t confined to one side of the mattress.

“Sorry, I’m—”

“Hey,” It’s a single, three-letter word with not even a second syllable afforded to it. So, why does the sound of it out of her mouth command your attention like that of clicker trained animal? “what’d I tell you about all that apologizing? It’s okay. Now my pillows’ll smell like you.”

She crawls over onto the mattress until she’s maybe a few inches across from you. You wonder if she’s even trying to control herself around you anymore. You certainly are not.

“Okay, but before we go to sleep, can I apologize for one more thing?”

“No, but I know you’re gonna do it anyway.”

“The kiss earlier.” You enunciate the three words as if they alone convey the entirety of your thoughts. “I’m sorry if I made anything weird, or crossed a line, or…” Embarassment and a lack of proper wording silences you. “anything like that.”

“You didn’t cross anything. It was… nice. I enjoyed it.”

The relief that fills your chest is almost immediately vanquished. “Nice? Just nice?”

A wolfish chuckle rumbles through her chest. “Yeah, I mean, we were in a closet, and I didn’t want us to get too carried away. And you were pretty drunk, so…”

“Sooo, you hated it?”

“I did not hate it. I just think we have the potential for better.”

“Well, we aren’t in a closet now. And I’m not drunk anymore.”

“What are you trying to say, Peach?”

Doing your best to keep the plush of the mattress from knocking you off kilter, you lean over until all of your weight is rested on your hands and knees, and you crawl to her. You slink her way until your noses are nearly sharing the same stream of oxygen.

Ellie’s eyes give way to every emotion that flickers through her, a tried and true window directly into her soul. Is she really doing this, you see her think. Fuck, she is.

Your lips connect for the second time that night, with less clumsiness and somehow even more apprehension than before—both purely motivated by the fact that you want to do it right this time.

The taste of her lips is even sweeter this time, fermented and rich and bursting with every flavor of her. When she opens her mouth a little wider, so that you can connect your lips more intimately, so that some of her saliva leaks onto your tongue, you mewl into her.

Your mouths move in communication with each other, a sort of interpretive dance. You creak yours open wider so that Ellie’s tongue can pass through and land exactly where you need it—tickling the roof of your mouth, massaging your own tongue.

It feels exactly as you imagined so many times before, better even. Wet and warm and soft and just so her. She begins to pull out of your mouth, but you just suck her back in, demanding and hungry. For a moment you think you’re being too expressive, too transparent with your desires, until Ellie cups the back of your head, pulling you deeper in and invigorating the want that pools in your belly.

After a couple more beats of heady, sedated sucking, you let Ellie’s tongue retract from your mouth, prepared to pull away. When you do, your bottom lip gets stuck—no, caught—between her teeth for half a second. Just long enough to push you closer and closer off the cliff of your sanity and into the hysteria filled waters below.

“Shit,” Ellie audibly gulps. A thin rosary of saliva connects your faces, and some smears the bow of her lips. You curl the tip of your tongue and lick up the mess.

She releases the back of your skull and you sink unceremoniously into the mattress, feet tucked underneath your butt. “Better?” You ask rhetorically.

“Kiss all your dealers like that?”

“Only my favorite ones.” You jest despite the puddle of need dampening Ellie’s boxers.

The two of you fall into silence, the space of the room post-kiss only soundtracked by whistling breaths and shuffling against the comforter. A minute of this passes before Ellie speaks up. “Can I tell you a secret?”

You hum affirmatively.

“I didn’t actually have a bad dream.” She divulges, “I just…” Her hands gesticulate aimlessly about, groping for the words. “couldn’t sleep knowing you were in the other room. It was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Were you just going to sit there and go crazy all night? Or were you going to come in here and do something about it?”

“I definitely thought about it.”

“What stopped you?”

“I guess I’m just a coward, or I would have done it sooner.”

Slowly and a little timidly, your mouth forms around a question that’s plagued the deepest recesses of your psyche for a long while. “Do you really want me, Ellie?”

Ellie answers your question with a kiss. She crawls over to you so slowly that, at any moment, you could have protested, asked, what are you doing? But you didn’t want to.

Once she’s on you, though, she doesn’t stop. She kisses you like she’s angry you would even ask the question, do you want me.

Her hands cup your face in a way that doesn’t even feign gentleness. You’ll pull away from her when she wants you to, and only then. “Lay back,” Ellie barely breaks away from you, practically spitting the words into your mouth.

