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imagine-darksiders · 19 days ago

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Absolute Anarchy

A Darksiders/SCP Foundation crossover nobody asked for but is here regardless.

Summary: SCP-8103. Object class; undetermined. There's a new entity at the Foundation. Four D-Class have already been supplied with weapons and pitted against it, only to be cut down before they could get more than a couple of shots in. Eager to determine which calibre of rifle can pierce its armour, they send you in next - D-1935 - to accomplish what your predecessors couldn't. It's too bad they never taught you how to actually use the rifle...

This has the vague semblance of a plot btw, but I'm trying not to be too finicky, and just to write as it comes to me, so hopefully it'll still be easy enough to follow and enjoyable at the same time.

Tw: Blood, guns, death, imprisonment, threat, violence, trapped, typical SCP violence.

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If there was ever a moment where you should have felt the stars aligning to determine the path your life might take, it would have to be the moment you decided to steal that godforsaken sports car.

It was an instance born of desperation – a tantalising lure cast by the owner of a chop-shop who made heartfelt promises to lift you out of poverty, only to throw you under the proverbial bus when the heat ventured too close to his illicit operation.

He only wanted the money from that Ferrari.

You reduced yourself to grand theft auto for a chance to escape the homeless shelter and land on your feet.

And where did you land instead?

Behind bars, that’s where. Tossed into some dingy prison that seemed only built for the sole purpose of hiding away society’s miserable, forgotten dregs.

You thought you knew what rock bottom looked like.

How were you to know the depths this pitiless world could drag you down to?

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

A strident voice bellows a set of all-too familiar numbers at what must be the top of his already bursting lungs. The door to your cell is wrenched violently open, spilling light into a room that’s a damn sight smaller and bleaker than the one they pulled you from in St Ives.

Bureaucracy had been your ultimate enemy, in the end. A signature in the wrong place, a ‘t’ dotted where it should have been crossed, and an ‘i’ absent from your paperwork had all lead you to a place you couldn’t have imagined in your most turbulent nightmares. A place that shouldn’t - and so far as the public is aware - doesn’t exist.

The SCP Foundation.

Specifically, site 12; a rancorous offshoot of what you’ve come to learn through eavesdropping and rumour, is a worldwide operation.

It turns out the people in charge here couldn’t less of give a hoot whether you’re a petty thief or a renowned and unrepentant serial killer. If your name is on their list, they won’t bother to see a difference. You’re all Disposables, in the end, and no amount of pleas for your innocence or requests for an evaluation will get you any closer to that glorious taste of freedom.

You’ll serve your time or die trying. And as of yet, you haven’t heard of anyone who’s reached the end of their ‘sentence.’

The bed springs underneath you shriek with relief as you scramble up onto your feet, nearly tripping over the long hems of your jumpsuit.

Heart thundering like a jackhammer, you cower before the imposing shape silhouetted in your doorway, warily eyeing the M9 Beretta that’s being aimed directly at your forehead.

You’d hoped that by now the guards here would have learned that you’re not a threat. Hell, it didn’t take you long to figure out that anybody even vaguely considered a troublemaker in this place will earn themselves a one-way ticket to a fate that would make you beg for a bullet between the eyes.

That first week, you ended up trying to plead your case to the wrong scientist and wound up on the bi-weekly rota to clean SCP-173’s cell. Twice.

How you got out of there with your neck facing the right way is one of life’s greatest mysteries. If it hadn’t gone for your poor cellmate first…

“You listening, Scuzz!?” The handgun jerks to the left of your doorway. “Get your ass outta that cell!”

Ah... Mullins. One of the guards assigned to your particular block.

A meaner son of a bitch, you’ve never known. Rumour has it that the towering brute used to be a D-Class, like you, but through shows of force, an unflinching disregard for his fellow man, and an uncanny ability to survive, the Lab Coats bumped him up to guard status, if for no other reason than to keep the inmates in line.

You’re loathe to admit it, but he is damn good at his job.

Ducking your head, you scurry from your bed through the open door, pressing yourself as close to the frame as possible to squeeze past the Beretta that he keeps trained on your head. You don’t even have to look at him anymore to know that there’s a wide smirk on his face when he jabs the barrel at the back of your skull, shoving you into an awkward stumble down the hallway.

“Move. Got a new assignment for you today,” he goads, falling into step behind you, his thick, rubber boots thudding purposefully on the linoleum.

In contrast, your plimsoles make rather pathetic ‘slaps’ with each, hurried step you take.

You know the drill by now. Head down. Eyes front. Mouth shut.

You’ve walked this path to the lifts a hundred times before.

It's been weeks since you stopped asking him when you can go home.

‘When you’ve served your sentence,’ became ‘When we damn well feel like it,’ became ‘You still think you’re getting out of here?’

“SCP-Eight-One-Oh-Three~,” Mullins sing-songs at your back, entirely too cheerful all of a sudden, “This one just came in. The Lab coats don’t know nothin’ about it. And guess who’s the lucky little D-Scuzz who gets to ‘further the advancement of science?”

Although your body trembles like a leaf in a hurricane, you don’t make a sound, not even when the moisture in your eyes wells up into a fat, salty teardrop and breaks over the dam of your lash line, carving a damp path down your grubby cheek.

An unknown SCP?

Your odds of making it to the end of the day in one piece have just plummeted into the single digits, and you once again find yourself asking, 'why me?'

‘We’re doing this for the good of humanity,’ one doctor with a particularly punchable face had once announced to a room full of orange-clad prisoners, and you can still remember wondering when you and your fellow inmates stopped being a part of that same Humanity this Foundation seems to keen to protect.

The cold steel of a gun jabs you again in the base of your neck, pushing a quiet sound of protest from your lips that you hurriedly clamp down on, fists balling up at your sides.

“That’s right!” Mullins continues, “Damn, you gotta be feelin’ proud as a peacock, kid. Not every day someone gets to be the first to make contact. Hell, maybe you’ll get lucky, and it’ll be a Euclid.”

The row of lifts appears as you turn the next corner and come to a stop obediently in front of the closest one, head still hanging nearly to your chest as you wait for Mullins to reach past you and jam his thumb on the ‘down’ button.

“Wouldn’t bet on it though… That thing has Keter written all over it.”

With the damning chime of a bell, the heavy, metal doors slide open, and Mullins shoves you roughly into the claustrophobic space with one fist to your spine. Jesus, trapped in this finite space with him, the smell of cheap brand cigarettes wafts from his jacket and drifts up into your nose, sitting stale and musty on the back of your tongue.

The walls are dull in here, unreflective, which you nearly count as a blessing.

It means you don’t have to see the mess you’ve become.

----

It’s only when you’re standing outside the containment cell that you realise Mullins was either lying, or just plain wrong.

You aren’t the first D-Class to make contact with this SCP.

In fact, if the stiff-faced scientist shoving a rifle into your hands is to be believed, you’re precisely the fifth.

“That,” he begins with an aloof air of bored professionalism, watching impassively while you fumble to find purchase on the heavy gun, “Is the CZ-Five-Fifty. And today, you will be testing its armour-piercing capabilities.”

‘Armour?’ you think, swallowing thickly, ‘What the Hell kind of monster have they brought into this place?’

The cold circle of steel still pressed to your shoulder blade reminds you of Mullins’s unpleasant presence.

“No funny business,” he growls, “You couldn’t get the safety off before I put you down like a lame bitch.”

Charming.

You don’t fancy telling him you couldn’t get the safety off anyway. And that it... hadn't occurred to you to even try and turn it on him and the scientist, though it probably should have been the first thing you thought of.

The weapon sits like a dead weight in your hands, heavy and fundamentally useless. You don’t know how to fire a gun, let alone one this powerful.

But the scientist doesn’t seem to know that, lazily racking off the terms of your contract and your ‘obligation’ to the Foundation.

Yes, you imagine it would get tiresome having to rehash the same speech five times in a row… Perhaps he just assumes you know how to use it?

Bastard.

Wetting your lips, you peel them apart and croak out a question, wincing at the pathetic crack in your voice, dry and reedy from disuse. “What happened to the others?”

At that, the scientist’s lips purse, and an eyelid twitches then settles.

They all hate being interrupted. Especially by a D-Class.

At least the guards acknowledge your autonomy through rage and demeaning names and acts of violence.

To the Lab Coats, you’re just cannon-fodder. Nothing. Empty vessels for them to use as they see fit.

Even so, the one in front of you straightens up and peers down the length of his nose at you, sighing as though he were trying to explain the concept of algebra to a dog. “The D-Class personnel-“ he begins, and you have to bite your tongue to hold in a scoff. ‘Personnel’ is a funny way of pronouncing ‘Prisoners.’

“-who came before, all failed their assignments.”

Behind you, Mullins pipes up with a distinguishable sneer. “Emptied their whole clips into the thing before they got turned into Swiss cheese.”

Oh… God.

“Didn’t even make a dent,” he concludes, sounding not in the least bit sad to have wasted four lives.

“Yes, well-“ the scientist clears his throat, “The first step to knowing your enemy is knowing how to kill it. And the supplied Rugers proved… ahem… inefficient. But at least we now know the three-five-seven calibre isn’t strong enough. We’re hoping the point six hundred will be.”

“Six hundred Overkill…” Mullins whistles appreciatively. “Elephant killers.”

Your stomach twists into a tight, clenching ball. You think you might be sick if there was anything to bring up except bile.

So, this is the SCP that finally kills you.

Shit.

In a whirlwind of sudden, dizzying movements and barked orders, you’re unceremoniously surrounded by three more guards who bodily ‘escort’ you into the loading dock – an empty room set in the midway of two descending doors that are made from several feet of a solid titanium alloy. The primary door slides open with a mechanical hiss, and you’re shoved roughly into the space between it and the secondary door.

On trembling knees, you gape up at the grey metal, noting with no small degree of alarm that it’s tall and wide enough to admit the shipping container of something titanic.

Above your head on the wall, an orange light pulses as the primary door slams shut behind you, and the sound of enormous locks sliding into place fills the room. Your rifle almost slips from your grasp, leaving you to fumble for it with sweat-slicked palms.

The drawback of not being a hardened death-row inmate is that when it comes to moments of great danger, you’re inclined to neither fight nor flee.

Instead, worst of all, you’re the type to freeze solid.

Now is no exception.

As the light flashing above you turns green, signalling for the second door to ascend into its slot high in the ceiling, your spine promptly goes rigid, fingers locking up around the gun whilst your feet turn to two blocks of cement.

All of a sudden, you can’t help but let out a shriek when something flops down onto the ground on your side of the door once it’s been raised a couple of feet, and at first, you assume something is trying to crawl through the space to get at you.

Once you realise what the dark object actually is, you almost wish your initial assumption had been correct.

What lays on the ground, spread across the threshold between the dock and the cell, is a body. ‘A human body!’ your addled brain registers.

Or what’s left of a human…

Swiss cheese might not have been an exaggeration after all.

Entry and exit holes have torn the poor bastard apart from head to toe, shredding to ribbons what remains of a grubby, orange jumpsuit, much like the one you’re currently garbed in. Bones and muscle and sinew show through torn flaps of skin, and the stench of blood mingles with gun smoke, seeping into your nostrils before you can scrunch your nose up to block it out. You could have done without the acrid taste of iron resting on the back of your tongue.

‘That’s gonna happen to me,’ you gasp silently, choking on a sob, unable to tear your gaze from the body, ‘Oh god, that’ll be me in a minute!’

Jesus Christ, they hadn’t even waited for the blood to dry, the assholes!

With a ‘click’ and a ‘thud,’ the door slides gracefully to a halt, utterly and completely open, exposing you to whatever entity lays in wait beyond the threshold. The fear of what lies ahead outweighs your horror of seeing a fellow D-Class on the ground. In an instant, you wrench your eyes away from the body and gape out into the room in front of you.

Sturdy, grey walls lit by an overhead fluorescent light are a familiar view, as are the bloodstains spattered across the stone slabs.

The pockmarks littering the adjacent wall are new however, each about the size of your fist. There are hundreds of them, like someone took a gatling gun and sprayed it all over the cell. They look… far too large to have been made by any ordinary rifle…

A hard blink sends twin tracks of tears leaking down your face. The room beyond angles sharply to the left right outside the door, and it plucks at your frayed nerves to realise you can’t see what’s around the corner…

Nearby, facedown on the floor just several feet from the entrance, is the second body, a gun laying close to their side and an arm outstretched towards you, their final act in the throes of death. They must have skidded around the corner and were making for the door when they were cut down…

Despite the carnage, the cell is eerily silent, not a breath nor a shift to give away where the SCP might be.

Is it lurking just around the bend to ambush you?

Is it seconds away from tearing into the pocket of space and doing to you whatever it did to these sorry sods?

Aside from quivering fit to bust, you can’t move a muscle.

You won’t.

You won’t go in there, they can’t –!

“D-Class!”

A sharp staccato shout is thrown from a speaker in the corner of the dock, causing you to nearly leap out of your skin. But worse than your visceral flinch is the sound the voice elicits from something inside the cell.

It’s like a roll of thunder, soft then loud then soft again, a guttural growl, so rich and deep it shakes the walls and travels up through your plimsoles, undulating across each section of your spine until you can feel it hum behind your eyes.

The reverb hasn’t even faded before the same voice barks, “Proceed into the containment chamber at once.”

“To Hell with that!” you retort, feet still rooted firmly to the ground.

“You will proceed or you will be reassigned.”

It’s a threat that’s worked before.

And Hell… It works again now.

Reassignment is an absolute. A guaranteed death sentence. At least in here, even with an unknown entity, there’s a slim, albeit nearly imperceptible change of survival or at the very least, a quick death. Besides, the previous victims look well and truly dead, and that’s frankly a fate that’s a Hell of a lot better than becoming a living hive for a colony of insects or a tumour-riddled larder for giant, cave-dwelling rodents.

“D-Class. You have precisely three seconds to-“

The inescapable terror of a worse ending is your greatest motivator down here. You don’t even wait for the countdown to start.

Heaving in a wet breath, you squeeze your eyes halfway shut and yank one leg stiffly into the air, planting it forwards, once, twice, three times until you pass the body on the threshold and step out into the cell. Into the open. Like a doe entering a meadow when she damn well knows there are hunters lurking in the trees nearby.

Your eyes are still clenched almost shut when you turn yourself to the left and spot the remaining pair of bodies, one almost laying on top of the other, weapons still locked in their cold, dead hands,

Another, blood-curdling growl blasts through the air around you, sudden and violent enough to nearly send you toppling over onto your backside.

Flinging your eyes open with a gasp, you immediately wish you’d kept them closed instead. You wish the SCP had just killed you outright.

You wish you never stole that wretched car.

You were expecting big.

This SCP is bigger.

You can see why the scientists want to find a calibre that can pierce armour.

The creature that hunches before you, eating up ample space between the floor and the ceiling dozens of feet overhead, is almost solid metal from top to bottom. And armoured, you realise in horror, covering flashes of grey, scaly skin the colour of iron.

Bipedal, is the second thing you note, towering all the way to the roof on a pair of long, lithe legs, each ending in a three-toed foot with claws that remind you of some long extinct theropod.

A scrawny waist feeds into a contrarily powerful chest and monumental shoulders that are made even larger by the armoured struts encasing them.

Your eyes, wider than saucers, travel along the length of its arms – the first hanging down to its bent knee with a hand that looks large enough to wrap around your whole body and crush you between its fingers. The other arm, however, doesn’t end in a hand – clawed or otherwise.

It ends instead, from the elbow down, in a four barrelled gun the size of cannon.

And all four of those chambers are aimed directly and unwaveringly at you.

Behind the sights, several cylinders spin over one another like a minigun ramping up to fire, clanking angrily in an obvious threat.

You don’t dare pull in a breath, not when your gaze locks onto one of the chambers of the gun arm, and from somewhere deep in the pits of those long barrels, a dim, red glow sparks to life, the same light you imagine the fires of Hell would kick out if Satan ever eventually sets foot in this horrible place.

And that’s without even mentioning its other apparent weapon.

You think it must be some kind of tail, arched up and over the SCP’s head like the tail of a scorpion, swaying very gently from left to right and back again. Whip-like, it tapers to a point, and from what you can see from down here, the grey of its scales beneath the armour fades into an angry red right near the tip, glowing the same colour as the lights in the barrels of its gatling arm.

Vivid images of your body being impaled on the end of that wicked appendage flicker through your mind’s eye, and you have to drop your gaze to banish them, moving on to take in the rest of the monstrosity.

A pair of metal horns sweep forwards from the sides of an avian helm, long and sleek and ending in deadly points perfect for goring, like the tusks of an elephant. There’s a mane sprouting from its back too, a vibrant purple that stands out fiercely against the silver of its armour. Each strand of hair seems to wave and snake about through the air as if they’re alive.

And then you make the mistake of meeting its gaze.

You’ve seen SCP’s with no eyes, some with too many eyes, a few that are made up entirely of eyes and even those that have eyes in places where eyes have no business being.

These though… you don’t like these eyes at all, even despite the fact there are a regular number of them.

Gold as gleaming bullion, unnaturally bright and forward-facing, all nature’s warning signs that you’re staring up into the eyes of a predator.

Once they’ve locked you in their sights, it’s nigh on impossible to tear yourself free.

The snarling visage opens up like a steel trap, baring black fangs the size of axe heads, and a burning heat behind its jaws that rises like-

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

“Shit!” You don’t mean to yelp aloud, nor do you intend to nearly drop the gun, scrambling to secure your grip on it before it can fall from your hands. In the blink of an eye, the entity’s gigantic head swings around to hiss furiously at something you’d missed completely when you stumbled into its cell.

An observation window dominates the far wall, and behind it, several figures donned in white coats stand watching, their faces only slightly blurred behind the thick – presumably bullet-proof – glass.

Just above the window on this side of the cell, another speaker has been fitted into the wall, and from it, the same nasally voice as before barks a command.

“You are to proceed with testing the Overkill’s capabilities.”

… Are they serious?

The SCP’s tail has swung around to follow its head and aims warningly at the glass, though its weaponised arm stays fixed on you.

Your own weapon remains useless, hanging from your grasp, pointed at the ground. You can’t muster the courage to raise it.

What defence could it possibly provide? What could such a tiny rifle do, really, against a weapon that made holes that size in the concrete walls?

The scientists are insane. The lot of them...

Well, to Hell with them, and to Hell with this stupid experiment.

Still blurred over by salty tears, your eyes reluctantly trail back up to the entity’s head. If you’re to die, you want to look this thing in the eye when it kills you. You might have lived as a coward, but you’re not so eager to die as one.

You’ve been afraid to defy them for so long, terrified – paralysed by the possibility of what these people might do to you in retaliation of defiance. But somehow, being here surrounded by the bodies of your fellow prisoners, knowing you’re about to meet the same fate, you can’t think of anything more satisfying than not giving the Foundation what they want.

Oh certainly, you imagine they’ll soon get some other D-Class to do the job you failed to do, but if causing the Lab Coats a mild inconvenience before you die is how they remember you, you think you’ll be okay with that.

You have to be okay with it. There’s nothing else you can be now, seconds from having your body turned into, as Mullins so eloquently put it, Swiss cheese.

