#Shutters Hastings

[mastersoftheair]

from jake wardle's instagram

[sainzproductions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

where you belatedly realize, you and carlos may never want the same things in life

INSTAGRAM 🔒

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris and others

yourusername favorite time of the year🌅🧜🌊🩷🍷

carlossainz55 eres mi chica favorita todos los días

translation: you're my favorite girl every day

landonorris i think my invite got lost in the mail..

yourusername sorry i didn't want my competition on a trip with me🙄

landonorris why are you so jealous of me

landonorris carlossainz55 tell her who came in your life first🤨

carlossainz55 y/n did. '10. she was wearing a black cami top, with a dark navy blue jacket with a nets print in the front.

yourusername 💅💅💅

landonorris okay... you weirdos🙄 go and be disgusting off my timeline

yourusername you want me to fly you out huh?

landonorris so badly... i'll do anything for it😩🙏

maxverstappen1 can i fly out with lando? 🙋

yourusername depends, can you make it clap?🤔

maxverstappen1 i can make it go wooo!!

↶*ೃ✧��. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

You'd somehow, found yourself entrusted with a bright eyed, enthusiastic baby who was blowing bubbles from his mouth; chubby arms flailing by his side, as you held his small frame cautiously. His mother, one of carlos' many cousin had dropped the baby on your lap, before clamoring towards the bathroom in a haste to relieve herself.

“Don't look so stiff, y/n.” Blanca laughed at your shaken expression, crossing her arms in a resolute manner when you tried to hand the babbling baby to her. “Consider it practice, hermosa. He loves you, look.” she raises her eyebrows, gesturing with her hands to the baby who's bright eyes were intent on your face, giggling and muttering incoherently to himself.

You held the baby like it was a foreign object, hands hoisting him up by the armpits— your posture betraying your lack of finese in handling a fragile human being. In all the years, you've maintained a safe distance from any and possibly all soft headed creatures called babies. You've always appeared scared, and cautious when presented the opportunity to hold other people's children, opting to, instead politely decline and shrink behind whoever was accompanying you at the present moment.

“He's... something.” You tilt your head at the baby, slightly taken aback by the way he mirrors your movement. Blanca laughs, clearly enjoying your predicament.

“I don't know who's more charmed.” She teases, leaning back in her seat as she watches the hesitance slowly, but surely transform into fascination. The young one, as if sensing your initial reactions to his person, garbled more nonesense as if to maximize his cuteness— his chubby cheeks buldged, lips wobbling as he giggled, appearing delighted by your complex expressions.

“He's drooling, blanca.” You state, exssperated yet somewhat amused.

“Babies drool, y/n. They aren't the most intelligent creatures at that point.” You faintly hear the distinct sound of a shutter clicking, and you snap your head towards her— catching her with a phone in hand, a sheepish expression present on her face. “You looked identical, i'm sorry! I've always thought this would be you, someday. I mean, you went at it like bunnies when we were all younger—”

“Blanca, eso no es algo que digas en voz alta,” that's not something you say out loud. you chide, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Lo siento, hermosa.” She giggles, nudging your shoulder in apology, although you couldn't help but notice her expression shift slightly. “You can't blame me. When i think of you and my dear brother, i see you with ten little juniors running around your yard whilst the rest of us just borrow one of your children.”

You roll your eyes playfully at her ridiculous dream, “If i ever let it get to ten, you should tell him to get off me.”

The baby you were holding whines, wriggling to rest his head on your hands while blinking slowly. He was incredibly well behaved despite his drooling antics; and you couldn't help but notice the distinct features of a sainz in his face. Those warm brown eyes... and he was growing into his tall nose and matching trademark grin. He was adorable, you begrudgingly admit.

In a lapse of proper judgement, you allowed the baby to rest it's head on your shoulder. The toddler melting into your arms, quietly. Well behaved. Making himself comfortable in your arms. He was so tiny, you muse. So fragile and weak, you'd easily understood why there was such a thing people call a mother's instinct.

“You should have one first.” Blanca states, a soft smile on her face while you have your moment of realization.

“What should she have first?” Carlos asks, raising an eyebrow at your hushed conversations, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek as he takes the seat beside you.

“Kids, carlos. It's impossible you have never thought of it.” Blanca answers like it was the obvious.

“I don't think it's anywhere near our future.” Carlos chuckles as if his sister had just told a joke, appearing taken aback as he belatedly notices the toddler on your arms who'd easily amused himself with the strands of your hair.

“How can you say that?” Blanca chides, hints of reproach evident in her tone. It is, afterall, somewhat strange that he thought of it in such a way— your relationship had been longer than any of hers had lasted, and it left a truly icky taste in her mouth.

“It's a converstation between y/n and i, Blanca. I don't think it's any of your business.” Carlos turned civil all of a sudden, snapping at his sister.

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything, the atmosphere suddenly becoming charged with tension.

“Oh muchas gracias, chica! I'm sorry i shoved him in your care,” the unnamed cousin thankfully interruped, oblivious to the tension in between you three as she took the baby from your hands. “Carlos, i haven't seen you in some time! How long will you be in spain?” she started chatting up to your boyfriend casually.

Blanca saw your eyes cloud briefly, she could distinctly class the change in your visage to longing.

Perhaps you weren't at all allergic to babies. Maybe she'd read you wrong. Maybe Carlos read you wrong.

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 1, 894,929 others

carlossainz55 you and me against the world

landonorris called me single in every language

username taking a toaster bath later���‍♀️🚶‍♀️

username my unproblematic parents🥺😭😭

username i'd trade a limb to have a love like carlos and y/n🙃

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

The drive to your home was silent. Neither of you spoke. You allowed yourself to bask in the tender, but welcomed ache in your limbs as a result of a day spent under the sun and swimming for the better part of the eventful day. You'd thoroughly enjoyed the time you've spent just frolicking in the water and playing around with Carlos. It was always worthwile, there weren't many opportunities you had to spend some uninterrupted time together.

If he wasn't on a racetrack, zooming by in a blur, he was occupied with meetings, press and proper workouts inbetween, leaving you with scraps of his attention.

“Y/n?” Carlos repeats your name, failing to snap you out of your thoughts. With one hand on the steering wheel, and the other in your grasp, he tugs at your intetwined hands. It made you look at him. “I've been calling your name a couple of times, querida. Is there anything wrong?” He worries.

“Nothing's wrong.” You assured him, trying to muster a smile. He pauses, as if measuring his words. “You've been quiet.” you hum in response, looking out of the window as the car moves again.

“Talk to me y/n...” he utters, resembling a plea.

You take a deep breath, clearing your throat. “I'd rather not.”

His jaw clenches, muscles tensing at your short responses. “Is this about the conversation with Blanca? We've talked about this a million times; there's no one else i'd want all the permanent shit other than you. But you know right now is a very delicate time of my career and i can't—”

“risk jeopardizing any of the opportunities that comes my way.” You repeat monotonously, looking at him. “I know, Carlos. I know where i stand.” you said it with such certainty, the fact itself ingrained in your very being after so many years of falling behind his priorities.

He's made it clear, time and time again.

“But i don't want to wake up one day, and realize i have to start all over again because i spent all my time waiting for a moment that would never happen.” you weren't loud, nor were you screaming. Yet it dealt the same weight and hurt, that made him unable to refute you.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

 And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

“I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him. 

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant. 

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men. 

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

[aleenuhs]

Sadie adler x f!Reader but saide has been busy all week and the first thing they wanna do is each other :3

My Desire

Made with My Desire by Interpol in mind, do listen hehe

thank u anon x

warnings: smut, pet names (darlin', honey, sweetie, and others), fingering and oral (r receiving), dirty talk, porn w a lil bit of plot, Sadie leaves marks on reader, slight choking, teasing, oral fixation

word count: 1K

not proof read been busy this week

You'd seen Sadie around camp, doing stuff and taking care of business, leaving for a day or two even. She'd been busy this whole week, leaving only a few words spoken between you two. She had hardly any time for you.

Other than that, you've been bored without her. Read a book, did some chores, bathed and slept, that was all it was for you. This time shed just gotten back from Valentine after she and Arthur went scouting to see if there was any opportunities for money or some kind of robbery. It was already night time.

You were sitting in you and Sadie's shared tent, reading a book. You looked up to see Sadie come into the tent and you smiled. "Sadie!" You got up and hugged her just as she tried to take off her jacket and hat.

"Someone missed me," she playfully chided, her accent was so sexy to you.

"I did." You smile, "not a single moment for me this at all this week, hm?" you said, leading her to the cot in the tent, discarding the book that was on the bed, you threw it onto the ground. Sadie took notice of how desperate you seemed for some kind of release, and she couldn't lie, she was too.

She laid you down on the cot and kissed you on the lips, the kisses were quick and sloppy, and no room for any kind of return, she kept you right under her. Her hand traveled to your neck, squeezing a bit to get a rise out of you, you struggled to smile. Your heart was beating at 100 mph, and your knees were weak, you felt so warm under her. Her nose was rubbing against your neck as she kissed it, she eventually left a hickey on your neck.

She was purposefully driving you insane.

"Why'd you ignore me yesterday?" She murmured those muffled words into your neck and your eyes opened.

"I- I was bit mad at you, you... You've been gone for a while," you managed to say. She hums and continues kissing and biting your skin.

Sadie wasted no time making you feel better after a week when she gave you absolutely nothing. Your hands were on her back, where your nails had dug in. Before you could say anything more, she briefly spoke again. "Take off these off."

Her tone was serious as she tugged at your clothing, her voice flat and emotionless this time. You hesitated, as it was sudden and random.

"S'matter, didn't hear me, princess? Take 'em off." She demanded, you listened this time and quickly unbuttoned your shirt, leaving your chest bare and exposed to the cold air.

Sadie gave you some room to slip it off, she started to work on your bottoms and you kicked them off, leaving you in your drawers, she takes those off too. She smiled seeing you naked, her hand comes up to your breast and kneads it, her finger swiping over your nipple, making you bite your lip.

She tosses the clothes onto the ground, then focusing back on you. You tugged her by her blue scarf, connecting your lips with hers in a haste.

She chuckles and pulls away, her fingers trailed to the heat between your thighs. Teasing your inner thighs before she ran her middle finger near your wetness. When you shuttered she laughed. "Sadie, please..." You whimpered out.

"Hm?" She tutted, and you grumbled at how cocky she was getting.

She runs her hand up and down your inner thigh, making you slightly angry how she was teasing you. "I need you, Sadie."

"Attagirl." She smiled, she lowers herself to your thighs and kisses your inner thighs, she licks your clit, making you grip the cot and groan. You could imagine the cocky smirk on her lips right now, her tongue circles your clit slowly. You wanted to urge Sadie to go faster, but Sadie took what she wanted, when she wanted it. There was no use in forcing her to go faster.

After a moment, she laughs and her arms come around your thighs and she buries herself in your cunt, as if this was her dinner.

"Sadie... sads..." You moan out the nickname you'd given her a while back. Your back arching against the cot, hands in her hair, grasping for literally anything at this point. Your thighs wanted to close, and you almost allowed it until her strong grip kept them open and you gave up.

All this built up frustration from this whole entire week, all coming down to this moment as she ate you out. You were already on edge, shaking and all. Your mouth filled with moans and whimpers that were spilling out one by one.

She pulls away to look up at you, since you were covering your mouth now, trying to muffle any noises that came out of your mouth. "Nope, don't." She grabs your wrist and takes it away. You jerk your hips and she smiles, "s'damn desperate." Sadie goes back to eating you out, the sounds of her circling, sucking and lapping at your clit played in the tent. You were more than sure that if anyone else was awake, they were hearing all of it.

She stops, comes back up near your face and you whined, using her fingers, she thrusts a finger into your cunt. She could see your pupils dilate as you looked up at her, those bleary eyes that made her so horny.

"Sadie!" You yelped, she added another finger, and you saw stars.

"Such a good girl, y'gonna cum for me?" She whispered in your ear dragging the syllables of her words and your cunt squeezed around her fingers, before you knew it, you were chasing your orgasm.

Her thumb rubbed your swollen clit, and you moaned loudly, your hand gripping her shoulder, the other gripping the sheets. Her fingers were slowly thrusting in and out of you, making you want to bite metal as you know she liked to see you flustered.

She could see you starting to unravel.

With that, you did, your eyes shut and you moaned and came. Your juices sinking into the mattress below and Sadie smiles, kissing your cheek. "Open up." She ordered, a finger tapped at your plump lips.

You allow her to stick her fingers into your mouth and by habit, you suck them, all while looking up at her. "Such a good girl f'me, honey, ain't cha?" You nod while sucking on her fingers, you were still looking at her. "You look s'cute like this, all suckin' on my fingers."

[nevertheless-moving]

One after another, shutters burst open up and down the hallway, wind screaming into the corridor. Behind Kaladin, frost crystalized on the ground, growing backward away from him. A glyph formed in the frost, almost in the shape of wings.  Graves screamed, falling in his haste to get away. Moash backed up, staring at Kaladin.  “The Knights Radiant,” Kaladin said softly, “have returned.”

LATER: Graves: ok so I know a lot of other more important things were going on, but did you happen to notice in the frost - I mean I completely understand if you were distracted but there was - Moash: chicken Graves: absolutely chicken shaped! Moash: why. why a chicken glyph Graves: I know, right?

[stoneyweezin]

𝖡𝖠𝖡𝖸, 𝖡𝖤 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖤

𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼 ༞ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽

༒ 𝗀𝗇! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗍

(𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗂 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎♡)

⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆

✎you were disgusted with yourself but why? why had the guy you’ve then woken up beside cause such a twist in your stomach that your spine itched?

your hair lay, thrown along your head as your eyes blinked at the human next to you.

that all to familiar feeling of raw skin on the bed sheets confirmed that you were in the same predicament as he was, his lower half luckily being shielded by the blanket and his curly blonde mullet partially sticking to the side of his face. a snore coming from his puckered and opened lips.

you had slept with billy hargrove.

right after you said to him you hated his guts and wouldn’t be caught dead in the same car as him but ate your words that following weekend, at a party which resulted in too many drinks to handle and your body acting impulsively.

your tongue darted out to lick your lips, the flavor of alcohol having a slight residue still before you made up your mind.

“get the fuck out before he wakes.” the voice in your conscious said to you over and over, body slipping from underneath his grip and then the cold air from his room stuck to your naked body.

you looked around for your clothes, head on a swivel as your eyes bounced toward billy every millisecond, praying he stayed a sleeping dog.

you’d managed to find your jeans and the white button up your sported before grabbing your shoes and sneakily leaving from his room. the house seemed to still be at a silent hum, as if no one had graced the day yet.

your feet softly padding down the hall before looking over at the wall and seeing it was 6 AM on the nose. your teeth kissed themselves as your feet hurriedly carried you out of the hargrove house. immediately grabbing hold of the fact that you didn’t drive here, and only billy’s car sat parked in the driveway.

you groaned as you then start to make haste down the road, eventually being able to navigate your way home. it was 6:45 by the time your now sheltered soles beat up your wooden porch. your fingers tapped along your jeans before you groaned, not feeling your keys and more so assuming they may still be at billy’s.

“shit!” you whisper yelled to the ground before your fingers found the loose panel in the shutters of your front window. the key being securely tucked in there before unlocking your front door, gently shutting it to not alert your parents, and immediately running to your room.

you walked back and forth in your room with your hands in your hair and your eyes scrambling for invisible answers.

“fucking billy… i fucked billy… billy fucked me.” you were shocked at the open admittance and the pure anxiety that mixed into your body.

now he was going to tell the whole basketball team he’d finally got a bite of Y/N. that Y/N is a total sleaze and would give it up after a while.

the millions of scenarios traced through your brain, over and over, nothing coming to the term that billy probably would never say that about you.

but billy was a dick. he had a great one but is was one.

you sighed as you shook your head, slowly accepting your fate before stripping yourself once again and walking into your bathroom. scrubbing your body of the night and preparing yourself for the next time you’d see him.

-

a good day of rest had past. you’ve made up your mind that the best interest was to avoid him. don’t let him even see you walk to your car when you got out of class.

you realized that your keys would still be at his house but luckily your father was a over thinker and had a “just in case” anything, including extra car keys.

you’d had it tossed in your bag, fixing your hair and outfit for the school day before walking downstairs into the kitchen. your mother making some toast and coffee for herself before seeing you grab the toaster strudel she had sitting out for you.

“off you go?” she looked at you, her sleepy sullen eyes trying to wake themselves up as she slowly started to move toward the cabinet and grab a mug.

“yeah mom, i’ll see you when im back?” your teeth bit down into the warm breakfast pastry, bits of flake falling back onto the plate.

“no, me and your dad have to go to your aunts for a bit. she wants to show us the new patio her husband built.” she said with such a fake excitement you could help but slightly snort at her, a chuckle coming from her.

“well yall have fun.” you smiled at your mom, rounding the tiny table before placing a kiss on her cheek, making your way to your car and making sure to start your day off as planned. drive slow and get there after… billy.

-

your feet tapped on the floor gently as your car had been stationary for about 15 minutes. billy was there before you, as planned, but he had been sitting outside chatting with some girl he was probably going to get a hold of soon.

your chest had tightened just a smidge before forcing the feeling to bury itself. you were supposed to be sworn enemies. enemies don’t hook up after parties, they argue and declare war for their egos being bruised. and to top it off enemies also don’t have sexual innuendos every time they come in contact with one another.

so eventually as you sat there in the car, you conjured the mindset to keep a distance away from him. no fighting, no eye contact, fuck it, your keys were just going to have to stay in his house.

eventually you eyeballed him walk toward the school, some people even unintentionally walking behind him, causing him to blend into the crowd. you got out your car, gripping your backpack strap and sighing as our feet started to lead you toward the doors also. thanking god your first class didn’t have him in it.