Still, you recline your entire body until your head hits a pillow. It feels so good to have her like this—on top of you, kissing you, hands caging you in place, hips finding a welcome place in between your spread legs.

You ache for her, and you’re far past hiding it. Your hands find a steady hold on her hips, grinding your center into hers through your respective bottoms. Desperate whines travel out of your mouth into hers as your body drinks in the friction.

“I want you, Peach,” Ellie rasps over you. Her mouth connects to your ear, tongue drawing a precise curl around the shell. “Want you here,” she says, just before she lands on your neck and begins sucking tenderly at the skin above your jugular. “and here,” she manages to utter. Shuffling beneath your shirt, she slides her hands up your waist until they reach the pulsing expanse of your chest. “here, too. Can I touch you right here?” Ellie nearly pleads, even though she already is.

“You know you can.” You shudder, bunching the shirt up until it’s pushed completely over your head. The stiff air makes your nipples draw up and harden into sensitive peaks. It isn’t helped by the fact that you can feel Ellie’s breath fanning over them, humid and painstakingly close.

Ellie doesn’t take her eyes off you as she flattens her tongue over your nipple and licks. Slowly, up and down, over and over again. A whimper breaks from your gritted teeth when she rims your areola. “Do you like it when I do that?”

You nod hard enough to wrench your head off your shoulders. All the while, your shaky fingers are hooking under the hem of her shirt and pulling it up, up, up until it’s shuffled off the top of her head.

With both your shirts discarded to a distant corner of the room, Ellie’s mouth returns to yours, capturing it in a kiss so fervent it springs a tear behind your eye. She’s got you right where she wants you, you presume: ensnared within a hazy loop of wet kisses, heaving breasts pressed together, cunts still seeking each other out through the barriers of your pants.

If Ellie were to say to you, right now, Would you kill someone for me? Hm? I’ll make you cum if you say yes, you cannot guarantee your moral compass would even register killing someone to be wrong; not when the feeling of her rutting up against you is so incredibly right.

She doesn’t bother asking if she can stick her hand into your pants. The intrusion startles you a tad initially, makes you tense up, until she tightens her grip at the junction between your shoulder and neck, murmuring into your ear a soft, “‘S okay, baby, it’s just me,”

When Ellie does make contact with the desire that’s been dripping out of you, the edge of her lips curl into a wolfish grin. “You’re gonna kill me, I fucking swear.”

She pulls her hand out of your pants, and you can immediately tell which finger touched you. It’s wet and glistening beneath the moonlight as if bestowed with a halo. Ellie sucks it into her mouth, a slight moan falling from her lips as she does.

You hustle her boxers down to your ankles until you can comfortably kick them off. Ellie’s eyes darken over the picture of you, on her bed and naked as the day you were born. “Here,” She extends her middle and ring fingers out to your face. “get these wet for me.”

You imagine it’s intentional, the way she purposely keeps them about a hair’s breadth away from your lips. She wants to see you debase yourself a little bit, to shift your face smallest inch so that you can scoop her fingers into your mouth. So, you do.

Your lips wrap around her fingers in a sort of sweet surrender, sucking past the first knuckles, you taste remnants of yourself on her skin. Oral fixation, you presume, is why the act of doing this has felt more intimate than anything else so far. Your eyes bulge with naïveté as her fingertips press into your tongue, eliciting a teary gag.

You would think that the audible signal of discomfort would sway her to stop, but it seems only to invigorate her. Ellie’s eyes darken, and a strong, breathy hum vibrates off of her. “Yeah,” she goads, only removing her fingers once all your tears have spilled down your chin. She examines the wet canvass of your face with indeterminate emotion. You’re expecting concern. Are you okay, Peach? or something like, I’ll be gentle next time. Instead, she scoffs a condescending chuckle, remarking, “you look so fucking pretty when you cry.”

Without trying, your chest heaves against a broken sob. Like sweet prey at the mercy of a barbarous predator, you feel helpless. There’s nowhere you could go without her snatching you from the air with seizing paws. The feeling toes the line of being both petrifying and the most exhilarating thing you could ever imagine.

Ellie shifts until her weight is propped entirely on her right arm. From this angle, her warm breath sears the shell of your ear. You spread your legs without her even having to ask, pressing your knees as far back as you can, even as it starts to hurt.

