#rubber rationing

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Three-Year Terms Given Two Men For Theft of 40 Tires," Ottawa Citizen. March 3, 1943. Page 1. --- Up for sentence for a series of break-ins and tire thefts involving more than 40 tires valued at approximately $1,000, Dorilas Corneau [TOP], 19, and Florian Lemieux, 23, both of no address, were given three years in Portsmouth penitentiary, Kingston, by Magistrate Glenn E. Strike.

In passing sentence, MagistrateStrike said the nature of the offences and the manner in which they had been committed showed that they had been carefully planned. They were not the sort of offences which young men sometimes committed "on the spur of the moment," he said, and the accused had stolen articles which could be disposed of at possibly more than their actual worth.

He noted that Corneau had been before the court on at least three previous occasions.

His Worship suggested that the court "may have an opportunity of dealing with the people who bought the tires."

Crown Attorney Raoul Mercier assured the court that a complete investigation into the sale of the stolen tires would be made. ///

"Ottawa Men Given Penitentiary Terms For Theft of Tires," Ottawa Journal. March 3, 1943. Page 1. ---- Dorilas Corneau, 19, and Florian Lemieux, 23, both of no given address, were sentenced to three years in Kingston Penitentiary by Magistrate Strike in police court today, for a series of "black market" rubber thefts. Both were convicted on February 19 on charges of theft involving more than 40 automobile tires valued at upwards of $1,000.

In passing sentence Magistrate Strike said he was dealing with "serious major crimes". "In view of the shortage of rubber this type of offence ceases to be minor offence", he said. "It becomes a major crime they stole articles that could be disposed of for more than their actual worth."

Lionel Choquette, defence counsel, said that if the demand for rubber were not so great and certain people were not so willing to buy the tires, the temptation would not be so great to steal them.

Magistrate Strike said while this was true, the court may have an opportunity of dealing with persons who buy these tires.

Crown Attorney Raoul Mercier, K.C., assured the magistrate that "a full investigation has been made regarding persons who bought these tires".

[AL: Corneau was 20, unemployed, from Ottawa, French Canadian, and had served three terms in jail and one in the reformatory. He was convict #7243 at Kingston Penitentiary and worked in the mail bags. He was transferred June 1943 to the lower security Collin's Bay Penitentiary, becoming inmate #2075, and released July 1945. Lemieux was 23, a truck driver but unemployed for two months prior to his crime, and also a French Canadian from Ottawa. He had no previous criminal record. He was convict #7242 at Kingston Penitentiary and worked in the mail bags. He was transferred July 1943 to the lower security Collin's Bay Penitentiary, becoming inmate #2080, and released on parole in late 1944.]

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Gas rationing began on the East Coast in May of 1942. In this photo, Marjoria Doyle gets her coupons and sticker on July 9 at P.S. 69. There were eight coupons per page and each coupon could be used once a week. The number of gallons allowed depended on need; those whose need was deemed non-essential were only allowed 3 gallons. Commuters got a little more, those whose work depended on driving a bit more than that, and essential service providers such as doctors and clergy got up to 8 gallons. Most cars at the time got around 15 mpg.

The program was started not so much to save gasoline, which was in plentiful supply, but tires, which were made of rubber. The Japanese had cut off the country's main source of supply and the shortage was critical. Eventually this accelerated the development of synthetic rubber, but rationing remained in effect until 1945.

Photo: Murray Becker for the AP

[misforgotten2]

Which is the "Rubber" Anniversary? The 11th? 3.141592653rd? אth?

Another ad for something you can't buy.

Life - January 17th 1944

[wyrmalien]

lost my fucking rodan bag clip it's over for me I'm so upset

[crabs-but-better]

i’m so dramatic it’s like i’m prepping to go to war. except for my opponent is just the toils of capitalism.

[braaan]

Sunday Best (w/ Eunseo)

male reader & wjsn eunseo

fluff & smut, 3k words

As far as you’ve rationalized, it doesn’t make any sense.

For starters, you and Eunseo have been together since high school, and this is far from the first time she’s been in your apartment.

The first time, hours after a mutual friend’s birthday party gets cut short, Eunseo’s throwing up in your bathroom. It’s a tale as old as time: the Friday night of a long weekend, way too many groupchats, high school bravado kneecapped by Fireball shooters — it’s messy, and senior year. You get you’re her boyfriend’d into nursing her back to life, and one grueling night shift later, she’s under your covers while you’re trying to get comfy on your small-for-sitting futon. And despite how early she’s up the next morning, between the still warm almond croissants on your countertop, the deep hug she pulls you into before you can drum up anything sarcastic, and how much better your basketball shorts sit on her waistline — drawstring double-knotted, waistband rolled all the way up — it’s hard to stay mad.

Another time, you’re coming back from date night, and before the front door even closes in on you two, she’s walking your apartment’s perimeter, pulling out supplies from a backpack. You’re trailing her, trying to simultaneously close the distance she covers and read the tiny labels on household items she leaves in her wake. Before long, there’s not a countertop unmarked by these tiny rubber characters (“They’re called SMISKIs”), all of your spaces start to predominantly smell like daisies, and you don’t recognize half of the brands in your bathroom. Any other time: you’d say something. Any other time: you’d stand up for yourself; puff your chest into the slight height difference. Any other time Eunseo wasn’t reappearing from your bedroom in a tiny cotton shirt and all eight inches of these plaid blue pajama shorts: yeah, you’d draw your boundaries.

Sometime after that, in the lull of quiet comfort and work from home, her legs are in your lap as you both bat away questions on individual video calls. Difference couldn’t be any more stark. Twelve minutes into your morning meeting, in between unmutes of your desktop microphone, you’ve tallied up a total of twenty words, and have entertained a serious-and-three-quarters imagination about where else you could call into this — your camera’s off, after all. Eunseo’s your in-office foil: her chocolate hair freshly straightened, her baby blue button up perm pressed, her small talk status quo. Eunseo’s full of shit. Just off camera, unobvious in her digital four walls, she hasn’t changed out of your heather gray boxer shorts she wore to bed.

So, really:

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Eunseo wake up in a pair of shorts.

It doesn’t make any rational sense how much it still gets a reaction out of you.

--

Granted, it’s an unreal view.

The sun hurries through your curtains to pool around her feet, daybreak serving as stepping stones as she pads to your en suite. Golden yellow melts into her milk chocolate hair, spinning already light browns into shades of almond and sand between sunlit highlights. A breeze picks up through the fabric, and the light breaks. One moment she’s haloed, cast in sunlight, all of her curves etched in radiance; the next, momentarily obscured, a dream in soft-focus, half-glimpsed and inviting whole-yearning. From where you’re propped up on your elbows, she flickers in and out of reality and reverie, real-deal and daydream. She’s a light show in slow motion, superposition between technicolor and transfiguration; sunkiss and shadow in perfect ballet, catching an everyday angel between the light that loves her and pockets of beautiful mystery that make her all the more alluring.

All of this to Eunseo: her morning routine.

She walks without hesitation. Even when it’s mundane, there’s a tangible confidence in the way she sprays sea salt into her hair, carding her fingers through her roots.

It’s the one thing that threw you for a loop about her, really: for a long time, you were waiting for the character to drop. Blended between candor and how you’d be able to read anything just off of her facial expression, Eunseo was headstrong, and always heart first. Early into your relationship, it was unnerving. Younger yous bounced between bouts of ‘wow, that’s frank’ and ‘what are you compensating for?’. You got where you were in life — to you: where most people didn’t — by never playing all your cards, and here Eunseo was all the same, hand face up on the table.