-

about 3 classes had passed, your 3rd period before lunch you did have billy in there, but you sat in the back, swapping seats with one of the girls who was a fiend for billy’s attention. he groaned, noticing that some random girl had now sat in your spot and he had nobody to pass the time with. turning to look over at you, you on the other hand having his entire body blurred in your peripheral and not wanting to even acknowledge his existence.

which he was now confused about. you fed him his own medicine every time you two had interacted and now you weren’t even looking at him. he didn’t even see you when school first started, normally being able to spot your forest green bobcat from a mile away.

he had thought back to waking up in his bed, back exposed to the sun leaking from his window and the house still being quiet. he assumed nobody made it home last night and max had been out with her little party of friends, more than likely having a sleep over.

his eyes puffy with a solid nights rest but his body feeling that all to familiar feeling of alcohol plus a good body he had obtained. he woke up feeling utterly amazing, a lot better than normal and it definitely had him forcing himself to try to remember but he didn’t. the liquor fully doing it’s job but clearly not enough as he was able to make it home car in tact. and he made sure of that as he peeked out the living room window to notice his car in the driveway.

he’d basically walked around the house with his towel on, not really wanting to search for clothes until he sighed and walked back to his room. his foot immediately pressing down on something hard and jagged.

“shit, shit! agh!” he groaned loudly his foot flying up to be gripped by his hands before gently bracing himself to fall back onto his closed door as he then seethed.

he looked down at the culprit to his pain and immediately picked up what were a pair of keys. not his keys though… his didn’t have a random angel charm on the loop. his fingers gripped at the item, inspecting it before he frowned. he recognized it and squinted in thought before it all started to come back to him.

he had you in his room that past night. he had kissed you all along your body drunkenly and felt everything he had only imagined under his finger tips. yeah you guys had a history of saying the most heinous things to one another. hell you even announced that you’d eat a bowl of glass before you’d ever be nice to billy hargrove. he on the other hand mainly picked at you because he quite liked the feeling of being around you. your annoyance toward him was a weird thing he favored other than being flocked after by girls all day. hence if he did have a date that night, he’d mainly got to you to brag about it but also get your reaction to the person. for some reason he wanted to please you and your opinions on him. and here he was, holding your car keys after you two had fucked like ravenous dogs. he rolled the charm between his fingers, lips piercing in thought before his eyes skimmed over to his poster that leaned off the wall. either it fell or you two had caused it to be that way but that didn’t matter to him.

the rest of the weekend he had made sure to stay out the house, masking his fear of not wanting to get scolded by neil and also hoping max didn’t need to make any random trips that resulted in him being her chauffeur. which thankfully she grew such a closeness to her friends she’d not asked him for anything for quite some time.

but it was sunday night. the blended family of 4 sat at the table, billy keeping his mouth shut, eating the porkchops susan had successfully made for once. neil chatted with susan, the two of them still seeming like they were in the honeymoon phase even though she’s seen him be an absolute abusive piece of shit. max had sat on the opposite end of the table, her eyes focused on the plate and her fork poking around the green beans. what is it with kids and vegetables?

other than that, billy had finished his plate, excusing himself before he walked behind max, tapping her shoulder. “i’ve gotta ask you something, when you’re done.” which was his version of requesting her time to answer his question. he felt weirded out at himself for even asking his step… sister, for anything besides where she was going.

her eyes broke from her trance, peering up at him with a slight mistrust before mumbling okay, shrugging her shoulders and resuming her attempt to finish her food.

billy had walked back to his room his hands clasped in front of him on his bed and eyes running along the ridges in the carpet.

how was he going to ask someone younger than him about relationship advice? what was he even going to ask about you?

“what do i get a girl that hates me? no…shit… um. how do i tell someone i feel differently about them? how do i tell? what are you a fuckin’ idiot billy?” he mumbled to himself, annoyed at his terrible navigation of his sudden attachment to you.

time had passed before red hair made itself seen in his doorway, hands still slightly damp from finishing the dishes. “yeah?” max’s voice broke him from his overthinking, before he sighed looking at her. brows knitting together in annoyance before speaking his piece.

-

you sat at lunch, laughing with eddie who was a year older than you. he was a senior along with steve but had to repeat due to his terrible grades and even worse attendance. now he was a senior with you and the rest of class 86’ seemingly not minding it though, seeming you had given him company while he received his influx of madness.

his shaggy hair shook as he dramatically described the past campaign he had ran with the rest of his tiny team, which were really a bunch of freshman who shared the same interest as him.

“then dustin rolls, doesn’t roll enough damage to take down the vampire and then almost cost his whole troop.” his smile gleamed at you before you giggled, a faux face of seriousness crossing your features.

“i don’t get it…” immediately eddies laughter ceased in his throat, mouth agape before his neck jutted forward and a confused look crossed his face. a solid “what” was going to come out his mouth before you grabbed a grape from his tray, pelting it off his forehead and smiling again.

“gotcha!” you teased which resulted in him scoffing and shaking his head again.

from afar you didn’t feel or pay attention to billy watching the whole interaction. the two of you looked as though you were a perfect fit and better yet you enjoyed being around eddie. your smile damn near contagious but his brawny feelings had replaced the desire to want to ask you what’s going on and to also talk to you. his body reworking itself to now be the iconic asshole, billy hargrove.

⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☽⋆ ⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆

𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍. 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇

[chocolate-pies]

MDNI, again, just bc

also made in haste and on phone bc I have no patience to do it on a desktop

js thinking about how simon ghost riley, death of the battlefield, absolute annihilator, and the most scariest man to exist

would definitely bend over and do your bidding for you if you so fucking wished bc he loves you so.

you need a nap? dw he'll cradle your head in his lap if you're in public. would definitely fucking glare at anything/anyone being too loud in the vicinity

you want something but it's too expensive? fuck it, simon riley doesnt spend money on himself anyway, he'd spoil you every chance he fucking gets for SURE

you're horny but yall in public?? fuck that he'll bend you over in the nearest dark corner; he does not give a fuck. so what if his pretty girl is seen? shes the most loveliest dove anyway, why not show her off if he gets a chance?

oh and by god would he only just swell with pride when he makes you cum in minutes

"stop it's too much" even if he hasn't cum yet? "of course, my love, anything f'you" and then he'll only take care of himself when he's back home, with you, and he won't even bug you about it if you're not in the mood anymore, he'll just rub himself even if it hurts a lil bit but of course while looking at pictures of you he has saved in his phone

and omg the gallery collection this man has.

he was for sure alone before you, because aside from dumbass selfies soap and gaz took of themselves when the lieutenant's phone was out unguarded, he only has pictures of you

cute candid ones where you're looking off to space, and maybe really adorable pictures where both of you are looking at the camera with your arm outstretched bc you're the one who insisted to take a picture together "because the sunset is so pretty" or "we just look cute together today!!"

but the fucking amount of NUDES this man has of you

he loves you just as much as he respects your privacy but every chance he sees you naked?

you hear the shutter sound effect of a camera shot being taken, very faintly

and you'll turn around and just see simon shuffling away with his head and shoulders hunched over bc he's staring at the naked picture of you all dozed-like

"delete that!!" "but, doll, you look so fuckin' good"

end of thoughts bc I ran out of juice :3

[k-germsworld]

Behind The Scenes

Sowon x M!reader

1.8k words

"Kach... Kach." The sound of the shutter in the studio rang continuously.  Surrounded by the uninterrupted sound of shutters, the main character is—Kim Sowon, who is also the cover character of this month's magazine.  Soon, she changed into a sports bra and leggings.  When she appeared in front of many staff members, all staff members stared at her dumbfounded.  Every staff member was attracted by her beautiful bodyline, and make everyone's blood boiled.

Numerous spotlights shone on Sowon's body, and her exquisite face and hot body were perfectly capture in the camera.

 "Ok, take a break for 30 minutes." The director shouted.  Sowon walked to the computer next to the director without haste, and bent her body in front of the computer and looking at the photos just taken.  At this time, the director sitting next to her glanced at her buttocks.  Just as the director's eyes were about to look elsewhere on her body, she stood up.  "I am very grateful to the director for taking such a beautiful picture of me." Sowon said gratefully and bowed to the director to thank him.  This bending made the director see her looming cleavage, and the director couldn't help but look at it for a long time.  It wasn't until she straightened his body that he replied to her.  "You're welcome, it's not my credit but because you are so beautiful and it's my job."

At this time, Sowon bent down again and said to the director's ear: "Oppa, just now I noticed that you looked at my breasts for a long time. Do you want to know more about me now?" The director's eyes widened after hearing this,  Eyes full of desire looked at Sowon and nodded. She using lips language to the director and said see you in the bathroom.  After she finished speaking, she walked towards the toilet without looking back.  Not long after she left, the director followed Sowon to the toilet.

 "PD nim, are you in love with my body?" She asked.  " Of course I fucking love it, " the director replied with satisfaction, while his hands restlessly began to touch Sowon's tits from behind.  The director's hand slowly moved from the tits to her ass.  The director's hand touched her butt and said: "I wanted to touch it so much when I saw it just now."

"PD nim, you are so lecherous. You want to touch my body when we just first meet today. Do you only want to touch my body? Don't you want to do something hot?"

 After the director heard it, he stopped moving.  Sowon turned around and crouched down.  She unzips the director's pants and pulls out the director's cock.  She took the director's cock with her hand and started stroking the director's cock slowly up and down.  The director's cock swelled more and more as she stroked it.  Sowon spat on his cock to lubricate the director's cock.

 "Sowon, suck my dick!"

 "PD nim, how much do you want me to suck your cock?"

 "I want it so much! I really want my cock in your mouth right now."

Sowon stuck out her tongue and licked the head of the director's cock.  The director groaned at the sudden move.  She takes the director's cock in her mouth with satisfaction after hearing the director's moans.  She started sucking slowly from the head to the base of the cock, stayed for a few seconds and then slowly pulled out.  She also started using her tongue to lick from the head to the balls and from the balls back to the head.  She sucks the director's cock like an expert

"Ah......Sowon ah.......very good......" The director moaned non-stop about her blowjob.

Suddenly, Sowon stopped her move.  "Oppa, do you just want me to blow your cum out? Don't you want to initiate?"

The director didn't understand what she meant.  To let the director know what she meant, she gently tied her hair into a ponytail with her hands.  Only then the director understand what she meant for the director to take the initiative.

The director picked up her ponytail with one hand and adjusted the position of the dick with the other hand, and stuffed the dick into her mouth.  Now, the director held her ponytail with both hands, and slowly pumped her mouth.  Soon, his horniness overwhelmed his rationality. He began to speed up the thrusting. Every thrust of him hit Sowon's throat hard, making she keep choking.

Sowon patted the director's thigh to let her take a breath.  When he pulled the cock out of Sowon's mouth, the director's cock was full of her saliva.

After panting, Sowon continued to stroke his cock so that her saliva could wrap around it.  At this time, she also spit abit on his cock.  Sowon pulled the bottom of her sports bra and put his cock between her tits.  Her boobs rubbed against his cock.  Sowon would stick out her tongue and lick his dick to double stimulate him.  He watching his cock rub against her cleavage, he got excited.  She squeezing her breasts and began rubbing his cock faster and faster. His cock feel very tight in her sports bra but it was even tighter this time as she pressed her hand to her breasts.  "Ah...so tight...so hot...." He wanna to cum very soon.

Sowon pulled out the director's cock and stood up next to his ear and said, "Oppa you still can't cum..... I still want you to fuck me."

"Sowon, you really took the initiative. The other artists gave me a blowjob and let me cum in their mouth and it's over. But you are different, you are the first artist who wants me fuck you so much."

Sowon didn't answer him, she just kissed the director, it was just normal lips to lips at first.  Afterwards, she started sticking her tongue into his mouth.  He didn't hesitate, sucking her tongue.  He also started sticking his tongue into her mouth.  The tongues of the two were constantly intertwined in each other's mouths.

He couldn't help but start kissing her neck, collarbone, until her tits.  He kissed them through the sports bra, squeezed and kneaded them with his hands, and licked her nipples.  Sowon's sports bra was licked by the director with obvious saliva marks.

The director took off her legging and touched her pussy through the panties.  His fingers kept touching her pussy.  "Sowon, your pussy is so wet!" "Ah... Oppa more..." After finishing speaking, the director began to lick her pussy through her panties.  His flexible tongue licked her pussy until he hit her clitoris, and slowly sucked her clitoris.  "Ah.... fuck... don't... stop" she let out a horny moan.  She was teased by the director and had already squirted so hard, causing her panties to be covered with her own squirt.  He touched Sowon's drenched panties, he took them off, and sniffed them vigorously.  "Ah...it smells so good." The director continued to suck her clitoris heartily.  His hands were not idle either, he inserted his fingers into her pussy and stimulated her quickly.

 "Oppa... I'm going to cum...." After saying that, she squirted second time.  Because he licked her pussy so selflessly that his face was full of her squirt.  The director licked the water from his lips and said, "It's so fucking delicious... the squirt of the beautiful women is delicious as expected." Sowon slowly calmed down from the orgasm, but he quickly carried she to the sink, he open her thigh wider.  "I can't hold it anymore." The director slowly began to thrust his cock into her wet pussy.  The director felt the tightness and wetness of her pussy when he first put it in, but soon his cock was able to hit her g-spot.  The director kept repeating these hard thrusts, letting Sowon to feel her pussy being pounded hard.

"Ah.....harder..... fucking me more harder...." Sowon seemed dissatisfied with the director's power and asked him to fuck harder.  Hearing this, he immediately raising his strength.  He began to fuck her with all his power. Since, Sowon just had an orgasm, her pussy was wet so his cock can coming in and out very easily.  He was dissatisfied with seeing the tits covered in the sports bra, so he took it off and hung it on her hand.  He grabbed her tits with both hands and played with her nipples, and his face stick to it and began to suck her nipples.  He keep playing with her nipples making Sowon moaning nonstop.  "Ah... Oppa is so good... I'm gonna cum again." When he felt the warmth of his cock, he realized that Sowon had squirted for the third time.  He looked at Sowon lying tiredly on the sink, and also looked at his own dick covered by her squirt.

 "Would you like to fuck me from behind, Oppa? My back is tighter than the front." The director immediately held her down and turned her around.  She is now supporting herself with her hands on the sink, while her ass is swaying and teasing the director.  The director spanked her ass and pushed his own cock inside.  She let out the loudest moan of the day from the sudden entry.

"It's so fucking tight."

He started to thrust her from behind. He can see her horny face when he is thrusting from the reflection of the mirror. His hand wandered to her tits and began to grabbed the tits.  The sound of the his thigh hitting her ass was loud enough to surround the toilet.  He kept spanking her ass.  Her ass has obvious red palm prints.  She let out her moan as the director's cock went all the way in.

 After fucking in this position for a short period of time, he finally wanted to cum.  "Sowon, I'm going to cum."

 "Not inside."

After saying, he pulled out his dick, and Sowon quickly opened her mouth and crouching in front of his dick. The director continued to stimulate his cock until a thick white stream shot into her mouth.  Since his semen is too much, some shoot on her face, some cum fall on her tits.  After a few seconds, he finally done his ejaculation. Sowon's face and mouth were full of the smell of the director's semen.  She opened her mouth to him and let him watch as she played with the cum in her mouth until it frothed before swallowing it.  She also put his cummed cock in her mouth to clean it up.  She licked the remaining cum off his cock and swallowed it into her mouth as well.

 When they're done, Sowon simply washes off the semen with water and wearing back her shirts.  After she put on her pants, Sowon took out a business card from her pants. He took the business card and found that it was a series of numbers.  "Oppa, this is my private phone number, call this number when you still want me, you can fuck me in any position you want." Sowon said seductively and left the toilet, the director looked at the phone number and then flashed a treacherous smile......

[silvercap]

Hmmm I think there's something interesting with 1 and 3, "don't leave" and "I trusted you."

Go punch our boy!

Yes ma'am 🫡 gladly, ma'am (prompts)

I know this kind of sounds betrayal-y but I kinda ran with it gaha. Hope this turned out ok!!

1. "Don't leave" + 3. "I trusted you"

Breathing comes sharp and fast in Chris's chest as he and Leon stumble past the final threshold to safety, the snarl of BOWs in the hall behind him sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. He slams a hand into the button to close it, the sudden blare of an alarm preceding the slow jerk of the metal doors and the shutter that will cover it, all three grinding towards one another like some sort of sci-fi movie door.

Chris grits his teeth, stumbling backwards as he watches the wave of enemies approach. They're nearly to the door, a wave of claws and dropping fangs, when it finally slams completely shut and Chris can breath a sigh of relief when the door stands firm. Thank God, or whoever might be listening

At his side, Leon makes a strangled sound, and Chris remembers with a rush of urgency the reason why he'd slung the man's arm over his shoulders to carry him.

"Shit," Chris mutters, turning away from the door and surveying the lab they've found themselves in. His eyes land on a gurney near the far side of the room beside what looks to be an exam office. It's made of simple steel supports and a flat, black mattress, and as long as Chris doesn't think about what it's been used for, it will be a good place to lay Leon down before he collapses. "C'mon, let's get you fixed up."

"G-good," Leon manages as they begin to limp across the room, all haste gone from Leon's movements now that they're not in danger. He's wobbling against Chris's shoulder, face pale as a ghost's. "I th-think my femur's broken."

Chris's blood runs cold. Leon had taken a nasty hit back there that sent him slamming into a wall, but there hadn't been time to look him over before they'd started running. "Jesus Christ," he says weakly. "You walked on that?"

Leon's only answer is a bitten-back whimper of pain, and Chris focuses on getting him to the gurney. Getting him onto it is another matter altogether---his arms tremble when he pulls away from Chris and supports himself against it, left leg hanging awkwardly at his side.

"Help me up?" he asks weakly, eyes glassy and creased with pain. Chris does his best to be gentle, lifting with hands around Leon's waist, but he cries out when his thigh even bumps the gurney, his entire weight suddenly reliant on Chris's strength as he shudders. He's still trembling as Chris carefully lifts his legs into place, a hand pressed over his mouth.

Chris sets to work. His knife slices through Leon's pant leg easily, the purple and black bruising already forming on his swollen thigh telling him all he needs to know about the femur. Chris swallows, eye catching on a spot of blood lower down. He cuts the fabric open over Leon's shin and gasps, the sight of a bloody compound fracture making Chris nauseous.