Ellie brings her wet fingers to your cunt, caressing the swollen head of your clit with a thinly veiled hunger. The sensation makes every muscle in your body squeeze taut. Your toes curl and you have to fight the urge to shut your thighs together. “Ellie,” You whine, hiccuping a little as your asshole begins clenching in time with the movement of her fingers.

“I’ll give you anything you want. You know that?” Ellie coos into your ear, rubbing your clit a little faster, a little firmer. Your vision grows fuzzy at the edges. “All you need to do is ask. Use your words.”

“I want you inside.” Your voice is crossed between a whimper and grit. A satisfied purrr hums through Ellie’s body, but the confession embarrasses you a little nonetheless.

She dips her middle digit lower, letting her fingertip sit at the cleft of your hole. You whine a bit at the contact, squeezing desperately around nothing, trying to suck her in. “Atta girl,” Her first knuckle passes through with unsurprising ease, though only paltrily sates the appetence that’s tearing you asunder from the inside out.

Ellie affords you a few thrusts of her finger, curling it upward in a slow, come hither motion to test the waters. That feeling—that initial phalangeal push—gently coaxes a high pitched whimper out of your slacked mouth. She hums, satisfied, though only temporarily, as she pulls out a bit just so she can stretch you around a second finger.

“Oh, shit,” Your breathless cries fall on deaf ears as Ellie pushes her to fingers in, down to the very last knuckle. The feeling of being so full of her stirs a heap of emotions within you. It’s overwhelmingly and maddeningly perfect in a way you’re only able to communicate through broken moans. “Oh, my—” You hiccup, pressing your eyes shut as she pulls almost all the way out, only to push back in in a way that kind of hurts.

Ellie curls her fingers in tantalizing unison, her pace controlled, though, a tad feral. You can feel it in the melody of soft grunts that sneak through her gritted teeth and into your ears. It doesn’t take long before her fingertips are prodding at a spot that makes you gasp. The part of it that isn’t made up of sheer pleasure is genuine shock. You had no idea anything in this world could feel so good.

“Right there?” She asks, all too smug and casual, as if she isn’t literally fingering the pulse of your most sensitive spot. Every attempt you make to speak is thwarted by her feverish, determined pursuit of your orgasm.

“C’mon,” Ellie further riles when your whimpers start to synchronize in time with the steady plunges of her fingers. “show me how well you can take it.”

You don’t even notice the fledgling spring of tears that are dampening your cheeks until Ellie licks one clean with the curve tip of her tongue, and then sears the salty flavor into your mouth in a messy kiss.

Then, in the blink of an eye, you feel the pleasure intensifying in every part of your body, marching you toward an orgasm so intense that you actually do start to cry. Soft, tensed wails borne entirely from Ellie’s fingers. “W—Wait,” you nearly choke trying to say the word. “I need a minute. Can you just—”

“No.” She says. You don’t even think she considers the possibility of stopping. All that’s visible in the deep pools of her irises is stalwart resolution.

You make an attempt to squirm away, but she curls her fingers into that you again, adding pressure to where you’re already so tender. “Ellie,” you plead, her name falling clumsily out of your mouth.

Your desperation does little to stall her. In fact, it seems to be the thing pushing her forward. “You’re gonna cum so fucking hard like this,” Ellie promises, “just trust me.”

And you do.

It only takes a couple more nudges before your orgasm erupts from your body with all the intensity of an ocean bursting through a dam. In the heat of it, your voice reaches a screaming pitch. “Don’t stop,” you command, aching to ride it out for as long as possible. “please, please don’t stop.”

Thick, limpid rivulets of cum rush out of you in warm spurts, and Ellie fucks you through every second of it.

The next couple of minutes are spent trying to catch your breath. You flit your eyes over to Ellie’s face, repeatedly tracing your gaze over her eyes and lips. “You’re so fucking perfect.” She coos into your balmy skin whilst planting messy kisses into your temple. Then, she orders, “Come here.” Slowly, with small protesting mewls from you, Ellie pulls her fingers out of your cunt so that her hands can cup your cheeks and lock you into another passionate kiss.

***

When the two of you have wrangled into a position of post-coital cuddling—you curled into her side, face tucked into her neck, with her tattooed arm wrapped around you—Ellie asks, “Do you wanna hear a joke?”