Though it doesn’t take you too long to eventually admit that forward is sexy.

It’s in the way she asks for what she wants, unbothered by the answer, discarding pretense and step-by-step; it’s in the way she’ll take the lead without warning, showing up after work at your lobby to take you on a night she’s pre-planned; it’s in the way that — because on the weekend, you wake up on her time — she’s six feet away from you, tip-toed, peeling at the curtains: all the way stretched out.

And outlined in daylight, you don’t miss a detail.

For starters, her shirt’s way too small. It’s this light material: cheap white cotton that curls in on itself at the hem. And as she reaches out at the Roman shades, revealing more and more skin, you can explore all the small of her back, run imaginary hands along where her shirt stops, down the soft line where skin kisses spine. You can trace your thumbs at the space just above her hips, skirting shapes at her waistline, dancing just above the navy soccer shorts Eunseo wore in tenth grade, faded far from school colors, and tiny as hell.

You could sit there for hours — you’d find new angles to obsess over.

You get half a beat.

“It’s rude to stare, you know?”

And in one motion, Eunseo closes the distance between where she was and where you sit, quickly cross-legged on your comforter.

“And even ruder to have fun,” she starts, patting the blankets grouped around your waist, “all by yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you spit, batting away at her forearm. The blood runs to your cheeks, and your ears are hot. “You might as well be wearing nothing — what am I supposed to do?”

Looking at you through her fringes, the edges of her lips pulling into the start of a smile, she doesn’t need any words — it’s a brutally honest admission.

“You’re saying,” she whispers, “it’s these you like?” Both of your eyes flick to where her hands find the trim of her shorts, tracing the stitching at her thigh, following a runaway stripe with a fingernail — matte white, all insidious, and teasingly slow.

“Eunseo,” you try again flatly. “Fuck,” and there’s a pause here, implicit now anything but, “off.” 

Which would be half convincing if you could take your eyes off of her legs.

You’re tracing her thigh in your head, filling the toned crease with your gaze, painting Eunseo’s legs with attention.

She leans into you, and makes it hard to think. Your thoughts are cloudy; in the moment. Nothing becomes more top of mind than the smell of daisies.

There’s a half beat.

Then a whisper against your lips: “Tell me what you like.”

Forward is so fucking sexy.

Kissing Eunseo is like fire: hot, and all at once. She’s running her hands under your shirt, snaking her legs under your stomach; she’s whimpering against your bottom lip, redirecting your hands onto her chest; she’s running her tongue against your teeth, wedging herself square in all of your focus — you’re trying to keep up.

You’re kneading at her chest through cotton, creating new creases, feeling the bud of her nipple get hard in your hands.

You’re tugging at her t-shirt, stretching fabric out of form.

You’re molding Aphrodite — palming, gripping, shaping. Sculpting divinity on earth called for hours of sanctification, and you were here to worship.

Eunseo’s like putty to it all — so sensitive, and pliant at your fingertips. She’s moaning at your mouth, then whispering praises. Hushed against your lips: more, more, more, more, more.

You blink life back into your eyes, and magnetically, inherent like gravity, they fall onto hers. Filled with the night sky — wine-dark, galaxy-wide, abyssal, fully oblivion — even now: hooded, sultry, and all shades of dangerous, they felt inevitable, like they were where yours belonged. They beckoned — like they were written in all of your universes, like all the right roads led back to them.

And it’s like Eunseo reads your mind, because all of a sudden: she’s scarlet, a very red blush dancing across her cheeks.

“Okay, pretty boy,” she starts, catching her breath. Then, gathering her hair into a ponytail: “I’m going to blow your mind.”

And without hesitation, because you’re still stuck in ten seconds ago: “You look so cute.”

And because now she has to: “I’m already going to put you in my mouth, you don’t have to flatter me anymore.”

--

Eunseo’s flipped over, her cunt inches from your lips, drawing lines along your length with her tongue. And you’d return the favor quicker, if not for how mesmerizingly methodical she was. You’re catching glimpses of bits and pieces in the negative space between your bodies. Through her t-shirt: a flash of the flat of her tongue as she reaches the tip of your cockhead, her white nails replacing her mouth around your shaft at the top of her dips, her pretty pink pout — how they all disappear as she takes your cock down her throat. She knows all your soft spots — what you like; where you like it — and always gave you what you loved.

It feels like it all makes sense -

Your hips bucking into her mouth on her downbeats, the saccharine song she starts humming mid-bob, the precum-stained kisses she’s leaving along your length in legato, the half-notes they send across your nervous system -

- all of you feels like it rhythmically belongs together.

“Eunseo,” you manage to grit out, and you feel her smirk against your cock.

You can narrate it in your head. Hm? she’s goading, minxy moxie maxed out. This is all it takes to make you cum? There’s a half-choke — a rough buck of your hips. Fingers curl around your shaft — the hum she has in the back of her throat picks up. A little bit of your cock in my mouth? You’re like a tuning fork to it all. You’re dizzy.

And you’d probably die then and there, if not for the last resort of your tongue on Eunseo’s cunt.

It’s one of the only things that levels her, really.

All the build up is cut in half, tempo slowed down to a grind as you swipe long, breathy flicks of your tongue on Eunseo’s pretty pussy. You’re pacing yourself against a water droplet–rhythm in your head. Arms hooked around her thighs, thumbs tracing circles counterclockwise on her skin -

Down.

Build.

Up.

Down.

Swell.

Up.

It’s unholy the noise she makes next.

Too adorable to just leave hanging.

“Look at you, Eunseo,” you taunt, where the start of a stanza would go, and then drop back into cadence — no air for her to respond — tongue back on her slit. 

And against against your mouth, it’s almost like all of the candor is causal — all the forwardness just carefully-crafted camouflage to get you on her cunt — because reduced down to a mewling mess, white-knuckle around your bedsheets, spine arching to get even closer to the flat of your tongue, there is no back talk. Eunseo was yours, her cunt was all yours, and she was so willing to follow.

Doubling your efforts on her heat, lapping against her little pussy, tracing a thumb around her clit -

“Baby,” she whines.

- Eunseo knows she’s coming undone.

And in this full-on, two-part second that you’re completely lucid to -

- she does.

At first, it’s like time’s frozen. You can feel her tense up under your breath, cheat one last gulp of air, tighten her thighs against your forearms.

Then, everything’s in fast forward. Eunseo unravels. She’s scrambling on polyester, looking for a hold, any grip to support her through how hard she’s cumming on your tongue. The words caught in her throat catch up to her, and all the way through her high, she’s conjoining cuss words, peaking into falsetto as you line kisses along her cunt. Son Eunseo melts against you, onto you, unwound and fully fucked.

But never enough to return the favor.

Gracefully sensual, she straddles you, catching herself on your chest, sitting square on your hips, parking up against your length — you’re caught off guard by the sharks.

Plastered against Eunseo’s shirt: an elementary guide to enough shark species to line anyone’s trivia back pocket — Whale, Great White, Mako, Tiger, Basking -

And because now she has to: “My eyes are up here, perv.”

And without hesitation, because this time that’s genuinely low: “Oh, fuck you.”

And not a beat after that, right against your lips, and riding further up your cock: “You only wish.”

Eunseo’s mouth is on yours, and then so’s her tongue. And as she’s exploring your chest with her palms, thumbing at your nipples, you can only smile. You don’t know why you doubted yourself: with Eunseo, there’s no way anything’s a character.