"What---what else hurts?" he asks when he manages to regain his composure, shifting to place a careful hand atop Leon's rapidly heaving chest. "Leon?"

"P-possible internal damage," Leon says, forcing a laugh. "But other than the obvious, 'm all good."

His hand crawls sluggishly up to slip over Chris's, their fingers intertwining loosely. Chris is startled by the open display of affection, and the fact that Leon's telling him so readily about his injuries means that he's scared enough to drop the façade he's put up since their last argument. They've never been the most stable of couples, but Chris still feels the urge to care for him in any way he can.

"Okay," he says, taking a breath. "Okay, I need to splint your leg. We can't risk the possibility of more bleeding. Do you trust me?"

Leon's face blanches further at the thought, but Chris knows he'd rather know the truth about his condition. White lies have never done Leon any good. Leon nods, the barest trace of a smirk twitching at his lips. "I trusted you to get me outta there, didn't I?"

There are no pain medications anywhere in the lab, but a plastic broom near the door serves as the perfect splint once Chris untwists the head of it. Tying it to Leon's leg requires him to rip the rest of the pant leg into strips so he can secure it, the following process requiring all of Chris's resolve. Even the slightest brush against Leon's thigh has him whimpering, and Chris's prodding fingers as he searches for the break only make things worse. Chris can tell he's trying to hold the noises back, knuckles white on the gurney edge, but even Leon has his limits in terms of pain tolerance.

He ties the splint tight---but not too tight---in four different places, using a wad of bandaging from his hip pouches to stabilize the compound fracture as much as he dares. Leon actually screams when he secures it, the sound bouncing around the room and piercing Chris's heart. There's a blanket in the exam room, which he pulls over Leon's legs and waist to ward off shock, but then there's nothing else that he can do and Chris feels the helplessness welling up.

"I should try to contact the team," he says slowly, shifting back to check Leon's face. His eyelids have fallen to half mast, a sheen of sweat on his brow, but he stirs when Chris cards gentle fingers through his hair. Leon frowns.

"Don't leave," he rasps, words slurring. "D-don't leave, Chris, please---"

"Okay. Okay." Chris sighs, leaning down to kiss Leon's forehead. "I won't. I promise."

Leon's skin is clammy and cool against his lips. Chris feels tears sting his eyes and ignores them as best as he can.

"They'll find us," Leon murmurs.

Chris squeezes his eyes shut tight. "Yeah," he says, voice wavering. "Yeah, they will."

He just hopes they won't be too late.

[r0wdy-rat]

Face Down

pt i pt ii pt iii pt iv pt v

Masterlist

AN: hey team wouldn’t it be funny if i dropped off the face of the earth for 4 years and then returned and wrote another chapter randomly on a sunday afternoon? i think it would be funny

Summary: You enter a period of growth and knowledge. Unfortunately for Levi, you do not enter a period of temperance.

You found Levi’s apathy towards you had its limits. One such limit was Furlan.

You didn’t know if it was because he brought you on the raid or if it was something else, but, as always, Levi reached the end of his patience abruptly and without warning.

Furlan was standing in front of you, hips between your spread knees. Now that you had punched him in the head and learned of Levi’s overall involvement in the plan, your temper had cooled enough to allow him to be near you without wanting to plunge a knife into his ribs. His hand grasped your chin, bony fingers tilting your face up so he could get a better look at the gash running across your brow. Furlan hummed, the sound high in his throat as he dabbed a damp rag at the dried blood around your cheek. He scrunched his nose, lips parting in concentration as he leaned closer to you to get a better look at your wound. You just blinked at him, studying his swollen and swelling eyes, until the rag pressed against something tender, and you hissed out a breath through your teeth at the sudden sting.

Furlan startled, but before he could say anything he was gone.

Now, Levi was there between your thighs, invading your space as you sat on the counter. Your cheeks pinked at the proximity, at the intensity of his gaze leveled right at you. No, not at you. At the cut. He still wasn’t looking you in your eyes. You twitched, trying to turn away in frustration when his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of your neck, holding it tightly. He used his grip to steer your face back where he had wanted it, his features now shuttered with annoyance.

“It won’t need stitches.” Furlan huffed from where he was shoved across the room. “The risk of infection is honestly higher than anything right now. She needs a bath. Or two, with all the grime on her.”

Grime, you mused

What an odd thing to call Jakobs brain matter.

You were on your third bath. 

 Surely, you think, the water will stop turning red at some point. Surely, it will slow, you pray, as you step into the cold bath, and watch the pink spread. 

You were covered. In Jakobs, in the woman who killed him, in your own blood. Three full tubs of water, and it was still caked beneath your nails and in your hair and you could still taste the iron in your mouth. You scrubbed, and scrubbed, and turned as pink as the water around you from your roughness before Ma came in. 

Sweetly, she pulled your hands away from yourself. She bathed you like you used to bathe Miss Kuchel when she was too sick to move. When she was done, she dressed the fresh wounds you had carved into yourself with your nails in your haste to get the blood off. 

“Oh, child,” she tutted, tears in her eyes, as she tugged a dress over your head, “there was nothing you coulda done for Jakobs, But I’ll see to it that something is done for his family. They’ll be taken care of.” 

Despite her kind words, you still felt the weight of your mistakes pressing into you. You stared off into space. After the thrill of finding 3DMG wore off, you were only left with the aches. Your hand from punching Furlan, your heart from losing Jakobs, your soul from Levi’s estrangement. 

He still couldn’t look at you.

If you weren’t so numb, you might be mad. 

But you were numb, and what lay beneath that buzz was a wave of emotions you felt would overtake you if you let them, so you chose to reside in the static instead. 

Ma, as it turns out, left as soon as she was done caring for you. She took the horse and carriage to deliver her and Jakobs portion of the goods to a salesmen, and then gave his earnings to his family.

It took the government a day to find her. 

News of Ma’s arrest reached your ears in even less time. 

You sank deeper into the numbness. 

Kur tried to comfort you, told you that Jakob’s family got their share before they caught her, and that at least one end was tied up. But the one finished story with Jakobs just made the unfinished ones glaringly obvious. Ma, nurturing, kind, crackshot Ma, was gone, aboveground and lost to you. Ponye was trying to keep spirits light, but even his devil-may-care attitude was brittle. Furlan did his level best to not piss you off anymore, since you’d given him a second shiner. Levi...

Levi was still refusing to look at you. 

You knew he was still around. You could feel his eyes on you, but by the time you’d find his hiding spot he was usually already moving on. Everything felt wrong, disjointed. You felt like you were missing a limb. You had never fought like this. Even over the earthworm. Even over your disappearance before Miss died. Even during your most heated arguments about the benefits and risks of you signing up with her old pimp, he had never seen fit to ignore you.

Nothing felt right. You wanted to go back to the way things were before.

Furlan called a meeting. 

The five of you sat in a huddle in your little warehouse, and you tried not to notice how Levi sat beside Kur, not beside you. Ponye grinned at you and scruffled your hair when he noticed your sad face, and you tried to let it lift your spirits, but you still felt...

Numb. 

“We can’t sell the 3DMG. The government is tracking it. We’re enemies of the state, after what we did.”

Kur protested, his soft voice ringing out in the stale air. “But you told us they were already stolen.” 

Levi scoffed. “No, they won’t want anyone thinking that a person inside their military would steal from the king. They want to pin all of this on us.” 

That’s all well and good, Levi, you thought, but why won’t you look at me.

As if sensing your thoughts, Levi looked at Ponye, next to you. You had never felt such homicidal rage in your life. 

The only thing beneath the numbness is anger. You try to shove it down. It keeps rising back up your throat, though, like bile. Your chest aches, and you fear what you’ve been keeping beneath your anger and your apathy. You know it will sweep you away and crash you against the rocks. It will rip you apart with its tide, and you won’t have a safety raft to cling to. 

“So, you led us into a trap?” Ponye asked, surly and mistrusting, “Is that why you won’t look at her? You feel guilty you didn’t keep her far enough away? How much are they paying you?”

Levi bared his teeth at the blonde, “I look at her enough,” he growled, and as if to prove a point, stared dead at you. 

You felt pinned by his gaze. The yearning you had felt for so long had suddenly vanished as if it had never existed, warmth filling the hole in your chest. Your heart shuddered inside your ribs. Had you always felt like this, when he looked at you? Or had the loss of his gaze driven you to new heights?

But... it was different. His eyes were shuttered, now, when he looked at you. He looked like he was a magnet, being repelled by his twin. 

The warmth in your chest soured. You felt like you’d be sick.

What had you done?

In the end, the solution to your problem was quite clear. You couldn’t sell the 3DMG. So, the only remaining option was to learn to use it. Surely, being able to soar in the air like a bird would make your heists all the easier, and Ponye was more than enthusiastic to be the first one to try it out.

The boy was whooping and laughing, even as he sent himself crashing into every surface possible, even as he bruised himself and dislocated his arm from not being able to keep his balance in the damn thing. You would have laughed, if you weren’t busy chasing after the bastard to make sure his head was still attached.

Meanwhile, you watched as Levi soared overhead like he’d been doing this his whole life. Prick, you thought gleefully, showing everyone else up, as always. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and your stomach was flipping in your guts. Even when he was acting like a stranger, you still couldn’t help but root for him with everything in you. You didn’t want to help it. Levi, for all of his fussing, was yours. Yours to chase after, yours to keep safe, yours to be with. He would never be alone, regardless of how prickly he decided to act towards you. Even if you hadn’t promised Miss to keep him with you, you feared this inclination would be just as strong.

A hand pulled you from your reverie. Gripping a harness, Furlan grinned roguishly at you, “Let Kur start chasing this moron around the alley and go join Levi up there. We haven’t even seen you try it yet.”

You pressed your lips together, contemplating, and then grabbed the harness. “Alright. Don’t worry, I’m more than happy to show you all how it’s done!”

Furlan laughed, ruffling your hair and shoving you towards the fuel cannisters that lay nearby. “Yeah, yeah, just try not to die from a broken neck. Levi would have my head. Bastard barely even let me give you one a’those.”

You frowned at that, eyes going to trace him as he soared above you. He was so far out of reach with you down here. And by the walls did you want to yell at him right now. “Well, don’t you worry about that Furlan. I’ve got this all under control.”

As soon as you managed to get into the air properly, you nearly let go of all your anger.

Despite the rough tugging on your hips when you latched onto the Underground’s structures, despite the way your shoulders cried out at every shift and turn, despite the way your hands cramped from clinging to your triggers…

Walls, this was the most amazing thing.

You felt so free. Freer than a bird. Freer than you had ever, ever been trapped down here. It was like all your fears were left on the ground. No sneering pimps weighing your worth like a butcher with a piece of meat, no MP’s to leer at you from dark alleyways, no thugs to compete with for jobs. Fuck, with this gear, your group would be the only thieves that mattered down here. You felt the laughter rising in your throat as you raced after Levi, faster and faster. Free. Like a damn bird. You whooped, unable to hold the joy in any longer, and Levi turned to you. His hair was whipping in his face as he took in your chipper cries as you pelted after him, arms extended towards the undergrounds ceiling. You were gorgeous, looking happier and lighter than he’d ever seen you. Even when you were a child and he and his mom had taken you in, fresh-faced and naive, you hadn’t looked this happy. You’d taken to the gear nearly as quickly as he had, and seemed to feel invincible in it, if your raucous cheering was anything to go by.

Finally, he let himself land on a building top, and you came right after him with a screech. While you had figured out flying easily enough, landing was an entirely different story.

You plowed into him, knocking the both of you off of your feet and making you skitter across the rooftop. You wheezed when something heavy landed on you, crushing the wind out of you. You felt him shudder, hot breaths puffing on the sensitive skin of your neck as he tried to catch his breath before he propped himself up on an arm.

And then there he was. Levi. Above you. Eyes still dark, pretty lips parted, hair ruffled and messy as he stared breathlessly down at you. No, not at you. At the cut, healing to an angry shade of pink and bisecting your eyebrow.

You bucked your hips with a growl, and he was tossed from you. He was just so surprised by your sudden attack that he let you straddle him after too. You seated yourself firmly on top of him, thighs clenching around his hips and calves wedging under his knees. He bared his teeth at you, hissing and writhing, and you crammed a hand beneath his head, fingers gripping the hair there and forcing his face where you wanted it. Still, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, even as his teeth grit from your grip. You shook with rage, all that fury from before rushing back. You wouldn’t let him leave you behind.

“Fucker,” you snarled, “Fucking look at me, Levi.”

He pursed his lips, before his eyes darted to yours and then away. You twisted your fingers until he hissed and writhed, bucking his hips under yours. “I said look at me.” You ordered, getting impossibly closer to him until you could feel the panicked puffs of breath leaving his mouth ghost across your face.

That was when, again, and with no help from Furlan, Levi reached the jagged end of his apathy.

Pt vi

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Marked (Soap / Reader)

CW: catholicism, incubus!Johnny, confessional, altar sex, cunillingus, vaginal sex, branding, blasphemy, claiming, mild dubcon

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 2.6k

I’m posting this at work, forgive any formatting errors

“Father, I think the devil is taunting me.”

The scent of warm mahogany filled my nose. I folded my hands in my lap, glancing down at my fingers. My nails were chewed down to bloody nubs.

“How so, my child?” A deep voice asked.

Slowly, my eyes raked up the door of the confession booth. He was grinning, sharp canines glinting in the candlelight. Thick horns protruded from his brow, curling in a way that framed his face.

“I told you, I’m not the devil. I’m Johnny.” The beast smirked.

He was dressed in silk and silver, drapes lying low on his waist. It was promiscuous, tempting even. A tail protruded from his coccyx, laying still at his side.

His smirk was telling. A sense of superiority, sureness even, lay behind it. He stepped forward, mahogany creaking under his bare feet. His long, claw-like fingernails gently traced up the side of my face.

His breath was hot as it wafted over my skin. A sinister smile slowly spread across his face. I glanced down at my lap, clenching the rosary beads woven through my fingers.

“I just know it, Father.” I answered with a sniffle.

Soft creaking echoed through the grate as the priest shifted in his seat. Through the dim lighting, I could just barely see his hand moving to stroke his bearded face. Fingers gripped my chin, turning my face back toward the creature.

“Now is the time to prove yourself. Dedicate time to your studies. Pray for guidance. I believe this is something that your faith will guide you through.”

-

Roaring thunder cracked overhead. The weathered shutters slammed against the church walls. An aching pain sparked in my knees as I kneel, clasped hands resting atop the pew before me.

Hot tears streamed down my flushed cheeks. My brows furrowed, lips mumbling soft prayers. I gripped the beads in my hand, leaving behind round indents in my skin.

The chapel stunk of incense and parchment. It was well into the early hours of the morning, nuns not yet stirring. Only a few burnt-down candles were left to light the pews. Streaks of pale moonlight shone through the stained glass windows, casting dim rainbows over the frayed carpet.

“I was sent here for a reason, you know.” The creature mumbled.

I raised my voice, muttering my prayers over the beast’s foul voice. My fingers clenched tighter around the beads.

“I know you’ve been questioning…”

“O my God, I firmly believe that Thou art one God, in three Divine Persons, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” My voice was louder now, audible over the pouring rain.

“Your faiths begun to waver…”

“I believe that Thy Divine Son became man and died for our sin.” Even louder now. The wooden beads creaked beneath my grip.

“You’ve disobeyed, haven’t you?”

“-And that He will come to judge the living and the dead.” My teeth gritted, enamel squealing as I clenched my jaw tight.

“You’ve touched yourself…haven’t you?”

“I believe these and all the truths which the holy Catholic Church teaches, because Thou hast revealed them.” The string snapped between my fingers. The wooden beads clattered to the floor. I opened my eyes, glancing down at the mess of cedar beads dispersing atop the carpet.

His feverish hand wrapped around my neck, fingers pressing into my artery. I shuddered, eyelids fluttering closed. A deep laugh bellowed from his chest. His silver chains clinked with every movement.

“For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God,” he muttered. His fingers slowly trailed down the side of my neck. I could feel his heated breath on my skin.

“I’m not-”

“for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot,” He continued. His other hand rested on my hip. His touch felt warm, like that of a fireplace on a cold winter day. My tense muscles went lame under his touch, as if his fingertips could smooth the knots in my nerves.

His fingertips slipped underneath the soft cotton of my night robe. With a swift nudge, he eased the fabric off of my shoulder. I could feel his stubble brushing against the skin of my shoulder. His warm lips pressed against my bare neck.

A soft noise rose from my throat. My breath hitched, jaw clenching as I tried to swallow my feelings. This felt…right, especially for something as unholy as this. I turned my head away from the beast, lips pursing tight. He huffed, grabbing my face in his large hand. He slowly turned my head back to face him.

He had bright blue eyes, a color that rivaled the daytime sky. Deep pupils drew me into his gaze. I felt heat rush to my cheeks as he slowly skated his fingers down my neck.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, leaning in closer. “You don’t have to submit…to God at least,” he chuckled. His long nails slipped beneath my collar. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he nudged the fabric off of my shoulder.

“Why should something so wonderful be withheld?”

The cold air pricked my exposed skin. Goosebumps rose on both of my shoulders, bared openly to this unholy beast.

“Why should someone as breathtaking as you be denied something so…” he paused, tilting his head. Hot tears ran down my face. I sniffled, my bottom lip gently quivering. “It’s torture, isn’t it?”

His hands slid down my sides until they reached my belt. He gently tugged at the soft fabric, pulling it from the belt loops. The fabric limply hung off of my biceps, baring my body to this beast before me.

“How could they make you hate something so divine?” He reached out as if to touch my thigh, only pausing inches away from my trembling body. My breath came out in short, shallow pants, shoulders heaving with every shaky inhale. “I can show you what it means to feel heavenly.”

I hung my head low, tears falling into my lap. Slowly, I unclasped my hands, letting my arms fall to my sides. The cotton robe fell limply from my body, pooling on the ground beside me.