Stiffening your upper lip, you aim a shaky scowl at the window, eyes bloodshot with tears and fatigue. And in an act you hope looks as rebellious as it feels, you open your arms and let the gun fall to the ground with an almighty clatter, drawing the SCP’s attention back onto yourself.

A strangled noise escapes the speakers before you hear, “D – One-nine-three-five! Retrieve your weapon at once!”

Ignoring him, you roll your gaze over to the SCP and let your arms flop defeatedly to your sides, teeth clenched shut to try and hold onto your sobs.

That enormous, horned head cocks sideways at you, and through your tear-streaked vision, you almost believe you can see its gatling arm drop ever so slightly, and the glow in its barrels fade from red-hot to warm-orange.

“Please,” you find your voice, blindly toeing a plimsole forwards and giving the gun a weak kick, listening to it slide a few feet away from you. You’re unaware that the beast’s gaze tracks your discarded weapon across the room. “Just… make it quick?”

The body closest to you still has his eyes intact, and they stare up at you from the floor, glassy and unseeing. You wonder if his death was quick. You hope so. It looks like it should have been.

The entity regards you with its wide, fiery snarl, unblinking, calculating. As the seconds tick by, you find yourself fidgeting and sparing glances between its gun and its armoured face.

What the Hell is it waiting for?

All of a sudden, two slitted nostrils appear above the SCP’s mouth, glowing with the same liquid gold that shimmers in its eyes. They flare hotly for a moment, kicking out a noisy whumph of air, and then…

Against every odd…

The SCP snatches its head away from you and… and drops its gun arm with a gruff snort, glaring at the wall opposite the scientists.

You blink once.

Seconds later, you have to blink again, clearing your vision slightly.

Why… are you still alive?

“Um…” you utter, for lack of any better ideas.

The SCP doesn’t turn to acknowledge the sound of your voice. In fact, it seems entirely adamant in subjecting the concrete wall to a fearsome glower instead as it thumps the barrels of its gun to the ground and leans its weight on that arm, its mighty chest heaving in and out with a huff.

… Perhaps you’re going mad. That’s it. That must be part of its power. It makes people go mad. Why else would you be plagued by the feeling that you’re being deliberately ignored?

On the other side of the glass, a young scientist hovers over the microphone, trembling with unprofessional agitation and apprehension.

“D-Class!” he barks shrilly, pushing down on the button so hard his fingertip turns white, “If you don’t pick up your rifle at once, I will have no choice but to-!”

“- Quiet Spencer…” Another voice - older, authoritative – snaps, causing the shrieking man to immediately fall silent and cower away from the microphone as obediently as a beaten dog. It even hushes the mutters of every other scientist in the observation room. Narrow eyes stare unblinkingly through coke-bottle spectacles, observing the interaction beyond the observation window with cool interest. “This is the longest a D-Class has survived with this specimen…” she points out, listening to the intern beside her scribble down the minutes, “I’d like to find out why.”

She watches the Disposable’s face turn towards the glass, trying to meet any of the scientists’ gazes, apparently seeking some sort of explanation to the SCP's behaviour.

Join the club.

“… Ma’am?” someone asks after several seconds pass without an answer, turning to face her, their expression inquiring.

For a further minute, she elects to stand there in silence, thoughtfully tapping a manicured nail against the microphone button, contemplating the magnificent creature and the miniscule human currently sharing a space.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, she slides her finger from the button and folds her arms, lab coat wrinkling around her elbows.

“The D-Class gets five minutes inside before extraction,” she declares, shooting a nod at her intern who scrambles to fish a stopwatch from his pocket and stabs his thumb on the button. Once she hears the sharp ‘beep,’ she returns her attention to the staff around her and adds, “No external input.”

There are murmurs of varying approval rising and falling all throughout the room, but once again, she only has eyes for the SCP.

“Let’s see if this D-Class proves more useful than the predecessors…”

---

“Hello?” you whisper-shout at the scientists behind the window, keeping the entity in the corner of your eye, “Um...”

Christ, this is awkward... "Can I... Can I leave, or...?"

Silence.

Impassive, boring silence.

Aside from the occasional motion made to scribble something down on a clipboard, none of the scientists seem inclined to offer anything more through the microphone.

Gradually, the tired muscles in your shoulder tighten.

You’ve seen this before. D-Class call it the ‘silent treatment,’ where scientists are more interested in seeing what you can find out about SCPs of your own volition.

Are you supposed to have survived for this long? Your mind races with the thought that your predecessors might have been subjected to the same thing before they met their end. You may end up a smear on the wall yet. Half of you is weary enough to hope that’s the case. You’ve just defied a direct order from one of the Lab Coats. You shudder to imagine which SCP they’ll toss you to after this.

It’s that thought alone that spurs you to take a single step towards this entity, intending to get this over with, but no sooner have you moved closer than it whips its head towards you again, and that gun is back up, the cylinders clicking furiously in response to your proximity.

You realise at once that you’d become too bold without its weapon pointed at you because now, that same fear has returned tenfold, sending you staggering backwards again to put some more distance between you and that deadly arm.

Slamming your eyes shut, you raise your hands up in front of your face, breath hitching as you wait to feel the first of many bullets slamming into your flesh.

… You count no less than ten heartbeats without feeling a thing.

------------------------------------------------

“Two minutes to go, ma’am,” the intern quibbles at her side.

Eyes gleaming, she watches you stand shaking in front of the SCP, arms lifted in what she presumes must be surrender. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “The entity still hasn’t fired a single round…”

“You think it’s run out of ammo?” one of the other scientists asks, bolder than his fellows in the face of their superior.

“Perhaps,” she muses, eyeing the SCP’s ‘tail’ that hangs slack behind it this time, not poised to strike over its head like a cobra, “But perhaps it’s just as likely that it won’t fire unless it’s fired upon first.”

The intern, apparently emboldened by another voice speaking up before him, says, “Um, would that class it as a Euclid then?”

Someone scoffs derisively.

“That cannot be determined at present,” she returns cooly, “We haven’t enough data… That being said...”

Stepping closer to the window, arms coming to clasp loosely behind her back, she tilts her head sideways and regards you with the mild interest of a spider watching a fly struggle in her web. “Thanks to this D-Class, we now know far more about the SCP than we did before… And all because an order was disregarded…”

“Impertinence,” someone spits.

“Initiative,” she returns sharply, the beginnings of a rare and pensive smile lifting her cheeks, “Mullins.”

The guard near the back of the room snaps to attention.

“Prepare for extraction in one minute’s time… And return our lucky D-Class to isolation. Forty-eight hours, I think. Regular meals. That should give us enough time to make arrangements for the next test.”

“Ma’am,” he grunts, moving up to the primary door.

“Er…” The intern beside her shifts on his feet, casting apprehensive glances between the SCP and the D-Class, “What is the next test…? Oh-! Um, Ma’am?”

What indeed? Her mind is already swirling with possibilities, the first of which sticks in place as she contemplates the logistics of it, turning it over and making mental arrangements that’ll need to be put in place.

“The next test?” she replies absently, gazing up at the entity’s fangs that are still being bared down at you, though it hasn’t made a move against you yet, “We’re going to see what, if anything, this SCP likes to eat.”

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #Strife x Reader #Anarchy x reader #SCP au #D-class #Already tapping up chapter 2 as we speak

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fishfooddude · 7 months ago

Text

That Poster Trend

With Carmy's 30th birthday fast approaching, you were struggling to figure out the perfect gift for him... at least until you're reminded of that TikTok beer poster trend...

The Bear MasterList

Directory

“Do you think Carmy would like this?” you asked, flashing your phone toward your friend Olivia. You watched her face scrunch as she shook her head in disapproval. You sighed. Carmy was hard to shop for, but with his 30th birthday coming up at the end of the month, you were stressed trying to figure out what to do for him. He never made a big deal of his birthday, but this was a milestone birthday, and you wanted to do something special for him.

“I don’t know what to do, Liv. What did you do for Miles?” you watched your friend blush and bite her lip behind her wine glass. “Somethin’ a lil sexy that Carmy wouldn’t be into.” she giggled.

“What was it? I’m desperate here.” you pleaded, “So, I saw it on TikTok. This girl made her boyfriend a beer poster, so I copied it with Miles’s brand. I wore this adorable bikini, sat in his truck, poured beer into my cleavage- he calls it his favorite porn.” she explained as she blushed harder. You leaned back on the couch, “Well, Carmy doesn’t drink…” you started, “But he smokes…”

Olivia raised her eyebrows at you, “What’s his brand?”

“Yo baby, I’m home,” Carmy called as he set his backpack down on the ground. As he stepped into the living room, he noticed your absence. “Baby?” he called again as he walked toward the short hallway that led to the bedroom. He pushed the door open absent-mindedly while thinking about what to make for dinner. You weren’t in the bedroom or bathroom, Carmy pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was almost 9 PM; you should be home from work by now.

Carmy was chopping onions when he heard the door open, “Carmy?” he heard you call. He set his knife down and walked out of the kitchen to see you standing by the door, wiggling out of your jacket.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Where you been?” Carmy asked, looking you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were by no means dressed up, but he noticed your usual toned-down eye makeup replaced with colorful glitter eyeliner and a pair of fake eyelashes. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, but Carmy could tell you’d styled it earlier.

“Went to work, ran a couple of errands. Nothin’ crazy,” you answered, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. You hugged Carmy and kissed his cheek before trying to duck into the bathroom. “Yo, if you’re gonna be late, at least give me an actual kiss.” Carmy chuckled, trying to disguise his concern and uneasiness about you being late for playful banter. You giggled and felt one of his strong tattooed arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. He nudged your chin to kiss your lips softly with his free hand.

“Th-that’ll be uh... $18.32.” The teenage boy managed to get out as he refused to make eye contact with you. You were cutting it close. Tomorrow was Carmy’s 30th birthday, and printing his poster was more complicated than you’d thought. You grinned as you swiped your card, “Were you the one who had to print my poster?” you asked as you entered your PIN into the credit card machine. The boy sheepishly nodded, a bright red blush covering his face as he continued to avoid eye contact. You slipped your card back into your wallet and threw it back into your bag as he handed you the package and receipt, “It’s for my boyfriend. Do you think he’ll like it?” there was something sickly satisfying about torturing this random teenage boy. He furiously nodded before muttering something about him being a lucky guy.

You walked through the aisle of your local Target, picking up the final goodies you needed for Carmy’s birthday. Hopefully, you’d get home first so you could wrap and hide his present. You were giddy at the thought of Carmy’s reaction to his present. He didn’t see this one coming.

“Hey, baby.” Carmy greeted you from the couch when you walked into the apartment that night. “You’re home early,” you commented, hiding the shopping bags behind you as you walked into the living room. Carmy shrugged, “Richie was pissing me off. One of our line cooks bailed. Natalie was pestering me about tomorrow, decided to come home early to spend time with my girl.” he grinned as he looked up at you. You smiled back at him and came up behind the couch to kiss his nose, “Tomorrow is a big one, Carm. I need to finish a little work, but then we can cuddle.”

Carmy watched you go back into the bedroom and contemplated following you before returning his attention to the TV. You’d been acting weird the past couple of weeks; he aimlessly stared at the TV, wondering if you were planning on breaking up with him or telling him you were pregnant.

He wasn’t sure how long you’d been in the bedroom when you finally plopped down on the couch next to him. “You good?” Carmy asked as he put an arm around your shoulders. You nodded and cuddled into his side. “I’m good, Carm.”

Carmy groaned softly as you peppered his face with kisses the next morning. “Wake up birthday boy! It’s your birthday!” you happily cheered as you swung your leg over his hips to straddle him. You watched his eyes flutter open, “Thank you love.” he responded as he lazily put his hands on your hips. His grip was light as he slowly woke up, “Before we go to your Nat’s I want to give you your birthday present.” you excitedly explained. Carmy shook his head and moved his hands to your waist before pulling you down to lay on his chest. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and giggled as Carmy tightly squeezed your waist, “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Carmy whispered into your hair.

“Okay, I can’t return it so if you hate it keep it to yourself, my love,” you said as you watched Carmy sit up and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He nodded and you handed him the wrapped poster. “I could never hate anything you give me baby.” Carmy grinned as he started unwrapping his gift. You were gnawing at the inside of your cheek, Carmy had seen you naked a million times but something about this felt different.

“Holy shit…” Carmy’s eyes went wide as he stared at the poster before him. You were lying on a bed with the upper half of your body hanging off the mattress, a sultry look on your face. Carmy swallowed when he noticed you were wearing his favorite pair of panties and a tight white shirt. A pack of American Spirits was lying next to you, but Carmy couldn’t look away from your eyes. He ran his tongue across his top row of teeth as he looked up at you, you blushed as he hungrily stared at you. “Holy shit.” he laughed as he put the frame on the floor before wrestling you down onto the mattress. You erupted into a fit of giggles as Carmy held your wrists in his hands above your head, “That’s the hottest picture I’ve ever seen.” he whispered in your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “You like it?” you innocently asked as Carmy started to kiss down your neck, “I love it, baby,” he whispered against your skin.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #the bear imagine #the bear one shot #the bear fan fic #the bear fan fiction

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ireadwithmyears · 1 year ago

Text

Absent mindedly making me want you

Pairing: Ellie Williams / female reader

Word count : 12 K 💀 I swear it’s worth it I just really wanted a well rounded story even if this is just a one shot

Summary :

Due to her first-hand experience when it comes to drowning, Ellie takes it upon herself to teach you how to swim. Something that neither of you had anticipated, however, was how intimate this endeavour would be, resulting in a day filled with unresolved sexual tension, that, unsurprisingly and inevitably comes to ahead

Tags/warnings : established relationship, soo much sexual tension, smut (18+, MDNI), porn with minor plot, dom/sub undertones, soft dom Ellie, submissive reader, inexperienced reader (first time), light hair pulling, unsafe lesbian sex, fingering, oral (F receiving), face sitting, lots of dirty talk(bc you cannot convince me that Ellie doesn’t have an absolutely filthy mouth), praise kink, overstimulation, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, pussy slapping (just once), aftercare, fluff, no use of Y/N

“I’m sorry, wait, hold on. You’re telling me you’ve never learned how to swim?”

The settlement of Jackson has been dealing with, hopefully, the last of its winter storms for the year. Spring had crept its way around the corner, shining its promisingly hopeful rays of warm sunlight for a few, blissfully beautiful, but in the end, all two short days

But then, in what must be mother nature’s idea of a harmless joke, it was crudely snatched away and replaced with icy winds that seemed to settle within your very core, leaving you shivering long after you went inside to get warm. Wyoming had been hit with a blizzard that had caught everyone so off guard, that Jackson was ill-equipped and unprepared to handle it, leaving most of the community snowed in; workloads being much reduced and limited to essential services for the time being, until the snow abated.

This is how you and a group of friends found yourselves in Jesse’s living room, cradling mugs of hot chocolate, enjoying the warmth that seeped into your fingertips, and making a blanket fort as if you were still school children at a sleepover. The snowy days and lack of work seemed to bring out a childish side to everyone, which is how you found yourself engaged in a game of never have I ever, sitting in a tight circle with your friends and girlfriend who, up until a few seconds ago, had been absent mindedly playing with your hair, your head resting against her shoulder, where you had been quite content to stay.

But, she had now pulled back, looking at you with her eyebrows raised, lips quirked down quizzically, as if in thought. You look around at your friends, taking note of everyone else who’s never learned. You’re relieved to find that you’re not alone in this. As expected, the Jackson old-timers, the few of you who have been settled here almost your whole lives, or at least, as long as you could remember, had never encountered an environment that required the ability to swim.

“Nope, it’s never been necessary.” You shrug.

She tilts her head, thinking, a few wisps of auburn hair escaping her ponytail as she regards you, teeth lightly grazing the bottom of her lip as she appears to be calculating an idea in her mind.

“As soon as it gets warm enough, I’m taking you out, and I'm gonna teach you. Joel taught me because he said that I would never know when it was a skill that would become necessary for me to have until it’s too late,” she says, nodding to herself decisively.

“Ah, I see your dad‘s passed off his overprotectiveness onto you,” you smirk, rolling your eyes fondly.

She hits you with a pillow for that.

“Quiet, you,” she says in mock offense.

She pokes your belly lightly and you instinctively jump back with a surprised squeal. You hear the quiet amusement of your friends, Jesse barely containing a snort as he watches. You’re about to utter a retort when she reaches out, pulling you against her, settling you on her lap, where you happily go.

When she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving goosebumps to form beneath their eager caresses, any kind of argument dies on your lips. Resistance melts as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, and all thoughts scatter like butterflies, only landing on the one thing that you care to focus on.

It’s her, with her teasing lips and wandering hands, that explore and touch you as if she wants to know you, to memorize you, like you’re her well-kept and cherished secret. She is the only thing that surrounds your mind, the only one who holds your attention so easily, and it takes you a moment to shake yourself free of this haze. It’s strange, and euphoric, a kind of feeling that you’ve never felt before, and you find that you like it – instantly craving more the second that her lips leave yours.

She's kissed you plenty of times before, and though it’s always been an enjoyable experience for you, it’s never felt like that. You decide to file that information away for now; you’ll sort out whatever the fuck these new feelings are later.

When you do come back to yourself, your head nestled against her shoulder, her arms wrapped around you as she looks down at you with warm, soft eyes, you think, yeah, you’ll let her teach you how to swim. You’ll let her do whatever she goddamn pleases, as long as it means that she’ll keep kissing you like that, and bringing out those good kind of butterflies that flutter in your stomach whenever she’s close to you.

To your surprise, Ellie makes good on her promise at the earliest opportunity.

In your experience, life is full of making plans and dreams that, more often than not, fall through. Even here, even in Jackson, where the walls are fortified and everyone is protected, the act of planning future endeavours is a luxury.

Spring finally comes , for real this time, with its customary blend of warmer weather that makes everyone instinctively turn their faces towards the sun, tentatively brushing its heat against their skin. And then, in complete juxtaposition, rain that starts in a slight drizzle that quickly descends into a downpour that sends those who’d ventured outside to appreciate the sunlight running back inside, scrambling to find cover, while quietly grumbling that they wish it was summer already, if only so that they could be freed from this topsy-turvy weather.

Humans are funny like that, you suppose. Never fully able to live in the moment, always wishing for the next season the second spring reveals its more wild side. They forget that the scorching heat of summer will have them complaining and wishing for autumn to come faster in a few months.

Nonetheless, it’s early summer, and you find yourself riding astride Ellie’s mare, Hazel, whose step is light and carefree, tale gently swishing in the warm breeze as you make your way to a clearing with a lake, a few miles out from Jackson’s gates. You’ve taken up the rear position, head resting against your girlfriend's back, arms wrapped around her waist.

From her position, she can’t see the expression on your face, the way you worry. Your bottom lip is between your teeth until it starts to bleed, because quite honestly, you’re nervous. Your instinct is to hide your feelings from her, because it feels silly. “A tough girl like you all freaked out over a little water?” You can almost hear her snark in your head. Logically, you know she wouldn’t say that, not to you, at least. But you can’t help but wonder if she’d think it.