There’s a beat that you both take, and in the next, there’s a shirt over your face.

You’re blinded, covered in SHEIN sheer, and — instincts taking over — you reach your hands out to grab at anything.

You find Eunseo’s waist as she takes you in her pussy.

It’s hot, it’s tight, it’s needy. She’s getting you both back on beat, picking up the pace, up-and-down on your cock, side-to-side on your hips — you’re trying to keep up.

Your grip tightens, and it’s downright unholy: your thumbs touch at her belly button.

She’s so small, so tight, so in your hands, and so fucked, so fucked, so fucked -

“Cum in me,” Eunseo exhales, then suffixes: “in me, in me, in me.”

Your head goes into overdrive — it’s a time bomb: pulsing, racing, tensing; it’s a million miles a second, and so fucking dangerous. You’re gritting your teeth, crushing her waist in your grip -

And because now you have to, and in lossless lucidity: “Eunseo, fuck off.”

She’s so fucked.

And you know in the moment that follows -

How quickly she finds her place under you, picking up where her fingers were last on your cock — kissing, twisting, sucking, her matte white fingernails hypnotic up and down your shaft -

How guttural the moan you let out feels, like it comes from your tailbone -

How hushed the holy shit is on your lips as Eunseo swallows load after milky load -

- how fucked you are, too.

(You always will be.)

--

There’s a little song and dance you play after Eunseo pops back out of the bathroom.

Again: it’s not either of your first times with each other, but like routine — still and forever — you’re falling into characters you know and love.

Eunseo’s laying it on thick, walking like a textbook taught her how to: drummed-up and exaggerated, heel-toe, heel-toe. Hands folded behind her back, she’s in this half-bend, lips pursed, eyes wandering: suddenly fascinated in the brushwork on your walls or how light catches random trinkets, bending over to the left, the right, and just under to make sure their shadows are still there. It’s all but complete, just missing a laid back whistle; it’s all comically stupid, just always the most adorable thing.

Of course — and only after two full minutes of the charade, drawn out and profusely slow-burned; only after you’ve rolled your eyes so hard they might stick, tension just under boiling point — her little exploration leads her to your bed.

And with that kind of setup: anything she said would’ve landed.

So “... you don’t want to put a kid in me …” absolutely does.

Her head’s in your lap now, face cracked in this darling half-giggle.

Outwitting Eunseo is a losing game. You never win. Not against the air that lingers around her, peppered sweet and spicy, intoxicating even when you were both sober. Not against her expert balance of prickly and precious, cutesy-cocky carefully-crafted. Not against the crescents in her eyes when you’re this deep into a bit. You don’t really have to.

She kisses you, and it tastes like the promise of time: that you’ll always have more.

It’s pre-teen sweet, spiked with hands brushing soft spots: it’s goofy, it’s whole, and you’re both giggling — trading tender breaths, sharing secrets in the exhales, melting smiles into each others’.

Here — in between the playful banter, nose-to-nose with Son Eunseo — you’re complete.

“Want a coffee?”

(And it’s probably the only thing you’ve done once and only once. You should make the coffee.)

“I’ll make us two.”

--

:')

feel like everything's been fast paced recently, so hope not cringe to say that this has been a serious refuge for me. domestic... interplay (?) is so fun to explore, and i could probably tease out established relationship footsies switchy blurry lines forever — hope you enjoyed!

thank you @majorblinks for the beta (my twin flame and no one is ever going to do it like us), @chunksworld for giving me the push to write eunseo (guys girl enjoyers!), and @passingnotions for everything in between (u next.)

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[tojisun]

THAT BLOOD AS LUBE THING!!!! HERES MY TAKE!!!!!!

Logan having been punched in the mouth so many times that when he has you finally bent over, your both panting and full of aggressive adrenaline with your knees pushed up to your chest, his giant hands splayed over the backs of your thighs, he lets a bloody string of spit fall from his mouth and onto your exposed cunt from where he’s absolutely shredded the crotch of your costume.

THIS SEXY THING IN REFERENCE TO THAT? GODDAMN YEA cw: smut; f!reader; blood as lube; fucking in public; thrashing bcuz of oversensitivity - all consensual; a touch of poolverine/reader poly :3 this is v short im sorry! // divider by @/plutism!

the guttural hunger ripples in waves as logan tears through your pants, each rip sending his hackles rising, the tension between the two of you brewing, until he’s got you fully bare and ready for him. your scent hits him hard, and he almost buckles down, his cock jumping underneath his suit, before he’s got your thighs cushioning either side of his head.

he takes in a greedy drag, nose flaring at the waft of your aroma—so wet and messy and all his.

logan’s eyes flick up to you for a moment—a question—and you give him the subtlest of nods, and it’s all he needs to pry his maw open. the thick string of blood and spit mixed together falls like a diabolical glob on your cunt, and watching him do this makes your breath hitch.

everything about this is rugged, animalistic, but it is also so, so hot. you try to rationalize past your need, telling yourself that this isn’t the right time to be fucked, not when logan’s bleeding all over your cunt, but a rough tongue presses flat on your slit and your thoughts are razed into fractures.

you keen, bucking in his hold, as your hands fly to grip anything you can, trying so desperately to ground yourself. logan doesn't let you, digging in like a man starved and aching; he ruts his bloodied mouth all over your pussy, hot tongue fucking past your folds and into the tight ring of your cunt, and slurps.

“fuck!” you cry out, fists tightening around whatever remains of your pants. your head falls backwards, exposing your throat as you scream.

logan can eat pussy, you’ve known that for years, but there is a curl of something primal in the way he eats you out tonight—all filthy and overwhelming, his silence making you feel ever more so like a prey being devoured. tears are already springing up from your eyes, beading, until a sob wretches itself from your throat because it’s—

it’s too good!

you’re babbling nonsense, you realize later, your words slurring when you beg and moan, telling him how it’s too much and how he needs to stop—“please ‘gan!”—as you feel your mind getting scrambled with the intensity of this all. you try to dislodge yourself from his hold, thrashing, but logan pushes you down with a firm hand on your belly, subduing every effort to rip his mouth off from your cunt.

you’re fully crying now, shaking, and you try warning him that you’re about to cum—the dregs of your ecstasy peaking with every lick and sharp teeth dragging to nip at your folds and at your clit—but you can’t. you’re too drunk off of the pleasure, and your body feels like a rubber pulled taut, ready to snap as your climax builds—

tipping—

then logan’s pulling away with a snarl.

“no!” you keen, sobbing, trembling hands reaching to pull him back before your euphoria dies down, but logan’s already straightening up and folding himself over you, his bulk easily covering you. “i wan’ cum! logan, please—”

“shh,” he coos, like he isn’t wet with your slick and his tan skin tinged with the slightest of red. you see yourself on his beard, droplets of your slick glinting like little diamonds as he leans in.

he pushes your hair away from your face with a grin, and it looks mean but not unkind; just teasing because he knows how much your need has grown. he must have. no one knows your body more than anyone else, after all, and you are sure that he knew that you were there, on the throes of your orgasm, waiting for it to spill into a stuttering blanket of white.