My core throbbed, aching with every passing second. Arousal pooled in my stomach like honey, dampening every one of my fluttering thoughts. I felt hopeless, abandoned, desperate. All of my nerves ached for stimulation in unison. I felt hollow, as if there was a pit deep inside of me that only this wretched mistake of god could fill.

“Touch me,” I said through heavy breaths, turning toward the beast.

I was expecting him to pounce on me in that instance, only to instead have his soft fingers tilt my chin up. He slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. They were warm, inviting even. His breath tasted of pomegranates and aged mead. Every touch of his lips against mine felt intoxicating.

Warmth flooded my veins as he slowly trailed his thick fingers down my shoulders. I lurched forward as one of his claw-like nails raked down my spine. He tugged me into his toned chest, chuckling lowly as his fingers ran down my back.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, panting against his warm skin. I looped my arms around the back of his neck, keeping his chest flushed against my own.

“So pliable,” he hummed, fingers rubbing back up my spine. He cradled my head in his hands, tugging me away from his chest to gaze into my eyes. “You’d let me do anything to you, huh?”

I nodded, staring up at him through my tear soaked lashes. His thumb gently stroked my cheek, only to pull away as he rose to his feet. He glanced down at my kneeling body, extending a single clawed hand to me. I reached out, placing my hand in his. He held onto me with a tight grip, tugging me to my feet. The wood floors creaked as he took a step back, eyes not leaving me for a moment.

He led me down the aisle in some sort of unholy wedding march. With each step forward, my legs quivered, threatening to buckle under me. Thunder clapped overhead. A single flash of white light cast shadows over the room, only to disappear in a moment.

We stilled in front of the altar. Gentle candle light illuminated his face. He smirked, flashing a single sharp canine as he stepped forward. His hands skimmed down the sides of my body, pausing to feel every inch of me. When his warm palms reached my hips, he leaned forward, tugging me into his arms. I gasped, watching the floor disappear from beneath my feet as he lifted me.

The cold marble brought goose bumps to my skin as he lay me down on the altar. I propped myself up on my elbows, gaze fixated on the man between my bare thighs. His fingertips grazed my skin, gently nudging my knees further apart.

He leaned into me, lips pressing against my collarbone. A soft noise spilled from my throat as his kisses trailed down to my bare chest. His palms groped my flesh, squeezing my nipples between his fingertips.

And then he was kissing over my ribs, down my stomach. He hooked his legs underneath my thighs and dragged my hips off the altar. I laid back against the cool marble, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips trailed up my inner thigh, unbearably close, teasingly close to my core. He sunk his teeth into my flesh. Pinprick droplets of blood rose to the surface of my skin. I felt my nerves ignite, pulsing with electricity.

He ran his tongue up my core, pulling desperate noises from my chest. His tongue circled my clit, feverishly flicking against the bud. He groaned into my cunt, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. My thighs, laying atop his shoulders, quivered.

I wrapped my fingers around his horns, pulling him closer to my core. I tossed my head back against the hard marble. My lips parted, desperate noises rising from my heaving chest as he wrapped his lips around my clit.

Tension grew in my core, stretching across my limbs with every movement of his tongue, every suck against my flesh. My back arched up off of the altar, hips jutting forward against his face.

He chuckled, using his arm to hold me still as he ate me out. Tears welled in his eyes, not from sorrow, but from pleasure. My brows knitted, face contorting as he overpowered my body.

Flames licked at my skin, heated pleasure wrapping around my extremities like tendrils. I could feel my control slipping out of my hands. My hips, of their own accord, slowly rocked against his face. My body wanted more- needed more. It was intoxicating, wiping every little thought of doubt from my mind.

In an instant, my muscles went taut, as If my body was a marionette. His motions made my body contort, quiver as he pulled me to my orgasm. My lips parted in a silent scream, lungs stilling as I felt a wave of pleasure pour over me.

My skin tingled as each of my nerve endings ignited at once. Static rippled over my body as my climax soon descended. My sweaty chest heaved as I gasped for air. His soft lips pressed kisses against my heated skin, speaking soft praises against my thighs.

Slowly, he rose from between my legs, blue eyes meeting mine once again. He leaned forward, hastily pressing his lips to mine. I could taste myself on his tongue, molasses and musk. I crossed my ankles behind his back, tugging his hips close to mine. He groaned, rutting his stiff cock against my thigh.

“Are you sure you want to continue, my dear?” His sharpened teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “Those who are in the flesh cannot please God,” he recited. I gently cradled his face with my shaking hand, fingers brushing against his stubble.

“I don’t care about pleasing God. I care about pleasing you,” I spoke through unsteady breath, “Myself,” I continued. I watched as he let his silk drapery fall to the floor. My eyes latched onto his cock, stiff and leaking.

His thick fingers wrapped around his shaft. Slowly, he inched forward, pushing inside of me.

The stretch was too much. Tears welled in my eyes, running down my flushed face. His thumb rubbed quick circles into my clit, urging me to open up for him. He pressed his chest to mine, lips trailing across my neck.

“You can take it, can’t you?” He cooed. “So good for me.”

He sunk another inch inside of me, bullying his cock into me. My breath hitched as I felt the drag of his cock against my nerve endings. Pleasure ignited in my hips, melding with the stretch of his length.

I whined as he pushed forward, finally bottoming out. I felt unbearably full, stretched to my limits. As if any second I might burst. His sharp nail traced along my stomach, along the outline of a faint bulge in my stomach.

“Feel me?” He asked, pushing down on my stomach. I whined, pursing my lips in a thin line. “Deep inside of you.”

I nodded, whimpering as he shallowly thrusted his hips. Another crack of thunder sounded. His hands groped my thighs, my stomach, anything he could reach. His brows furrowed as his thrusts grew deeper and deeper.

The slap of his hips against mine echoed through the empty chapel. Our crescendoing voices melded together in an unholy symphony.

Glowing sigils appeared on my body. Starting over my heart and following my spine down to my pelvis. The candle flames flickered before blowing out, dipping the both of us into darkness.

Another flash of lighting illuminated our frames for only a moment. He grunted, thrusting deeper into me. The mahogany altar creaked beneath us, squeaking in agony with every thrust.

He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to my lips. I whined against his mouth, tugging him down by his horns.

“So good-” he sputtered, “You feel so good-”

My only response was incoherent babbles and lust soaked whimpers. His pace grew faster, voice contorting into demonic grunts. Another clap of lightning boomed overhead.

The aureate light emitting from the sigils only grew. This only seemed to spur his fervor even more. His lips met my neck. Messy kisses melded into frenzied bites and licks. Purple marks blossomed on my skin, marred by this beast’s tongue.

I could feel myself being subsumed by pleasure. My body tensed, as if bracing for the incoming flood of stimulation. My breath grew shallow and hastened. Sweat oozed from my pores. My voice grew higher, dripping with honeyed lust. His name tasted sweet on my tongue.

I felt intoxicated, breathing in his musk, taking in every inch of him. Intoxicated, with every drag of his cock against my walls. Intoxicated, every time his teeth broke skin.

My vision grew hazy, unfocused, as my orgasm neared. My ears rang, as if demonic church bells were sounding above. Heat ignited in my extremities, setting alight every one of my nerve endings. It burned deliciously, singing my skin.

With a grunt, the beast stilled, flooding me with warmth. The sigils on my stomach dimmed, fading into thick scar tissue. The beast glanced down at my abdomen with a smirk, cock twitching inside me as he came.

He quickly pulled out, watching as his spend ran down my thighs. I’d been branded, marked for damnation. Defiled by this demonic entity. Grinning, I reached up, tugging him forward by one of his horns.

“Give me another.”

Masterlist

[ahyperactivehero]

☢☢☢

(hello there friend! since you were the only one so far to request a fallout snippet you get a bit of a longer one!)

X

Edwin tried to run, but Simon and his friends were faster. Hands gripped him– his arms, his shoulders, even his legs as they lifted him up, up, up. He could hear them cackling, a crazed, keyed-up laugh that he could only associate with young boys being as cruel as they could be.

A door whooshed open, compressed air filling Edwin’s ears for a moment before he was airborne. His flight came to an abrupt end as he slammed into the ground, the metal flooring biting into his elbows and knees.

With another whoosh the door closed, locking him in. 

“This isn’t funny!” Edwin said, immediately racing for the door. He banged his fists against the solid metal as he stared at Simon through the tiny window. It was barely bigger than his face. “Let me out!” They were all going to be in very serious trouble if anyone found them fooling around like this.

His cruel smile only grew as Simon waved, clearly intent on leaving him here.

Edwin didn’t even know where here was. It was clearly some sort of holding cell, although what RobCo Industries needed with a holding cell he was unsure. 

Then again, they had been partnering more and more with the military. That was part of the reason he and Simon’s families had been invited to tour the facility in the first place. Military and money, that was all it took for RobCo to open their doors. Who cared if it was British money, they could be allies as long as they were willing to shell out.

“Simon,” Edwin said, pleading for him one last time. 

For a moment, Edwin thought he might open the door. A sympathetic look came over his face, one that was quickly replaced when a group of scientists started to approach.

“What are you boys doing down here?” a man asked, his voice scratchy and angry. 

Their excuses came out in a splutter of sorry and we’ll go now. Unescorted guests should cause a full lock down, the whole place should shutter itself tight until they figured out who and where the boys had come from.

It would seem the man was merciful. 

“Get out of my sight,” he said and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Edwin’s peers practically tripped over themselves in their haste to get away.

Edwin froze as the man turned towards him and checked out his clipboard. “Get the prisoner ready for surgery,” he said to the Mr. Handy floating next to him. “We’re already behind schedule.”

Prisoner? 

The Mr. Handy moved towards Edwin’s cell, its floating limbs twisting and rotating until a needle was selected and ready. It gave a small test squirt, some sort of liquid spraying out from it as it approached his door.

“Wait, please,” Edwin said. “I am not a prisoner. I’m not!” He backed away from the door, as if that might stop either one of them from getting any closer. “You have the wrong person!”

The door opened and the Mr. Handy filled the entryway. He thought about making a run for it, but he hadn’t even been able to outrun Simon. What hope did he have against this robot assistant?

The man sighed and folded his arms behind his. Sa’al was printed on his nametag and Edwin wondered if that was his real name or if it were a misprint. “That’s what they all say, kid. Sorry.”

X

Make Me Write Game

[wol-fica]

-ℝ&𝔹 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕟𝕘-

parings - jennaortega x fem!reader

summary - Coachella day! but early in the morning…👀

warnings - sexual themes

an - had fun making this <3

—————————

“Mmph…” You groaned softly, turning your body to your side so you could curl up under your covers.

It was an early morning in Coachella Valley, the golden glow of the sun shining in through a small window in the wall of your bedroom. The light sent a blanket of warmth over your bed, causing a pleasant shutter to run up your spine.

The house was quiet at this hour, being that 7 AM was too early for its residents to be up and about on a summer break. You could distantly hear the shuffling of someone, probably a dad, slowly moving around in the kitchen downstairs as they made coffee for the day.

A shift from beside you made your brain awaken more, your senses now more alert. You smiled slightly when an arm slid around your waist, pulling you into a warm yet familiar body. Hot breath hit the back of your neck, cascading down your spine and onto your skin; a pleasant feeling.

Jenna sighed behind you, her lips kissing your naked shoulder before she buried herself there for comfort. Your hand came up to caress hers, intertwining your fingers over your exposed stomach. 

Moments like these were cherished by Jenna, as she usually was away and had tons of work to do. She was more often in a different country than at home, so when her mom called asking for her to take a couple weeks off to spend some time with them at Coachella, she immediately said yes and dragged you along.

You shuffled, turning to face your sleepy girlfriend. Her eyes were already open, droopy and dazed while she stared at you. You chuckled at the sight, brushing some hair out of her face before moving in to kiss her.

Her lips, always soft and delicious, were so addicting to you. They were absolutely perfect, just like her, and were so utterly kissable that you sometimes just couldn’t help yourself. 

She hummed into the kiss, smiling against your lips as she gently pulled you closer by your waist. Your hands slid up to snake around the back of her neck, molding yourself into her.

“Mmmm g’morning.” You whispered before leaning back in to kiss her.

You were acting a tad bit desperate, but that was edging Jenna on a bit more. She pressed your hips into hers, moving to lay on her back whilst pulling you on top of her so your legs wrapped around your waist.

“Pretty girl.” She purred, giving your lips a few little kisses before tugging you down to lay on her.

Your bodies intertwined, your naked upper half pressing into her loose white tee; it was pleasant. One of her hands trailed downwards, moving to cup the swell of your ass. Your eyes gave a warning look to her, your lips pursing at her coy smirk. 

“I’m sore, you already fucked me silly last night.”

“But that was yesterday…” She pouted, squeezing you.

“I’m sore.” You repeated, kissing her frown away, “You’ll have me after the concert.”

“Okay…” Jenna rolled her eyes with a cute little smile, bumping her nose into yours as a loving gesture.

You kissed her cheek before sitting up, pulling your arms and arching your back for a good morning stretch. Jenna’s thumbs brushed the skin above the hem of your shorts, her focus on your exposed breasts.

“You're teasing me.” She murmured, staring at them lovingly.

“Am I? Couldn’t tell.”

“Cmon Y/N…It would take like fifteen minutes!”

“No.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You said, leaning back down to kiss her passionately before sliding off of her waist. “The opposite actually.”

She smiled, gazing at you for a moment before turning back over to presumably fall asleep. You rolled your eyes, shimmying out of your shorts and heading for the bathroom. 

“You CAN shower with me though!” You called behind you, reaching into the tub to turn the warm water on.

Not even three seconds later, Jenna was beside you and quickly undressing herself with a clumsy haste. You let out a shriek when she hoisted you into the water, setting you down in front of the stream.

“Now can we-?” 

You put a finger to her lips, raising your eyebrows as a challenge. Slowly, she backed down and finally relented on essentially ‘getting some’. You turned slightly, grabbing the shampoo and squeezing some into your hand. 

“Cmere.” You muttered, pulling her closer to you until you could begin to wash her hair.

You lathered the soap in, your nails scratching her scalp softly. A small groan of satisfaction came from her, her body leaning into yours while you rinsed the suds away. Next, you grabbed the conditioner and worked it into her hair, pulling and kneading her fluffy-brown locks.

“Coconut or Lavender?” You asked, holding up both body wash options.

“Coconut please.” She said, grabbing the loofah from behind you, “Can I wash you next?”

You nodded, squeezing some body wash onto the loofah and setting the bottle down. You then gently dragged it across her body, starting at her shoulders and moving downwards.

“Hold still.” She murmured to you, now putting shampoo in your hair, “You squirm too much.”

“I’m trying to wash your body, you stinker.”

Jenna chuckled, tilting your head back to rinse out the shampoo. Her hands caressed your face, fingers sliding into your hair to help get all the soap out. Her nails were perfect against your skin, causing your eyes to roll when she scratched your scalp.

“Pretty girl.” She said, kissing below your chin.

“As are you.” You replied, wrapping your arms around her neck, “My crazy beautiful girlfriend.”

She snorted, hands sliding down to playfully slap your ass before she slipped past you and out of the shower. You sighed, letting the water rinse you free of grime before you followed her, turning the faucet off in the process.

“Catch!” Jenna said, chucking a towel in your face as soon as you closed the curtain. 

You grabbed it, giving her a look while you wrapped it around your wet body. She was giggling, her eyes closed and a pink blush coating her freckles cheeks as she laughed. The sound was infectious, a smile gracing your features from the sight of her happiness. 

“Should we match today?” You asked, dropping your towel to put on a pair of sweats and one of Jenna’s band shirts.

“I’d like that.” She said, wrapping her arms around you waist and kissing your neck, “I’d also like you naked and in bed…”

“Jenna.” You scolded, gently elbowing her, “Get dressed, we’ll go out for breakfast.”

Her eyes lit up, “Just us?”

“Just us.” You confirmed, “Now put on some clothes!”

She saluted you, pulling your lips to hers for a quick kiss before shutting the door in your face. You could hear her chuckling and talking to herself from behind the door, but you just smiled and walked away.

You were living in a love song, and it was perfect.

————

he say that i’m good enough, grabbing my duh duh duh…

tag list: @crystal-lily-101 @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @rainbow-love4ever  @imhungry-andtired @theafterofnevermore @k1mba @simp4thena @thenextdawn @alexkolax @annalestern @efectoangel @fall-08 @i984 @littlegaybutterflysblog @sayaisrotten @deep-fried-egg @notheoneforlove @frasersgf

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight - Part 6: Running Up That Hill

📜The angst... continued... Though I loved hearing all your thoughts about who you guys disliked the most in the last chapter. I'd love to know what you think after this chapter. I've been warned this one is a bit... OUCHIE?!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Verbal fights (some mean stuff is said here; there might be some gaslighting), so bullying, wildlife encounters, shitty family dynamics, and angst.

#7k

Part 5 | Masterlist | Part 7

Everyone scattered in the aftermath.

Even Jessica and Veronica were nowhere to be found as you made your escape. You hardly blamed them for it. If you had been in their shoes, witnessing that shit show, you would have shuttered hard from the waves of secondhand embarrassment rolling off all the tension.

But you couldn't feel secondhand embarrassment from it; you were the embarrassment. And all because of the same reason that got you to this point in your life. 

Jake Seresin just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

You're slightly optimistic about where the group could have gone, even with how hurt you felt. You hoped no one had heard or seen any of it, and they already had gone off to do their own thing. Probably the more likely choice, they did and wanted to avoid the fallout altogether, just like certain people had been all along.

Then a third miserable thought entered your mind - they were all pissed with you, maybe even with Jake, and wanted you gone. You could hardly blame them for that, either. Maybe deep down, you wanted to leave too.

It's how you found yourself following the rocky path, perhaps even dangerous if one wasn't paying attention, up to the top of the waterfall instead. The trail was open for use, though, from appearance alone, it looked like only some people came up here looking for another photo opportunity for someone with a camera below.

Climbing up the slope, rather than glancing below to the water, you turned your head towards the river, winding through a stretch of forest. If you weren't so upset, you might have stopped to wonder if this was the scenery authors envisioned when writing fantasy books. This stretch of woods ranged along the top of this mountainside terrain, and perhaps if you ventured far enough, somewhere you'd find yourself standing on the edge of the world. 