Halfway lolled into slumber, you oblige her. “Lay it on me.”

“A weasel walks into a bar. The bartender says, ‘Interesting. I’ve never served a weasel before. What can I get you?’” The anticipatory gleam in Ellie’s eyes tells you that she’s really proud of this one, and that makes you smile.

You sigh, “I’m ready.”

“‘Pop’ goes the weasel.”

You go from sleepily smiling to rolling your eyes in record time. “Good, right?” Ellie jests, filling the room with raucous laughter that you’re sure would wake anyone, if anyone was here to hear it. “Come on, I worked really hard on that one.”

Not even a full five minutes later, Ellie has completely passed out before you. She is, for lack of a better phrase, a picture. Chest billowing steadily around slow, deep breaths, mouth slightly agape with a ribbon of drool staining its corner, a gentle snore singing from her nose.

With your pinky finger, you connect makeshift constellations in the freckles on her collarbone until your eyelids grow weary. Just before you surrender to tiredness, you let your gaze sweep over Ellie’s face a final time. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth that is now curled into a soft smile. You hope she’s dreaming of you.

The bedroom was placid, the only sound coming from the turning pages of Abby’s current read. Your head rested on her muscular chest, eyes closed as you had been trying to fall asleep for the past 10 minutes. Usually, it’s lights out when you hit the bed with your gentle giant beside you, but tonight is different. You’re restless, constantly adjusting the position of your thighs to try and cease the throbbing of your core.

Abby, the attentive and caring girlfriend that she is, notices your discomfort. “You alright, baby?” she asks in a hushed voice. You nod hesitantly, not wanting to bother Abby with your neediness late at night, not that it ever would bother her. “You sure, sweetheart?” she coaxed. “You know you can tell me anything.” You sigh, hiding your face in her armpit. She smells clean, like vanilla and pine, only an arousing you more.

You answer her, voice completely muffled in her side. She chuckles. “What was that?” she smirks. You sit up to face her, but still too embarrassed to meet her gaze. “I’m horny,” you blurt out. The room is completely silent, but Abby shortly starts laughing. “Don’t laugh at me,” you scold, a pout on your face. “I’m not laughing at you, babe,” she smile. “It’s just cute how shy you still are.” You cross your arms. “Whatever,” you grumble. Abby raises an eyebrow at you, and you quickly drop the attitude.

Abby puts her book down on the nightstand before pushing the covers back a bit. “C’mere,” she murmurs. You climb onto her lap, straddling one of her thighs with your hands resting on her shoulders. She pulls you in for a soft kiss, before pulling away and kissing softly down your neck, biting between every few. She flexes her thigh, causing you to gasp. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” Abby slides her fingers between your thighs and into your shorts, your panties soaked. “Fuck,” she curses under her breath.

She lightly taps your hip, signaling you to take off your shorts. You sit back and slide them off your legs, throwing them onto the floor. “Panties, too, baby.” You bite your lip, pulling them down slowly your legs and discarding them somewhere on the floor. You move back to straddling her, your bare cunt meeting her thigh. Abby places her heavy hands gingerly on your waist. “Go ahead, pretty. Use my thigh,” she commands, voice low.

Your body heats up, arms wrapping around Abby’s neck as you start to move. A soft whimper escapes you, already satisfied to feel some friction against your clit. “Attagirl,” Abby praises, thumbs rubbing circles into your waist. Your slick wets Abby’s thigh the more you rock back and forth, making it easier to grind against her. You gasp, that coil in your stomach getting tighter.

Abby spurs you on as your pace becomes faster—sloppier. She slips her warm hands under your shirt, groping your tits. “A-Abby,” you moan softly. She kisses your cheek, helping you ride her. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well, sweet girl.” You whine, trying desperately to finally get that release. “Please, Abby please, ‘m so close.”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You arch your back as you moan loudly, gripping tightly onto Abby’s shirt. Abby helps you ride out your high, your pace sputtering and slowing down. When you finally stop, you drop your head onto Abby’s shoulder. She instinctively wraps her arms around you, kissing your forehead. “You okay?” she whispers. You nod with a sleepy smile on your face.

Abby lays you down, getting a wet rag to clean you up, She cleans you off, apologizing you when you gasp, still sensitive. She grabs you a clean pair of underwear, helping you put them on. Abby climbs into bed, pulling you close and holding you tight against her. “I love you,” she whispers to you. It’s warm, and you can finally let sleep take you.