“i’ve got you, darl,” he continues, like he didn’t just edge you off. “gon’ fuck you good now—prepared you nice f’me, after all.”

oh.

you hiccup, still glaring up at him with vitriol despite the promise, but you feel yourself loosening up as the tension leaves your body. he hums, still petting your cheek, and you grumble, looking away because you can’t stand the force of his attention—all that crinkled-eye smile and raggedly endearing taunts he chirps at you.

logan hums, satisfied at seeing you placated, then he’s moving back up again. the action draws air into your exposed cunt and you move to shut your legs close, at least even for a bit, but he wrenches them apart with a heavy hand pressing down on your inner thigh, and slots himself properly between your legs. you roll your eyes at him, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks are warming up at being so exposed before logan while he’s still all clothed with his suit.

he chuckles with a fond shake of his head, and paws for the zipper on his suit. the sound of it dragging makes you twitch, feeling hypersensitive again. you feel him getting excited too, his chest heaving when he finally pulls his cock out from his pants. you stare at it, still so unused to the size because logan’s big, yes, and he’s big everywhere—from his thighs to his delts, and now his cock.

it’s girthy, webbed with thick veins, and leaking; pearly pre- beading on the head, and nothing has ever made your mouth water more than seeing it.

you want it in you, yes, but fuck, you want your throat stuffed too. want it fucked raw and ruined; want to be used by logan—

but your cunt is wet and itching, and you want to cum so, so bad.

you wonder what you must have looked because logan’s stuffing his fingers in your mouth, as though in placation, and you suck on them, greedy, not minding the faint taste of earth and salty sweat. it makes you even headier, filling you up with the reminder of where you two are, and you whimper, need bloating, because fuck, you need him now.

logan is still quiet even when he taps his cock over your clit, sending goosebumps to rise all over your skin.

“ready, pretty bird?” he asks like he can’t smell the desperation rolling off of you.

still, you nod, and you try your best to relax because you feel so worked up already with all the dragging—

then, logan’s pushing in, in, in, and you are gone.

.

you don’t even know how many time’s you’ve cum now, only that your cunt is oversensitive and your thighs are a sticky mess and your throat is hoarse, but it must have been hours because the sky has turned dark, almost pitch black, and there’s nothing else but you and logan—

the sound of boots crinkling against rocks makes you freeze, your sharp senses breezing past the euphoric pressure being pounded into your cunt, before you put a hand over logan’s chest, making him stop.

with only the sounds of ragged breathing, the two of you hear where the echoing footsteps are coming from. still perched on your back—and speared by logan’s cock—you tip your head up, not minding the upside-down perspective of your surroundings.

logan groans the moment a familiar red suit walks into view. wade’s got his mask pulled up just enough that you two see his grin, then—

“and where’s my invitation?”

logan groans again, while you give out a breathy chuckle, pussy clenching around logan’s cock. he bucks in with a confused grumble.

what? your throat is still pretty lonely, after all.

wade was lounging atop a building when he sees his two favourite people fight— wait they’re— oh? oh.

[eldritchcreatureofwords]

OK, because ya'll need to hear it.

THERE WAS NOTHING OZZIE COULD HAVE DONE IN THAT TRIAL. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. "Oh, but Foxxe, he could have spoken up!" Bee did! And she was instantly brushed off and shut up. She barely got so much as an acknowledgement. Vassago did! And he was also shut down. Hard. He got more of a say then Bee did, likely because he was taken more seriously than the silly, childish Sin of Gluttony, but still no one even pretended to listen to him. Moxxie did. Blitz himself did. Did none of you hear what Blitz said at the end? Because he was right and it was true. Satan was never going to listen to anyone. Maybe, maybe if they'd managed to vote in a proper trial, he would have been forced to, but the rational people in the room lost the vote. The only reason Stolas got heard was because he made such a big scene, made himself impossible to ignore- and was the point of the trial in the first place. "Oh, but Foxxe, the crystal!" Cool, cool. So that means nothing. No, really. The crystal means fuck all. Even if this trial weren't rigged, even if anyone was willing to listen, even if people actually thought Blitz had done something wrong and didn't just not give a shit- Blitz still acquired his means to earth illegally in the first place. Just because you buy a car years later doesn't unsteal the one you stole in your teens, and it doesn't make that suddenly not illegal. Now, Stolas gave Blitz access to the book, but that's still illegal (apparently) and even if it wasn't, it's pretty clear that's not what he's actually on trial for. He's 'on trial' for supposedly raping, assaulting, manipulating, and stealing from a Goetia. They're making Blitz out to be the monster Stella really is. It's not just about the book, and even if it was, the crystal would not undo the illegal actions taken originally. "Oh, but Foxxe, he could have said something about Striker!!" Oh, right, cool, yeah. But, uh, one question. Why???? It's not like the council thinks Striker is some good-faith high-class excellent beacon of shining morale. They know he's an assassin. He is literally here to get amnesty. What is Ozzie going to say? "Oh, this guy who kills people for a living? He tried to kill my boyfriend!" Um, duh, of course he did, no shit, he's a POS. If anything, that would easily be twisted to make Blitz look like a psychopath who set Striker on Fizz, too. And it would have brought Ozzie's relationship with Fizzie out onto the table, which is a can of worms no one wants to deal with.

Yes, they're open now, but fuck only knows if Satan or any of the other sins know that- and even if they do, it puts Ozzie's words/testimony in nebulous light because Blitz is Fizzie's friend, and Fizzie is Ozzie's lover. Plus, as a 'dirty imp fucker' Ozzie may well dig everyone's hole even deeper and further complicate the situation. Ozzie is flat-out-stated to be the 'weakest and least threatening' of the Sins. Satan is the strongest, save perhaps Luci himself, who isn't fucking there because he's currently in a room buried up to the Goddamn neck in rubber duckies and having a fucking crisis while his people and his domain sort of fall down around his stupid adorable ears. Ozzie's not going to pick a fight he can't win. Because he wouldn't win it. Satan would flatten him and we all fucking know it. Even if he did go scorched earth and just start a Goddamn fight in the courtroom, what does that solve? Precisely nothing. You would, best case scenario, have I.M.P on the run, Ozzie a traitor, and Stolas and Blitz still in their Divorce Era, miserable and alone, now with added Half of Hell on their Heels for extra emotional and mental damage! So, in summation- Ozzie couldn't do jack fucking all in that trial. And to hope that Fizzie hates him, is angry with him, or they break up over this is really small and silly and absolutely does not do justice to the characters- and I'm not even getting into some of the flanderizing bullshit I see saying Ozzie is racist and implying that his relationship with Fizzie isn't as healthy as it seems and it's all about to come to light. I'm not saying Fizz can't be mad. I'm not saying they don't need to talk. I'm not saying it's not traumatic and stressful or doesn't need to be addressed. I'm saying that ultimately Ozzie's hands were fucking tied and that a ten year plus relationship is not a lie that is about to fall apart or crack. And if it does, I'm going to be pretty disappointed in Vivz. (I'll keep loving the show, of course, just be disappointed.) I'm saying that ya'll need to stop acting like Ozzie is an evil, hypocritical, or selfish douchebag for not flinging himself on the pyre pointlessly. I'm saying that while I think it will be addressed, I really think ultimately Fizz is a compassionate, intelligent, empathetic person who will understand why Ozzie couldn't do anything and will be glad the man he loves- the man he loves, ya'll- did not cut off his nose to spite his face.

[shotmrmiller]

ps!simon running into of!reader in public one day at the grocery store but like neither one recognizes the other would feel like such a concept. Reader in line to get some instant noodles cuz college is garbage and syphons everything out of her account despite the generous tips she’s been receiving lately, and then this big bulky mass of muscle in front of her has a couple packs of rubbers, some whipped cream, and a case of drinks

HEY because you'd recognize him though. Like you could probably draw his half sleeve from memory. Wish for a man that eats pussy like he does every night. Heat would lick up your cheeks viciously at the thought of him having a fun night tonight, which of course is completely irrational. You try to rationalize that you're just hungry. All that is. Not that there's something grimey and white hot bubbling in your lower stomach at the thought of your fave pornstar fucking someone else for fun and not work.