You also know, however, that the minute you’re off this horse and she turns to look at you, she’ll read right through any bullshit or lies you come up with in an instant. Ellie’s just that kind of person; able to read right through people without them even having to say a word. So, as the bird chatter accompanies the beat of Hazel’s hooves against the ground, you speak, softly, tentatively, half-wishing that she won’t hear, almost hoping that your words will be carried off in the slight breeze that ruffles the braid against your back, delicately freeing strands of your hair.

“You know, I’m actually kinda fucking scared to do this,” you figure if you’re going to admit this, it’s just best to rip the Band-Aid off.

She holds the reins one-handed as her other comes to squeeze your wrist gently.

“Can you tell me why?”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you rest your chin against her shoulder. She’s so warm and steady, confident and self-assured in a way that you couldn’t even attempt to replicate.

She senses your unease, moving her thumb beneath the thin material of your sweater, stroking against the skin of your inner wrist. She lets it rest at the point where she feels your pulse lightly fluttering beneath her.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, encouraging, “Talk to me, Sweetheart, you’ve got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Her thumb resumes its movement, stroking back-and-forth along the inside of your wrist, soothing away the knot that’s begun to tie itself in your stomach.

“It’s stupid, I know. It’s just, I’m scared that I’m gonna drown, or something dumb like that,” you roll your eyes, feeling a little bit pathetic.

“It’s not stupid,” you’re not surprised that she’s come to your defence so quickly, but the conviction in her voice gives you pause.

She continues, “I almost drowned, once. Well, I guess it wasn’t almost, I did drown, though I don’t remember the details. It was before Joel had taught me how to swim, probably what made him decide that he had to. But, when he did, it took me the longest time to get over my fear. Every time I so much as touched the water, my mind would bring me back to that moment where I thought I was about to die.”

Her voice is sheepish, nonchalant, but you scoot closer to her on the saddle nonetheless, wrapping your arms just a little tighter around her waist.

“My point is, if you would have seen me when I was fourteen, the way Joel would have to coax me into the water bit by bit, you wouldn’t believe I’m the same person now. Now, I can be assured that whenever I go into the water, nothing’s going to happen to me that I can’t handle.”

She takes your hand in hers, and her voice is completely serious when she speaks now.

“Baby, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, right?”

In spite of your nerves, you know the answer to this question immediately. It’s not even a question, really, you know without even having to think about it that she’ll keep you safe, protect you with her life if necessary, and you nod aggressively, even before she finishes speaking.

“I know, Elles.”

She gives your hand a squeeze.

“Good, because if my 14-year-old freshly traumatized from actually drowning ass can learn how to swim, I am fully confident in your abilities.”

Hazel trots on, and for the first time since you headed out today, you feel a genuine smile pulling the corners of your lips upward, your laughter accompanying the birdsong as you ride on.

“That’s it, just lean back into me, I gotcha.”

She’s teaching you how to float on your back, first, and as you lean against her and lower yourself into the water, you swear you feel the peak of one of her nipples, hardened from the cold, poking through the flimsy material of her tank top, brushing against your back as you submerge yourself. You have to fight to keep your expression neutral, trying not to betray anything on your face. If she asks why you’re blushing, you’ll just say it’s because of the heat.

Her hand holds you up, pressing into the small of your back as she instructs you, and it’s nice, the heat that radiates from the warmth of her skin. You feel it through your tank top, and maybe it’s because the water is cold and it’s heightening all of your senses, or maybe it’s because you’re in a pair of underwear and a tank top, feeling very exposed to your girlfriend in a way that you’ve never been with anyone, but you’re getting goosebumps, and you know for a fact that it has nothing to do with you being cold.

You hope to yourself that the feeling of having her hands on you will get easier throughout the day, because for some inexplicable reason, the feeling of her hand pressing against you like this is making it hard to focus on what she’s actually saying.

You quickly discover that it does not get easier as the day goes on.

It actually gets so much fucking harder to bear as the sun begins to sail higher in the sky.

When she’s about to teach you how to kick, her hands ghost over your hips, making you jump.

“Sorry, hun, I should’ve asked,” she apologizes softly.

You can’t bring yourself to look at her, and have to temper your voice to not sound eager as you respond. “No, you’re good, go ahead, I'm just cold, that’s all.”

When her hands caress your sides before settling against your hips, your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, trying to contain the gasp that wants to escape.

Is she truly that fucking unaware of what she’s doing to you?

The skin where her fingers had trailed over tingles, and you have to give your head a slight shake to clear it, because that touch, regardless of how innocently meant it might’ve been to her, suddenly makes you want to get on your knees and beg her to touch you like that again.

You want more.

You learn the mechanics of how to propel yourself through the water, arms and legs separately. When it comes time to put the two together, Ellie eases you onto your stomach. The water is still shallow, your toes can still touch the ground. This was as deep as you’d be going today, she had told you, making you feel relieved.

“I’m just gonna put a hand on your stomach to hold you up. You’re still gonna have my help, I’m right here,” you’re stomach muscles tense when her hand lightly presses against it. She must think you’re nervous, because she gently strokes her thumb up and down between your rib cage, in a way that should be reassuring, but in reality, makes heat radiate from between your legs. You’re grateful that she can’t see your face, because the small pool of wetness that blossoms against your panties is undeniable now, and it makes your cheeks heat.

Okay, so you have to admit it now. You’re horny. In spite of the fact that you’ve never had sex and you haven’t been ready to take that step before today, as you slowly move through the water, feeling her hand pressing against your stomach, so close but so, so far from where you want her to be, you know that you want her, in a way that you’ve never wanted anyone before.

“At a girl, just like that,” she says encouragingly, and you swear you can feel your thigh muscles clenching involuntarily, thoughts drifting to a very different scenario in which she’d utter those words.

It’s late afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, warming your shoulders as you stand in the water. You’ve long ago adjusted to its cool, murky depths, and you’re not on edge anymore.

At least you weren’t, until Ellie suggests that to finish off the day, you try moving a little bit on your own. Your eyebrows raise, in obvious alarm, and her hands settle on your shoulders, quick to reassure you.

“You won’t have to go far, I’ll be right in front of you, I promise, all you need to do is just keep coming towards me.”

You tilt your head, considering. Yes, you’ve grown accustomed to the water, but whenever you’ve been moving, she’s always had a hold on you, and you felt safe, knowing that there wasn’t even a chance that you would go under.

Seeing your still evident hesitation, Ellie steps closer, a hand grazing against your waist as she presses her lips to your forehead briefly, before she speaks, her voice low and teasing against your ear.

“Can you do it for me?” She says softly. Her fingers are tracing slow, enticing circles over your waist, soothing you, but making you feel all worked up at the same time.

She’s so close that you can feel her lips brush against your ear when she speaks, and you can’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine. You’ve lost the ability to form coherent thought, for the moment, and you have to mentally kick yourself to push your mind back into any semblance of reality. God, if she asks you like that, you’ll do anything.

You don’t say that, though. You only nod meekly, not trusting your voice to be controlled when you speak.

When her hand gives your hip an appreciative squeeze, you feel her breath ghost against the curve of your neck as she speaks. “Good girl,” she practically purrs, a quiet, low hum against your ear that makes your knees buckle so hard that you have to dig your feet into the sand beneath you so that you don’t faceplant into the water.

When she pulls back, taking slow, tentative steps away from you, she knows that you’re watching her every move. She can feel your eyes burning into her, the further she moves away, nerves making you fidget with the hem of your top. When she’s several metres away, she reaches out a hand, beckoning.

“Okay, c’mere, Baby Girl.”

Her voice is low, persuasive, encouraging you forward. But it still takes you a solid 30 seconds of anxiously staring at her before you actually begin to move. She stands, arms folded, patiently waiting for you to give in, because she knows that sooner or later, you will.

She’s not that far away, not really. She still would easily be able to reach her arms out, steadying you if somehow, even in this shallow water, you managed to bring yourself under. Still, when you kick back, and you no longer feel the assurance of the soft sand against your feet, or Ellie‘s arm wrapped securely around your stomach to hold you up, you freeze. She notices instantly, and her voice is quick to call you back, bringing your racing heart back down with a few, gentle words.

“Hey, eyes on me.”

You swim forward, it’s unsure and hesitant, but at least you’re moving. You can’t always keep your eyes on her, but when your head is lowered to the water, you can always hear her voice, which she uses to get you to keep going.

“That’s it, almost there.”

She eggs you on, making your limbs instinctively move faster, cutting through the water with an almost desperate urge to get to her. You’re reaching for her, arms ready to wrap around her waist when she meets you halfway, scooping you up into her arms.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers against your lips, cradling the back of your head as she pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut, and you can’t help the small sigh that she elicits from you as she lowers her head to kiss you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, soft caress, searing as her touch sets your skin alight with heat. Instinctively, only half aware of what you’re doing, your legs wrap around her waist, desperately pulling yourself against her with a sudden need that is too strong to be contained.

When her hand, tangled in your hair, gently pulls, forcing your head back as she deepens the kiss, your mouth falling open as her tongue teases past your lips, you are unable to hold back the little moan that escapes you, scalp tingling at the sensation of her fingers, curled against strands of your wet hair, holding tight, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

She’s so close, you realize. Your legs wrapped around her like this, your heat pressed so near to hers. It’s enough to send your thoughts reeling. Every nerve ending in your body is alive with want and need.

Her hand makes a slow path, warm, delicate fingers journeying from your waist all the way up to the peak of your breast, leaving a trail of goosebumps to form in their wake. Her hand rests against you, leaving you warm and wanting, and just when you think that you can’t handle any more, she moves her thumb in a slow, deliberate caress over your perked, hardened nipple, which, at this point, your tank top, with its thin, soaked through material that clings to your every curve, leaves little up to her imagination. She can see you, she can see all of you. Your breath shutters, the smallest sound of want, of need, of desperation escaping your throat in a choked, pleading moan that has your back arching.

And that’s when Hazel makes her displeasure and boredom known, letting out a loud, displeased nay of indignation as she stamps her hooves against the ground.

The noise is so sudden, so out of the blue, disrupting the sounds of the water gently lapping around you, and the ambiance of nature that you’ve grown quite accustomed to hearing over the past few hours, that it makes you both jump. You startle so hard that you nearly fall into the waters below, jolting back as your head whips around to discover the source of the noise. Ellie’s arms are secure, though, you feel her adjusting her hold on you, wrapping them around you tighter. She too frantically searches the area around you for signs of trouble.

When you realize that you’re in no imminent danger, and that it’s just Hazel being her typical, dramatic self, you both look at each other, and simultaneously, slow smiles creep across your faces. She can feel you begin to shake with laughter. All the adrenaline leaves your body in a relieved, sudden rush that escapes with the quiet, barely contained snort that you desperately try to hold back. After that, it’s over. Ellie’s face buries against your hair as you both begin to laugh uncontrollably.

You feel her breathy, relieved sigh ruffle your hair. “We should probably go see what her problem is – knowing Hazel, a mosquito probably landed on her and she freaked the fuck out. God, that horse is such a drama queen.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an underlying affection that she can’t keep out of her voice, even if she tries.

“Probably saw us kissing and was offended. Maybe she’s homophobic,” you quip, chuckling.

Ellie gasps in mock horror. “I practically raised that horse, there’s no fucking way,” you both laugh as she begins to move towards the shore, you cradled against her with your head on her shoulder.

Riding back to Jackson when you’re extremely sexually worked up, it turns out, is no fun.

Your girlfriend, as much as you love her, is doing nothing to help the situation.

In general, Ellie prefers to ride horses that are the most chaotic, and that carry attitudes that make them almost borderline untrainable. She says it’s because she can empathize with them, she listens to them in a way that no one else does.

You think, privately, that it’s because it scares the shit out of Joel. He lives in constant fear that Hazel is going to throw Ellie off, sending his already accident prone daughter home with a broken leg and a concussion. You swear, Ellie enjoys getting a rise out of him, making his heart race with all of the reckless shit that she does.

Hazel has been sitting still for too long, and is now thoroughly enjoying the freedom of being able to trot about; she tries to take advantage of it regardless of the cargo on her back, making for a bumpy ride.

You’re riding in front, this time, and every time you hit an unavoidable bump, Ellie rests her hands on your hips. She claims that she’s doing it to keep you steady, make sure that you don’t fall off the horse. but, you know better. You know an ulterior motive when you see one. The way that her hands linger, fingers slowly teasing At the edge of your still damp top, drawing slow, light circles against the exposed skin she finds beneath, suggesting that she has other plans in mind. It makes you shiver.

“You cold, baby?” Her voice is low against your ear, the unexpected proximity making you jump. She cannot be serious. Even though it’s late afternoon, evening fast approaching, the day is still scorching, hence why you’ve opted out of wearing your sweater on the way back. You didn’t even want to put on shorts over your damp underwear, but alas, you still had some shred of modesty left, not wanting to make whoever was stationed to guard Jackson’s gates uncomfortable.

When her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against her, you swear that you can feel her hips slowly moving as she grinds against you suggestively. Her lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder, lingering as her warm breath ghosts against your skin, caressing against your neck with its heat. You can’t hold back your gasp at the feeling.

One of her hands travels down, settling against your knee with a gentle squeeze.

“How’s that, Baby Girl, is that better?”

God!

If she doesn’t fuck you soon, you swear you’re gonna kill her. Or, at this rate, she’s gonna kill you first with the way she’s sending your heart racing like that.

If you had thought that getting home, changing into a fresh pair of clothes, and giving yourself the chance to calm your racing heart would magically put an end to whatever was stirring up inside of you, you were sadly incorrect in your assumptions.

You’re sitting on the couch in your living room, wearing a sundress that falls to your knees because it’s light and you enjoy the slight breeze that it creates when you move. It flutters around your legs gently in the humid air. It might provide next to no relief at all, but it’s still better than nothing.

Ellie sits across from you in an armchair. Without even looking, you can feel her staring at you, eyes burning into you with a restrained and tempered want. You suspect that she’s holding it back, now wondering if she’s crossed a boundary today and made you uncomfortable.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Ellie is the type of person who acts on impulse, then completely over analyzes and over thinks her actions later, until she’s convinced herself that she’s fucked something up. She’s so bold, so confident in the things she does in the moment. But, in the end, she’s still someone who sometimes needs you to explicitly communicate and validate what she does after the fact. Regardless of how her confidence is so vast, and can sometimes be mistaken for being cocky, on the inside, she’s deeply insecure and needs reassurance.

Glancing up at her through your lashes, seeing the way that she twists and fidgets with the hair elastic on her wrist, the slight frown on her face, the almost guilty way her eyes flit away from you when she sees you looking, you know that she needs that right now, and you fully intend to not just give that to her, but encourage her forward.

Setting down the book that you weren’t actually reading, just trying to distract yourself with and completely failing, you rise to your feet, and as you move to her, she looks up at you with a smile, slipping back into its place effortlessly.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?”

Her voice is low and soft, and the way her eyes skim over you, pausing at where your dress falls, the hem barely skimming your knees, makes heat flush at the back of your neck.

“Want somethin’.”

You admit, crawling into her lap, bracing your hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

She quirks a brow, and the way her eyes smoulder as she looks at you makes you nervous, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies as she looks intently at you.

You’ve got her full attention, and now that you do, you don’t know what to do with it. You were fully ready to take the lead on this, but at the end of the day, you’re still shy and inexperienced, and she’s everything that you’re not. To be honest, it’s intimidating, knowing her wealth of experience that you couldn’t even attempt to match.

The insistent butterflies take flight in your stomach; you decide that the only way forward is by pure instinct, and the blind hope that you won’t embarrass yourself too much.

You lean forward slowly, hesitating slightly until, with understanding, Ellie’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you the rest of the way forward until your lips meet hers, and suddenly, you forget exactly what your plan originally was, if you even really had one in the first place. It easily slips out of your mind as you melt against her, effortlessly letting her take the lead.

Her fingers brush against your lower back, holding you securely against her. This isn’t like your usual, every day kiss, one that starts off slow and gentle. Her lips are insistent, pressing against yours with a desperate, persistent need. Her fingers absently brush against your scalp, running through your hair before cupping the back of your neck, the pressure just firm enough.

All you know is her. Her lips, claiming your mouth with a possessiveness that makes you ache for her inside. Her tongue, swiping over your lips, making you gasp slightly. As your lips part for her, you hear the low, satisfied sound she breathes against you as her tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that you’ve never sensed in her before.

Her thigh pushes between your legs, parting them with ease and settling between them, grazing against your clothed heat. When her hand schemes down your lower back, caressing over your ass, before pressing against it with a firm squeeze, you can’t resist the way your hips buck against her, desperately chasing the friction, unable to hold back the small whimper when you’re clit presses against the rough denim of her cut-offs.

The sound seems to startle you so much that you still your movements, eyes going wide as Ellie pulls back to look at you. She doesn’t even bother holding back the smirk that overtakes her features.

“Oh, so that’s what you want.”

Her green eyes darken with want, voice low and gravelly with desire as she studies you, perched on her lap with a needy expression behind your innocent eyes. Her fingers brush against your hips, teasing over your skin.

Heat flushes against your collarbone, spreading to warm your cheeks as you try to look down, wanting to escape the scrutiny of her piercing gaze. She anticipates your movement, and stops you with a hand coming to curl beneath your chin, making a soft noise of disapproval.

“Look at me, pretty girl, and tell me what you want,”

Her voice is still soft, still gentle, but there’s a warning edge that’s crept into it, an effortless authority, that sends a jolt straight through you, making your already throbbing clit pulse with anticipation. Her fingers nudge your chin upwards, holding firmly as she directs your eyes to meet hers, smouldering with uncontained lust as she watches you.

“You.”

Your answer comes out in barely a breath, barely a whisper.

“I want you.”

You feel like your response sounds ridiculous.

It sounds small.

It sounds completely inadequate.

And yet, when Ellie’s hand snakes beneath your dress, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties, her lips brushing against your ear as she says low, “that, sweet girl, I would be happy to oblige.”

She flexes her thigh up against your heat, rubbing over your swollen clit, making you cry out in surprise.

Her shirt hits the floor with a dull thump, pulled off by your eager and curious hands. You want to see her. You want to touch her. You want...

But now that it’s off and she’s looking down at you like that, your brain catches up to your body. What are you doing? What are you supposed to do? You don’t know how to do this. You don’t know where to put your hands, and the idea of fumbling around and embarrassing yourself is enough to make you nervous.

She sees the moment you begin to question yourself and overthink it, in the way that you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, the way your hand flexes, curling into itself with anxiety.

“Hey,” she says softly, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Her hands caress up and down the sides of your arms, pulling you from the spiral that your mind was going in, bringing you back to earth with a soothing touch.

“I know that this is your first time, and I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything of you tonight. The only thing I want is to make you feel good. So just, let me do that, okay?”

When she leans in, arms wrapping around you, and her lips press against your neck in a slow, seductive kiss, she can feel the shiver that runs down your spine, and she makes a note to remember that you’re sensitive there.

You feel her lips close to your ear as she speaks.

“Just let me take care of my girl tonight.”

Her hand schemes down your side, fingers drawing teasing circles over your hip. Your eyes close and your breath comes in a sharp, unsteady inhale and all you can do is look at her, eyes hooded, and say in a shaky voice, “please.”

You feel her low chuckle against your neck.

“Such pretty manners,” she hums against your skin, before you feel the gentle graze of teeth join her lips, delivering a small, sharp sting that you imagine will leave a mark.