——

AN: This is my first time writing smut so don’t flame me. 🥹

"Sadie! Take my hand." You lean over the railing, wrapped in the flimsy silk nighty. She takes it and hauls herself over the railing, her long legs flashing.

It has been a month since you have seen her, and the desire long unsatisfied flares at the sight of her. The rifle around her shoulder gleams in the streetlight, and her face is made severe under the brim of her hat.

"Christ." She hisses as she smooths her rumpled coat. A few strands from her plait have come loose, and they hang around her face. "Does it gotta be so high?"

"Shh. Someone will hear you. Delilah has ears like a bat."

"Where's your husband?" She says, raising her brows.

"Away. Business in Rhodes," you say quietly. "He won't be back for weeks. Delilah's staying downstairs till he's back."

Delilah is the aged housekeeper your husband has employed to keep things running smoothly and to keep an eye on you. Sadie stands in the low light of your bedroom; the open window behind her frames her in the glow of the streetlight. She removes her hat, and her face is revealed to you. The smooth, freckled curve of her cheek and the upturned nose. You move to help her out of her coat, and she waves you away, pressing her mouth to yours instead. She sighs into your mouth as you fist the lapels of her coat; you pull it off her shoulders as she removes her rifle, stowing it against the windowsill. The nightgown you wear is thin, and the draught from the window makes them harden. Wasting no time, she slips a rough palm into the neckline and cups the full breast.

"Mmph. They're sore. Getting my blood soon."

Caressing the swell, she kisses you again, pulling the forked pin from your hair so it spills over your neck and shoulders. Carefully, she pushes it back and kisses your neck, making you arch up into her.

Sadie scoops your breast out of your gown. Her fingers are rough, and you groan as she bends her head to suck the nipple into her mouth. It's wet and hot. Her teeth graze along the peaking bud, and you pull at her braid.

"Gentle." You say, and she softens her pink mouth. She releases it from the nipple and blows cool air onto the wet tip. You shiver.

"Sorry." She says a little sheepishly. "Missed this."

Missed this. Not missed you.

"Sadie." You say softly. "I'm already so wet for you." You take her hand, hitching up your nightgown with the other, and pull her to cup your cunt. A low whistle hums in her throat. She rubs her fingers into the heat of it, smearing fluid along the seam. Gripping her wrist, you urge her to speed up her fingers.

"You're a sweet thing." She says, mockingly, resisting a little. "I ain't even been gone a month."

"He doesn't—he doesn't even touch me." You say, leaning forward, into her mouth. "He doesn't make me come."

"Aw. Poor thing." A smug grin curves at her mouth, and she licks her lips like a predator.

"I thought about you the whole month." You implore, "Touched myself but—"

"But what?"

"I needed you."

Sadie presses the heel of her palm against your heat slowly, and two of her fingers tease the entrance.

"Please." You are whining now, humping at her fingers pathetically. She withdraws her hand, and your knees tremble.

"Tch." The noise is soft. "How 'bout you show me first?"

"Show you?" You press your face to her throat, your breasts smushed up against her, and she smells like sweat.

"Show me what you do when I'm ain't around to make you come."

Sadie steps back from you and pulls up the armchair you had tucked next to the window to read on. She angles her head at your bed. Still made. Sitting in the chair, she unbuttons her vest and sheds her weapons and leather gear. They lie in a heap at her feet. You sit on the edge of the bed, one of your breasts hanging out of the gown.

"Touch yourself." She says, her voice cool. You wonder if she uses this voice when she chases down her bounties. "And then, maybe I'll let you eat my pussy."

"Sadie. Don't play games; it's been so long."

"I know it has." She says, her voice brimming with smug laughter. "That's why I wanna enjoy it."

You exhale. Try to relax. Drawing a hand up, you cup your breast, and you massage the sore globe. Scooping the other breast out of the gown, you rub them in tandem, playing with the tips. Your cycle must be close; it's so sensitive that you mewl softly.

She leans back in the chair, her eyes heavy-lidded. Slowly, you lift your night gown up your legs. You spread your thighs apart. Your cunt is already soaking, leaking shiny slick. Her eyes go dark.

"Every night. "You begin. "Every night, I would think of you—touching me."

Taking two fingers, you circle the swollen bud in the cleft of your cunt. It pulses painfully.  You ease the whole finger in now and cry out.