(meanwhile he's just doing all this to send a vid of himself to your OF dm's cuz he's tired of being ignored. It's him fucking a pocket pussy and taking the condom half way through so he can come in it since he doesn't in his co-stars anymore)

Nasty man! If you're wearing sandals though i fear he'd double take at your feet lmfao. i hate to be the bearer of bad news but he's got a small-ish thing for your feet.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"10 Stolen Tires Found by Police," Windsor Star. July 22, 1943. Page 5. ---- Ten stolen automobile tires are being held for identification by the Windsor office of the Ontario provincial police this morning. The tires were found hidden among some trees in Anderdon Township near Amherstburg last evening.

Sergeant Dave Duncan and Constable Frank Scott brought the tires back to Windsor. Some of the serial numbers had been filed off but the officers have identified most of the tires in spite of this.

The tires are all in very good condition. Most of them are of American manufacture and were stolen from cars belonging to cottagers in the Amherstburg district.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

─ ★ Broĸeɴ Hαllelυjαн || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢���𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 ||

↳𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑↳

A/n: I'm so bad at angst....i hate this.

When Adam asked you to take a peak in hell you never thought you would end up falling for the King of Hell. The time you spent in hell, you didn't want to leave, you grew close to everyone, close to Charlie.

The nights you and Lucifer shared, that was something you would never forget.

But of course, nothing can ever stay good for long. It has to end sometime right? It was a shock to see Lilith, the woman was beautiful of course. You didn't blame the look Lucifer was giving her.

It hurt of course, the painful feeling of tightness in your chest. You hated how happy they looked together, they looked like a perfect family. You knew it was wrong to be jealous, you have no right to be jealous because he was with her first. But that didn't stop the pain you were feeling in your heart.

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you dropped your shoulders. Any rational thought of speaking with him left your mind, not when he was smiling like that, laughing like that. Taking a deep breath you bowed your head turning away from the family.

You couldn't get in between them, Lucifer deserved a second chance with his wife and if he was happy then you can be happy too. Feeling a few tears slip down your cheeks you let your wings unfurl.

Taking a deep breath a bitter smile formed on your lips as you turned your back to the family missing the concerned gaze of Charlie.

"Goodbye Lucifer."

It was nice seeing Lilith, she looked good, still beautiful but something was different. He realized that he no longer loved her like he used to because of you. You were the one to pull him from his slump, the depression he felt.

He owed that all to you, he loved you.Lucifer realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and he couldn't help but talk to Lilith about you.

"I am sorry Lilith...I" Lucifer adverted his gaze for a moment.

Lilith let out an airy laugh as she placed her finger tips under his chin so he would meet her gaze."Never apologize for falling in love Lucifer."

Flushing for a moment, Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't wait for you to meet them...I actually wanted to get your advice.." he started to stutter, another nervous laugh escaping his lips. "I was going to ask them to-."

Opening her lips, Lilith was about to answer until Charlie took a step forward a frown on her lips.

"Dad....they're gone."

Lucifer's smile vanished from his lips, his arms falling to his side. "Gone...what do you mean?"

Lucifer never expected it to hurt this much, it felt worse than when he and Lilith separated. Leaning his cheek on his palm he let out a small sniffle looking at the small duck he made for you, a little ring wrapped around its neck. "What did I do wrong?" He whispered to himself.

Maybe he was this issue, he had to be....what other reason would you leave him for?

Quickly rubbing a few tears from his eyes, Lucifer let his head rest on the desk, eyes still glued to the duck he made of you. "I miss you."

You never thought that heaven could be so boring, you missed everyone. You missed how easy it was to get along with everyone. Sighing, you dropped your shoulders though hearing your name being called your head quickly turned to the voice.

"Lilith....what the hell are you doing here."

You looked over at the woman, in her hands was a small rubber duck that looked so much like you and around that ducks neck was a small golden ring.

"We need to talk."

Trailing behind the woman, you did your best to keep up with her long stride's. "He still love's me."

Glancing over her shoulders, Lilith's gaze softened for a moment as she stopped in her tracks. Her fingers tucking under your chin. "He wouldn't stop talking about you. It's a shame we never met in Heaven, I would haven taken you for myself." She hummed giving you were a teasing smile. You were too cute, she could see why Lucifer had fallen for you.

You two seemed like you were meant to be.

"I'm sorry...."

"Please don't apologize love...I am happy knowing that Lucifer and Charlie are in such good hands...no come along.... we shouldn't keep him waiting."

Nodding your head you gave Lilith a smile as you two made your way to Lucifer. You will make this right, you will let Lucifer know that you truly loved him.

To you, it felt like ages to arrive at Lucifer's castle. You didn't even get a chance to let the woman speak as you were rushing off into home calling out his name. Though a few months have passed you still remember this place like the back of your hand.

"Lucifer...please."

Your heart stuttering when your gaze landed on the man. The bags under his eyes, puffy, clothes a mess. You hated seeing it, hated knowing that you were the cause of this issue. "Lucifer?"

The man's head snapped up, eyes going wide for a moment. Fresh tears pooling in his eyes as he took a tentative step towards you. "Are you...are you really here? This isn't."

Biting his lip, Lucifer's lips quivered as he quickly rushed to you. His arms tightly wrapping around you, clinging to you. "I'm sorry....I'm so sorry."

Shaking your head, you let your thumb brush away a stray tear off his cheek. "Never apologize Lucifer, it's my fault...I should....I just thought you'd be happier if I left."

Resting his head against yours, he grasped your hand spotting the ring on his finger. His heart swelling with happiness as he held you.

"I am happy with you....I love you."

Sighing, you then pressed your face into his neck letting him hold you. "I love you too."

You won't make this mistake again, you will always stay by Lucifer's side.

[robin-evry]

Dr. Ratio! Yuu is going to be NRC's students' worst nightmare, that's for sure.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 🦉📜

Member of the Intelligentsia Guild. Eccentric temperament, sharp-tongued but with an elegant demeanor. The face under the strange plaster head sculpture is apparently unexpectedly handsome.

( artist of the header : pogogu )

( credit for the dividers : @cafekitsune )

Ew, is there first reaction towards the school and why are all the students wearing such ridiculous outfits It's a school not an accult, and is this Weezer saying about being great magician all they see is nothing but a cat indulging themselves about being great but they themselves see no greatness Infront of them just an overconfident little cat.

NRC number one student, the subjects are so easy for them to the point they have already suppressed most of their seniors, demand Crowley to allow them to become an official lecturer in NRC as well allowed to host after school lectures in their dorm room for students.

Become the scariest figure in all of NRC as well an unofficial new headmaster in NRC , no student is brave enough to up against them not even the teachers ( Crowley is sobbing ), Dr ratio!Yuu is strict and will not allow any slip up. They are the reason why the school held such a dignified reputation.

Even when students complain to Crowley he's not brave enough to go against because he doesn't want to suffer another lecture of his imperfect ways of teaching, he's ego has already been shattered by them, he doesn't need to be more broken

The ramshackle will be a place of where dr ratio!Yuu live as well a place where students have to go for their after school lectures or second school, the dorm has become larger as well possessing some Greek architecture around it in the front of the dorm or the official of the dorm is an owl similar to Dr ratio owl in his arms. The first floor has become a larger lecture to fit in students where there's a large stage in the middle where dr ratio!yuu stands and teaches, and if anyone is caught sleeping they will have a chalk hit them in the head to wake them up or will be hit by a book in the head. No slacking off on their watch.