This thought doesn’t scare you in the way that you thought it would. Your first thought isn’t of how on earth you’re going to cover this up tomorrow. The idea that there will be physical evidence of her, of what she’s doing to you, that there will be a reminder of it in the morning turns you on, sending a thrill through you.

Her tongue replaces where her teeth had just been, gently soothing over the sting. “Good girl,” she breathes, hand coming up to fiddle with the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I want this off,”

She waits for you to nod your consent, and then she’s sliding the straps off your shoulders, letting it fall. It pools around your waist in a soft brush of its material.

Fingers brush over your stomach, and you shiver with anticipation, already knowing the path they intend to travel over your skin. Her hands graze over your ribs, before she curls them around the curves of your breasts. She looks down at them, cradled in her hands, and her lips curl upward.

Warm, experienced hands massage and knead your breasts, gentle caresses and squeezes encouraging, coaxing your nipples to harden beneath her touch. Her thumb brushes over one of the hardening buds, and you gasp at even the slightest attention. She seems to relish in drawing sounds from you, her index finger joining her thumb, as she rolls your perked nipple between her fingers, adding the slightest pinch.

“You’re so fuckin pretty, you know that? The site of these,” she tweaks your other nipple, making your breath stutter, “peeking through your shirt at the lake was teasing me all day.”

Her face buries against your neck, she becomes rougher, more insistent. Still slow and attentive, but there’s a possessive edge to it as she leaves a trail of marks down your throat, your collarbone.

You love every second of getting to see this new side of Ellie, one that you haven’t seen before. The way that she’s intently listening to your body, finding out exactly how to touch you in a way that brings out those little gasps and mules that are like music to her ears, you want to see this side of her more often.

She’s enjoying the sight of her marks on you just as much as you are; a thrill runs through her, knowing that everyone will see that you belong to her.

She pauses toying with your nipple as her hand falls to your thigh, letting her breath graze against your skin, before she leans in, lips encircling the pebbled bud with a gentle suck. You whimper as her teeth barely graze your skin, tongue swirling over the small bud teasingly. She makes an appreciative sound against you while her fingers brush the bare skin of your inner thigh.

Her thumb teases over the seam of your panties, and you swear that you can feel her lips pull into a smirk as she feels the evident wetness pooling there. When she grazes a knuckle over your clothed clit, using a featherlight touch, your hips instinctively buck, you’re so worked up.

“Ellie,” your cheeks flush at the way that she’s got you whining for her with just one touch to wear you’ve been craving her to be. “Please, I, I need you to touch me there.”

“Aww, you’re so pretty when you beg for me,” she coos, two fingers caressing over your heat.

Your head falls back, eyes closing as you try to suppress the whimper that fights to escape at her teasing.

“Ellie, please,” and if you weren’t trying to beg before, you definitely are now.

She tilts her head, a slightly pleased expression crossing her kiss swollen lips as she looks at you, thoroughly unravelled before she’s even fully gotten you undressed.

“That’s all you had to say, Princess.”

Her voice is low and smooth, calm and effortless, in complete juxtaposition to her next actions, because suddenly, your dress is being yanked the rest of the way down, Ellie tossing it to the floor in a careless heap. She lifts you with ease, flipping you around so that your back is pressed against her bare chest. Her arms curl around you, holding you close to her, fingers trailing down your stomach, scheming over the waistband of your panties. One finger hooks under, and she pauses, voice suddenly soft.

“Can I take these off, baby girl?” Her finger strokes along the bare skin that she’s found beneath your panties, just above your mound, inviting, but not moving lower.

“Ellie,” you say with growing desperation. She’s teased you all day, and you can’t take much more of it. You’ve reached the end of your rope, and you can tell, without even having to look at her, that she’s fully aware of it, she’s just enjoying teasing you a little longer, dragging out the moment for even just a few seconds more. She’s so close to where you need her, but not close enough, and you need her to bridge the distance. “You can do whatever you want,” your head falls back against her shoulder, auburn hair tickling against your face as she leans down to whisper.

“Don’t give me any ideas, princess. You might regret it.”

Her words make you shutter, but, nonetheless, she pulls, and in a matter of seconds, she’s sending your panties to join your dress on the floor, with a practiced flick of her wrist.

She doesn’t waste much time now; her hands gently part your thighs.

“Spread your legs for me, Pretty Girl, I want to see all of you.”

She coaxes, not that you need much urging. You feel her legs cage over yours, wrapping around them, holding them open for her. Fingers ghost over your curls, dipping between your lips. She collects your wetness, fingers gliding effortlessly up to your clit, coating it in your own arousal.

“Barely touched you, and you’re already soaked for me,” two fingers press against your swollen clit, drawing slow, easy circles over your heat, already making your walls clench around nothing.

Her other hand moves, pausing to give an affectionate pinch to one of your perked breasts, making you gasp in surprise, your hips instinctively jolting forward, pushing against the hand that continues to massage, tease, and press against your clit. It continues its path downward, caressing over your hip, your inner thigh.

Long, tapered fingers dip between your folds, tentatively swirling around your entrance, gathering the wetness that’s collected there. You don’t realize you’re begging until, achingly slowly, one of her fingers brushes over your tight, glistening hole. She doesn’t push it forward, only curling it slightly to pet at your entrance.

“F-fuck, please,” your head falls back against her shoulder, and your hips push forward, trying to take her inside, but to no avail.

“Such a needy girl,” she murmurs, smirking at the way that you nod.

She’s got you so desperate that you’ll agree to anything she says; you won’t even try to deny it. It would be pointless, anyways. All she has to do is look down and see the way that your hips are bucking against her to know that you would be lying through your teeth. Nonetheless, she gently eases a finger inside you and you let out a long, tremulous breath as she pushes her finger, easing it all the way inside until she’s down to her knuckle.

She’s watching carefully for your reactions and she can feel how tight you are around her; she doesn’t want to cause you any pain. But when she tentatively, curiously, crooks her finger slightly upward, searching, a jolt runs through you, your body trembling and hips jerking forward, chasing the contact. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and you need more.

“Fuck, I, Ellie, I I want,” your hands grip onto her thighs tightly.

She presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck before whispering,“That’s it, baby, use your words. Tell me what you need,” her finger pumps in and out at an unhurried, languid pace, barely grazing over that spot that you so desperately need her to touch.

“Need more of you inside me,” you whimper, unable to keep the desperate edge from creeping into your voice. A second finger joins the first, slowly pushing through your entrance. You immediately feel the stretch, unfamiliar to having someone else’s fingers there, but you’re quickly distracted, because as soon as both fingers are pushing into you, she increases the pressure against your throbbing clit, fingers drawing rough, tight circles over your swollen bud.

The sound you make is high and uncontained.

Calloused fingers brush against your inner walls, clenching around them as Ellie stretches you out. Her fingers curl, a slight beckoning motion as she easily finds that spot inside of you. The pads of her fingers press firmly against it, fingers insistently petting at your center with small, precise strokes against your sweet spot. She's hitting that spot in a way that you’ve never been able to accomplish on your own.

You’re seeing stars, because she’s everywhere you want and need her to be, and now, the only thing you can do is grind your hips down against her fingers that are so effortlessly toying with you.

It comes out of nowhere, the coil that eagerly begins to tighten in your stomach. Your toes curl with anticipation, and your hands are gripping onto her so tightly. You’re pretty sure that you’re the one who’s going to be leaving bruises now. Her fingers continue to thrust in and out of your weeping cunt, and maintain the relentless pressure against your clit.

Ellie’s chin rests against your shoulder, watching attentively, and if you could see her, you’d see how utterly enthralled she is at how much of a mess she’s made you, eyes heavy as she watches her fingers plunge in and out of your cunt. Her voice is low against your ear, rough, commanding when she speaks.

“That’s it, Baby Girl, I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers and cum for me.”

You’ve always experienced orgasms as a gradual build, a wave, gently cresting against the shore. So, the way the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps, almost an instant after Ellie finishes speaking, has you taken completely by surprise. She’s attached her lips back onto your neck, sucking a mark just against your pulse point, which she feels fluttering rapidly beneath her tongue.

There’s the stuttering of hips accompanied by a sharp cry and Ellie feels your walls tighten around her fingers, unceasing in her ministrations even as your orgasm barrels through you.

“Good girl, fucking give it to me,” she nearly growls, as her fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm. All you can do is whimper uselessly, rocking your hips against her hand, as thrills ignite every inch of your body, making you tremble all over.

When you come down from your high, you’re collapsed against her chest, and she’s slowly easing off the pressure.

The first thing you notice is that you don’t feel the same as you usually would if you had just done this by yourself. For some reason, you thought that you were a one and done kind of girl. Usually you orgasm once, and then you take a nap, feeling for the most part satisfied. But as her fingers slide out of you, leaving you feeling empty, all you can think is that you want more.

Then, Ellie’s holding up her glistening fingers, slick with your arousal, in front of her face. You turn to watch her, curious, as she slides them into her mouth, licking them clean. She hums, and you raise a brow questioningly as she looks down at you, her eyes bearing an expression that is almost predatory in its intensity.

“What?” you ask, already feeling goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just, now that I’ve had a taste of you, I want more.” You turn fully to face her, lips curving into a smirk. Your hand trails over her breasts, and she looks at you with interest.

“Please,” you’re still breathless, and your voice is still unsteady.

“I want you too.”

“Atta girl, just like that.”

Admittedly, as much as you’ve had countless fantasies involving sitting on Ellie’s face, the prospect of actually doing it, as much as you want to, gives you pause. She’s carried you up to the bed, at some point along the way, the rest of her clothes came off, you’ll probably find them scattered along the hallway later. But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is that you’re hovering over her face, looking down at her while trying not to look nervous and out of your comfort zone, which you totally are, and she obviously isn’t buying it. Gentle hands reach for you, holding your hips and pulling you against her easily.

“All the way down, Honey, that’s it,” she coaxes, easing you down onto her. “You’re good, you’re not gonna kill me,” her hand caresses up and down your side, soothing, even as you feel her warm breath ghosting over your heat, making your cheeks flush, as you look down at how close she is to you.

“I gotcha’, Pretty Girl, just relax,” her voice is smooth, assured, confident, in a way that makes your muscles relax in spite of yourself.

That’s when you feel her tongue, warm and wet, brushing through your folds. The sensation is so new, so unfamiliar to you, that for a second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, her tongue flattens, pressing over your clit and applying a slight pressure that has you arching against her. Her tongue curls over your swollen nub, gently drawing it towards her lips, an almost imperceptible pulling motion that has your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding a grip against the headboard of the bed.

She makes a contented hum as her lips wrap around your center, the sound vibrating against you making your hips jolt. Her hands curl around the undersides of your thighs, holding you in place. Your hands hold onto the headboard of the bed for dear life, feeling like it’s the only solid thing that you have to hold onto, keeping you from toppling over the edge and out of control.

You’ve never felt like this before. Each swipe of her tongue over your heat, the gentle pulse of her lips as she sucks, enveloping you in her warm, wet mouth, brings a new sensation thrumming through your veins, almost akin to fire as it shoots through you, pleasure licking over every inch of your skin like flames. It’s overwhelming, in such a way that you don’t know what to do with it, how to express it.

All you can do, at this point, is roll your hips against her mouth, hold onto the headboard, and let small, desperate whimpers escape your lips. You’re trying to hold onto some semblance of containing yourself, because you don’t know what would happen if you let yourself unravel completely. You’re terrified of what Ellie might see if you fell apart like that.

She seems to be doing everything she can to break away at your composure though. Her tongue is alternating between dragging slow, tender circles over your clit, and firm, quick strokes, that has your head falling against your hands, braced against the headboard. She flicks her tongue against you, her lips surrounding your clit in a particularly firm suck, and before you know it, you’re spilling over the edge, eyes shut tightly, and breath releasing in a long, shuttering moan that seems to run from the top of your head to the tips of your tightly curled toes, her tongue continuing to caress you over your peak.

She moans into you, and it all becomes too much. Your head is thrown back and your hands are reaching down, tangling in her hair, to push her away or pull her closer; it’s unclear in your fuzzy mind. All the while, her insistent tongue continues to swirl over your increasingly oversensitive bundle of nerves, the relentless and inescapable pleasure making you shiver all over, while a light sweat breaks out on your bare skin.

You only drift back into yourself when you become aware of a shift. It’s so fast, you barely have time to even blink, before Ellie manoeuvres you, flipping you onto your back and roughly parting your thighs with her hands. Her fingers run through your glistening folds, calloused thumb pressing against your aching, overstimulated clit. The sensation has you gasping, crying out, and trying to close your legs, buck your hips, move away.

Frantically, you try to jam your legs shut, trying to escape her mercilessly teasing fingers. Rough hands force your thighs apart, putting you on display for her as she holds you open.

“Uh uh, not this time, Baby,” she tuts disapprovingly. “No more holding back on me, Sweet Girl,” listening to the low, dominant tone of her voice is like a drug to you, and your eyes roll back into your head as she speaks.

“I want everyone to know how good I fuck this pretty little pussy.” Two fingers circle your clit and you jolt, trying to move away. But a strong arm pushes your hips down, pinning you against the bed easily.

Faster than you can process, her fingers retreat, and you don’t even have time to feel relieved, because a split second later, her hand comes down against your cunt with a smack, delivering a stinging, rough spank that has you crying out, clit throbbing and pulsing with the agonizingly delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Two fingers notch at your entrance, but she waits, looking at you, a silent question, an invitation for you to tell her that this is too much and that you need to stop. You know she would in a heartbeat if you told her that this was too much or too rough for you right now, and that’s what makes you feel safe enough to continue.

So, when you respond by attempting to push your hips forward against her, a soft whimper falling from your lips, she smirks, and with the slightest movement of her wrist, her fingers thrust into you. Seconds later, her face is buried in between your legs, tongue gently lapping at your sensitive clit. After two orgasms, you’re hyper aware of every movement; every swirl of her tongue is sweet, hot agony that undoes you in seconds.

At the same moment her lips take your clit into her mouth, holding it as her tongue swipes a tight, rough circle over your heat, her fingers curl, and she finds that spot inside you that makes your legs begin to shake, pressing against it with each punishing thrust of her fingers.

Your moans are loud, unrestrained, sounds that you would be embarrassed to make if you were in any way capable of controlling them. But you’re not, because your mind is only filled with her, her and her tongue on your clit, and her strong fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt, playing with you as easily and as effortlessly as she plays the guitar.

She’s clearly enjoying the sounds that fall from your lips, every beg and plea and moan of her name making her feel quite smug that she’s undone you so easily…she encourages you to continue, making a contented hum against your clit. She only looks up long enough to say:

“That’s it, I want to hear you being such a dirty little girl for me.”

A third finger slowly, carefully, pushes in; the stretch makes you feel so full, so good, it nearly takes your breath away. Her fingers thrust in and out slowly, testing the waters, wanting to make sure that you’ve adjusted – but you are having absolutely none of it.

Your head is thrown back and your hips are thrusting forward, or trying to, but her arm is so fucking strong that she doesn’t even have to try that hard to keep you pinned against the mattress, exactly where she wants you to be. You don’t even realize you’re begging until you see her smirking up at you.

“Please, Ellie, please, fuck, I-I want,” it’s a challenge to even string coherent words together, but you’re distracted by her face, now looking up at you as her thumb takes over, stroking against your clit.

“Come on, Baby girl, tell me what you want,” she presses her thumb a little harder into you, making you gasp brokenly.

You take a breath to steady yourself, and your words still come out stuttered, but you say them, blushing in a way that she finds absolutely endearing considering you’re already spread out on her bed with three of her fingers buried inside of you.

“I-I want it harder,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “Want you to fuck me.”

“You’re so fuckin pretty when you use your words like that, Baby,” she praises. “Such a good fuckin girl,” then, her fingers are thrusting in and out, setting a rough pace, hitting that spot in a way that feels so much stronger than it already was.

When she lowers her head, tongue dipping between your folds, returning to feast at your clit rough, persistent swirls and flicks over your swollen center, any slight ability to contain yourself is lost. You’re not aware of the sounds that you’re making, or the way that your hands scramble to find a hold on something, anything solid, eventually coming to clutch the soft bed sheets, holding them tightly in between your fingers.

You’re only aware that your orgasm is approaching, and that Ellie, little by little, is nudging you towards a peak that once you make it over, you think might absolutely wreck you, in the best possible way. All you know is that you want this, you want her. You need her.

God.

You really fucking need her.

She feels your walls beginning to flutter around her, her free hand shifts down, coming to grip your thigh, opening you even wider for her.

“Come on, baby, wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me when you cum.”

She says against you, adjusting her wrist to fuck you with her fingers deeper. The new angle has you keening, hips desperately thrusting to chase the friction of whatever new spot she’s hitting.

Her tongue flattening against you as she draws firm, tight circles over your bundle of nerves, The way that your back is arching, hips uselessly trying to grind down against her and her relentless fingers, fucking into your weeping cunt mercilessly. She’s guiding you exactly to where she wants you to go, straight up towards that peak. Your vision blurs.

“Fucking give it to me, Pretty Girl, want you to cum for me, all over my fingers and my mouth.”

Your back arches off the bed, and suddenly, all you know is wave after wave of ecstasy that crashes through your body, electric shocks that pulse through you, making you jolt and flail uselessly combined with the rhythmic pumping of her fingers, and the dipping and swirling of her tongue against you.

She works you through your orgasm, never slowing the movements of her tongue or her fingers that continue to drag in and out of you, sustaining your pleasure for as long as she can possibly hold it. Her lips wrap around your clit, as her tongue swipes through your folds, collecting all the wetness that she can find. She hums against you, encouraging your loud moans, and by the time it’s over, you’re a shaking, completely fucked out mess on her bed,

If you happened to see the expression on her face as she watches you writhing beneath her, your hands twisting the sheets into knots and broken, unrestrained whimpers fall from your lips, she’s taking in the sight with immense appreciation, as if you’re the work of art she’s just created.

Turns out, the only thing that you have the ability to do post-three orgasms is roll over onto your stomach, shaking and trembling, and try, desperately, to regain your breath.

Ellie, for her part, crawls up the bed beside you, hand coming up to tenderly stroke back the hair that sticks to your forehead, before gently rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby, that’s it, just breathe for me.”

You’re eventually able to regain your breath, but your body feels floppy and light, and you can’t even begin to comprehend the slightest of movements. Ellie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, saying softly, “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna get something to clean you up, okay?”

You nod in slight acknowledgement of her words, but your mind is still fuzzy, and the only thing that you’re really aware of right now is the sudden sleepiness that comes over you in a soft, comforting wave. You feel her stroke your hair once more before she rises from the bed, briefly pausing to look at how fucked out you are, stretched out across her bed, bare skin glistening with sweat that makes your hair stick to your forehead, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed.

“So pretty,” she breathes, before exiting.

She isn’t gone long, and when she returns your eyes are closed, head buried against a pillow. She kneels between your legs, hand reaching out to gently rub your back as you turn your head to look at her.

“Just need to clean you up, pretty,” she whispers, and you realize how sticky you are in between your legs.

“Okay,” you mumble, your voice sounding slightly hoarse, similar to the way it does when you first wake up in the morning. Were you really moaning that much?