"Is that so?" She cocks her head. You slip the tip of your finger inside yourself, and your thighs clench. You add a second finger, rubbing that spot inside of you desperately. Only she can reach it, though.

"I think about you—putting your fingers inside me." You gasp, "And rubbing my little cunt."  In the low lamplight, you see her hand slip inside her collar to cup her own breast. You open your knees, spreading them apart so she can see the way your cunt clenches. She pulls at the fastenings of her breeches and untucks her shirt. She hisses, and her hand disappears into her breeches.

“Dirty word for a spoiled little wife." She rasps, but you can hear her own desire seeping into her voice, her head lolls in the armchair, and her hips buck into her hand. "Put another one in."

"It won't fit." A pathetic moan slips past your lips.

"It will." She says firmly. "Spit on your hand."

You obey her.

"Go slow." She grunts a little as her wrist works faster to rub herself inside her breeches. A dark spot is beginning to show on them. "Be gentle with her."

Slowly, you slick the entrance with your spit and then ease the third finger in. The pressure building in your belly pulls.

"Oh. Sadie." You bite your lip. "It's sensitive. You do it; you're better at it."

"Quit beggin' and spread 'em wider."

"Sadie. Sadie, I think I'm going to—"

"Not yet." She grits out. "I waited too long."

"Please. Please, I'll do anything." You whine. Clenching, you bury your fingers deeper inside yourself.

"Take 'em out." She says firmly. You do. "Now, suck them."

Tasting your own salty slick, you suck at your fingers. She beckons you forward with a finger. Slipping off the bed, you practically crawl over to her, still dressed in your flimsy gown. Her breeches are still on, but her shirt is rucked up and a sliver of tanned skin peeks through.

Lifting her slim hips, she kicks off her breeches. You are already kneeling at her feet. Her cunt is furred with soft, brown hair. Your mouth waters. Nuzzling at her, you breathe in the musk of a long day's work. Her fingers come into your hair, caressing it. She lifts your chin, her thumb slipping into your mouth; you nip at it.

"Look at you." She grins, her shirt is mostly undone, and the curves of her breasts are just visible. "What would all those decent folk say? Pretty society lady like you, lookin' like a little whore."

"Please let me." You beg, nuzzling at the soft thatch between her legs.

"Let you what?" She mocks, cocking her head.

"Let me kiss your pussy," you whisper.

"Pussy?" Nah. Use the word you were usin' before."

You flush.

"C'mon." She strokes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. "You was all bold a few minutes ago."

"Cunt." You whisper. "Let me kiss your cunt."

"Sure, angel. Since you're so pretty."

You poke your tongue out and use your hand to part her in the centre. Aha. You think, there it is, she wants you just as much as you want her. Her cunt is puffy, swollen, red, and shiny with slick. You lick the pulsing bud in the middle, and her fingers tighten in your hair. Taking it in your mouth, you suck it hard, the way you know she likes. Her hips buck, and she presses your face down. The musky, salty scent of her fills your nostrils and your mouth. You lick harder, just to feel her fist in your hair and grind her cunt into your mouth.

"Fuck." She groans, "That's good. You're gettin' good at this."

Fluttering your lashes at her, you pause and look up.

"Am I, Sadie?"

"Yeah, baby. You are." You lick another stripe down her centre again. "Got a real sweet mouth."

Your pussy is pulsing with need at the feeling of her cunt against your face and the salty taste of her arousal. Reaching down, you squeeze your breasts together—for her benefit. She groans at the sight, her hand coming up to tweak her own nipple. She cries out and throws her head back at the friction, and you feel her cunt clench around your tongue; you lick more furiously. Sadie comes on your mouth with a rough exhale and presses your face into her slick folds; you lick all her wet up eagerly.

"Sadie?" You mumble, muffled in her soft, wet cunt.

"Yeah, honey?"

"Can I touch your—can I touch these too?" You lift your head and lick your lips, angling your head towards her breasts.

"My tits?" She says, and undoes the last button on her shirt. It falls open, revealing round, high breasts; the nipples are dark pink and so hard. Sweat glistens between them. "Ask properly."

"Can I touch your tits?" you beg, salivating a little at the sight of those freckled mounds.

"'Course you can. Come here."