The second floor is their living quarters. Dr ratio!yuu room is strictly forbidden to enter, their room is full of multiple sculptures of themselves as well a luxurious bathroom with multiple rubber ducks and bath tub in the middle where dr ratio!yuu meditate

During the Octavinelle arc, the first years didn't make a contract with Azul, why would they when they have Dr ration there teaching them. They even managed to make it in the top 50 in the board, all thanks to Dr ratio!yuu teachings.

Wears a head plaster to cover their face so people cannot get distracted by how handsome and beautiful they are, rarely take it off and if they do not wear it many students that have seen their face are unable to take their eyes off them, they are also described to be more goodlooking than vil or anyone in twst.

Has helped twst on new technological advancement in the century and gained large popularity, as well as a fanclub. Many students and others outside the school admired them and had a crush on them.

During one time when a group of savanaclaw students tried to show their dominance, one of them was thrown right across the room to the point it caused the others to back away and admit defeat, as I said no one is brave enough to go against them.

Another situation with the dorm leader riddles saying that their way is a disrespect to the queen of hearts, and Dr ratio!yuu point out their flaws of the queen of hearts and riddles ways.

Dr ratio!yuu : you said that the queen of hearts, was a ruler that upholds rules, but all I see is a tyrant who punishes the common folk for matters that are so small.

Riddle : HOW DARE YOU-

Dr ratio!yuu : and by far I'm seeing the exact same thing about you and the ruler, a child that holds the title of monarch but not the grace or qualities of a monarch. Tell me, are you even worthy of carrying the title of dorm leader similar to the queen of hearts worthy of calling themselves a ruler.

Riddle : i-

Dr ratio : I have met by far many people in my lines of work and by far they have more worth of being called a monarch than you....

Dr ratio!Yuu walk away leaving a stunt riddle behind.

By far that day riddle have an emotional scar, the words that the doctor has said to them have left a mark towards him. Riddle's mother soon learns about this situation and asks for Dr ratio!yuu explosion and even Crowley was afraid to face them, and when riddle mother confronts them, she also suffers from their harsh words of criticism and flaws, soon she even backs away from them.

Dr ratio may seem heartless but they do care about people, they want people to grow and unleash their full potential that's the reason why they are so strict with people.

During their first meeting with Jamil and kalim, during kalim being busy with something. Dr ratio!yuu ask why is kalim the dorm leader they said that Jamil is more worthy of being called dorm leader. This comment stunt Jamil. They said that Jamil is by far less careless and more appropriate to be a dorm leader.

Has respect for vil, Dr ratio!yuu respect vil for carrying him in high standards seeing them similar, together won't settle for less, vil pursuit of furthering peoples Beauty while Dr ratio!yuu is on a pursuit of furthering peoples intelligence and have high expectations for others and will always push others to their limit to reach potential. Saying that by far vil is already worthy of calling himself the most beautiful person as well a person worthy of a dorm leader.

I also like to imagine Dr ratio!yuu is what epel dream physic would be, being able to take down multiple students with ease as well smart and sharp. Epel wanted to ask them to train him but he's also scared to ask them but after enough courage he did ask them and they agreed, every know and then epel will be tutored by them in physical and academic requirements, vil approved and epel grades and physics have enhanced greatly.

Dr ratio!Yuu is an unstoppable force, they always tell the truth even tho it hurts people because if the people are unable to face the truth and how are they gonna grow.

By far after their appearance the standards of grades have risen 100%, there are no students that are being held back as well the standard of high grades started to rise thanks to Dr ratio!yuu after school lectures, and the staff personally thank them for giving students to have a back bone, they are by far a better headmaster than Crowley.

[dreamerdeity]

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄 ('𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄)

*ೃ𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Il Dottore x Fem. Reader

*ೃ𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k

*ೃ𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sleep deprived, overworked, a report requested by your Lord Harbinger. Just place it on his desk and leave–or take a nap on his luxurious leather couch before you do. What could go wrong? Well, a lot, apparently.

*ೃ𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT!!! Dead dove: do not eat. Somnophilia, non-con like straight up r*pe, subordinate x superior, scary delusional rationalizer-dottore, p in v, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, dottore thinks he's actually a nice guy, dottore is in fact just a creepy guy, dottore acts like a silly (like a psychopath), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! others, please proceed at your own risk!

*ೃ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Hi lovelies! I meant to post this yesterday but had some things to take care of so didn't get around to it. This is a request part of @ficsforgaza 's kinktober event. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE WARNINGS!! If my shit gets flagged one more time I'm going to kms. anyway, I hope you all enjoy dottore being a literal psychopath. byee :3

KEIRA'S FUNDRAISING EVENT 🍉

You walk through the east wing of the Sumeruan Fatui Research Facility, your eyes heavy and your senses numb from lack of sleep. The only sound that rings through your ears is the faint clicking of your shoes against the rubber flooring. 

The strong scent of antiseptic has always fared excellently in keeping you awake, and you thank the archons for its potent presence in this sterilized hallway as your eyes scan over the various signs plastered on the walls. Il Dottore, Il Dottore, Il Dottore. What turn should you take? What sign bears the arrow to his private laboratory? Frankly, if it were up to you, you would've shoved the responsibility of delivering this report to Lord Dottore onto Mikhael, but he feared the harbinger even more than you did, so here you were, left to take one for the team while sleep deprived, cranky, nervous, and somewhat afraid all at once.

It was a bit of a long walk–marked by frustrated sighs and irritated mutters of disapproval at your own dull sense of direction–to Dottore's personal lab, and you weren't even sure he would be there. He's always been the most eccentric of the harbingers, which is then, relatively, extremely eccentric, and his work hours never conformed to normal people's. You round a corner and turn one last left, before a large fortified iron door faces you ever so imposingly, a towering frame that stands a solid ten feet above you, and you sigh in relief. "Il Dottore" painted in bright white slashes across the door, and you hesitantly stretch your hand out–to knock... or maybe to open the imposing slab of metal. A second passes, and as it turns out, you don't have to choose, because the door slides open automatically, a faint mechanical whirr resounding throughout the premises.

You stride in quickly. A sickeningly sweet scent permeates the air around you, the fragrance wafting off the incense sticks burning at the harbinger's desk. You fleetingly wonder how on earth he could stand the oppressively strong smell, but that doesn't matter right now. Dottore isn't here, you have the report in your hand, tucked neatly into a blue folder (Dottore insisted all papers delivered to him must be so in blue folders only. Not green, not yellow. Blue). All you had to do was set it on your Lord Harbinger's desk and get the hell out of here before he returned. Otherwise, you'll be stuck with intense heart palpitations as he questions you about one thing or the other, or goes on a philosophical rant that you didn't ask to hear while laughing manically as his terrifyingly sharp fangs glint under the white light.  Yup, no way. So, you set the folder onto the pristine oak desk, eyes still heavy and head pounding from your lack of sleep.

A soft breath of relief furls past your lips as soon as the folder hits the desk, and then, you try to turn on your heel and get out of here. Keyword: try, because just as you resign yourself to leaving, your gaze strays to the long, plush, brown leather sofa seated at the corner of the office-meets-laboratory. Fuck, that looks comfortable–no, what in the world were you thinking?! Get out, you mentally scream at yourself. 