You feel a warm, damp washcloth brushing against your inner thigh. It’s nice, soothing, but as Ellie moves towards the place in between your legs, you instinctively flinch, overstimulated and slightly sore.

A large hand splays out over your back gently. “I know, Honey, it’s okay, I've got you,” Ellie soothes.

She runs the cloth over your folds. “There we go, sweet girl, almost done.” Its brush against your clit makes you cry out, leg kicking out instinctively. Ellie shushes you gently, pressing chased, featherlight kisses against your spine, the curve of your hip, effectively distracting you while she finishes cleaning you up.

When she’s done, she throws the cloth to the side, coming to sit beside you. “Okay, Baby, I just need you to get up and go for a quick pee.” You turn your head to look at her in bewilderment, staring up at her with your eyebrows raised.

“Why?” You ask, confused. She chuckles softly at your expression.

“Because, nowadays there isn’t much to protect ourselves from any infections that we could pick up while doing this,” she gestures vaguely. “And this is the one thing that we can do to at least try to help prevent something from coming up,”

“Buuut Elliee, I don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, burying your face back into the pillow.

She sighs softly, “come on, it’ll be fast, and then we can get back into bed and cuddle for as long as you want.”

That idea is tempting, but she could just get into bed with you right now and cuddle. Plus, you want to know who gave her this information, because it sounds pretty fucking stupid to you.

“I don’t want to,” you grumble.

Ellie playfully hits you with a pillow. “Come on, Lazy Ass,” she’s guiding you to sit up now, in spite of how much you’re resisting, because the bed is so warm and soft.

“Besides,” she reasons, “we both go out on patrol in three days, and I am not dealing with you having to dismount your horse every five minutes because you got a urinary tract infection and now you need to pee every time we hit a bump on the path.”

You dramatically sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it, Jesus Christ,” you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays your true feelings. “On one condition,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“What?” Ellie is fighting to restrain a smile, because you’re just too goddamn cute when you’re like this.

“You have to carry me there and back,” you say, reaching your arms up like a child who wants to be picked up.

She sighs, feigning annoyance, but she’s already positioning an arm beneath your knees. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she mutters against your hair as she cradles you against her chest.

You snuggle into her, smile growing wide as she moves towards the door, holding you in her arms. “Don’t lie, you love it.”

“Shut up ,” she says, hand sneaking around to give your ass an affectionate squeeze, making you gasp and giggle in surprise, instinctively kicking, nearly falling out of her arms in the process. But her hold is secure, arms tightening around you as your cheek presses against her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you.”

After gently setting you back in bed, once you’ve finally gone to the bathroom, grumbling the whole way there and back, Ellie went to get you a glass of water. She’s been gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already miss the feeling of her body, Strong and warm and steady, pressed against you. While she’s gone though, you entertain yourself by letting your eyes roam over your body, finding the evidence of her, left behind on your skin. You discover each new mark, each trace of her presence imprinted on you with the anticipation and joy of a child finding Easter eggs.

Your hand runs over your inner thigh, Lips pulling into a smile as you take in the sight of the finger shaped bruises that she left from where she gripped onto you so tightly. The site makes a warm, tingling feeling settle in your stomach.

You don’t hear her approach from behind you, and she must not see the expression on your face.

“Did I hurt you? Was it, was it too much?”

You turn, eyebrows raised and already shaking your head with vehemence, to find her watching you, biting her lip, concerned frown on her face.

“What, no, no, Ells, it’s just,” you avert your eyes, the blush creeping onto your face is mortifying, and in spite of everything you too just did, and how you had expected talking about things like this would be easier now, it’s still hard to admit it out loud.

She catches your chin in her hand, gently redirecting your eyes back up to meet hers. Seeing her so close to you, you don’t have to look hard to see the anxieties, trying to be contained and hidden, but dancing behind her eyes nonetheless.

You feel your heart clench. She’s opened up to you about her past on a few occasions, but when she has, it was easy to sense how fearful she was of her own inclinations towards violence, regardless of how necessary and imperative it might have been for her survival. She’s like a fire, impulsive and easy to set off, her flames all-consuming without a second thought. But after, even now, even when all this is small bruises marking your skin in the heated passion of lust, that will fade and be gone within a few days, she’ll still twist herself into knots, thinking and overthinking until she’s convinced herself that she’s ruined you.

“Please, Babe, tell me the truth,” her voice is soft, barely a whisper, but you hate the way that there’s a slight tremble in it, so uncharacteristic of Ellie. It breaks what’s left of your embarrassment, and the words fall from your lips without hesitation now.

“It wasn’t too much. It’s just, I-I liked it...the marks... I think it’s kind of hot.”

You wonder, in the back of your mind, if she can feel the way your cheek heats beneath her hand, resting against it ever so lightly. Her breath comes out in a soft, surprised laugh, and you’re relieved to see the concerned edges fade from her expression, a smirk instead overtaking her lips. “

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispers, fingers coming to trace over the scattered marks, littered across your neck and collarbone.

“You’re cold,” she observes, hands running up and down your arms, goosebumps beginning to form there. You hadn’t even noticed that you had begun to shiver.

When she crawls into bed behind you, wrapping her arms around you, Holding you against her, her warmth settles into your bones, running through you like melted chocolate. She brings the glass of water to your lips, insisting that you drink, and refusing to back down, in spite of your protests that you’ll need to get up to go pee in the middle of the night and does she realize how annoying that is?

She does, but she still coaxes you to drink half the glass.

You hold the glass up to her, pouting slightly. “Now you drink some, I feel like you should, too, because you were doing a lot of work, you know, with your mouth,” you say suggestively.

“Oh my God, shut up,” she groans. She gives you a playful shove that nearly makes the glass tumble from your hand. But she has quick reflexes, and her hand is steady against yours as she gently grabs your wrist, preventing the spill.

“Careful, Hun,” she cautions, plucking the glass out of your hand easily. “If only to appease you,” she sighs dramatically, before tipping it back and draining the glass.

The inevitable crash that you hadn’t, but probably should’ve, anticipated hits you all at once. It starts with a sigh that quickly turns into a yawn that seems to take all of your energy with it. You move to shrug your shoulders, brush it off like it’s nothing, because honestly, it’s only just starting to get dark outside, you can’t go to sleep right now, it’s just too early.

Your bones feel oddly heavy, sore in a way that shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Adrenaline, and passion have temporarily blinded you to trivial things, like being a human and having a body that can get physically exhausted, especially after trying so many new things at once. You wince because fuck, you hadn’t realized how tense you had been holding yourself today until now, and the consequences are quickly setting in.

She’s watching you, observing you closely as she always does. She doesn’t say a word, but she intuitively understands.

She brushes your hair off to one side, and you shiver as your bare neck and shoulders are exposed to her. Warm hands settle over your shoulders, there’s a gentle squeeze, an unspoken question, an offering. The way your head falls forward, the low, contented noise that falls from your lips is all the ascent that she needs.

Her thumbs gingerly press into the tense muscles beneath them. She hums sympathetically, feeling how tender you are beneath her. She keeps her movements slow and precise as she presses her thumbs against you, applying a slight pressure, running them over the backs of your shoulders, gently encouraging the tension to release. She’s ceaselessly patient, only continuing her path upward when she can feel your muscles relax, giving into her ministrations.

She continues to massage across your shoulders and your upper back, seeming to find and undo tension in places that you didn’t even realize you were carrying. It makes you sleepy, the gentle caress of her hands gliding over your skin, paired with the firm press of her knuckles, exactly where you need it.

One of her hands slowly runs up the back of your neck, gently cupping you at the base of your skull. Her fingers smooth over your temples, stress easing away as your eyes flutter shut. Her other hand continues to press and massage in between your shoulder blades, firm and insistent as she smooths her thumbs over the tight knot that’s gathered there, with patient persistence, making it unravel at her touch, and forcing the tension to leave your body.

“Relax, Pretty Girl, I’m not going anywhere,” her voice is a low rumble against your ear.

Her lips brush over one of the bruises she’s left on the side of your neck, and suddenly, it’s like all the tension bleeds out of you, draining so quickly that you don’t have time to catch yourself.

She laughs softly as you try to contain the yawn that tears through you as she eases you back towards the pillows. She wraps a soft blanket around both of you, covering your bodies and making sure you’re tucked in securely.

She settles in behind you, warm, bare skin pressing against yours as she curls herself around you. A strong arm wraps around your waist, gently tugging you close to her as her leg hooks over yours.

You’re barely awake, only aware enough to snuggle into her, saying sleepily, “if this is the treatment I’m going to get after one swimming lesson, what are you gonna do when I’ve mastered it?”

There’s a soft chuckle, low against your ear as she whispers, “don’t worry about that, pretty girl, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

She kisses the top of your head, lingering for a moment as she adoringly watches your eyes flutter. You sigh with contentment, letting a sleepy smile graze over your lips. Maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s doing, maybe she isn’t even aware…but, in this moment, you’re surrounded by her.

Her safety.

Her warmth .

Her unconditional and unwavering love is curled around your heart as closely as she’s curled herself around you. She’s here, she’s safety, she’s love,and right now, she is all that you could ever want.

this was actually my first attempt at writing smut, and in spite of how nervous I am to share it, I’m actually really happy with how it turned out. So if you enjoyed it, please let me know, notes, comments, and re-blogs are so appreciated. Thank you so much for reading

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us #The last of us part #Ireadwithmyears masterlist

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moonlightspencie · 5 months ago

Text

part 2 of the fake dating!james drabble as suggested by @simp-for-fiction!

part 1 here : part 2

pairing: james potter x reader

——————————

It had been two weeks since the night he kissed you and then proceeded to pretend as if he hadn't. You really couldn't blame him considering that you had also been hesitant to bring it up. After all, it was a part of the act.

But then again, it felt so real.

He was dragging you to yet another event today, telling you to dress nice. You complained, of course, but the second he mentioned that you'd be getting a nice fancy dinner for free... who were you to turn down such a compelling evening?

You showed up at his flat in your sleek black evening gown, feeling quite pretty, and knocked on his door. He opened it a moment later, looking a bit frazzled: his hair was a mess, his tie undone, and his glasses absent from his face.

"...hey?" you greeted.

"Hi," he replied quickly, ushering you inside before scurrying through the flat. "Sorry, promise I'll be done soon!"

"You okay?" you asked hesitantly, following him to his room.

He shuffled through things in his room, spraying himself with cologne and trying to smooth out his hair.

"Fine. Just... maybe, accidentally fell asleep and only started getting ready fifteen minutes ago," he winced a little.

You snorted a laugh. "Alright, that's fine. Do we need to be there right on time?"

"No... I guess we don't, but," he sighed, finally taking a good look at you. "You showed up on time looking... beautiful. The least I can do is get you there when I said I would."

"James, we've known each other for years. I'm not exactly expecting you to turn things around for a girl you're pretending to date."

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Still, though."

"Don't worry about it," you reiterated, sitting on his bed.

He continued getting ready, now quite a bit less frazzled, and you were on your way before you knew it. He led you inside some charity event that he'd been invited to. You knew his family was rich, but this... this was something else.

"So... Lily is gonna be here?" you ask in a bit of surprise as he walked you through the ballroom.

"No," he replied simply, bringing you to sit at a table with little place-cards indicating your seats.

You furrowed your brow. "What... then, why are we here?"

"Photos, of course. They go in the Prophet. Evans will see them, and hopefully get jealous."

"Thats a pretty elaborate plan, Potter."

"It'll work," he said, waving off your concerns. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing here."

You snorted, but didn't really feel like complaining the second the food and drinks came out. Even more, you were perfectly happy once dancing began. It felt like a really fancy school ball with a bunch of people who were much more intimidating than your classmates. But... James made it easy.

"And spin," he instructed with a laugh, twirling you around. He caught you, pulling you into his chest again. "See? You're a natural."

"Far from it," you laughed. "If it weren't for you, I'd be tripping over my own two feet."

"Nah. You're great," he smiled brightly, annoyingly charming as always.

"I didn't grow up with this stuff. You dont have to lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not lying. Swear. You're good."

You smiled a little, shaking your head. "You know, we should really hang out more. I think I like hanging out with you when I'm not being paraded around for you to get Lily's attention the whole time."

"We hang out," he said, tilting his head a little.

"Not really," you smiled a little. "I hang out with Remus and Sirius, and... sometimes you're just there. I wouldn't quantify us as friends, per se."

"I would. Per se," he snorted a laugh. "We are now at least."

"Maybe."

"Don't maybe me," he laughed cheerfully.

You chuckled right back, about to respond when a flash went off. You blinked, looking in the direction of the light.

An older man who looked far too happy with himself, held up his camera. "Beautiful young couple! That will make a lovely photo for the papers."

"Oh, we're not--"

James cut you off. "Thank you! We've been told."

"Oh," you nodded a little. Right. This was the whole point of the event.

The photographer gave you another overly-peppy grin, then bid you adieu. You glanced at James.

"You really think she'll see that?"

"Everyone will see it," he shrugged.

"Everyone?" you swallowed. "Ugh. James, I don't know if that's a good thing. For everyone to think we're..."

"What, am I not enough for you?" he teased.

"That's not what I mean, James. It's just that people talk. Do we really need a public break up from a relationship we were never in."

"Eh," he shrugged. "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

"It's supposed to be cross that bridge."

"Either way," he grinned.

"Quit worrying," he kissed your cheek. "Now, come on. We have the whole rest of the night to have fun together, now."

"Right. Lead the way, Potter."

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter drabble #james potter fluff #james potter fic #marauders #marauders drabble #marauders fluff #fake dating #luna still hates jk #luna’s james fics

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sleepyhutcherson · 7 months ago

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Heyy, can you make a Mike fic where reader has a lot of money and buys things for Mike and Abby and Mike always feels guilty about it? I love your job!!

-💋

get anything you want.

paring: mike schmidt x rich!gn!reader

summary: mike has never tolerated you paying for anything on dates, let alone even buy him anything, so when you show up to his front door insisting to take him and abby to the mall he’s a little reluctant, knowing you’re going to try and spoil him, something he really doesn’t want.

—or, in which: you take your boyfriend and his little sister shopping in attempt to spoil them.

word count: 2.0k

tags: established relationship, use of y/n, fluff, rich!reader (but it’s very briefly mentioned), abby being the sweetest, most adorable girl <3, reassurance — let me know if i’m missing something!

author’s note: hii guys, so i genuinely hate this so much and have so many drafts of this (i have so many versions of this request) because i struggled so much with it :| anyway, i swear i want to get to everyone’s request and i have the time so i hope i can manage! sorry for being really absent on here but i was dealing with some things but im hopefully back!! thank you anon for the request, and im sorry this is so late :( i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! xx

Mike didn’t like going to the mall—especially not on a Saturday. He dreaded the idea of going shopping with you but only because you always insisted on paying for his things. He couldn’t fathom why you would even want to do that for him. Mike was always careful with his money, he didn’t earn much at his shitty job but the money he did earn always went to the house bills, food, and Abby—the more important things. He was aware that you made really good money at your job but he never wanted you to use your money on him.

But of course, Mike had a hard time telling you no so when you suggest going to the mall all he can do is agree, especially once he sees the excitement in Abby’s eyes.

You hold onto Abby’s hand as she walks in between you and Mike, she was talking over all the loud chaos in the mall, and Mike couldn’t help but feel pleased with how happy his little sister seemed at this moment.

He hated how crowded the mall was, how kids were running around, some crying, some laughing obnoxiously loud—it was all just a little too much for Mike, but seeing that look in Abby’s big, brown eyes, he could tolerate it for a bit.

“So you only come for your birthdays?” You ask Abby, bringing Mike back to reality. He adored how good you were with her, it made his heart quicken. You were always so sweet towards Abby, going out of your way to play with her, ask her questions, and even participating in drawing lessons she insisted you needed.

Abby nods. “Yeah, and Mike lets me get ice cream and a toy!” She says with bright eyes. Her birthday was a couple of months ago and being back at the mall filled her with those memories she cherished with her older brother.

It was apparent how grateful she was for that yearly trip to the mall; she never complained about not coming more often. Mike had told her that the mall was a special place so why not come by on a special day? That made sense to the 10-year-old girl and she never argued to come more often.

“How about if you find something you really want, I’ll get it for you.” You suggest. Both siblings turn their attention to you in sync and you can’t help but smile at how alike they can be at times. You come to a halt, causing Mike and Abby to stop as well, you point out to the front of you, “look, Build-A-Bear is just over there, you can take a look inside and if you see something you want I’ll get it for you.”

You can feel Mike’s eyes on you as you speak to his little sister. “Really?!” Abby beamed, eyes so puppy-like they mirrored some you were all too familiar with.

“Of course. Get anything you want.” This excites Abby, you can tell by the way her eyes go wide along with her smile. Her reaction made you smile.

You meet Mike’s gaze now, noticing that stern, guilt-ridden look on his face that you’ve seen on him before—specifically whenever you try to pay for things. “Is that okay?” You ask him then.

His lips are in a thin line. He turns his attention to Abby then, “Abs, why don't you go get one of those bouncy balls from that quarter machine?” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out some extra change.

“Okay, thanks!” She takes the change, skipping over to where a few quarter machines are displayed; some with candy and others with little trinkets. She was still in sight—Mike made sure of that every time.

“You okay?” You ask your boyfriend, sensing you have upset him. You knew it was hard for him to accept any kind of help, especially when it came to you offering to buy anything for him or Abby. He wasn't angry, he just felt bad. He looked at you with those tired brown eyes that you were oh so struck by every time, didn’t matter how many times you’ve looked into them.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a minute before continuing, not knowing exactly how to word what he wants to say. Maybe because he’s told you before so many times. “I just—I don’t want you wasting your money on us.” He says as gently as he can.

“Mike, it’s not a big deal.” You say. And you mean it. Mike and Abby had become two of the most important people in your lives and you wanted to help them however you could. “I know I should’ve asked you first, but I just wanted her to get her something.”

Mike admired this about you, how you were willing to buy something for Abby even though you didn't have to. But still, he felt shitty about it, it didn’t feel right. Even though you were the one who offered, he felt like he was taking advantage of your money.

You notice the guilt on Mike’s face and immediately move to cup his face, letting your hands rest against the sides of his face, feeling his stubble against your palm. He's a little surprised by this; you see the way his eyes widen a little at your touch and you giggle at how adorable his reaction was.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soothing to his ears. You look up at him, his eyes immediately softening upon seeing the small precious smile on your lips. “Look, I understand if you don't want to but I would love to buy you both something today. You rarely come to the mall so just please let me spoil you both just today?”

Mike’s hands are on your waist now, his thumb softly rubbing at your clothed skin. He knows how stubborn you are and knows that you won’t give up on this—plus, he doesn’t think he has the heart to tell Abby no after you already offered to buy her something. “Fine,” he agrees, but before you can get too excited: “but only Abby.”

He won’t let you pay anything for him. It’s not like anything in the mall ever really caught his eye anyway.

You smile, pecking his lips softly. “Thank you.” You were a little disappointed that he denied you from getting him something but you weren’t giving up that easy; you knew a place in the mall that Mike was an absolute sucker for, where there was a chance he would be tempted to stop at.