You followed the river bank instead, even if you could call it that, your eyes so intently focused on the rushing water you had nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. 

Cora's face flashes through your mind first. A shameful, disappointed look after asking if you had set up any more pranks. You had no intention to fuck up what was supposed to be a happy memory for Nat, but Cora could have put two and two together and assumed you were taking it another step too far.

Grace and Bob? Even Mickey? Pity. You didn't need to think about them further; the guilt from their expressions alone would drive you right into the dirt.

Rueben and Javy, you couldn't say, but Jessica and Veronica, you pushed from your mind, even if they tried to claim a few of your brain cells. They'd be so laced in pure, self-centred bias that you'd even go so far as to classify any remark they might make in the style and prose of Regina George's Burn Book - Masters of passive aggressiveness but perfect at playing the victim when the situation turned against them, as demonstrated the night you injured your hand.

Even if they had no part in what unfolded, any defensive remark would only be met with another, perhaps twisted, sentence intended to put you down.

You might have laughed at the fact had you not felt like crying instead.

It was a few minutes before you found the fork in the river, and there was a solitary rock big enough and flat enough to sit upon. You went to it without haste, letting your feet guide you by their own accord. Being mindful of your hand as you hoisted yourself up and settled onto the smooth surface, you drew your knees up to your chest rather than let your legs hang over the side. You didn't even bother removing your backpack; the weight pulling against your back was a comfort and a burden.

Weakly wrapping your arms around your legs, you let your cheek rest on your kneecaps. What comfort your arms could give was meagre and weak, and even as you stared at a riffle in the water, the gentle trickle or the momentary peace did nothing to help you.

While there was a part of you wishing Jake had decided to leave altogether, to hike back to the entrance of the park, never to show his ugly no, good, untimely, "if not now, when" ass again, you know there was no point. It wouldn't fix what had happened, and it wouldn't make Nat feel any better either.

To say this wasn't the first time you found yourself in the middle of a fight would be an understatement. As friends usually do, you and Nat had your fair share of them over the years, though they always ended up with the two of you making up.

Always because someone caved - that someone being you - maybe that's one of the reasons why you wanted to seek her out.

But you knew your presence wouldn't be welcomed. No matter your explanation, she wouldn't want to hear it, shoving it off and turning you away, especially after the first-row seat to her rage.

Her words hurt you, but you still knew you owed it to her to apologize.

For letting your temper get the better of you, yelling at Jake? Yes.

For the aftermath of it ruining her proposal? Also, yes.

You would sooner run after her for that apology alone had not Bradley gone after her - rightly so. That was something you couldn't interrupt or insert yourself into, especially after a clusterfuck such as that.

The 'thing' building in the pit of your stomach against the white, nauseating feeling of guilt also made you rethink your decision to seek her out. A feeling that only arose from you replaying Nat's rage-filled words repeatedly in your head.

Jake could be right. It's looking like he had always been right.

You don't understand why now, of all times, you'd entertain the possibility of accepting Jake's words. It is something you want to remain a mystery, shoved deep down into the forgotten places of your mind.

It's an impossible feat.

Nat's rage, so hot and what you'd classify as spiteful, blew the doors open so wide there was no amount of pressure you could shove at the idea to make it disappear. You buried your face into your knees, eye sockets aching under the force, driving lights and shapes to appear behind your lids.

What if? What if I said this? What if I did this? What if I just walked away?

But something else shot forward in your mind, something you'd never thought you'd entertain.

What if I did confront Nat? Confront her for the lack of support throughout the entire trip. Not just in the heat of the moment, but truly laid bare that she purposely brought me on this trip without telling me Jake would be here too.

If you told her how you felt, how she had made you feel, would that have made a difference, too?

You think not. Even if you had a part to play in your feelings of isolation, there would have been a reason, an explanation, a word vomit of her hurt feelings without care for yours. You had never truly voiced your feelings before, always burying them under wit and sarcasm.

There was no chance you would now.

Ironic, isn't it? All that snark you've mustered up for Jake, for the two twins incarnate, and you still couldn't bring yourself to stand up for yourself and set a boundary with your 'friend.'

You supposed that's how it's always been, too.

Growing up in the shadow of expectations, your voice often ended up unheard. A middle child sandwiched between an older brother who followed in your father's footsteps and a younger sister brimming with self-selected compassion – and two parents in high-achieving roles.

In the rare instance that all five of you could actually sit down and have a family dinner together, conversations only seemed to revolve around that fact. They were limited to surgical techniques, case studies, medical research projects, and overseas missions.

Your father always sat at the same end of the dining room table. Dr. Xiaver Spencer, the authoritative head neurosurgeon, would often glance over the rim of his glasses, nodding approvingly at your brother's, Dr. Alex Spencer, recounts of complex brain surgeries. Your mother always claimed her spot at the other end. Dr. Heather Spencer, the CEO of a prestigious teaching and research-based hospital, would meticulously plan her next board meeting in between bites. 

With your brother between them on one side, Ella, your younger sister, would occupy the other. She often regaled the family with tales of distant lands and communities, places she had adventures to as a volunteer with UNICEF. If she wasn't home, she was overseas, helping build homes, handing out supplies, assisting medics, or studying.

Only 16, and she was off seeing the world, her pure joy of helping those in need making your paintings and designs at the local animal shelter quaint in comparison.

That left you and your seat at the table, never fixed or permanent, wedging between your brother, sister, mother and father in a different spot every time.

They made you feel quaint, too. Any attempt to share or talk about art, your art, or even the opportunities coming your way was always met with a "That's nice, dear" or "It's good to have hobbies."

Alex would laugh. Ella would remain silent. And nobody took you seriously enough when you started discussing it as an actual career.

Because the path you had chosen for yourself was less valuable than the stringent standards surrounding your family and what it meant to be a Spencer. Because pursuing a Fine Arts or even an Arts Illustration Degree was abhorrent when you could be working to save lives instead.

You might have taken to talking back and standing up for yourself in the early days. Each remark or attempt was followed with one of their own, so cutthroat it would have you sinking into the polished and unmarked leather of one of your mother's overly expensive dining room chairs. You would poke at the designer dish with the fancy silver fork through your tears, waiting till everyone else finished before taking off to your room and calling Aunt Viv.

Each time you did, the urge diminished, and soon, you didn't say anything unless you were spoken to. However, that was a rare instance indeed.

Why give your opinion? Why voice your thoughts when they weren't really warranted?

Correction - Wanted.

Aunt Viv, though. She... cared. Pure, unwavering support, no matter what you said, did or would think to do. She pushed you towards what you loved and stood by you like a rock when cash was tight, and scholarships weren't cutting it. She was unafraid to throw your name around in conversations. Not your full name, but "My niece Maeve does this," or "My niece is such a talented artist."

Who knew growing apples could have such a sway? You weren't sure where you'd be now if it weren't for her.

You knew you couldn't stay here on this rock forever. But you didn't know what else to do. Walk back with your head held high? Give Cora, Grace, or even Bob the compass and the map, and let them take over for the rest of the day? Hang out in the back of the group where you belonged, not saying a word to anyone else?

You could always leave.

The thought was tempting - walk away from it all. From Nat, from Jake, from the situation. You're surprised you didn't attempt to do it before. But leaving now felt like admitting defeat, and despite everything, you weren't ready to give up. Not yet.

Four-plus years, and it would have been a waste for nothing if you did. Cause if you walked away now, you'd never come back.

As you slowly slid from the rock, you decided on a plan. You'd walk back, find Nat to apologize, and attempt to mend whatever was left of the week. You and Nat had purposely planned more than one stop on this trip where Bradley could propose; he still could if things calmed down.

You followed the river back down the way you came, trying to figure out what to say, what to do, that would make the apology meaningful.

You would have to do it sooner than you thought. Cause the second you lifted your head at the sound of stones clacking hard against one another, Nat was striding towards you, completely lost in her thoughts.

Your initial thought would have been she was seeking you out had it not been for the devastated look on her face.

It left you frozen, unwilling to take a step further.  You had geared yourself up to swallow your hurt to apologize for a mess that hadn't been entirely yours, but standing here and now in front of her, you knew.

It wouldn't matter what you said. 

It's not a disappointment you see it reflected in her face. It's not love for a friend either or even dislike either. That would be giving her too much credit, and even after feeling sorry for what happened, acknowledging you owed her an apology, and burying that hurt aside, failed proposal or not, it comes rushing back inside. 

Even then, you still caved first.

"What can I say or do to make up for what just happened?" you manage to plead.

She scoffs in the face of your honest ask. "You really don't know?"

You shake your head hard. "No. No, I don't. Not for this. All I can do is ask and offer whatever apology I can that would truly make it up to you."

Nothing on Earth could have prepared you for something like this.

Her hand flew up, preventing you from saying another word. “Just save it,” she spat. “I don’t want to hear it, Maeve. Not now. Maybe not ever.” 

You gasped, and Nat's gaze hardened further, if possible.

 "You think you're the only one hurt by all this?" Her voice raised, bitter and cold.  "You think you're the only one with feelings? God, Midge, you can be so self-absorbed sometimes. It's always about you, isn't it?"

Your mouth dropped open like a fish. "You really think I wanted this," you emphasize by spreading your arms out wide, "To happen? Do you think I purposely wanted to fuck up your proposal just to get back at Jake? Come on, Nat!"

"Honestly?" she cries out. "I don't know!"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Wow. Okay then."  

"You've been so caught up in your own drama with hating Jake that you didn't even see what was happening right in front of you. How all of it has been affecting everyone else in the group?"

You don't mean for your anger to get the best of you or for it to be directed at Nat, but her remarks are so spiteful that you can't help the shrill laugh crawling up your throat.

"And you did? Like you haven't been the picture of understanding and support. You had to have seen the way Jessica and Veronica have been treating me. Where were you then?!"

Nat eyes you up and down like she's just caught you in a lie. "Funny you say that, 'cause they told me the same thing," she insinuates.  "How you've been less than welcoming. How you can't let things go. How you can't take a joke...."

Your jaw tightened, and the fact she was buying into their words and their stories without questioning it further stung harder than you wanted to believe. 

"So their behaviour is justified because I was standing up for myself? For things you never saw from the sound of it!?" 

And what does she do but shrug? The action is so dismissive it only fuels your frustration further. "You're not exactly innocent in all of this." 

You know it's not those two she's referring to. 

"What, Jake?" you mock. "You never told me Jake was coming on this trip. You've always known how I've felt about him, how it's always been between us, and you said nothing!"

"Because I thought you could handle it for one fucking week!"

"I leave a room the second I realize he's in it. I purposely go out of my way to avoid him. That's me fucking handling it! I avoid him at all costs because I can't stand to be in the same space as him without feeling like I will lose my mind. And you thought throwing us together was a good idea?!"

Nat didn't say anything, prompting you to continue. "A good friend tells her friend if the guy she hates is going on a week-long trip with them. A good friend acknowledges the hurt this person has caused..."

"A good friend explains why she dislikes a guy so much! She explains she lets them know...." Nat interrupts you, though you interrupt her right back.

"He's your fucking friend! I won't be the one to drive a wedge into a friend group that existed long before I ever came around!"

As if I could.

Nat's response was a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You just gave up! You just gave him the cold shoulder, and the next, you two were at each other's throats."

"And what?" you cried out.  "You just believed what Jessica and Veronica said about me? Without even asking my side? You know how they can be, Nat! you know!" 

Her eyes narrowed, and she moved closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. ”If you ever faced your problems instead of sprinting in the opposite direction, we wouldn't be in this mess. It's no wonder everything's falling apart around you."

Her words held you in a chokehold, a sharp intake of breath your only defence against the burning sting in your lungs. You remain silent, hurt flashing across your face as your eyes blur with unshed tears.

"Wow," you finally manage, voice croaking. "Kick me while I'm down. I'm sorry your proposal was ruined, Nat; I am. But that doesn't give you permission to be cruel." 

She turns her head away from you to stare at the water. You press on further. 

"Let's talk about this," you hold your arm up. "Or the fact I was the one hiding behind the bush first, not him. With my phone, trying to get photographs for you. Jake was the one who approached me. Who decided that was the best moment of all other times to start fucking with me. I might have pranked him earlier, but I wasn't about to do it during a moment such as that. I was the one telling him to back the fuck off. " 

Your eyes were welling up with tears, but you fought them back, refusing to let her see just how much she'd wounded you.

"Or let's talk about how Veronica gave me a snide remark about my art, and I stood up for myself, only to have her knock my brushes to the side. Or how they cornered Jake into pulling a prank that resulted in this?" you hold up your arm. 

She turns to you, her eyes harsh. "Like how you pranked Veronica?" 

You rolled your eyes. "It was meant for the Asshole, but you know what, I'm happy she got a little bit of Karma after everything you just admitted." 

Nat's face twisted, a mix of anger and something else you couldn't quite place. "You know what, Maeve? Maybe you're right. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. You and Jake, this trip, everything!" 

"And you think blaming me is going to make it better?"

Nat opened her mouth to retort but then closed it, pressing her lips into a thin line. The anger seemed to drain from her face momentarily, replaced by a weary resignation.

"Maybe I never should have invited you instead."

You bit your bottom lip, nodding more to yourself than to her. A sad noise crept up your throat, a laugh, though it was one more of resignation, maybe even ironic amusement. The thought comes rushing forward to sweep you off your feet like the first time you heard it.

Because Jake was right, after all.

Standing there wounded and silent, in the hardness of Nat's eyes, you conclude that perhaps you were never really a friend in the first place.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you never should have. At least then, I wouldn't have spent years thinking we were actually friends after all."

Shaking your head, you turned away from her, the weight of everything pressing down on you. With each step you took, the sound of the river beside you grew louder, its rushing waters seeming to beckon you forward. The thought that if you could allow yourself to be swept away, to tumble over the waterfall at its end, flashed through your mind. That would be enough to wash away the pain. 

Nat sighed loudly from behind you and then called out after you, "Midge, stop!"

The fact she called you Midge, not Maeve, made your resolve burn brighter.

You twisted, continuing to walk backwards. You dramatically threw your hands out to the side as you sarcastically called out through your tears, "Why should I? I only think about myself, right? Make everything about me? Why quit now when I'm only following in the example you've so clearly set?"

You sniffed a breath, and then the remark slipped past your lips, the defence mechanism you've used in all other circumstances, finally landing a blow on someone you once considered a friend. You purposely stopped, raising your hands to clap against the thick fabric of the bandage on your arm.

"Let's give a round of applause and a standing ovation to the one and only Natasha Trace, the saint who never does anything wrong!" you dropped, bending yourself down into a dramatic bow. "Bravo for putting up with me for so long! What an Oscar-worthy performance, indeed!"

You didn't bother seeing her reaction, purposely straightening yourself to turn back to walk the path ahead. Honestly, you didn't want to see it either.

You simply had enough.

All those years you spent fighting against the words of one jock in your apartment bathroom because you didn't want to lose Nat as a friend - gone in minutes.  

Fighting your sobs, you tried to devise some plan, anything beyond your initial decision to leave as you stormed forward. Perhaps some other tourist below would take pity on your situation and let you tag along back to the park entrance. There was a bus station there. You could buy a ticket back into the city and then take the train home.

Either way, your decision to leave had been the obviously correct one. Nat made that so abundantly clear.

You could see the opening to the slope from a distance, and you took a moment to compose yourself. Wiping at the lingering tears on your face, you drew in sharp, equal breaths, hoping the fresh air would calm you down.  If you were about to ask a total stranger for help, you couldn't do it looking like this.

You tilted your head back on your shoulders, closing your eyes as you tried to feel the breeze on your face, seeking solace in its cool embrace. You let your hand rest on the nearby tree, trying to feel the sensation of its bark under the palm of your hand. Rolling your head forward, you shook your shoulders, straightening your posture before opening your eyes.

But the path ahead was no longer empty. And you caught sight of the last person you wanted to see, making their way up the hill. 

The universe was a fine-flecked bitch, so that it would seem. Because there was Jake, in all his glory, precariously walking up the slope. 

Seeing him sends the sensation of sheer ice shooting across your skin. And the hurt that had found a home inside your chest amplifies into an overwhelming urge to run. Run, and never look back. Run and escape.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

But is it from him? Or from his words and the truth in them, haunting, following you from that night? A truth that was proven only a mere few seconds ago.

Panic flutters in your chest at the thought he'd seen you, and you spin rapidly on your heel, hoping you could find another path or maybe even hide until he accomplished whatever he intended to do by coming up here.

But your bag snags on a branch, and you wince as the leaves rustle obnoxiously, knowing that if Jake hadn't seen you standing there before, he certainly would now.

Jake lifted his head at the sudden noise, only to see a quick flash of bright blue. Your sleeping bag curled on top of your backpack disappeared behind the thick trunk of a tree.

"Midge, wait!"

Like hell, I'd wait for you.

His voice spurs you on, taking off into the thick underbrush. Jake is undeterred in the slightest, taking off after you.  He wasn't far behind, having extended his pace to get to you quicker once he was up the side of the hill.  You were at a disadvantage; your short legs were no match for his long ones, and your heavy bag only weighed you down.

Your only hope would be to lose him in the bush, counting on his height, build, and weight even, to slow him down and watch where he was going. You were small, yes, but you could get through the gaps or the trees better than he ever could.

But Jake was uncaring if thorns were ripping at his jeans or if branches were smacking him in the face. He was so fucking stubborn, and his drive was absolute. If not to get you to talk, then not to let you disappear into the woods alone.

"Midge, stop running! I'm not going to hurt you!"

His voice came from everywhere and anywhere, seemingly bouncing off trees and down the paths they grew, a haunting echo that unleashed a fresh wave of tears. As you rounded the corner of a tree, you came across an intriguing root system twisting along the ground when your vision blurred.

You cried out when you tripped over a root. You caught yourself and, without stopping, lifted your arm so the bandage might catch the tears rushing down your face, feet continuing to step in the spaces between the roots blindly.

You did. You have been. And you probably still will.