Yet, the more logical part of your brain has shut down, and a tired sigh leaves you as you stumble over to the couch. Just a second. You're so, so sleepy. Just a second and then you'll leave, you think, and plop onto the cushions. Your mind is blank, and your limbs feel like they're weighed down by lead. You blink slowly, your body sinks into the soft leather. This sofa must have cost your entire annual salary, what with how comfortable it is. A faint moan bubbles up your throat at the feeling of being engulfed in softness like this, and your eyelids droop. Before you can register, you're slipping away, into the inescapable depths of sleep.

Out like a light. 

It could've been 10 minutes, it could've been an hour, or it could've been all day, but at some point, your name is called, and you're too deep into the recesses of unconsciousness to process it as a word. All it manifests as is a distant voice spinning around your head.

Dottore had trudged into his lab after a rather exhausting day of fieldwork, of examining poisonous flower samples on the outskirts of Avidya Forest with the diligence of the... scientist he was. The deep velvet of his voice uttered your name, and when he received no response, he hummed to himself. He continues to stand over you now, gazing down with the eyes of a predator and the smile of a fox

"Didn't see you there," he mutters to himself more than anything, because, from the looks of it, you're in slumber. His eyes observe the scene before him. The way your chest rises and falls rhythmically, the way your rosy lips are parted just a bit, and the way the moonlight filtering in through the windows catches on the curve of your cheekbones. The inviting sight before him has him licking his lips and adjusting the collar of his coat.

"How lovely..."

The inviting sight, because yes, that's what it was, you were inviting him to indulge, weren't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, asleep on his couch, in his space, blouse unbuttoned once or twice at the top. You know what you're doing, aren't you? He's not the bad guy for just... taking the hint, if you will. His hands twitch at his sides, and his smile widens. You're sleeping, and if you saw the terrifyingly sinister grin on his face right now, you would've thanked the archons for sparing you its sight by letting it stretch upon his lips now that you are asleep, unable to see it.

As though he were debating whether to go about whatever evil he was about to, he crosses his arms over his chest, gaze locked on your form and brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't thinking about the depravity of his potential actions and the psychological harm they may cause you later on. No, no. He didn't have a conscience loud enough for that kind of thought to grace his mind. He was simply thinking about the logical implications. It was... unprofessional–to say the least–to grope your subordinates in their sleep, and should word get out about it, the Second Harbinger will never hear the end of it–especially not from Pantalone. It could jeopardize his relationship with all the investors who fund his research. It could also get him in a pickle with Arlecchino, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that crazy woman for at least the next century.

But it was dark outside. You were asleep, and he had the whole night to himself. It wasn't his fault, and if you were to awaken, well, it's not like you were going to tell. Oh, he'll make sure of that.

His decision is made, and without a single thread of doubt left in his mind, he crouches by your side, eyes locked on your slumbering face. The smile that stretches along his lips is one reserved for moments like these, for moments when he silently observes the unconscious features of those that fall into his predacious hands. There was always something about unconsciousness that stirred something in him. He was fascinated by the human brain, but he was also fascinated by the unadulterated powerlessness of an unconscious human. It gave him a power trip of sorts, knowing he was the lion and the slumbering were the deer. He chuckles to himself as his eyes fall upon the trail of drool at the corner of your lips, a sound so quiet and smooth that it could have melted butter.

"Don't worry, agent. I'll be... gentle," his words are spoken softly, yet they hold the same venom that his actions always do. They're meant for the both of you. "I won't hurt you."

He won't, will he?

Well, that was for him to know and for you to find out–should you awaken. His gloved hand, gentle but firm, snakes under your head and props it up, and his other hand is busy pushing the buttons of your blouse apart, one by one, until your raven-black bra meets his gaze. He breathes out in a soft exhale, a sound too tranquil for a man of his reputation, and his hand gently tips your face toward him. He meets your face halfway, scanning his sharp eyes over your sleeping features for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, though you can't feel it in your drowse. Slowly, almost like he was deliberately holding himself off, he lets his lips brush against yours, and then he tests the waters some more, giving them a light kiss. You subconsciously shift at the contact, but you're still asleep, and that's enough reassurance for him to go further, letting his teeth graze your lower lip. 

You taste like candy; sweet, soft, and addicting. You're an aphrodisiac, aren't you? He wonders, and his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, begging entrance, but it doesn't take. A soft, almost inaudible growl emanates from him, and the distant feel of his tongue has your breathing stuttering, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, but you don't wake, and that has his pants feeling a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago.

"tsk," he grumbles against your lips. He's not sure if he wanted you asleep or awake right now. There was a thrill he felt in his veins when he teetered on the edge of danger like this, but there also seemed to be a thrill at the thought of having you awake for this, eyes wide in fear and lust all at once, soft implorations of "please let me go, Lord Dottore" falling from your lips like a mantra.

In the end, though, he'll have his way, and it doesn't matter what your state is. His tongue slips past your parted lips and invades the heat of your mouth, his sharpened canines grazing your tongue. His saliva, mixed with the residue of alcohol he had before heading back, drips down your chin and stains your blouse. If you were awake, you would've found the whole ordeal sloppy and wet, but since you weren't, all it felt like was warmth, and a foreign feeling, as his tongue prodded and probed your mouth. Your brows knit together, and a soft, unconscious moan escapes your lips, one that he greedily swallows. You're not so sure what's going on, still in a drowse that makes you think you're having some sort of insanely realistic wet dream. You hadn't slept in almost two days after all. Archons knew you weren't about to let anything wake you from your much-needed rest. 

Dottore retreats from your lips and pauses for a moment, eyes raking over your form as though his mind was scanning over all the choices of what to do to you next. 

"Ah," he says, like he was hit with a revolutionary idea. It wasn't so revolutionary, because the next thing that happens is the harbinger's hands finding their way to your chest, the cool leather of his gloves brushing against the bare patch of skin he revealed to himself when unbuttoning your blouse down three or four buttons. You shift again, and the movement has his fingers accidentally grazing over your bra-clad nipples. The sudden touch causes your body to arch and a low groan to rumble in the back of your throat. You were sensitive, he notes, and a grin tugs at the corner of his lips. 

But you see, Dottore was getting bored of his self-inflicted abstinence. He did tell himself he had all night earlier, but come to think of it, he actually doesn't. He wants it fast and rough, and he wants it now. So, he lets his hand trail down for a moment, shamelessly shoving it into your pants and letting his fingers play with your pussy over your panties.

"H-hnngh!" You gasp in your sleep, and if you were awake, you'd be able to almost feel the smirk he wears as he continues, a finger pressing insistently at your clit, even if the fabric of your underwear is in the way.

"Oh? Do you like this then, agent?" he asks, and the words are an almost inaudible whisper. The question is rhetorical, after all. He doesn't give a flying fuck if you do like it, and he was talking himself through it more than he was you. 

Your head lolls to the side and a shaky breath leaves you. Your panties are subconsciously growing wet, an automatic bodily reaction to being touched here, and his finger doesn't relent. It's a good thing, however, that the friction of the thin fabric has you writhing, and the stimulation has him impatient, his fingers hastily moving to roughly pull your pants down, then to grip the fabric of your blouse, ripping it apart, buttons popping off the garment and onto the ground with soft clicks. The supple flesh of your torso is now exposed and open, and so are your eyes. It takes you a second to register what's going on. 

You're... lying on the sofa.

What time was it?

What are you doing here, exactly?