Abby returns with a bouncy ball in hand, thrilled with that until you remind her of Build-A-Bear. She yaps on about her collection of stuffed animals she has at home and how thrilled she was about adding another to it the short walk to the store.

Mike is quiet the entire time you and Abby are looking for a plushie for her to pick out—she was debating between a rabbit or an actual bear. You catch Mike looking at the prices with a certain look on his face, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that it was okay. And it really was.

He tried to focus on just how incredibly happy Abby looked right now which was the most important thing. It warmed his heart seeing her so happy, the way her eyes glistened under the lights, how wide they got whenever they landed on another toy. God, did it make Mike smile just seeing her like this. He decided to focus on that, not the guilt that was eating him.

“What did you name it?” Mike asks, holding Abby's hand as the three of you continue walking around the mall.

Abby was clutching onto the brown rabbit she picked out that was dressed in a purple onesie that you let her get. “Baby. Y/n gave me the idea! They said if you move the letters around in my name it spells out ‘Baby’.” She explained with her focus entirely on her new friend.

Mike had never noticed that, he smiled warmly at that, finding it rather sweet. “That’s nice,” he says, his eyes averting to you. He was holding your hand, this time he was in between the two of you. He wanted to hold your hand, he wanted to thank you for this, for everything you do.

For a while, the three of you walk through the mall leisurely. You make a few stops at some stores, making some purchases you had intended to make. Until you finally lead Mike down to where you were so sure he couldn’t resist.

“Should we go home now?” Mike asks, holding some of your shopping bags.

The food court was right by the exit. “You guys want ice cream?” You reply instead. Mike’s eyes light up at the suggestion, his eyebrows raising a little. God, he was so adorable!

“Yes!” Abby answers, with her rabbit—Baby, still being hugged by her.

“Do you want some?” You ask Mike with a menacing smirk on your face, knowing he wouldn’t let down some ice cream.

He bit the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should spend some of his money on ice cream. He didn’t mind getting some for you and Abby, the real guilt came whenever he got himself something. “Uh…”

“Come on, let's go get some.” You don’t even let him respond, you know him well enough. You drag the two Schmidts towards a small ice cream shop where there was luckily not a line, just a middle-aged woman with her teenage daughter.

You stand behind them, looking up at the menu with the flavours displayed. “What are you getting Abs?” You ask, looking down at her.

“Birthday cake,” she replies. It was her go-to order.

“Me too,” you decide, not having an appetite for the other flavours. “What about you, Mike?” You start taking out your wallet, Mike is distracted as he tries deciding on what to get from the menu.

“Maybe…a peanut butter shake.” He says slowly, still eyeing the other options. “Yeah, I think I’ll just get that.”

You don’t say anything as you’re just about next in line. You order everyone’s orders politely, earning a smile from the girl who is taking your order. She tells you your total and you see Mike reach for his wallet but you win him, handing the girl the cash. “Your order will be out in a moment.” She smiles and you thank her, moving to a side to wait with Abby and Mike.

“I should’ve known you would do that,” Mike mumbled, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. You knew he was trying to come off as angry but you couldn’t help but think how hot his arms looked.

“Oh, come on, Mike,” you whine a little, inching closer to him. He can’t stay mad at you for too long, he never has been able to. He wraps his arms around your waist, trying his best not to smile. Of course, he was filled with how you looked up at him with such adoration. “Can’t I buy my boyfriend a shake?” You say with a teasing tone.

“No,” he replies, looking down at you. “I can pay for my things too, you know?”

“I know,” you did know. You just wanted to treat him sometimes. He deserved him. If you could—if he allowed you to—you would spoil him to the fullest. “But I don’t mind paying for things, especially for things you and Abby need. I really don’t.”

God, he didn’t deserve you. He thought that—he wondered at times how he got so lucky with you. He doesn’t argue it any longer, only because he doesn’t want to right now, not saying that he will just continue letting you pay for things like this but he just doesn’t want to continue with this. He just wants to show you and tell you how much he appreciates you. How much he loves you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you. He leans down to whisper in your ear, “thank you.” such a simple thing, but the genuineness in his voice and the small kiss he plants just below your ear afterwards makes you cherish it.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @st4r-b0ylover @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool

thank you for reading and for all your support <3

#divider by dollywons #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt comfort #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt headcanons #josh hutcherson smut #fnaf

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kquil · 29 days ago

Note

hi hope ure okay 🤗 will u be posting a chapter 7 preview?

i'm doing great, thank you (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ i've been getting pretty busy lately and have just gotten over my monthly visit with mother nature (ಥ‿ಥ) so i'm sorry for being late with my preview. here it is for you!

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER 7 (PREVIEW)

Screams rang out through the night, horrific and painful, that was what had woken Sirius up. Shaken by the disturbing sound, Sirius clambers out of bed to look out of the dorm room window. Like some sort of haunted picture, the full moon hangs suspended in the night sky, laying claim to its dominance over the vast expanse of space, outshining the stars and ousting all clouds that still linger. It glowed like the many poltergeists that roam Hogwarts’ halls but the moon’s presence was incomparably menacing.

“What is that screaming?” Sirius utters, his grey eyes searching the landscape through his window for some form of explanation.

“I don’t know but Remus still hasn’t returned,” James speaks up from the shadows, nearly making Sirius jump out of his skin.

“W-wait, Remus isn’t back yet?” Peter asks, also slipping out of bed and the three make their way over to their friend’s absent bunk. “Where could he be?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” James grins and holds up a cloak.

“How is that gonna help us find out where Rem—” Sirius begins, rubbing his eyes from sleep but stutters to a stop when James’ figure disappears beneath the fabric. The eldest Black brother shares a look of surprise with Peter before turning a grin back to James who was now a floating head.

“I like your thinking, James old chap!” Sirius jests and slips beneath the invisibility cloak with him.

“Will we all be able to fit inside?” Peter’s eyes swim with a healthy level of uncertainty, only to be pulled under the cloak despite his protests.

“We’ll fit, just keep in time with my pace and be very very quiet,”James warns and the two nod affirmatively, Sirius being much more enthusiastic compared to Peter’s hesitance.

“I hope we find, Remus soon,” Sirius comments under his breath, pressed against James’ right as Peter staggers along at James’ left.

“I know… with all that screaming outside, I hope he isn’t in any trouble.” The three make their way to the hospital wing but falter at a hallway junction. Which way was the hospital wing again?

“I-I think we should go right,” Peter helpfully stutters after some thought.

“I thought it was left?” Sirius scratches at his head as James gnaws on his inner cheek. The three collectively decide to go right for the time being and if it was wrong, they simply turn back and go the other way.

Later that night, you ask Kreacher for more information. The topic clearly made Regulus uncomfortable and you didn’t want him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, which is why you didn’t ask any further questions, especially at the dinner table where the atmosphere should be lighter. Hopefully, you can fully dismiss all tensions from dinner when you tuck him into bed later on.

Seated at your desk, you suppress the groans of discomfort that were being conducted through the walls from Orion’s private office — you can’t believe he’s still hasn’t asked Kreacher for a healing potion. But you suppose it’s fitting that his ego is making him suffer more at this point. You savour the sounds of his pain for only a few moments more before calling for Kreacher yourself.

“Mistress has called for Kreacher?” the hunched house elf immediately asks after appearing before you with a pop. He remains ever aged and wrinkled but his unruffled demeanour and, somewhat, contented expression certainly makes him appear brighter.

“Yes, I was wondering if the house had any secret rooms, perhaps down the hall from the library,” Kreacher gives you a skeptical look, one that was doused with suspicions you immediately set about diffusing, “it seems my fainting spells are getting to me and tampering with my memories,” At this, Kreacher’s expression morphs into worry and he begins to clutch tightly at his ragged clothes while falling into rambles upon rambles of heightening anxiety for your health. It was a rather endearing sight, knowing someone cares so deeply for your well-being, but you think the poor elf might just self-induce a heart attack if you let him continue like this, “it’s okay though Kreacher, I’m okay. Please just tell me about that secret room?”

Kreacher takes a moment to catch his breath and flush away his anxiety before answering, “Ladies of the noble and most ancient house of Black were the only ones, Mistress, they be the only ones allowed into the parlour,”

“Parlour?”

“The private parlour, Mistress, yes,” Kreacher nods, subconsciously flattening the wrinkles of his clothes with his hands, standing a little straighter and subtly puffing out his chest, “the powerful, esteemed ladies like to talk in priiiivateeee,” he drags out the word in a low tone, which spikes your interest and reaffirms your speculation on the room being used for dark purposes.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Regulus reads his letter again and nods in satisfaction. This was his third draft of it but he felt his efforts to be worthwhile. Letters were a special occasion and something that made a person feel immediately special when they read a letter that’s addressed specifically to them so he wanted to put in a good effort for Sirius. He just hopes it reaches him in good time.

“Mother,” Regulus stands with his letter in hand, ready for postage, “my letter is finished, may I deliver it Sirius now, please?”

You smile warmly and nod, slipping Alphard’s letter into the main drawer of your desk. With a small wave of your hand, you gesture him over to you, “would you like to give it a wax seal?”

Regulus’ eyes sparkled with excitement, “I’m allowed?”

“Of course, little love, come here,” you pull him into your lap and gesture to the apparatus around you to create a wax seal.

“First, pick out the coloured wax you want for your seal,” Regulus picks metallic silver wax, a perfect choice for the black envelope he was sending it in, a signature of the Black Family. “Now you put it in this little spoon and melt it over the candle,” with an eager nod, Regulus holds the spoon over the candlelight and the two of you wait for it to melt together.

“I think it’s melted now mother,”

“Let me see…” he shows you, swirling around the liquid wax to demonstrate it’s fluidity and grins at your approving nod, “good good. Get the seal ready,” he diligently takes the Black Family seal in his other hand, “now, when you stamp the wax, don’t wiggle it around or else the design will get muddled,” Regulus gives an affirming nod and waits for your instruction to pour the wax before stamping it. He doesn’t wiggle it as you’ve advised. After a few moments, you whisper that it was finally okay for him to take away the stamp and he gasps in delight at the beautiful seal that was left behind.

“Thank you, Mother!”

“Would you like to post it or ask Kreacher to post it for you?”

“I’d like to post it please,” his request pulls you away from your desk, just in time as it was nearing 5pm already. You patiently lead him to the family owl and watch with a smile as he hands over his letter and waves off the owl with a cheer. “Sirius is going to love the letter, darling,”

“I hope he sends one back soon!”

“I don’t doubt that he will,”

navi. | series masterlist

i hope you darlings enjoyed the preview and are looking forward to the full chapter on 1st December!ヾ(。✪ω✪。)ｼ

#sirius black #regulus black #dob : series #dob : preview #divorcing orion black series #remus lupin #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew #walburga black #orion black #the black brothers #the black family #black brothers #sirius and regulus #marauders fix it fic #marauders era fanfiction

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natsvdova-old · 2 years ago

Text

crazy for you

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: no one knows that you and natasha are together, but natasha wants nothing more than to get her hands on you whilst at a party with all your friends — a quickie in the bathroom.

warnings: smut, sexting, bathroom sex, oral sex (r giving), fingering (r receiving), praise, some hair pulling, very slight d/s

word count: 2,7k

AO3 link

18+ only, minors DNI !!

Natasha’s phone vibrates in her hand, the screen lighting up with a text from you. With a slight smirk on her face, she glances up to find you across the room, fidgeting with your phone while you talk with Wanda, an almost empty glass in your other hand, your cheeks slightly flushed.

With a small tilt of her head, she opens the message.

10:07pm You’re insufferable. Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.

Natasha’s smirk becomes more prominent as she looks back over to you. She runs her eyes up, following the curves of your body as you absently nod along to whatever Wanda is talking to you about, attempting to hide the fact that all you want to do is disappear with Natasha.

Natasha begins to make her way across the room, engaging in moments of small talk with people as she goes in order not to arouse any suspicion. Before she leaves the main room in which the party is taking place, she pauses at the door, casting a quick glance around the room to check that no one’s paying her any attention, then making eye contact with you and throwing you a quick wink before slinking down the corridor towards the bathroom.

She closes the door behind herself, leaving it unlocked for you to follow.

In all fairness, it is her fault. While Natasha waits for you to arrive, she leans against the countertop, checking her phone, going over the string of texts she had sent you whilst at the party so far.

9:24pm You look so hot. Can’t wait to fuck you senseless when we get home.

9:38pm Every time I look at you, I can’t help but think about how you sound with my fingers inside you.

That one had made you cross your legs in an attempt to relieve some of the growing tension between your thighs.

9:45pm Well done for keeping a straight face. You’re such a good girl for me.

9:46pm Especially considering how wet you are right now.

That one had caused you to bite your lip in anticipation.

9:49pm Careful, baby. We don’t want Wanda to find out.

9:57pm You’d look even hotter without that dress on.

Natasha turns off her phone, placing it on the countertop beside her as she waits for you. Maybe she is insufferable.

– – –

After watching Natasha sneak out of the party, you continue talking with Wanda, wary of following immediately in case of provoking any questions. Natasha could wait though; it was the least she could do after working you up the entire time you've been here. You could let her have a small taste over her own medicine for once.

No one knew of yours and Natasha’s relationship, the two of you wanting to keep it private for as long as possible. The privacy had been working in your favour so far with there being no invasive questions from your friends or incessant jokes. However, not being able to stay by your girlfriend’s side throughout the entirety of this party wasn’t ideal, but to be completely honest, the secrecy did add an element to the relationship that you loved.

Deeming it an appropriate time to follow Natasha to the bathroom, you excuse yourself from Wanda and make your way down the corridor. Hopefully, nobody notices your absence, and if they do, you hope they don’t link it to Natasha’s.

You open the bathroom door to reveal Natasha, who closes and locks it behind you. The sound of the party carries down the corridor, slightly muffled through the walls, but you're both still very aware of your proximity to everyone else.

As soon as you make eye contact with Natasha, she immediately accosts you, wrapping her arms around your waist, your lips crashing against hers.

“Oh, thank God,” she sighs against your mouth. “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up, or that you’d asked me here for another reason.”

You shake your head, the heat that had pooled in your core from the texts making a resurgence.

Natasha flips your positions, you taking the place she had occupied by the sink, your back pushing into the countertop as she presses her body against yours. One of her legs slots between your thighs as she begins to make her way down your neck, pressing kisses against you as she goes, until her mouth reaches the curve where your neck meets collarbone.

You gasp as her teeth make an appearance. “No marks,” you manage to say between heavy breaths, all too aware of the fact that soon you’ll be making your way back out into a party of all your friends.

Her mouth continues its journey further down, her hands grabbing the top of your dress and pushing it down to reveal your boobs. A moan escapes your lips as her mouth makes contact with one of your nipples, tongue circling the hardened bud.

“Are you going to be good for me and stay quiet, baby?” Natasha asks as she pulls herself off you, “we don’t want everyone to hear you getting fucked by me, do we?”

You shake your head in response and her mouth reconnects with your chest, sucking a hickey onto you where only she would ever see as one of her hands comes up to tease your neglected nipple. Your hands move up from Natasha’s sides, tangling in her hair and holding her head in place against you as you begin grinding down on her thigh, breath getting heavier as you desperately try to avoid moaning again.

A soft whine escapes you when Natasha extracts herself from your chest, but you’re quickly mollified as her hands firmly grab your ass and lift you up onto the counter behind you, trying not to shudder as the cold marble comes in contact with your thighs.

Natasha’s hands begin tracing patterns on your thighs as they climb closer towards your centre, her lips coming back to meet yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. Her fingers finally make contact with your wet panties, rubbing you over the drenched cotton, causing a moan to escape you again.

“I thought we had agreed that you should stay quiet?” Natasha reprimands, pulling her hand away from you, “do we need to keep that mouth of yours busy?” Her fingers come up to rest on your mouth. “Be good for me and suck on these to stay quiet, baby,” she says as you take three of her fingers into your mouth.

Her unoccupied hand resumes its path on your thigh, pushing the skirt of your dress up so it’s bunched around your waist before hooking her thumb into the waistband of your panties and teasingly slowly dragging them down your legs. You’re not sure where your panties end up after that, most likely discarded on the other side of the bathroom floor, but you were too busy being distracted by her fingers teasing around where you needed them the most.

“Natasha, please,” you whined, extracting her fingers from your mouth. “I need you now.”

“A bit needy, aren’t you, baby?” She replied, “that’s your fault for driving me crazy all night by wearing that dress.”

You both know Natasha will give you what you want. Normally, she might drag it out and tease you endlessly before finally allowing you to come, but tonight is all about having a quick orgasm in the bathroom before all your friends realize the two of you are both missing from the party.

“Me?” You question breathlessly, “it was me driving you crazy all night? Are you forgetting about all those texts you’ve been sending?”

She shuts you up after that comment by plunging the wet fingers that had just been in your mouth into your dripping heat. You bite down on your lip to prevent any noise escaping as Natasha’s mouth resumes its place on one of your nipples, your breasts still hanging out of the neckline of the dress she had pushed down. After giving you a second to adjust to the sensation of her fingers inside you, she begins pumping them in and out at a steady rhythm.

Your hands grasp at Natasha, nails raking down her back, desperate to grab purchase onto anything you can reach, tugging on her dress. “Please, Natasha,” you moan. “I want to feel you.”

Using her free hand, Natasha tugs the zipper down, allowing her dress to fall down and pool around her waist. A gasp escapes you as it’s revealed that she’s just as braless as you are, her perfect tits sitting right in front of you. Your arms wrap around Natasha and pull her closer to you, so your naked torsos press against each other, revelling in the feeling of her bare chest rubbing against yours. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her even closer towards you so there’s no space at all between you, her fingers buried deep inside you, trapped between your bodies.

Natasha’s pace increases, thumb rubbing circles against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make the coil in your stomach tighten and you throw your head back in pleasure, resting it against the mirror behind you. Your hands leave her back and one reaches up to palm at Natasha’s boobs, whilst you throw the other hand over your mouth to keep from crying out. The arousal that’s been building all night, ever since that first text from Natasha threatens to crest as your thighs tighten their hold around Natasha’s waist.

“It's okay, baby,” Natasha says, “you can come for me.”

That one sentence of permission from Natasha is all you need to send you over the edge, mouth opening in a silent scream as she continues to guide you through your orgasm with her thumb gently rubbing on your clit, pleasure taking over your body.

As you come down from your orgasm, you gently push Natasha’s hand away, the stimulation becoming too much. Natasha gives you a minute to recover as you rest against the mirror behind you, panting breathlessly in the aftermath. You look up to see her gazing adoringly at you. Your legs are still wrapped around her waist, so you use them to pull her closer to you again, allowing you to lean up and capture Natasha’s lips with your own.

You had intended for it to be a chaste kiss, a thank you kiss in the aftermath of your orgasm, but clearly Natasha had other ideas as she slips her tongue into your mouth, deepening it.

‘God, I need you,” Natasha sighs against your mouth as you break apart for air.

‘Who’s the needy one now?” You smile in retaliation.

You push Natasha away from you slightly and unwrap your legs from her waist. She makes a noise in protest, but silences herself as you slide off the counter and sink to your knees in front of her.