The thought, bitter and resigned, fueled your steps farther and farther. The underbrush grabbed at your legs like hands pulling you down. Burs stuck to the fabric of your leggings and pricked at your skin. Branches whipped at your face and arms, leaving thin lines of red in their wake. But the thought of losing Jake, getting out of this park and never seeing him again urged you on.

But when you finally burst through the underbrush, expecting to find a trail, a slope down, or even a trail marker to tell you where to go, you were met with nothing of the sort. It was a dead end, a sheer cliff drop that had you skidding to a jarring halt against stone ground. Gravel slid beneath your feet, and your arms flailed wildly as you desperately tried to save your balance.

Your heart must have stopped briefly as you were forced to look down, confronting the edge of this unexpected cliff and the daunting drop below. While not lethal, a fall like this would only lead to injury, one you wouldn't tempt fate for.

A cold wave of realization washed over you as you finally regained your balance and looked around. The ledge you found yourself on was a narrow outcropping that offered no path forward, only a steep fall or retreat back through the bush toward Jake.

You were utterly, utterly trapped.

Twigs snapped under Jake's boot as he stepped out from behind the bush. His breath was laboured, audible harsh pants that had you reaching up to cup your hands over your ears before sliding them forward to cover your eyes.

I can't do this now. I can't do this now.

"Why do you always run from me?"

You couldn't think. Nothing was coming forth to save you now. No witty retort or clever line. No semblance of that resolve that rushed through your veins before. You were literally incapable of rescuing or being enough to save yourself from what was about to unfold.

So, your anger rose up to greet you like a long-lost friend instead. 

"You don't get to ask me that! Why do you even care?" The words erupted from you louder and more forceful than you'd care to admit, letting your hands fall from your face to smack against the side of your thighs. "What the fuck more could you possibly want from me, Jake?! What... what was the point of you chasing me? To corner me? To say more about me or remind me how much of a fuck up I really am? To drive the wedge, the fucking knife, deeper?"

Even as you yelled, you still couldn't face him.

"Everyone in this fucking camp hates me! In general. Do you think I don’t know what people say? How they look at me? And you… you’re no different. You’ve made your thoughts about me crystal clear from the second I met you." 

You stomped forward, pointing your finger into his chest. "We made a fucking deal not to ruin their week for them. We agreed. But you just had to cause shit. You just had to bang that pot; you just had to put away the coffee; you just had to think of the worst fucking shortcut; you just had to scream, bear. You just had to hurt me!" 

You were panting hard, thumping your finger into his chest. 

"I told you. You throw that shit at me. I'll throw that shit back. So thank you for that, because if your point in all of that was to end Nat and I's friendship and kick me out of the group, then congratulations. You succeed!" 

As he absorbed the full force of your words, the pure hurt pouring out of you, he seemed to deflate right before your eyes. For a moment, he stood there, his features softening and his usual cocky confidence nowhere in sight. Some might have even called it a genuine look of distress and confusion. 

Jake's voice was barely above a whisper when his shoulders slumped, and he asked defeatedly, "Why do you hate me so much, Midge? What did I do?"

In his honest green eyes, you could see the plea for an answer, any answer that might get you to open up to him and simply explain.

But you couldn't.

How could you explain the reason you yelled, shouted, snarked, and downright hated him was because he had been completely right? At the infamous Halloween party, you caught him about to hook up with that girl in your bathroom, uttering about your supposed friendship with Natasha?

How, since that moment, you had been running from him because it was the easier option? Better than giving yourself over to the possible truth - a truth you have seen time and time again. Because allowing yourself to feel hurt over catching him with another girl when he flirted and showed an interest in you for most of the night was better than possibly ruining the one friendship you had.

It shouldn't even matter right now. You already had. And just like that night, Jake had been right the first day by the lake. You did run away from your problems.

Because I don't know how to do anything else.

His question hung in the air, a plea for some understanding, some clue, some indication of how things could have gotten so bad between you.

A gasp tore from your throat instead.

Not because you were outwardly expressing your frustration and struggle in answering him, but for the fact you caught sight of a massive creature emerging from the treeline behind him.

Every emotion you had felt before vanished at the sight and was replaced with only two: panic and fear.

Your arm moved by its own accord, your hand latching onto Jake's sleeve. He tried to tug his arm back, but you wouldn't let him. You were near catatonic, your grip as strong as metal and your face pale as ice as you watched the approaching creature finally notice your presence. With its mouth hung open, the brown monster stood on its haunches to inquire if you were friend, foe, or its next meal.

Jake remained clueless to your reaction, frowning when he reached up to pry your hand away, unaware of the approaching threat. "What the fuck, Midge. Let me go!"

You couldn't. You couldn't let Jake go. You couldn't do anything except stutter out, "baaa baaa... Bear!"

How your legs hadn't given out yet, you had no clue.

"Really? Do you think I'm going to fall for that after what I did to you? No way. Stop changing the damn subject and give me an answer."

You're not sure how you managed it, but you attempted to hit him on his shoulder, nervous energy causing you to let up on the force behind such a move. You hadn't even felt the sting of your bandaged wrist, adrenaline masking any pain you might have felt, even if it was a rather flimsy attempt.

You still hadn't taken your eyes off the brown animal. It was massive, rugged, and looked like it had no protests about which one of you it would eat first. The scar across its back and face was another story altogether, too. Its teeth would have no problem tearing into Jake; you'd merely be a tiny slice of desert. Or the appetizer.

"Midge, stop and talk to me like a fucking adult!"

The fact he still didn't listen to you seemed to wake you out of your stupor.

"Turn the fuck around and look, you idiot!"

You aren't sure if your prompting would have gotten Jake to turn around and look. Because once you finally managed to gather the courage to draw your eyes away from the thing deciding who to go after first, Jake's face was frozen, contemplating if you were telling the truth.

The bear roared, shattering any doubt.

His reaction was instant, eyes flaring and mouth hanging slightly. He spun, shooting out his arm as his hand made contact with your hip, urging you behind him. Your hands scrambled for anything to grab onto as he turned, eventually settling on clutching the strap of Jake's backpack.

If you weren't so scared, you might have wondered why Jake was here, putting himself in harm's way for you. You might have even whipped out a sarcastic, "Yeah, that's right. Eat him first, you wild creature."

But either one of you had anywhere to go. And even if you could manage to distract it, there was no way either of you could outrun it.

"What are we going to do?" you shot out nervously.

"It's a bear, Midge!" Jake rushed out. "Just stay the fuck behind me."

You panicked and snapped back, "I saw it first! I know what a bear looks like!"

It bellowed, making Jake jolt backwards. You let out a cry, burying your face into the back of his massive bag.

The bear safety facts from the class the park rangers made you take before you ventured into the park are conveniently missing from your mind. All except the one you whisper harshly, "They tell you not to run."

Jake's voice cut through the tension. "Well, if we can't run, I guess now's a good time to see who can yell louder?"

"You really want to start a shouting match now?!"

"Were you paying any attention in that safety class? Running. No. Yelling. Yes. Surely, between the two of us, we can manage that!"

"I was doing that before it decided to show up! What makes you think that's not the reason it sought us out, dumbass?"

"Because I refuse to believe my sparkling personality is what attracts bears!"

You laughed sharply as the bear seemed to be weighing its options. You were not sure why it hadn't decided to charge the two of you yet, but you would have bet good money it had to do with the scars littered across its body.

"You called for one the other night, remember? Practically pulled a Dory!"

"Don't hate on a children's Icon, Midge!"

"I'm hating on you for what you did to me! They aren't mutually exclusive things!"

Jake took a careful step forward, testing the waters. You shuffled with him, eager to put space between you and the ledge. The creature tilted its head as if pressing its ear to the ground. Then, without warning, it let out a deep, resonating roar directly at the both of you. You buried your face into Jake's backpack again, trying not to scream.

"That was probably not one of my best ideas."

Your voice was muffled against the fabric. "Want me to make a list?"

Jake's laugh was nervous. "Only if I can make one for you."

The bear, seemingly unimpressed by your banter, shifted its weight, causing Jake and you to tense up again.

"Thinking yelling at a bear would actually work as a deterrent is on it."

"We're supposed to yell at it, not at each other."

"You think it can tell the difference?" you asked him, your voice pitchy. "It doesn't matter who or what we are yelling at."

Jake managed a strained smile.  "Common ground. Wow, we're practically bonding over here."

"Because nothing brings people closer like shared trauma," you snap, fear sharpening your words. "I'm tripping you first."

"I'm leaving you behind."

"I'll feed you to the bear myself."

"I run faster, scared than you do, mad."

"Hang on, let me find a stick and shove it up your ass."

Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Now there's the Midge I know."

Peering over Jake's arm, the bear made a sudden, decisive lunge forward with a single paw, claws extended, as if taunting its prey, waiting to see if the two of you would scramble. The move was unexpectedly aggressive, and it sent the two of you scrambling backwards in panic.

Neither of you realized how close to the cliff's edge you actually were. Only when your boots slid again on gravel, and you were brought back to a few moments ago when you nearly fell over yourself.

"Jake! The cliff!" you cried out, desperately trying to push on his backpack. You could feel it, one or maybe two more inches, and you'd be slipping off the edge.

"Hang on to me!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" You shot back, your words laced with adrenaline-fueled irritation and fear. However, you did find your grip miraculously tightening further to anchor yourself to him. But you couldn't with your injured hand, trying desperately to wind it through the straps across the bag instead.

Jake's mind flickered rapidly between the bear and the crackling stone beneath his feet. "Okay, new plan. We let it charge, and we dodge."

"And your an action movie junkie, that's never going to work!" you rushed out. 

"What else do we have, Midge?!"

Honestly? Nothing.

Jake widened his stance, almost as if he was sizing up the bear. You mirrored his movement as best you could, though it seemed futile with your smaller stature.

"When I move, you move!" Jake's voice was sharp, a clear command, and if this were any other circumstance, your instinctive retort would have been a defiant, "Don't tell me what to do!"

For this?

 Nope. Have at it, Jake. Maybe they'll let me torture you in hell.

It was stupid. Idiotic even. But what else could the two of you do? You were literally boxed in—no way to go.

Then something popped under your foot. And above the frantic beating of your heart, more menacing than the bear's growls, came a sickly sound that made your blood run cold.

An ominous crack.

What followed was worse - a series of smaller yet equally sinister sounds and the feeling of pieces of stone wobbling beneath your feet. You didn't dare look down, for you already knew.

The damn cliff was falling apart.

"Jake!"  Your voice was desperate, trying to pierce through his concentration. But he hadn't heard you, solely focused on when this bear would finally decide to leap. Or maybe he did and thought it was you being scared.

You shoved at his back, but he was like a brick wall, and you had nothing to ground yourself with.

You shouldn't have tried to push him, either. The second you tried to apply some force behind another shove, a chunk of stone came loose, allowing the ground beneath your feet to give away.

You dropped with a cry, legs knocking hard into the fragmented pieces of stone, and you found yourself dangling, held aloft solely by the one strap of Jake's backpack. The elastic straps around your wrist had already snapped against your bandage, freeing your arm, and it waved out, reaching for something that had never been there in the first place.

Jake fell backwards at the weight, causing him to step back at an angle. He called out your name and tried to keep his eyes on the bear while trying to reach for you blindly. You were trying to bring your legs up to a section of stone that looked stable enough to not give under pressure so you might be able to grab his hand. But with how heavy your pack was, you couldn't gain enough momentum to swing your leg over, no matter how hard you tried.

Suddenly, his hand gripped the bend of your elbow hard enough that you were sure there would be bruises if either of you managed to get out of this in one piece.

"Let go, Midge! I'll pull you up!"

"The bear!"

"It's still deciding which one of us to eat first!"

"Don't take your eyes off it!"

"What do you think I'm doing? Picking daisies?!"

You weren't sure what was louder—the bear's unsettling clacking or the ominous sounds of stone shifting ominously under Jake's weight. The truth was, you didn't want to find out.

You let go, entrusting your entire weight into Jake's hold, crying out when you dropped a few inches. But whether it was your cry or Jake needing to ensure your safety over his own, he dared to take his eyes off the bear to glance over his shoulder.

That was all it took for everything to happen all at once.

The brief shift in his gaze, the twist of his waist, and the slight lean were enough to unsettle the already compromised ground beneath him. With a heart-sinking crack, the remaining piece of the cliffside he was perched on gave way.

The bear roared, charging forward at the prospect of losing its meal.  And Jake lost his balance, using the momentum to twist his body to fully face you, some last-minute attempt to ensure your safety if he could, with a look of a thousand promises he could never make nor keep.

But you didn't see it. You were too busy watching the last crumbling stone disappear from underneath Jake's boots before gravity took over, cruel and unforgiving, as you finally started to fall.

For a breathless moment, you were suspended in the air, Jake's figure falling forward with you, nothing but white overcast clouds behind him. His hand was still gripping your elbow, and his eyes were wide, the realization of what was about to occur striking him hard.

With a final decisive tug born out of desperation, Jake pulled you close as he tumbled over, your face colliding with the solid wall of his chest. His other arm wrapped around your back, around your bag, his body twisting mid-air with you in his grasp, ensuring in the split second before gravity claimed its due, you were on top of him, not beneath.

Then, with a terrifying rush, the two of you fell, the ground rushing up to greet you both. Another roar of the bear above faded into the roar of the wind in your ears. With the pit forming in the pit of your stomach, above the wind, the scream you produced vibrating against Jake's chest was worse.

What happened after that, you couldn't recall.

The world didn't fade but snapped to black.

Had to throw the cliffhanger in there somewhere? 😂😅💛

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Part 7 - My Blood - In-progress

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Giving Spencer Head for The First Time [Spencer x Reader]

Warnings: 18+, Graphic Depictions of Oral Sex (M Receiving), Handjob, Inexperienced Spencer, Submissive Spencer, Teasing, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

From between Spencer’s thighs, looking up at him beneath your lashes, you could see his chest heave, his lips parted and his eyes hooded as he looked upon you. On your knees, you placed your hand on his, held him, kept him grounded. And you smiled.

“You can back out if you want to,” you said, voice low and incongruous to the compromising scene unfolding. Spencer’s trousers lay pooled at his ankles, and, squeezing his thigh with a feather-light softness, you watched him swallow thickly, his eyes squeeze shut, then open as he tried to gain some semblance of control over his body. Which, if the rate at which his cock was stiffening was anything to go by, you could see he was failing to do.

“No, no—“ he said with haste, shaking his head, eyes widening. “I want to — I really do. It’s just…” His flickering gaze settled on you, and, with all the patience in the world, you sat back in your calves, looked up at him and waited for an answer. You never broke eye contact once.

“I’m just worried that…” Spencer’s fists clenched, unclenched, his knuckles whitening. He swallowed again. “Just scared I won’t do it correctly,” 

You felt your heart thrum, the quiet tone of Spencer’s voice leaving you with the insatiable need to care for him, to reassure him. Your smile widened, eyes crinkling beneath the weight of your friend’s genuine nature. You swore something akin to doubt flashed in his eyes. You sought to alleviate him of it.

“Spence,” you said, limbo-low. Your hands slid up to the precipice of his thighs. Squeezed. His breath staggered. “You don’t have to do anything.” You shifted as you felt your calves grow numb. “Just let me take care of you,” You pressed your lips to his thigh, chaste even amidst the situation. Spencer gasped. Quiet.

“You ready, Big Boy ?” Your eyes shone as you gazed up at him. And, in that second, Spencer forgot anything and everything that wasn’t you.

He nodded, for he did not trust his voice would not betray him and belie the fried-nerve feeling of ants crawling beneath his skin, of butterflies in his stomach. You wore your smile, never faltering for a moment. And, turning your attention to where Spencer needed you most, with careful, eager hands, you traced your nails up the sides of his thighs, coming to stop only at the waistband of his boxers.

You could see the wet patch forming at the front. Before you could allow Spencer to anticipate what you would do, you ran your tongue across the cotton, tasting salt and warmth. Spencer’s breath shuttered, eyes screwing shut, head thrown back. The space between your legs warmed at the sound of the beginning of Spencer’s unravellment.

This whole situation has been the by-product of a discussion between yourself and Spencer, who, after being grilled as to who his most memorable sexual encounter was, cracked.

“Never had one before,” he told you, staring down into his glass, tracing the rim with a slender finger. Ruminating. He didn’t — couldn’t — look at you, even as you drew close, eyes wide and lips parted. You refused to believe him at first, but the unmistakable flush of pink on his cheeks and the shallow glow in his eyes told you that he was in fact being truthful. You had no clue as to how you’d never come to learn this before, especially since you and Spencer had been best friends for years. But, as you asked him to “Look at me, Spence. Please,” you realised why.

He was embarrassed.

You knew he’d held some shallow insecurity towards never having scored a date with anyone before, despite you telling him many times that: 1.) he could date anyone he wanted because he was an incredible person (and very attractive), and 2.) if he actually went up to someone and asked them out, he’d stand a much higher chance of actually going on a date. But alas, Spencer had never tried. And so, here you were. Until, from somewhere within the back of your mind, perhaps the culmination of fantasies you’d never even think to divulge to your dearest friend, that an idea volunteered itself.

“We’ll,” you said, looking down at Spencer’s drink, trying not to find his gaze. “What if…I helped you ?”

To that, Spencer simply looked up at you, the crease between his brow forming as he considered (and likely tried to discern) what you were suggesting. You bit the inside of your lip, sucked at the gum, and elucidated. “What if I gave you an experience so you…don’t feel as bad about it anymore ?” Your heart hammered in your chest. You liked Spencer, truly, you did, and the idea of not only being rejected by him, but losing your friendship, haunted you. And yet, you had no idea why you suggested such an idea. But, after a second’s silence, then two, then three, Spencer seemed to boot up again, his eyes widening.

“You…you would do that for me ?” He said, voice almost quivering, thin. You smiled, placed a hand atop his and squeezed it.

“What are besties for ?”