Leaning up, you lick at the soft golden seam of hair below her belly button. It tastes of her pussy; she must have smeared all her wet up her belly. Then you kiss the tensed muscles of her abdomen, tanned from all those weeks bathing in the creek. Then, finally, you crawl up her, settling in her lap on those muscular thighs. You take one hard nipple in your mouth and suck hard. She arches into your mouth a little, stroking your hair. Your cunt finds friction against her thigh, and you hump against it, mouth attached to her nipple. You bend your head to her other breast, sucking as much into your mouth as will go. The fat of her breasts is making your cheek bulge.

"Little housewife like you. Who knew you was so needy? She muses.

Burying your face between her breasts and licking at the sweat on her sternum, you grind your aching pussy against her leg. She bounces it erratically, speeding up as you get closer and slowing down as you start to beg her. She stills completely, then.

"Sadie—please let me come." Mindlessly, you rub yourself harder, burying your face in her neck. "I've been so good."

She stills you, her hands clamping down on your jerking hips, and then tips your head up to look at her. Swiping the spit and salty arousal off your lips, she considers your request. For a moment, you think she might deny you. She likes to do that. Deny you and leave you aching in your bed, your fingers in your sore pussy trying desperately to come without her.

"Yeah. You been good," she says slowly, licking her lips. "Lie down on the bed."

You do, stripping off your sweat-soaked nightgown.

Sadie stands above you, spreads your legs to peer at your cunt. Her braid has come mostly loose, strands of hair framing her face. She's naked, and a scar runs down her side; you reach to touch it, and she catches your hand before you can. Her shoulders are square as she braces a knee on the bed and slowly presses her cunt to yours.

"Ah—Sadie." The feeling of her pussy, pressed against yours, sliding against you, is so electrifying. Your leg kicks out, and she steadies it with her strong hand, her nails digging into your thigh. "More."

"You're greedy." She says, the muscles in her stomach rippling as she pinches your swollen nub of your clit. "So desperate, look at all that mess."

"I missed you so much." You wail, covering your hot face with a hand. One of your tits swings as you turn your head to the cool fabric of the duvet. She slaps it lightly; it stings. "Didn't know—ah—when you'd come back."

"Got you a gift too." She says casually, as if her cunt isn't grinding against yours.

"A present?" Your voice is breathy with pleasure.

"Yeah." She says smugly, pushing your thigh back a little. "A chain. It's going to look so pretty between these." Sadie reaches up to squeeze a reddened, swollen breast in her hand, soothing the sting from earlier.

You come hard, her name on your lips and your cunt releasing a humiliating little spurt of liquid. She dips her fingers into it and licks them clean.

Afterwards, you lie cocooned in your massive, plush bed. Sadie props herself against your fat, stuffed throw pillows, cigarette dangling between her lips. You lie cradled against her breast; she absently strokes your back with her deft fingers. Kissing the smattering of freckles at the swell, you rest your chin on it, looking up at her.

Suspending the cigarette in two fingers, she holds it to your mouth for a second, only letting you take in a little drag. She laughs when you splutter, her eyes creased at the edges. The turquoise silk of your duvet contrasts with her skin, still glowing with sweat.

"Sadie," you say, a little wheedling. "Where's my present?"

She puts out the cigarette on your ash tray on the nightstand and leans over it to fumble in her satchel. She finds it and closes it in her palm so you cannot see it.

"Turn around."

You sit up, turning away from her. She kisses the knobs of your spine as the cool weight of the necklace rests just between your breasts. It's a teardrop-shaped red stone, heavy against your sternum.

"Pretty." She says as you turn towards her. You bat your eyes at her a little; she adjusts it so it sits centered on your chest. Her callouses catch on the skin there. "It's a goodbye present."

"What?" Your heart sinks suddenly, a sharp pain going through it.

"I'm leavin' here." She yawns, stretching. "Won't be back for a while. Or at all."

"You're leaving me?" you say, voice dangerously tremulous.

"Not you specifically." She scoffs, "This place."

"Take me with you," you say suddenly. "I don't love him."

"I ain't be doin' that." She says, finally. "And I won't be hearin' more on it."

"But Sadie, I—"

"Shh." She says, and then to your surprise, cradles your face in her hands. "You're a sweet girl. But it ain't a life for you. Yeah?"

You nod silently, biting your lip so you do not sob.

"Smart girl." She says approvingly. "C'mere. Lie down, and I'll make you feel better."