You start at her calves, pressing a kiss against each one before slowly mouthing your way up each leg. By the time you reach the hem of her dress at her thighs, Natasha’s breathing heavily above you in anticipation. You grab hold the bottom of the dress and begin inching it upwards, pressing kisses against each thigh as you go. As you get closer to her core, you pause, sitting back on your heels and push the dress up the rest of the way to bunch around her waist, revealing that she’s bare beneath the dress.

“No underwear?” You question, your arousal making a reappearance at the thought of her walking around the party all evening without any panties on.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you ever since I saw you walk in wearing that dress,” Natasha replies. “I took them off ages ago because they were soaked through. They’re in my handbag.”

You let out a groan in response to that before placing your mouth against her thighs and resuming your path upwards. All you want is to feel Natasha come apart because of you.

Natasha swings a leg over your shoulder, pulling you even closer towards her, and places a hand on the counter behind your head to steady herself. “Come on, baby,” she groans. “Make me feel good.”

You press your mouth against her instantaneously, licking a stripe from her opening to her clit, lips encasing the bundle of nerves, sucking on it in the way you know she likes. Your hands reach up to grab onto her ass, slowly massaging it as you suck her. Natasha gasping in pleasure was your cue to move down slightly, your tongue darting out to lick at her wet folds. The hand that she wasn’t using to hold onto the counter moves to bury in your hair, holding your head in place as you explore her with your tongue.

“You taste so good,” you moan into her, sending vibrations through her core.

“Don’t stop,” Natasha forces out between gasps.

Using your hands on her ass, you pull her towards you, angling her hips just the right way to allow you to you slide your tongue into her, receiving a noise of pleasure in response as you begin to fuck into her at the pace she enjoys, obscene, wet noises filling the bathroom. Natasha’s grip on your hair tightens and she gently pushes your head further into her, guiding your nose into just the right place for her clit to rub against. As she begins rocking back and forth against your face, you glance up at her to watch Natasha throw her head back in pleasure, mouth open slightly in a silent moan, and eyes screwed up tight.

You could tell she’s close from the expression on her face and the way her thighs twitch around your head. She had been working herself up all evening, it’s no surprise she’s ready to come so soon.

You angle your head further towards her, allowing your tongue to reach deeper inside her. “Oh, right there, baby,” Natasha moans softly from above you, her grip tightening on your hair as she grinds down onto your face, her clit rubbing against your nose.

She’s practically fucking your face at this point and you have no complaints, completely enjoying your time surrounded by purely Natasha. Her inner walls begin to flutter around your tongue, so you extract a hand from her ass to place on her stomach to steady her in preparation. You groan against her in pleasure and those slight vibrations are enough to send her over the edge, shaking above you. Her grip on your head and the counter tightens and the leg thrown over your shoulder twitches in her release. You continue to lap at her juices, wetness dripping down your chin as you coax Natasha through her orgasm.

You lower her leg off your shoulder and make sure she’s steady before rising off the floor to meet her. Once you’re standing, Natasha gathers you in her arms before pressing her lips against your, tasting herself on you. As you both come down from the rush of your orgasms, the sounds of the party taking place outside the bathroom filter in once more, reminding you both that you have somewhere to be.

“Come on,” she says gently, extracting herself from you. “Let’s get cleaned up and out of here before anyone notices we’re both missing.”

At that, you both turn to face the mirror and laugh at the mess of your joint appearances. You pull your dresses up back into place and attempt to fix the mess that is your hair. Natasha retrieves your panties from where she had flung them to the other side of the bathroom before passing you a cloth to wipe away the residue juices from her that coat the lower half of your face.

You’ve both done everything possible to make yourself presentable, but nothing can be done for the slight glint in both your eyes and flushed cheeks, or the fact that your knees have reddened and bruises begun to form from kneeling on the hard floor. Maybe your relationship won’t be so secret by the end of the night.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfiction #black widow x reader #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #han writes stuff

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venusacrossthestars · 10 months ago

Text

right person wrong time? wrong person, a fine time.

Pairing- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

WC- 2.2k

warnings- angst, Charles is an ass, swearing(?) italics represent flashbacks

f1 masterlist

Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since Charles broke your heart. Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since you last saw him. Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since he said, ‘its not you, its me.’ Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days and yet you can’t fall asleep without thinking what could have been.

All the traveling and distance was considered to be a curse during your relationship, now you were considering it a blessing. Monaco wasn’t a large country by any means, its own popularity along with its neighboring countries came from tourist, travelers, and summer home owners. Meaning it was the perfect place to blend in with the hundreds of passing faces. Here you were hoping to go unrecognized.

The first two weeks of your five week vacation were going swimmingly. You and a couple friends rented out a villa. You all swam, ate good food, shopped, sun tanned, everything you could imagine of a great vacation.

It was a Tuesday morning and you and your friends were sitting out on the patio at some brunch cafe that was quickly becoming your favorite spot in Monaco when your luck of being incognito had run out.

“Y/N?” you hear a familiar voice call out, and judging by the reactions of your friends you know exactly who it is.

Turning around in your seat to look up at the caller, you are greeted with the unfortunate sight of your ex-boyfriend.

“Charles?”

“Wow, its really you,” he seems surprised.

“Yup, in the flesh,” you chuckle out uncomfortably. You shoot a look ‘help what do I do’ at your friends.

“What are you doing here?”

“On vacation, trying to enjoy the slow season before the fall.”

“Oh that’s nice.”

“Yeah.” Neither of you say a word after that. Your friends attention split between you and your ex.

After a moment of silence it seems that Charles finally gets the memo that you would like to get back to brunch, “I’ll leave you be, hopefully I’ll see you around.”

You don’t reply, why would you lie and say you hoped to see him too? After the way things ended you were seriously hoping to never see Charles Leclerc ever again.

The past few weeks had been rocky, you knew that. Charles had been having a few couple of weeks. A DNF at his home race, a poor performing car, pressure from the fans. You understood it all to be frustrating. Your work hadn’t been easy either. Someone had split their coffee on your silk piece for your show, you had to spend a full 36 hours having to re-sew the entire thing by hand in order to make the deadline.

All you wanted right now was to curl up in your boyfriends arms, watch crappy tv and eat even crappier food. But it didn’t seem like any of that was going to be happening with the ominous ‘we need to talk’ text you got from Charles around lunch time.

When you entered the apartment it felt cold, empty, and overall unwelcoming. All the lights were off expect for the ones in the kitchen and sitting at the island was Charles with his head in his hands.

“Babe,” you began as you walked closer, “is everything ok? Your text gave me a bit of a start.”

Charles doesn't respond and you move to rest your hand on his shoulder, he flinches at the contact as if he is repulsed by your touch.

“I want to break-up,” Charles states out of the blue.

Time stops, you swear it. The clock that hangs on the wall doesn’t move nor make a sound, the dripping faucet doesn’t let a drop of water fall, the quiet humming of the air conditioner is absent. All is still, except your rapidly beating heart.

“What?” you croak out.

“Its not you, its me.” Charles simply states, back still turned to you.

“I find that hard to believe when you won’t even look me in the eyes.” You scoff, you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

Charles shoots out of his chair and faces you. His hands flying up in the air. “I want to break up!”

A “why?” escapes you pathetically.

“Its not you, its me.” he repeats. “The distance, me traveling for my job, you traveling for yours. It’s all too much. I’m not, I can’t do a relationship right now. It’s all too much.”

“Charles,we talked about this just say the words and I’ll drop it all for you. You know this.” You tell him, referring to your conversation from a few weeks back that how you would take less responsibilities at your job if he wanted you too.

“I can’t- I can’t do that to you.”

“Oh but you’ll throw a two year relationship away,” now your angry. He throws this at you out of the blue. No hints, no major changes in his behaviors, nothing.

“Y/N-” he beings but you are quick to cut him off.

“No, I deserve an explanation as to why this all of the sudden ‘this’ isn’t working.”

“Y/N” he tries again.

“It was all fine, yeah we had a few bad weeks but we have a gap week coming and maybe if we just try and relax we can-”

“Maybe its because I don’t love you!” Charles now interrupts you. “Maybe its because I never loved you.”

“Well now you are just being mean,” you weren’t going to cry. Why would you? It wasn’t like the man you have given your all too for the past two year was breaking your heart or anything? If you weren’t going to cry then what was running down your cheeks.

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re an ass. Typically Charles behavior. Run when things go though or don’t go your way. Too high and mighty.”

“You don’t know what its like to be me, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me! I have begged and begged you to let me in and all you do is push me away.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then you’re right. Its not me, its you. Its always you.”

“Get out.”

“What so now your mad that I agree with you?”

“Get out,” Charles says again.

“Gladly.”

Two days have passed since you saw Charles at brunch and as much as you wanted to say it was nothing, you couldn’t. Seeing Charles brought up memories that you didn’t necessarily want to think about while on vacation.

Today everyone was off doing their own thing, so you had the great idea to wander along the beach. Well it was a great idea until you heard your name being called, once again by no one other than Charles.

Stopping in your tracks you turn to face the man who claimed he never loved you.

“Are you following me?”

Charles looks take aback by the question, “no?”

You hum and continue walking, Charles follows.

“I wasn’t kidding when I say it was nice to see you the other day. Its been a while, hasn’t it.”

“Yup.” Exactly-1 year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and now 6 days, you think to yourself.

“So how have you been, anything new?”

“Been good, headlining my own show. Collaborations, sketching up new designs, same old same old.”

“I saw. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you curtly reply. “Anything new with you?” Ever since the break-up you avoided looking at anything Formula 1 related. You can tell by his reaction that he didn’t know that.

“Well, car is good this year. Still a little early to tell but I’ve got a good feeling about this year.”

“That’s nice.”

“Can we talk?”

“Is that not what we’re doing?”

“Well, I guess. I mean I want to apologize.”

This stops you, you really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. You really never wanted to have this conversation ever. You turn now fully facing Charles, squinting at him.

“I’m sorry for that night. I didn’t mean what I told you. You didn’t deserve any of what I said.”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“And that’s all you have to offer as an apology, after all this time?”

“Well I’m not perfect.”

You scoff, “see that, that right there is how I know you aren’t sorry.”

“I am. I still love you. I was an ass. I was stressed. It was all too much. I truly wasn’t in the mindset to be in a relationship. I wanted to be a good boyfriend.”

“You wanted to be a good boyfriend?” You chuckle, “if you wanted to be a good boyfriend you would’ve told me what was going on.”

“You could’ve been a better girlfriend.”

Typical Charles, is all you can think to yourself. You are now seething, emotions that have been pushed down and down, now surfacing.

“I was willing to work it out,” you point at your chest, “all of the problems I was willing to work through for you. I was willing to ignore the hurtful words because I loved you. I would’ve left everything behind. All of it. If it meant being with you. So don’t tell me I could have been a ‘better girlfriend’, unbelievable.”

“Right person, wrong time.” Charles said quietly.

You actually laugh at his statement. Was he high? At the beginning you might’ve thought that too. You loved him so deeply that you were willing to over look his flaws. But that night, that faithful night when he ripped your heart out and ran it over with his Ferrari you realized that someone who loved you would never do what he did to you.

“No Charles, you were the wrong person at a fine time. The right person would try to work out their problems. The right person would listen to their girlfriends concerns. The right person wouldn’t tell the person they love, that they simply never loved them. The right person wouldn’t ask another woman to marry him not even a year later. And yet you stand here claiming to still love me. You wanted to be a good boyfriend, how about you focus on being a good fiance.”

A look of hurt flashed over Charles face and for a moment you almost felt bad for him. But he hadn’t felt bad when he broke your heart. He hadn’t felt bad when he said that he couldn’t do a relationship and travel. He held no remorse for you when not even a month later he was seen with another woman hanging off his arms. And you know for a fact that he held no remorse when 7 months later he was asking her to be his wife.

Yes, Charles the same man who told you that he wasn’t ready for a relationship was engaged to another woman. The same woman he was seen with not even a full month after he broke your heart. At first you thought he was cheating on you, who wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. But as much as you hated Charles he did surprisingly had morals. He might’ve met her when with you but you knew, mostly due to his hectic schedule, that he wasn’t cheating on you.

“Speaking of which, how is the wedding planning going. Its been how long since the two of you got engaged?” You ask. You know how long its been. You know you’re being petty. You know asking about the engagement is a low blow. You should be the bigger person but there is something about the way he is looking at you that fills you with rage and sadness.

“That’s none of your business.” Charles crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“Well I would say this has been nice but lets not kid each other. Charles I do wish you the best with everything, but please, don’t ever talk to me again.”

You are quick to turn away, you don’t want to hear another word from him. This vacation was meant to be peaceful. You were meant to blend in and have fun. The last thing in the world you were expecting was to run into your ex.

The once beautiful country of Monaco had now been tainted by the unpleasant memories of a time past. And you knew that no matter how much you loved the atmosphere, the people, the culture that you would never be able to wash the memory of Charles away. Charles Leclerc has officially ruined Monaco for you.

That night after you recounted the story to your friends over a crappy bottle of tequila, you went to bed and did something you haven’t done for a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days, you googled ‘Charles Leclerc’ and the first thing that that popped up might’ve been a surprise to everyone, but not you. “Charles Leclerc and long-time fiancée mutually call off engagement”.

And for the first time in a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days you fell asleep not thinking of Charles Leclerc and what might’ve been.

taglist- crossed out names mean I could not tag you

@arieslost @astrostar24 @aneverythingwriter @maryseesthings @boiohboii @lexiestarkey @scaramou @anedpev @simplyscorpio @the-untamed-soul @stupendousrebeldreamer @lyana344 @moonlightem @itsbwokenln4 @a-daydreamers-day @barcelono @naturallyspontaneous @bunbun9396 @meredithmeiz @clowngirlsstuff @jordy-jor5 @charlesleclerx @loveyatopluto @lewisroscoelove @graciearnold1 @saiteliites @oliveswiftly @lover122 @dear-fifi @onecojg @martaaairwin1994-blog @bigchrisevansmarvelsoul @sittingalonereads @fuckmylifedudee @hanniesdawn @leonie-swift @havaneselover08 @homosexualjohnwayne @bjralph @naaanasworld @dannyramirezwife @mileeen-aa @futuristicherobailifflamp @boherahpsody

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc angst

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musette22 · 10 months ago

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Hiiiiii hello my lovelies, how is everyone doing?? 💖 I just wanted to make a little post to say that I'm aware I've been very absent these past few weeks and I miss being on here lots, but it's just because life's been insanely busy and eventful and I'm just kind of struggling to keep up! But lots of great things happened, and one of those things is that I got another pup aaaahhhh 😭😭

So, without further ado - meet Maisie!!! 💞💞💞💞 She's incredibly beautiful and tiny and sweet and smart and the biggest cuddler on the planet, and I already love her to absolute bits 🥺 I adopted her from a shelter in Turkey and she flew in on Wednesday and she's already completely at home and spends most of her time in my lap 💔 She weighs barely 5kg (which is less than half what Lily weighs), she's 3 years old and I think she thinks she's a little horse sometimes 🥰

Maisie and Lily get along great, even though Maisie tries to steal Lily's food and hogs the couch, but it's ok for now because this is the first home Maisie's had & it's like Lily knows 🥺

Anyway, lots more has happened, meaning I haven't had much time to be on here lately, but hopefully I'll be able to catch up with some things I've missed and reply to some messages very soon!!! Hope everyone is doing well, lots of love to you all from me & my girls 💗

#maisie the dog 💞#lily the dog 💗#dogs #adopt don’t shop #minnie talks

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thesleepyfable · 2 months ago

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~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 19: ~

No One to Dance With?:

Originally, I was going to have Trots reveal he didn't have any living relatives, so no one would come to see him. But, then we learned about Simon's deleted existence. Hopefully, I do him justice.

TW: One mention of Anti-LGBT and underage drinking.

Chapter 20:

5 years ago.

The Golden Eagle Pub was lively. Filled with its final patrons before Christmas. Singles and couples left it at standing room only. Music blared in the background of the smoke-filled building. Some couples danced in an open space. Teenagers, who were clearly underage, purchased their first beer. The Barmen didn't care. As long as they were getting money in the till. And nestled in the corner was Trots.

His tired eyes watched the couples, and he felt a sense of loneliness. Gibbo didn't come this evening because Jack was sick, and O'Connor went home with Mary last week. He looked away when his eyes locked with a woman and accepted that this was going to be another empty Christmas. Now, he stared at the half-empty glass of beer, unable to find the energy to drink it.

Yep. Another empty Christmas.

'Maybe I should have stayed on the rig?'

No one gave Trots any thought, but he felt unwelcome. Everyone in high spirits, he was the ominous cloud. The Ebenezer Scrooge. With a small sigh, he got up to leave. Then he heard a glass of beer being placed on the table.

'Thinkin' too much?' Trots didn't reply. He was too surprised by the stranger's handsome appearance, his eye widening and his jaw going slack. The man raised a brow. They both knew. 'Mind if I sit here?'

'Oh!' Trots said a little too loud for comfort. He recoiled, forcing his eyes to look away. Thankfully, the music and noise from the other patrons drowned out his voice. He coughed as a way to compose himself. 'Not at all.' The man didn't hesitate to sit down, but he kept a small distance. You had to. Unless you wanted the world to know your 'sinful secret.'

'So, you didn't answer my question.'

'Well, I guess I am,' Trots said with a shrug, his finger absent-mindedly tapping the glass. 'Christmas isn't the best time of year for me.'

'That's a shame.' The man took a swig of his beer. 'Christmas should be the best time of year for everyone.'

'Well, if I'm not here, I'm in the middle of the North Sea.'

'And, why would you go there?'

'For my job. Oil rigs need someone to keep them from tipping over.'

'And that's where you come in? Sounds like Hell on Earth.'

'Aye, and you're not wrong there.' This was a nice change of pace. 'What about you?'

'I drive a bus, so not nearly as exciting as you.'

'At least you stay on land.' The pair shared a chuckle. Trots still couldn't bring himself to finish his now flat beer. He was too enamoured by the man, but his eyes lingered back to the dance floor when another song began to play, making the locals dance and cheer again.

'No one to dance with?'

'No one to dance with.'

'Same. I mean. If we could, we should.' Trots was taken aback by the stranger's forwardness, despite himself being so quick to mention his work. He was stunned. Good thing they were huddled in the corner. It was especially good for him because Trots felt his face go completely red. He ran a hand over his face and mouth, but he couldn't stop himself from looking at the man, who was clearly finding it amusing. 'What's your name, handsome?'

'J-Johnathan.' Trots hadn't noticed the man had moved closer to him until he touched and played with his ear. Why did that make him feel good?

'Well, Johnny. How about we go and find somewhere we can dance?'

'Okay,' Trots replied, his voice breathless. The edges of his mouth formed a tiny smile. 'But what's your name?'

'...Simon...'

After what felt like an eternity, the pair broke eye contact. Simon's eyes lingered down to where The Shape had taken Trots. The look of shock turned to one of sadness. Maybe guilt. Guilt for not being there. His eyes were transfixed on the veins that pulsated through the discoloured flesh and small bubbled pockets of fat that appeared between the creases. He didn't know what to think. Trots began to understand how Muir felt last night.