And so, here you were; stationed between Spencer’s legs, mouthing the cloth restraining his member. You could feel the force with which Spencer gripped the comforter, his head lying against the backrest of the sofa. Tracing the stiffening shape of him with eager lips, you hooked your fingers over the edges of his underwear, tugging them down. Pulling back, you dragged your nails down the expanse of his thighs, felt goosebumps form along his skin in your wake. His cock was only half-visible to you, bulging beneath the cotton as if trying to escape. You slid his boxers so far before Spencer’s weight prevented you from relinquishing him of his burden. Your voice sang to him, called to him: “Spence, Sweetie, I need you to lift your hips for me,”

He did so, though without full commitment as he could only find enough strength and will to bring his hips an inch or two from the sofa before dropping back down. Meanwhile, you slid his boxers over his knees, heard them drop to his ankles, disturbing the buckle of his belt and causing a minute clink to be heard.

Spencer was long, veiny, his tip already reddening, beading with pre. You watched for a moment, took in all the details and twitches and the most prominent vein. You felt your core tighten.

Evidently, you must have been admiring Spencer for too long as, cracking an eye open, lips parted. He looked down at you. “What is it ?” He asked, that same quiet, thin tone as when you’d confronted him earlier present in his voice. Panic, perhaps. Or the tides of his insecurity lapping at his consciousness again. You placed your hands back on his thighs, rubbed up, down, saw his eye twitch. You smiled.

“Just seeing what a big boy you are,”

You saw Spencer’s chest stutter, his eye twitch and his lips pull further apart, as if trying to mouth around some invisible mass. Felt his breath halt. You leaned in, unravelled your tongue and, in full view of Spencer, flattened your wet muscle to the base of his cock. Spencer gasped, gripping the comforter, his hands gloves with white-hot strain. You drew your tongue up the length of his shaft, slow, deliberate. The sound of Spencer’s whining cut through to your core, sparking electricity within. As well as another idea.

You stopped just short of the tip, thin, viscous streaks of pre tingling on your tongue. Your breath hit against the sensitive skin of Spencer’s shaft; sent a shiver up his spine. And, when you didn’t move, remaining steadfast, Spencer’s eye cracked open, pupils gleaming and dark. “(Y/N)—“ he breathed. “Why…why’d you stop ?”

You felt yourself growing more and more feral by the minute; especially as that worried look crossed his disposition. You restrained yourself, resisted the urge to pounce on him and fuck him silly right now. You retracted. Spencer’s body twitched, he leaned up by a fraction, as if to reach out to pull you back. You knew you had him eating out of your palm, and if you were to be his first, you would be memorable. You’d make sure of it.

“Beg for it.”

Such a simple command, and yet Spencer only looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you spoke a language that did not yet exist. One beyond his fathom.

“I said—“ you brought a hand to the base of his shaft, took the girth between your fingers. You squeezed. Spencer yelled, his back arched and eyes screwed shut. A crease formed between his brows, the veins along his forehead starting to bulge.

“Beg for it.”

Spencer breathed heavily, his chest heaving, his hold on the blanket pulsating, the ebbing forming in his stomach tightening. Quietude. Then, he swallowed. Licked his lips. “Please (Y/N),” he said breathless, voice malnourished and skeletal. You could hear the cracks forming and you hadn’t even given him head yet.

“I need you — please, please touch me—“

You gave his shaft another squeeze, harder this time. He gasped, threw his head back over the lip of the backrest, his mouth hanging open. “Please,” he whispered.

You felt a sharp, cruel smile cross your features. And you made no effort to hide it.

“I’m barely touching you and you’re already whimpering. I have half a mind to just leave you like this and watch you struggle to get yourself off,” You let go of him, brought your hand to your mouth to spit into it. But that second of removed contact was too much as Spencer’s eyes snapped open, widened, doe and helpless, and searched for you.

“No!” He whined, softly enough to let you know that you possessed his submission, held all the cards, but packing enough volume that you could hear just how desperately he needed you. His fingers unfurled from the comforter; he looked to sit up. You got up onto your feet, your hand shooting out and flattening against his chest. You served him a sharp look, pushed him – persuaded him – to lie back down. His heart pounded beneath your touch.

“I call the shots here, Spence. Don’t make me angry or I’ll leave you all alone.”

He blinked at you, lips parted and gobsmacked. His gaze dropped to the floor, his lips threading together in resignation  — submission. He obeyed, lay back. You smiled. 

“Good boy.”

Now, hand lubricated, you got onto your knees, attached your fingers to the base of Spencer’s cock and felt him pulse. His tip was even more red than before, leaking profusely. 

“Hmm, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen anyone get this worked up so quickly.” You told him. You worked your hand towards the tip, falling just short before descending to the base again. Spencer’s chest fluttered, his breath shuttering, a light moan laced between his feathered panting. The closest thing to a cohesive response.

“I always thought you’d be big, but never this big,” you continued. As pre wept from his tip, you gathered it beneath your hand, used it to slip your hand up and down the expanse off his shaft with artificial ease. Faster. Your core clenched; you bit your lip. “Always wondered how you’d feel inside me,”

You gave Spencer another squeeze, grip tightening around his cock. He moaned — yelped — high-pitched and restless as your words reached him, stirred electricity in his centre. That, and the hold you had on him, enacting what he’d only ever been able to dream about.

Already, you could tell he was getting close. Even after only a few minutes, you could feel him twitching in ways he hadn’t earlier, seen the way he bit his lip, trying to keep from permeating the air with his moans. Telltale signs you’d witnessed in him before. Only once, when you’d heard him pleasuring himself, and when you’d peaked in, he was on the precipice. Making the same face as he did now. He never lasted long. Even by his own hand, he’d fall victim to an orgasm sooner rather than later. And you knew he wouldn’t last long now, especially with someone else pumping him, bringing him to the edge.

“You close, Baby?” Your voice was soft and concerned. The song of deception. Spencer, with his eyes squeezed shut and his faculties long since scattered to the four winds, nodded, the gesture a chore with his head bent over the back of the sofa. But not lost on you. “Use your words, Spence.” 

“Ye-yes,” he fumbled, voice weak, barely capable of standing on its own. Cracking.

“Look at me,” you said, firming your voice. Your wrist was starting to ache, but you persevered, feeling an expanding wetness between your legs become apparent as the sound of squelching and breathy, virgin moans filled the space.

Spencer, perhaps out of fear of you leaving him high and dry, or a simple carnal need to finish, could only open his eyes. His body had little strength or will to make him sit up, to give you anything more than a glistening, pleading, half-lidded stare; a symphony of euphoria the soundtrack to your front-seat viewing of his destruction.

“Am I the first person who’s ever touched you like this?” You knew the answer. You just wanted to hear him say it. Wanted him to admit to how you were unravelling him, inch by inch, strand by strand. His lips fell apart, but no answer prevailed. Particularly when you brushed over a sensitive spot just shy of the tip — one you’d intentionally missed before. He moaned, loudly, his back arching into your touch, eyes clenching shut.

“Oh no, you will answer me,” you said. Your grip on his dick began to loosen, soften. The sound of panic - hyperventilation - fell from Spencer’s lips.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, voice cut and scathed with ecstasy. “Yes– god, yes! you are–”

You bit the inside of your lip, the urge to relieve yourself of the heaviness forming in your core, the electric euphoria growing there, becoming too all-encompassing to ignore.

“Did you imagine that your first would be me?” This was a genuine question. Not that you’d stop now if the answer was anything other than what you wanted to hear. But still, the ego trip would be worth the risk.

Spencer quietened. A second’s deliberation to cross an already destroyed boundary from which neither of you could ever return. Long enough for your heart to slip and drop.

“Yes,” Spencer breathed, quieter than before “Only you.” 

And bounce back.

Fireworks fizzled in your chest, the urge to smile burned your cheeks. Your newfound vigour showed as you moved faster, hungry still, across Spencer’s shaft. He cried out.

“Mmm, good boy,” you said, voice glazed with a sweetness. “Being so honest.”

He was on the verge now. One step from falling into the throws of an orgasm.

“(Y/N),” he whimpered. He almost sounded scared, afraid of the static euphoria threatening to overtake him, to send him spiralling into a bursting, rippling, all-consuming ecstasy. His hands gripped at the sofa beneath him — whatever was within his grasp — leaving marks where his nails clawed at the fabric. “I’m so close—“

“I know, Baby,” you said. You smiled, thin and pensive. “I know.”

Without warning, you released him. Sat back on your calves and watched the scene unfold.

You thought he hadn’t noticed at first with how his breathing remained hasted, stumbling and staggering with breathy moans, whines and gasps. But, as the seconds rolled by, you saw the crease in Spencer’s brow deepen. Then his eyes slipped open. He saw you, sat back, doing nothing but gaze at him, doing nothing to alleviate the heavy, sopping, red, ravenous monster between his thighs. The one you had created. He groaned, hard. Whined.

“Why…why’d you stop?” He asked, his voice gaining volume the longer he was left unattended. The pleasure in his stomach was beginning to ebb away, fleeing him, shedding. He wrapped a hand about his base, and, biting his lip, tried to finish what you’d started. 

Not that you’d let that happen.

You came out of nowhere, grabbing Spencer’s wrist, bent it ‘til he winced, mouth widened in a silent cry, and his fingers slipped from his cock. Your face, narrowed and harsh, scowled.

“Oh no,” you said, almost tutted. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

“W-what?” His voice was high with incredulity, breathless with betrayal. “Why?” You couldn’t ignore the sound of betrayal, of injustice, in Spencer’s voice. It made something between your legs tighten. You leaned closer, and, as if to mirror you, so did Spencer.

“Because I wanna see you screaming and crying and begging by the time I’m through with you.”

You scarcely gave Spencer time to unpack your statement before you took his softening member between your lips and slid your tongue across the tip. Spencer cried out, hips rutting up in reflex, his body acting if it’s own accord. He gasped, breath knocked out of him.

You could taste salt as your lips engulfed the tip, allowing Spencer the small mercy of accustoming himself to this new feeling before overloading him. It was potent, viscous and sticky, having dried some before you book him into your mouth. You sucked, gently, and watched Spencer’s face scrunch up, his teeth bared as the foreign feeling of being touched by someone other than himself settled in his core. You hummed, the vibration causing Spencer to groan, his vein to twitch.

Your tongue lay flat against the side of his member as you mother the tip, descending an inch and taking more of him into your waiting cavern. You know Spencer would be long, but after what you’d seen — felt — you knew he would be a challenge. And you weren’t one to back down.

“(Y-Y/N)”, Spencer whispered. “Please, please— suck me,”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You filled your lungs with as much air as they could carry and took another inch. Spencer jumped, a shock of euphoria, and clenched his fists. Gasped. You sucked. Hard. Spencer cried out, moaned, his back arching and forcing another inch into you. You suppressed a gag as he grew closer to the back of your throat, focussing instead on tracing his most prominent vein with your tongue.

“Right there—“ he gasped, “Please, don’t stop,”

His pleading was difficult to ignore. Dismiss. You sucked, pulled yourself up to his tip before plunging back down on him again. A ceaseless, remorseless rhythm. And Spencer could only let it happen. Your name fell from between his lips just as you’d always pictured it would; pleading and desperate. Anguished at the prospect of denial. He writhed beneath your touch, held down only by your hands gripping his thighs, inching closer and closer to his with every passing second, leaving crescent grooves in the sensitive skin just shy of his groin.

Your cheeks, hollowed, showcased an enthusiasm — and competition — you’d never exhibited before. Your steadfast need to be Spencer’s first and last; to be all that he could ever dream and more. To show him he’ll never have it as good as you can give him.

On a withdrawal, you took a deep breath and, preparing yourself for what was about to come next, took more of him, swallowed an inch or two more. The tip of your nose was tickled by dark, curled hairs. You persevered, the warmth of Spencer’s body drawing you in. You could smell the soap he’d used to wash himself with earlier that day.

At the sudden engulfment, Spencer gasped, his hips lifting as his stomach tightened, spasmed. He only seemed able to return to form when you squeezed his thighs, a silent command. You could feel him twitching. He’d be close soon. Very soon. And you had no intention of stopping him this time.

With a sly hand, your fingers slid closer to Spencer’s groin until you were just a centimetre from your goal. You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, saw the effect you were having on him: panting, moaning, forehead beading with sweat and his eyes welded shut as he tried to acclimatise to this gifted euphoria — to the many shades of ecstasy you draped him in. Your name was a spell written on his tongue, your touch the key that fit into his soul. His missing link. Everything he’s ever needed.

With slow, creeping fingers, you slid your palm beneath Spencer’s member, felt for what you were searching for. Found them.

You wrapped your fingers around his balls, and, at the unforeseen contact, Spencer let out a shrill gasp, jumping as you handled the sensitive skin. Your heart almost leapt into your throat as Spencer’s movement disrupted your rhythm, and you stopped. His eyes shot open and he stiffened. You glared back up at him, all that you needed to say written in your stare. Sit back down. Now.

And, as you ran your thumb over the skin, gently, Spencer’s breathing evened out. The ebbing of his phantom orgasm reminded him of all he needed to do. He sat back against the sofa for what you would make sure would be the last time. With a firm band, you let Spencer know exactly how little authority he had here. You gave his balls a squeeze. His half-lidded eyes glued shut once again as any neglect he may have been feeling faded away, replaced instead by a spasming between his legs, a twitching in his cock. You felt it, too. You almost grinned.

You resumed your pace before Spencer’s orgasm could elude him for a second time, sucking his cock, slipping your tongue in the groove of his tip, tasting the salty residue as it collected in your throat, just thin enough to cling to the inside. A reminder. And your handling of his testicles left Spencer almost welding himself to the sofa, pushing himself further and further into the fabric; anything to prolong this feeling — to not lose his sanity as you brought him hurtling towards salvation.

He was leaking profusely, practically draining himself of his fluids as his body clenched and perspired and quivered beneath your touch. Spencer wasn’t even forming words anymore, your name lost amidst the newly-formed tears bundling and streaking his cheeks; the half-thoughts and breathless moans that permeated the room, reminded you that this was in fact real. And, in the last moments before Spencer’s crashing end, you looked up at him.

Breathtaking may have been an understatement;  with his brunette tendrils sprawled behind him, his hairline and forehead dampened with sweat, tears slipping from between his eyes, he could have been the attribute — the image — of Humanity’s greatest Vices: Lust.

You knew you were in the last stretch. You just had to bring it home.

Gorging yourself on Spencer’s aching, sobbing member, you massages his balls in your hand, your fingers pulsing around them, squeezing them, moulding them. The ache in your throat and your jaw scarcely reached your mind as you dedicated yourself to breaking Spencer. Once and for all. And, as he practically wept, chest heaving and stuttering as he cried, panted, moaned, you swallowed, tightly, around his cock, making sure the tightest part of your throat engulfed his swollen tip.

Time stopped. Spencer’s jaw unhinged, his back arched, his heels dug into the floor. A second passed. Then, a strangled, wanton, anguished moan tore from the depths of his very being, a banshee scream as something within him snapped. Then, ecstasy. Sheer, unencumbered euphoria — the likes of which his infinitely ingenious mind couldn’t even begin to conjure.

“(Y-Y/N)!“ he cried, his voice tangling about your name like vines, tethering his very soul to you, your angel touch. Thick ropes of semen flowed from his tip, stray beads filling your mouth, coating your tongue, while the rest slid down your throat. You swallowed, both to prolong the waves of Spencer’s orgasm — the sculpture of Desire his face has become — and to glean the viscosity, the rawness, of Spencer’s load. Every time you swallowed, he moaned, helpless, his voice losing power with every excursion. Wilting. Leaving him capable now only of whining when your throat constricted him, milked him for all he was worth.

A minute passed. Spencer remained pinned to the sofa, weighted by his own fatigue. His eyes were no longer bolted shut but rather seemed to rest, the harsh lines protruding from the corners as he clenched them tightly receding, leaving him with an expression of the most serene. His cock still twitched every once in a while, but you could feel him softening by the second. He was spent, that much you knew. You withdrew, slowly, making sure that the both of you heard the obscene friction between your cum-coated tongue and his saliva-sodden member, ensuring you left a parting flick of your tongue across his slit, sending a jolt through him.

You sat back on your calves, panted. The haze which had overcome you, driven you to the extreme of taking Spencer to the edge of insanity and back, was beginning to settle, solidifying and sealing away your  possessive streak until it would be called into enlistment again. The taste of Spencer lingered in your mouth, beneath the crevices of your aching tongue, between your teeth. Your cheeks, tinted warm with exertion, we’re hot to the touch, your forehead moist with beads of sweat. Evidence of your doings.

Eventually, his breathing evening out, Spencer cracked his eyes open, chocolate pupils glistening, as if lit by the illumination of a third, newly opened eye. Realisation. He swallowed, Adam’s apple dipping and rising, and licked his lips.

“Did—“ his voice rasped. He flinched. “Did you finish?”

You suppressed a laugh and opted instead for a smile. For a super genius, Spencer really didn’t know much. You brushed the gap between his thighs, rested your arms atop them like planks of wood, and perched your chin atop them.

“That’s not how it works, Spence,” you said. The heat between your legs was receding, though a wetness remained, threaded into the fabric of your underwear. You shifted, tried to move so you couldn’t feel it. “But thank you for your consideration.”

Spencer looked down at you beneath hooded eyes. Light no longer danced in them with lust, an internal partner. Instead, something else dwelled.

A fractional whimsy, perhaps. Or…

Eagerness.

“Why don’t you teach me how it works, then?”

Your gaze, softening as fatigue overtook you, sharpened. Your brow furrowed, lips parted. Pupils dilated.

You were surprised.

When you didn’t say anything, Spencer leaned forward, finally able to muster the strength to do so, and met you. The top of his nose, button, tapped yours. He smiled. A watery, uncertain, yet enthused smile.

Regardless of how scarcely you believed it — how confident your dear, sweet, inexperienced Spencer had become — you refused to let the chance pass you by. And you smiled, wide and unabashed, and, one hand coming to grip his tie, you pressed your nose to his, peered into his eyes.