'I know how this looks.' Trots stuttered through his words. In his panic, he thought he saw Simon take a step back, causing him to let go of the shovel and fall into the snow. In reality, Simon only shifted his weight because he wasn't correctly dressed for the snow. 'Fuck,' he muttered. What a sad state. He quickly reached for the shovel and pulled himself up whilst he adjusted his glasses. He could use his tendrils, but he didn't want to scare Simon off. The man didn't like surprises, and he certainly got one already. 'Look. I-I know I'm disgusting to look at, but-'

Simon approached and pulled Trots up by wrapping his arm under Trots' armpit. It certainly silenced the Health and Safety manager. He didn't think Simon would touch him, but he was so relieved he did. Simon wrapped his other arm around his chest, touching his exposed ribs. He didn't recoil though, just moved his hand further up when he noticed Trots shiver. 'Did you lose weight?' That broke the tension. Trots' look of surprise slowly vanished to relief. A smile graced his lips. He held back a laugh.

'No. Simon. I'm serious.' His smile didn't weaver though, and Simon picked up on that, who leaned his head against him before sneaking in a kiss on the cheek. Trots felt his heart melt.

Together, they made their way back to the porch. Trots sat in the rocking chair whilst Simon leaned against a beam. Seeing Trots struggle to do something as simple as getting into a chair stung. A knife to the heart.

'What the fuck did you get yourself into this time?'

'Well, it's not like I did this on purpose.'

'Then what happened?'

'I needed a new way to get the Union going.' A terrible joke with a forced smile. But Simon didn't smile back. Nor did he laugh. He kept his arms crossed and waited. The time for jokes was currently on pause. Trots' smile dropped, and he shuffled in his chair. 'I...I don't really know.' Simon listened to Trots tell his story from his perspective. From how the drill had hit something, to him hiding in the crew lounge, then finally his infection. How The Shape took his wrist when he went to see what was wrong at the window, moving up his arm as parts of it dug under his fingernails. The rest entered his mouth, turning him into a puppet before everything went black for several minutes. He had no idea why The Shape gave him a slug-like body and not something akin to Rennick or Addair. The only thing Trots could be thankful for, was that it gave him his upper body back.

Throughout it all, Simon's face turned into horror. How? How could something like that happen? And, why Trots? What did he do to deserve this?

'Eventually, Caz found me and then I saw myself. What I'd become. I want to be sick. The smell was awful. P-Probably still is.' It wasn't. 'I was just angry at everything. My mind was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.' A whimper escaped his mouth and Trots' hands began to shake as he recounted his memories. It was an eerie blur. Moments of clarity quickly came as they went, and it scared him. The Shape knew he was frustrated with the working condition and how messy the crew were, but Trots knew looking back that wasn't him. Somehow, it had twisted him into something he couldn't recognise. 'I wanted to hurt people, Simon.'

Simon quickly moved and knelt besides his lover, who by now, was fighting tears. The look of horror became a mix of pain and sympathy. Like telling a child their parent had passed away. Trots' glasses began to fog. Simon removed them, only to now get a good look at the glossed and grey hues that replaced the deep blue. 'I called out for you, but you didn't answer.' Now, the tears began to flow. 'You weren't there.'

'But, I'm here now, Johnny.'

Simon pulled him in for a hug. Trots clung to his coat. He didn't want to let go. If he did, would he vanish? They stayed like that for at least thirty seconds before Simon broke the hug, moving his hands to rest on Trots' shoulders. His soft smile returned. He reached and played with Trots' ear to help the man calm down. It worked, and that feeling of Trots' heart melting, whilst his face went red, returned. Trots held Simon's wrist. His head leaned into his hand, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

'I'll never go back. I promise.'

'Good. I missed you.'

'No one to dance with?'

'No one to dance with.'

A sense of calm wrapped the pair up like a warm blanket. All their worries disappeared. Neither of the men thought of what might happen in the future. Trots will never live a normal life again. They both knew that. But, right now, who cares? The warmth brought them close and in for a kiss.

Trots cupped Simon's face in his hands. Simon wrapped his arms around Trots' chest, and just for a minute, reality vanished around them.

#My Writing #Still Wakes the Deep #Still Wakes the Deep: Still Here AU

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ovobawrites · 1 year ago

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𝒢𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 - 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

I decided to publish this oneshot cuz i still like it! I wrote it a year ago for a oneshot collab book.

This contains jealousy, hurt/comfort, christmas and a gender neutral reader. I got the dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more over here on tumblr!

The smell of strawberry shortcake wafted through the air, the three-tiered cake resting on the counter top while Trey started preparing the icing. You watched him wistfully, his strong arms beating the air into the cream without even breaking a sweat. Winter was just on the horizon and soon it'd be...

Well for you it'd be Christmas, for the others it was just an exam week and the long-awaited holidays. Still, you wanted to celebrate somehow. Which led you to where you were now, watching your dear boyfriend ready the confectioneries for the upcoming unbirthday party. Might as well ask him while he was already baking, right?

"Hey Trey..." You swung your legs to and fro from atop the counter. Your boyfriend hummed distractedly in reply. "Do you think we could make a gingerbread house or something together?"

Trey halted his whisking, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. You already knew what he was going to say. Still, you waited with a glimmer of hope.

"Winter exams are just around the corner, dear, and with Riddle being so adamant on our dorm scoring high on the leader-board..." He trailed off.

"You'll be busy studying, I know. I just wanted to check if you had the time to." You plastered on a smile he'd never see, his back to you. "That reminds me, are we still having that study date tonight?"

A pause.

Ah. Again.

Trey turned around to face you with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, Riddle's-"

"It's fine, don't worry about it!" You had guessed. "We can always reschedule for later. You're a third-year and all! A busy old man!" Too many jokes for it to be genuine.

Still Trey chuckled obligingly, kissed you on the cheek, and went back to his baking. You sighed quietly to yourself.

At least you'd have Grim with you for Christmas.

"What's Christmas?" Grim asked you as you lied in bed, resting on your stomach while you told him about your plans for the holidays.

"It's a holiday in my world, a celebration." You explained softly, longing in your voice. "There's a lot of boring history behind it but essentially we give each other gifts on December 25th. The whole month's a holiday, really. My family and I would make gingerbread houses, decorate a pine tree together..." You trailed off.

"Sounds fun," Grim muttered, half asleep. "the Great Grim wants tuna as a present... a whole pile of it..." He snored softly.

You smiled, melancholic and wistful. "A Christmas with just you and me..." How lonely. It was stupid of you to hope like that.

You drifted off to sleep, unaware of Grim peering at you with worried eyes, a frown on his face.

The library was practically empty. Most NRC students would never study during a weekend, after all. Might as well get used to being alone for the winter break now. Grim was asleep on your lap once again, the cold weather making him more drowsy than usual. You sighed, leaning your head against your hand, absent-mindedly flipping pages in your (borrowed) history textbook. Hopefully you could convince Crowley to give you all that tuna he promised, otherwise you'd be spending your lunch money on tuna for the next few weeks.

The creak of the library door opening made you raise your head, curious to who had entered. No one you recognised. A couple, by the looks of things. Chatting quietly to each other, smiles on their faces as they walked to a table at the back of the room. You sighed again. Back to taking notes from the textbook then.

And as you took the notes, a black knot started to furl up in your chest.

'Policies in the Queendom of Roses during 1635'

...

'Public reaction to Policies'

...

'Red Rose Uprising'

Flip the page of your notebook, blink and close your dry eyes for a moment.

'Establishment of a Democratic System'

...

'Reinstatement of the Monarchy'

...

'Reign of the Queen of Hearts'

...

You blinked slowly, feeling the tell tale signs of an impromptu nap creeping up on you. What would happen if you slept for a little while? You'd be woken up by the bell, and it's not like you had any plans before lunch anyways.

Close the textbook, pack away your stationary and put your stuff in your bag. Then you took off your blazer and bunched it on the table, resting your head on it.

(The soft feeling of a familiar coat being draped over you didn't register. Still, some subconscious part of you smiled in your sleep.)

You woke up when Grim shook you frantically. The bell had just rung to signal that it was time for lunch. You went to pick up your bag, but halted in your steps. Someone's NRC uniform jacket rested on your shoulders. A quick glance at the label told you what you already knew. It was Trey's.

You brushed your hands over the jacket, and your cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

"Ughhh, hurry up, (Y/N)! The Great Grim needs to eat!" The not-cat batted at you with his paws. "Come on! Let's eat! Now!"

"Right, sorry."

You quickly gathered your belongings and left the library, Grim curled around your neck and chattering away. You remained quiet, thoughts turbulent. Should you give Trey his coat back now? Or should you wait until he asks you for it? You wanted to see him but he was probably busy. Still. Maybe you should go to the Heartslabyul dorm after Grim has his fill of food...

"Yeah, yeah. You go talk to Trey and I'll do something else, like find those two bozos." Grim waved a paw dismissively before he brightened up. "Or I could go take some food from the-!"

"No." You pet his head lightly. "You know Riddle will just collar you again if he catches you stealing food, right?"

"Please, he's mellowed out! And I barely got to eat my lunch!" Grim turned pleading eyes towards you, fully aware that you saw him eat three times his body weight in carbonara.

"I'll only be talking to Trey for a bit anyways." You smiled bitterly. "He's busy studying with Riddle, or whatever."

Grim slumped over, and you caught a flash of something in his eyes. Pity? "Fine, but you owe me three cans of tuna, got that?!"

"Deal." You shook his 'hand' before you hurried off to find Trey.

You just wanted to go back to your dorm and study. As much as you loathed to admit it, you were still raw and open from yesterday's conversation. You didn't want to feel so vulnerable, but Trey had a way of making you feel such stupid things. Now where would you find your busy boyfriend...

Knowing Riddle, the two of them are probably studying together in the garden. You strided over, Trey's jacket carefully folded in your arms, held tightly to your chest.

A laugh you knew all too well. Looks like your first guess was right!

Still, better check in case you were just experiencing a brief auditory hallucination.

You peered around a rose bush, silent as a mouse and completely unnoticed. Trey and Riddle were laughing together, holding tea cups and carrying a light, inaudible conversation. There were no books on the garden table. Riddle said something, and Trey burst out into peals of laughter, face flushing in delight. You've never been able to get him to laugh like that. And with how the two were seated next to each other, barely any space between them, it looked an awful lot like they were on a...

A date.

Ah. So that's what's been twisting your guts this whole time. You're jealous. Of Riddle.

Another loud laugh from Trey, who looked at Riddle with such soft and loving eyes and-

You couldn't bear to see any more of this.

You left just as quietly as you came, Trey's jacket still tucked tightly in your arms. You immediately went to find Grim, you couldn't- you didn't want to-

You just wanted to go home. But you can't. So Ramshackle's the next best thing you've got.

You stared at the ground, hurrying to the Heartslabyul dorm's main building, not paying any attention to who was in front of you. So it really shouldn't have shocked you when you crashed into someone's chest.

"Oi, be careful- (Y/N)?" Deuce immediately switched gears, looking upon you with gentle concern.

"Sorry for bumping into you, Deuce." You said, "I was distracted."

"Hey, it's fine, don't worry about it-"

"Oh? What's this? Is Deucey bullying the poor, helpless Prefect?" Ace came over smoothly, a wicked grin on his face. "What would Riddle say if he saw you?"

"Shut up Ace!" Deuce sighed, then looked at you. Really looked at you. It felt like he was gazing into your soul.

You squirmed, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Um... do you want to say something?"

Deuce jolted. "No I-"

Ace sidled over to Deuce, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Yeah, did you Deuce? 'Cause you were staring at (Y/N) for an awfully long amount of time. Trying to steal Trey's datemate?"

That's when Grim spoke up, jumping onto your neck in one quick pounce. "You better not be trying to mess with my henchman, Deuce... or else..."

"I wasn't!" Deuce cried out, looking awfully persecuted. "I just got lost in thought, you know?"

"Don't think too hard, Deucey~" Ace chuckled. "You might blow up the only two braincells you got left!"

"Like you have many braincells of your own, Ace." You shot back. "Grim, are you ready to go?"

He peered at you, pausing in licking his paw. "I was always ready to leave. I don't wanna catch these two's stupidity!"

"As if you aren't just as stupid as us!" Ace and Deuce yelled, the two grappling at each other in another fight that would undoubtedly get them in trouble.

"I'll see you guys in class on Monday!" You smiled and waved at the two as you walked back to the mirror. "Don't get into too much trouble this time, 'kay?"

"No promises!" Ace said, trapped in Deuce's headlock. "Ow- ow, that hurts you idiot!"

"They're gonna get collared by Riddle again." Grim said flatly as the two of you walked far away enough to no longer hear the boys' hissed insults and swears. "And were you not able to find Trey?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"You still have his jacket." Grim pointed out.

You looked down, a little shocked to see it in your arms still. "Oh, right. I forgot." You stepped through the mirror before continuing your conversation with Grim. "And yeah, I couldn't. Maybe he's in the library?"

"Do you wanna go there now?"

You sighed. "Not really, I'm a little too tired for that..."

"Well, you better have enough energy to cook me a bunch of tuna for dinner!"

"You got it, boss."

Soon enough, you were too busy to even think about Trey and Riddle and the horrible things you felt. Your hands were full from your three idiots making some dumb deal with Azul. Then there was staying at Savanaclaw for a few days, and you weren't even able to see Trey at that point. Instead, you told the boys to tell him at the dorms that you needed to cancel the few dates the two of you had planned.

And now you were stuck in the infirmary for a checkup after Azul's overblot, the ghostly nurse fussing over the whole lot of you after that whole ordeal. Luckily, no one was really injured, but you were forced into staying in the school infirmary for the night, again.

"Why does this always happen to me." You groaned, staring at the ceiling, Grim curled up on your lap. "I should have never gotten involved in this... I was so stupid..."

"Hey, at least Leona was able to get rid of Azul's dirt on hi- Mmph!" Ruggie writhed under Leona's hand, struggling to get free while laughing at the look on his face.

"We. Agreed. Not. To. Talk. About. That." He growled out, removing his hand from Ruggie's mouth.

Ruggie smiled innocently. "Did we? I might need a little something as a reminder-"

He was cut off once again. This time by the door slamming open. Trey burst into the infirmary, hair a mess and glasses askew.

He looked around the room frantically. "Is (Y/N) okay? I heard she was-" He looked at you.

"Hi." You croaked out, voice a little sore from yelling out commands to Grim.

He rushed over to you, nearly tripping over in the process. "Hey." He smiled, eyes worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, my throat just hurts a little from shouting so much." Your stomach fluttered as Trey grabbed your hand with such care, thumb brushing over the back of it, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin.

"There are... other people here... you know." Azul said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to leave... the third wheeling to... Grim..." He coughed.

Ace and Deuce burst into laughter at that, Floyd and Jade following shortly after.

"It's so true!" Ace wheezed out. "Everytime they're on a study date... Grim's-" He took a deep breath, barely able to get his words out. "Grim's always there-" He laughed even harder, nearly falling off his bed.

Deuce managed to push past the laughter to speak. "He always says he's chaperoning- like he could stop Trey!"

"Nooo, really?" Leona smirked. "That's actually tragic. What does he think will happen?"

Even you laughed a little, throat hurting a little too much to actually laugh that loud. They were so lucky Grim was a deep sleeper. Trey just continued smiling and grasped your hand a little tighter, settling into the chair by your bedside.

"Do you want to bake something together, tomorrow?" He whispered, voice barely audible above the boys' laughter.

You perked up slightly. "A gingerbread house?"

He leant down to kiss you on the forehead. "Anything you want."

"Can't you guys cut out the PDA? Just this once?" Ace whined, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

You looked at Trey, knew he would indulge anything you asked of him, and decided you might as well cause a little more chaos while you were stuck here. "Can I have a real kiss?"

Trey sighed reluctantly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I guess..."

The shouts of disgust from everyone in the room only made you laugh harder.

You gasped as you took in the magnificent sight before you, "That's so many sweets!" You turned to Trey, who looked awfully proud for someone who claimed to care about dental health. "How did you get all of these?"

"I had a little bit of help." He smiled, before turning to the ingredients he had set out on the kitchen counter. "We should start making the dough first, put the cookies in the oven, and then plan out the decorations." Trey rolled his sleeves up. "How about you start with combining the wet ingredients, while I work on the dry ones?"

"Sure!" You took one look longingly at the rows of candy packets in front of you. "And I can definitely snack on the candies a little while we wait for the gingerbread to bake, right?"

A chuckle. "Okay, but you'll have to brush your teeth with extra care tonight."

"When have I not? It's Grim you have to be worried about..." You lightly kissed Trey on the cheek and went to wash your hands. "Time to bake!"

Trey sat on the chair next to you, automatically wrapping an arm around you to tuck you in close. "So were you thinking to make a traditionally-styled gingerbread house, or did you want to go for something more..."

"I thought it might be a little fun if we used the left over dough to make little gingerbread versions of our friends!" You said, leaning into your boyfriend's warmth. "I bet Ace would bite cookie Deuce's head off in a heartbeat."

The soft rumble of Trey's laughter. "Cater would love it, he'd keep gingerbread-him alive for as long as he could. He'd probably spam his magicam feed with the amount of photos he'd take."

You giggled in turn, basking in the comfort Trey brought you. A lull in the conversation. Before.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Trey asked, eyes staring at the wall.

You paused. "It wasn't intentional." Both of you knew there was a reason for it.

Trey remained silent, an indication that he wasn't going to pressure you into talking about this. But he'd like to know.

You twisted your hands in your lap, not sure what to say. 'I've been jealous about you being close with your childhood friend?' like that'd go over well. "It's just me being stupid, that's all." You kept your eyes fixed to your hands.

Trey held you tighter. "If it bothers you, it's not stupid."

Even now your face flushed. "I..." Butterflies flooded your stomach. "Promise you won't get upset?"

"I promise."

"It's- I'm- The thing is I-" You sighed in frustration, stumbling over your words like a child. "I saw you and Riddle that day and it-" You started to pick at the skin around your nails. "I felt... jealous, okay?" Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. You didn't know why you felt so upset, but your eyes burned nonetheless and the pit in your chest grew larger.

A beat of silence. Another.

Trey removed his arm from around your shoulder and you automatically flinched, shutting your eyes out of fear. You didn't want to see the look of disgust on his face.

Trey grasped your hands in his, stopping you from trying to make your fingers bleed. "I'm not sure why you feel jealous, but it's not something silly. I promised I wouldn't get mad at you, and I'm not." You opened your eyes, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to brush away your tears. "You know..." Trey looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "I get jealous too, sometimes."

You squirmed your fingers in his grip. "Really?" Wait. "Of who?"

"Of Leona, and of Floyd, and-" Trey cut himself off. "A lot of guys. It's irrational, but it's something I can't help feeling." He snorted, and turned to fully face you. "That's one of the reasons why I kissed you in the infirmary, you know. I just wanted to make sure everyone could see that we're dating."

Ah. "Me too." You said in a hushed voice, cheeks feeling a bit warm. "I guess we were both being a little stupid, huh."

"At least we can be stupid together." Trey smiled, kissing your hands gently.

You couldn't hold back the peals of laughter. "That's- that's so cheesy." You wheezed, nearly falling over.

Trey joined in, pulling you up into his arms and pressed his forehead against yours. And for the first time since you arrived in this Twisted Wonderland, you felt at home.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover x reader #twst hurt/comfort #twst angst #twst fluff #reader insert #ovobawrites

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