“I’d like nothing more, Doctor Reid,” you said, pulling him in by his tie and pressing your lips to his. And there, you could feel his smile broaden.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

hi!! I have a request, if it hasn't already been taken, for kinktober! Maybe a Feanor x AFAB reader and age difference/first time?? I was thinking that maybe she's his apprentice in the forge and though he didn't like her at first, he grows a liking to her. However, he feels a little guilty due to her being the same age as Maedhros (I'll let you decide what to do with Nerdanel 😅). Maybe they're working really late night and he finally snaps? Anyways, thank you!! Your writing is so awesome and I can't wait to read all your kinktober fics!! ❤️

I hope you like this!

"Arrangement"

Pairing: Fëanáro x Fem (18+ AFAB) reader

Themes: SMUT/NSFT

Warnings: Kissing | Age difference | Nipple Play | First time | Oral sex | Masturbation | Penetrative sex | Open/Poly marriage

Wordcount: 3.8K

Summary: After an outburst, Fëanáro makes a stunning confession while the two of you are alone in the forge.

Minors DNI | 18+

Fëanáro stood right behind you, his arms on his hips. “Take care when bending the prongs, y/n,” he cautioned sternly. “Gold so pure can twist and break very easily.”

“Of course, my lord,” you replied. Your attention never left the ring resting in its stand, nor did your hands shake while you bent each prong, slowly and carefully, over a flawless green emerald. Still, it proved to be a most daunting task. The gold was still warm and quite malleable, you had never crafted anything this fine before, and Fëanáro insisted on peering over your shoulder. That unnerved you far more than even the precious object taking shape beneath your hands. The firstborn son of Finwë never seemed to think highly of you or your skills as an apprentice smith. He never fully revealed the extent of his dislike of you, but you still saw it in his less-than-pleased eyes, and you heard it in the harsh bite in his voice. Perhaps, by doing well with this new craft, you would be able to please him for once.

The ring was now complete. Fëanáro circled around you, picked it up as gently as he would a delicate leaf, and held it to a nearby lamp, turning it this way and that within the light. His body was stiff, as it always was whenever he was around you. Nevertheless, he regarded the ring intently. As of this moment, he could perceive no discernible flaw.

“This will do,” he murmured, placing the ring upon a smooth marble slab resting on the workbench. The gold will cool soon. Then it would be presented to the one who desired it made, a noblewoman who wished to offer it as a courtship gift. “You may put away your tools and go home now, y/n.”

A sliver praise was better than no praise, especially from an elf as skilled as he. “Thank you, my lord,” you said, rising.

The ritual of setting the forge to rights was second nature to you now. Tools were returned to their proper places in shelves and drawers and racks. Your belt and gloves you hung on hooks driven into the wall, and your apron also. Fëanáro saw to the dousing of the furnace fire while you occupied yourself with dusting the workbenches, closing the shutters, and sweeping the floor. No one besides him or those equally skilled at the task were allowed to do so.

“Everything is as it should be,” you remarked after placing the broom in its little cupboard. The forge was now as neat and clean as it could be, but perhaps there was something you did not think of doing. “Is there aught else for me to do?”

Fëanáro did not turn to face you. He kept facing the furnace instead. “None, y/n,” he replied curtly. “You may leave now. In fact, I insist that you do.”

His tone gave you pause. “Have I displeased you, my lord?” You asked, glancing back over your shoulder. The ring gleamed upon the marble slab, its jewel burning like green fire. “Is the ring actually not to your liking?”

The elf’s back stiffened. “Please, leave.”

“My lord,” you said, stepping toward him, “I…”

“Get out!” Fëanáro roared, frightening you into taking a step back.

“Of course, my lord,” you mumble and turn in your haste to leave. “My pardons, my lord. I did not mean to anger you so.”

The doors seemed so far away, even when all it took was a few quick strides to reach them. Yet reach for them you did, your fingers fumbling with the heavy doorknobs and the heavier doors. They were always left this way for Fëanáro did not care for distractions, except for those presented by his wife or sons. The others were allowed entry only if they came on a matter of importance. If not, they were sent away.

So intent were you on trying to pull them open that you did not hear footsteps coming toward you, nor did you see the tall shadow falling across heavy oak adorned with silver and gold. A large hand fell over your hand, hindering you from unlocking the doors.

“Forgive me for shouting,” Fëanáro said. He was so close you could feel his breath against your hair. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Fëanáro asking for forgiveness from anyone who was not his wife, his children, or even his father, was a rare thing. You swallowed and held onto your courage. You needed it for what you were about to say next.

“Why are you always displeased with me, my lord?” you inquired. The hand over yours trembled, and then it fell away. You turned around and looked up at your teacher. “Am I not good enough to serve as your apprentice?”

”You are worthy,” Fëanáro returned. His face was a mask; it gave nothing away. “You may be too spirited for your own good, but you have skill. I can see it in the ring you just made.”

“Is that a bad thing, my lord,” you said, your curiosity piqued, “being too spirited?”

“It can be, when you are in the forge.” Fëanáro reached out and lifted your braid. His fingers brushed over the silk ribbon adorning your hair. “There are many dangers present in places such as this y/n, dangers novices such as yourself do not easily see. It can blind you to them, and lead you to harm. It can also stop you from being all you could truly be.”

“Then why did you shout at me?”

“I needed you to leave. I still need you to leave. Please do not ask me to tell you why.”

He turned sharply on his heel and walked away, dimming the lamps while he did so. And, despite his plea—despite being gratified that you did not fail as an apprentice—you followed him. You needed to know why he touched your hair the way he did and why he needed you to be gone. Perhaps it was unwise to go after him in this fashion, but you believed you had no other choice.

“You must tell me, my lord,” you implored, trying to keep up with him. “Please tell me. Perhaps I can help you.”

“I cannot,” Fëanáro told you. He walked to the back of the forge, where a chamber made just for him lay. It was where he devised his newest creation, or where he went when he desired a few moments to rest and free himself from the weariness of his labors before returning to his family. “Please, y/n. I cannot tell you.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” you began, “but if you could just tell me what it is that is troubling you, perhaps I can—”

Fëanáro gave you no time to finish speaking. He muttered an oath, whirled around, gathered you into his arms, and kissed you. His kiss was full of fire and hunger, and it was so powerful it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

“This is why I shouted at you.” Fëanáro stepped back, his gray eyes now uncommonly dark. “This is why I wanted you to leave. Now do you understand, y/n?”

His confession stunned you. “You are already wed!” you exclaimed, horrified by what happened. If word reached the others, your reputation and his would be ruined. “You have a wife, my lord, and children!”

“Yes,” Fëanáro said. “My children. You are of an age as Nelyafinwë. So young.” 

“And your wife?” You demanded. “What of Lady Nerdanel? She will not take kindly to an intruder upon her marriage.”

“Do not fear my lady’s wrath.” Fëanáro smiled. It was the same arrogant, satisfied smile he wore whenever he knew something was in his favor. “For it was she who perceived my desire for you long before I did so myself. She will bear you no ill will. In fact, my lady asks, no, insists, that I invite you to join us, should you wish to do so, that is. She desires you also.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe a word. “How do I know you are not uttering falsehoods, my lord? Others have done the same to convince a reluctant companion to share their bed.”

“I can show you, if that is what you wish.” Fëanáro extended his hand, his smile never leaving his lips. Many a maiden, and more than a few lords, deemed his smile a powerful weapon. Only a rare few could resist the spell it laid upon others. “Take my hand and open your thoughts to me, y/n. You will see that I am not uttering falsehoods.”

You closed your eyes and did as you were bid, your curiosity overcoming your fear. Fëanáro’s hand was large and warm, and still smooth despite a long life of crafting and wielding heavy tools. It did not tremble this time; it was unwavering instead. 

Memories that were not your own rushed at you like a flood. You breathed deeply and remembered your teachings. You sought the memories you were meant to see: Fëanáro standing in the shadows, watching you contend with molten iron while jesting with another elf. He was visibly exasperated by your conduct, but he was also afraid for your safety.  Fëanáro appeared again, this time smiling to himself as he watched you present Tyelkormo with a blunted dagger crafted to fit an elfling’s hands, and then he laughed quietly when you chased Tyelkormo around the forge in a desperate attempt to stop him from using it on an unsuspecting elf. Fëanáro then appeared a third time. In this memory, his eyes followed your every step like a lover’s would.

“You yearn for y/n, my love,” Nerdanel said in the vision that appeared after the others. She and her husband were alone, breaking their fast on porridge and honey and little fish roasted to crackling. Bowls of apples and pears and berries stood amidst them. Every other aspect of the chamber was shrouded in swirling shadows. “I cannot fault you for that, truly. Y/n is quite skilled, and she certainly draws the eye. Have you spoken to her?”

 “I have not,” Fëanáro sputtered, much to his wife’s amusement. He made no attempt to conceal his feelings; he knew Nerdanel would be insulted if he did. “I will not betray you, my love. I will not approach another for companionship.”

“What if I were to give you my blessing? Will you approach y/n then?”

“Why would you even suggest such a notion?”

“Because I can,” Nerdanel declared, beaming and spreading her fair hands. “And because, much like you, I find myself desiring your apprentice also. Perhaps we can all come to an arrangement of our liking.”

“But she is so young,” Fëanáro confessed. Nerdanel’s hearty consent and willingness to partake pleased him in a way he could not describe, but he still hesitated. Your young years had to be considered. “Y/n is the same age as Nelyo. You and I could very well be her firsts. The prospect of bedding you and I together may frighten her.”

“That is indeed true,” Nerdanel agreed. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin and lost herself in thought. After a while, she spoke again. “Here is what I propose you do.”

Suddenly, the memory of husband and wife talking and conspiring disappeared like a mist burning away in the sun. Fëanáro shrouded his thoughts and brought you back to the here and now. “Do you believe me now, y/n?”

“Yes.” There was no denying the matter; Fëanáro was indeed speaking the truth. “But to lay with you and her both…I do not know how I could even think of such a thing, my lord.”

“I understand,” Fëanáro said, his hand still in yours. “Which is why my lady proposed you and I become… better acquainted with each other first. Later, you can share her bed. And of course, the both of us after that.”

“I see.” You flushed from cheek to chest when Fëanáro knitted his fingers around yours and drew you closer. “But if this is what you seek, and your lady consents to us laying together, why did you try to chase me away before?”

“You are of an age as Nelyo, y/n,” Fëanáro reminded you. He reached out and caressed your hair, your cheek. Your throat went dry when he ran his thumb across your lips. “You are young, despite having already come of age. You should be with those your age, instead of cleaving to one as long-lived as me. It did not feel right.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. The sight of it made his breath hitch. “And what if I say yes, my lord? What then?”

Fëanáro flashed a wicked grin. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then you will be given no cause to repine. Pray what is your decision, my lady?”

You looked around his arm. The door to his chamber was behind him. If you said yes, if you agreed to what was suggested, there would be no turning back. Still, the thought of having an elf as skilled as Fëanáro, and later, his wife, bedding you, proved to be too tempting to resist in the end.

“My answer is yes, my lord,” you said at length.

Fëanáro turned around and pushed open the door to his chamber. “Have you been intimate with another elf in any fashion?”

“Kisses, my lord,” you said truthfully and walked in after him. His chamber was simple yet elegantly adorned. Besides a soft and inviting bed, there was a hearth at the other end with a cheerful fire already laid. A chair had been placed before it, and a little table beside it. Cups and golden pitchers rested on top of it. A tapestry hung on one wall, uncommonly ornate and richly embellished. It must have been the work of Lady Miriel, no doubt, before she perished. “And an embrace or two. Nothing more than that.” 

Fëanáro led you to the edge of the bed. “Sit down, y/n, and make yourself more at ease. Would you like some wine to drink? Or Miruvórë, perhaps?”

“Miruvórë, my lord,” you said, bending down to remove your boots. It felt wonderful to be rid of them, even for a little while. “I do not care much for wine.”

Fëanáro nodded and crossed over to the table. “Then I shall serve you.”

The cup pressed into your hand was hewn out of crimson crystal and cold to the touch. The libation it held was cold also, and a pale, fragrant gold. You felt refreshed after the first sip alone.

“I still cannot believe it,” you said, nursing your cup. Fëanáro sat beside you, closer than he would have done before. His thigh brushed against yours. It sent a welcome shiver up your spine. “The renowned prince Fëanáro and his wife desire me for a shared companion. They want me to share their bed. The others would be amazed if they heard.”

“But they cannot hear,” Fëanáro said. He drained his cup in three quick swallows and set it down by his feet. “There are others who have arrangements like what my lady proposed, but they are not spoken of often. Not everyone understands.”

“Of course,” you drained your cup and set it down. Your stomach was a roil. Fëanáro would take you into his arms soon. Already, you could feel his eyes on you. “How do we begin, my lord?”

“Like this.” Fëanáro tilted your chin toward him, compelling you to look at him. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to yours.

His kisses were unlike the others you had before. They were heated and commanding, and far from the clumsy, hesitant kisses you were used to. Fëanáro did not restrain himself either. He held you to him, sliding his arm around your waist and growling triumphantly when you clutched desperately at the collar of his tunic and returned his kiss with equal fire. His free hand wandered. It loosened the ribbon in your hair and carded through the locks that spilled free. It moved lower still, to loosen the lace of your tunic. Goosprickles rose all over your limbs when linen fell away and that same nimble hand came to rest over your breast.

“Has anyone touched you like this before?” Fëanáro husked. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it began to throb. Then he dipped his head to taste.

“No, my lord,” you panted, throwing your head back when teeth bruised your tender skin. Fëanáro pulled at one nipple and then the other, lightly at first and then more insistently, before his lips and tongue took a turn. Each sensation that followed was wholly new, and each of them made you feel even more warm, feverish, and lustful than before. “Not like this.”

“Just so.”

Fëanáro straightened. He helped you out of your tunic and threw it to the floor. He moved to the floor himself, slipping off the bed and settling on his knees between your spread legs. He set himself to the task of undoing the belt and clasps going down your breeches, and when he asked you to lift your hips, you did so, watching as the last of your clothes were disposed of without ceremony. Now you sat before him, completely exposed and unable to discern what he would do next. The answer became plain when he lowered his head to the apex between your thighs. 

“Is this what you imagined doing to me, my lord?” You teased, bolder than even before. You brushed your hand over his hair, carefully loosening ribbons and braids. Fëanáro quivered when the tips of your fingers grazed over his scalp. “Or do you imagine your lady doing this to me while you watched?”

Fëanáro grunted and ran the flat of his tongue against your slit, again and again. Your body shook. Inflamed, you took your words even further.

“Or perhaps you wish to do more than just watch.” Never had you been this brazen before. Then again, never had you been with a companion like Fëanáro before. You made the most of it. You knew you had to. You did not know how long your arrangement with him and his lady would last. “Is that it, my lord? Do you wish to do more than just watch while Nerdanel and I cleave to each other?”

Fëanáro moaned softly. He gripped your hip to steady you, and he moved his other hand lower to free himself from the confines of his raiment. Soon, he was fisting his cock.

“My lady was right to counsel me to approach you.” Fëanáro reluctantly ceased what he was doing and rose. “And now I must ask you to move further up and lay on your back. There is more I crave to do to you, y/n.”  

The hush that briefly settled over the room was broken with the rustling of silk and linen and leather. Fëanáro undressed himself, his eyes never leaving yours. You drank in every line that met your gaze, overwhelmed by the thought that every aspect of his would be yours caress however you wished. When you finally moved further up the bed, Fëanáro joined you and moved up with you. When he lowered his head, you welcomed him with open arms. His kisses were languid this time, and all the sweeter. He propped himself on his elbow and stayed still while you ran your hands through his hair, down his chest, and over his thighs. Every inch of him you discovered was flawless. It was as if he was hewn by the skilled hands of the finest cratfsman.

“I must thank your lady when I am with her,” you whispered. “Only through her was all of this made possible.”

“I will gladly arrange a meeting.” Fëanáro smiled and brushed his lips over yours. He slipped his hand around your back to raise your hips. It encouraged you to loop your arms around his broad shoulders and spread your legs for him. “For now, let me think of just you and me.”

He pressed the tip of his length against your entrance, teasing you with gentle, shallow thrusts. It felt so good, but you knew there would be so much more. Fëanáro then pushed deeper and deeper, sinking his shaft further and further within the velvety confines of your body. When he breached you fully and sank home, pain lanced through you like a knife. Fëanáro went still when you whined, and he whispered words of praise to soothe you.

“Does it feel good?” He finally said, his voice full of concern. “Should I continue?”

“Yes, my lord,” you breathed. There was so much of him; you did not comprehend how big truly was until now, or how wonderful he felt. “Go on. Please.”

No more words were said. They were, in your opinion, no longer needed. Fëanáro chased his release while taking you to yours. He drove into you with wild abandon, making you gasp every time he ground his hips against the insides of your thighs. The feel of your nails marring his body and the sounds of your pleasure ringing around the once peaceful room made him forget all sense of himself.

“Oh, sweetling!” Fëanáro cried, unable to hold back any longer. "Oh, by the Valar.”

He did not stop, not even as he came and emptied himself of his spend. He took you over the peak and tumbled you over the edge, calling out your name as your own climax crashed over you. And it was your name that he called out. Just yours. Oh, there would be other occasions when your name and his lady’s would leave his lips, but for now, yours was all he uttered. You reared up, kissing him deeply even while he fucked you through your orgasm. Your nails dug into his flesh, marring him. Then everything went still, and he finally stopped moving.

The hearth at the other end was the first to become clear when you opened your eyes, then the room and the bed, and then Fëanáro himself. His chest was still heaving, and his lustrous dark hair had fallen all around him in a beautifully tousled mess. Its ends tickled you when it brushed against your torso.

“I am crushing you,” he said, and rolled off you. When he settled comfortably on his back, he held out his arm. It was an invitation for you to rest against him. “Now tell me, y/n. Do you still wish to continue with the arrangement my lady devised?”

“I do, my lord, very much so.” You inched closer and settled against the crook of his arm. A dreamy sigh parted your lips when Fëanáro moved onto his side, threw his arms around you, and kissed your brow. “I will gladly continue with the arrangement.”

“That is good then,” he said. “Rest for now. I will help you bathe and clean yourself afterward.”