"W-what..." the words barely leave you, and suddenly, sleep has left you completely, the feeling of a heavy weight against your body taking its place, and the realization that a man is on top of you.

Your eyes snap open wider, and the first thing you see is Dottore's grinning, almost psychotic-looking eyes boring through you. 

"My Lord?!" you cry, and everything comes rushing back. You went to drop a report to the Lord Harbinger. You fell asleep on the couch in his laboratory.

"What are you doing?!" you demand as assertively as you can in a situation like this, but your voice shakes in fear despite your efforts.

"I could ask you the same question, agent," he hums, and his gloved fingers move to trail over the expanse of your breasts, fondling and groping with not a sliver of shame. "You were asleep when I came in, and so, I assumed, naturally, that you wanted me to do this. Why else would you have been so conveniently sprawled out on my couch, in the privacy of my lab, half-naked and vulnerable?"

"I-I didn't–I wasn't half naked," you try to defend yourself–with such a witless refutation too–but how could you possibly defend yourself? The harbinger was right. You were asleep on the couch in his private lab. Utterly disrespectful. And he caught you. Maybe this was karma–or just your luck. 

"Hush, now," he purrs, and his fingers slither behind your back to the band of your bra. You don't have time to react as the garment is pulled off you in one swift motion, tossed away and onto the floor, and then his hands are back on your tits, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your hardened nipples.

"My Lord–stop it, please," you plead, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you, the action shooting straight between your thighs, which clamp together as best as they can with Dottore straddling your waist with all his weight.

He was a scary man, Il Dottore, and even if he wasn't physically hurting you–for now–the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to scare the shit out of you. You were utterly, hopelessly, and vulnerably at his mercy, and the worst part is, you have a feeling that not a single person in this whole 8-story facility would stand up for you. Not a single Fatui subordinate would dare.

"Stop? Oh, darling! But we haven't even started," he laughs, like what you just suggested was utterly ridiculous, and a shudder runs down your body.

"You know," he hums, leaning closer and lowering his head to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. "You can scream–if you'd like. No one would hear." 

You have no time to retort, because Dottore's head dips to the valley of your breasts immediately, then his lips ghost over one of your nipples, swiftly taking the nub in his mouth. A sharp inhale rushes into your lungs, and a whimper threatens to spill from your throat. You're not quite sure if the feeling coursing through you is fear or lust or both, because it makes your stomach churn how good this actually feels. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and Dottore’s teeth graze the sensitive skin around your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity between your legs, then his tongue flicks over the hardening peak.

"Mmh," the moan bubbles up from the very back of your throat. 

"Oh? So... still want me to stop now, agent?" he muses, mockingly, and his free hand is back at your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the soaked fabric. Your hips buck up, so he takes that as a sign to push the garment aside, a finger sliding between your wet lips.

"No, my Lord," you gasp, and you can't believe the words that come out of your own mouth. Dottore's hand doesn't stop, and his thumb presses down on your clit, and a breathy, whiny moan escapes you.

"See? This isn't so bad, now, is it?" he doesn't give you any warning before his fingers dip into your wet pussy, the intrusion causing you to jerk. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers. His sharp canines dig into his lower lip.

"Aren't you a good little whore. So pretty and obedient for your Lord Harbinger," Dottore purrs, and his thumb begins to move against your clit, while his fingers curl and press insistently at your walls. Your legs tremble, a string of moans falls from your lips, and if anyone told you just an hour ago that the Second Lord Harbinger Il Dottore was going to finger you in his lab, you would've laughed and asked who the fuck would say something like that.

Alas, Dottore wasn't a patient man, so it's no surprise that he doesn't finger you long enough before his hands pull away from you entirely, and he "tsks" impatiently to himself. He has to have you now. He's been so, so nice. Hasn't he? Kind enough to prep you for him instead of plunging himself into you from the get-go. If anything, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back for his thoughtfulness. 

Swiftly, his hands reach under your thighs, and with an alarming amount of ease, he yanks you down and away from the cushion that sprawled beneath your head. Then, he's settling between your legs. A soft whimper is torn from your throat when the cold, metal buckle of his belt grazes the inside of your thigh. You watch, helpless, as his hands make quick work of his pants, unzipping the black uniform, and pushing them down just far enough to pull his cock out. You can't help but gulp at the sight, and the wideness of your eyes makes Dottore laugh out an almost sadistic-sounding string of giggles. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he hums, the term of endearment spoken so condescendingly. "You'll take it well. Won't you?"

His words aren't a question. They're a statement. An absolute, undeniable fact. An order. You'll take it well, whether you want to or not, and the knowledge has you almost making a run for the door, but the thought leaves you as fast as it came.

Dottore doesn't wait for a response that won’t come, or a plea for him not to do this, not to force his cock into your tight heat, and you're not quite sure why, but you don't find yourself objecting, or trying to kick him away. Maybe you were curious. Maybe this was a materialization of one of your own depraved fantasies. Or maybe you were just scared he'd kill you if you resisted.if you made a run for the door like you fleetingly thought just now. 

His fingers curl around the base of his thick cock, fist then sliding up and down in a few experimental pumps. The tip presses at your entrance almost desperately, and he's pushing the head into your tightness before you can process. He's a big man. The stretch burns. It has a hiss tearing from the back of your throat, and a pained grimace twisting your features.

"Shh," Dottore murmurs, his other hand reaching up to caress the side of your face almost soothingly, the action a stark contrast to the harshness of his current actions.

"Good, good," he whispers, his voice is sickeningly smooth, as though he were genuinely consoling you.

Then, just like that, his hips snap forward, not giving you time to adjust as the entirety of his cock is engulfed in the warmth of your pussy. You're clamping down around him, and it has him groaning lowly in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut, the grip of his hands that are now on your hips tightening.

"Agent," he sighs, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your sides. It'll leave a mark there. A reminder.

You're not quite sure where the burning pain had gone. All that remains is an aching desire, a desperate need, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Your hands move, without a conscious command from your brain, and they rest on Dottore's shoulders, holding on tightly. The harbinger smiles down at you with sickening sweetness, no, not sweetness, mockery. Or maybe sweetness. God, you were a mess. Your mind was nothing but a blob of mush at this moment, and Dottore's hands shift to the underside of your knees, pushing your legs up and thrusting his cock even deeper at this new, utterly indecent angle. 

"My Lord!" the moan is punched out of you. His lips meet yours again, his sharp canines scraping over the sensitive flesh. Your hands slide to tangle into his hair, pulling and tugging at the soft blue strands. An almost whiny groan escapes the harbinger's throat at the action. His movements become more desperate. Fast and rough. So fast and rough you're scared you'll be split in two. The plush sofa under the two of you shakes and creaks. 

"So, so good," he whines, face contorted in pleasure, but as though he caught himself in his haze before it spiraled, his lips pull back into a domineering sneer. "Take it," he demands, and the words, combined with the obscene feeling of being filled to the brim, are enough to have your vision going white. You claw at Dottore's shoulders with desperate fervor. 

"L-Lord Harbinger. I think I'm going to–" 

"Do it," he commands with the struggle of a man on the brink of ecstasy, and he folds you even more. If you weren't agile–thanks to your agent training–you're sure you would've actually split into two by now. Back arching off the sofa, a string of incoherent, unintelligible moans escapes your throat. Your pussy clamps down around the thick cock stretching it, and a wave of pleasure courses through you, rendering your muscles numb.

The sight and feeling of you unraveling have Dottore following closely after, his movements becoming erratic and uncoordinated. It's a sight like never seen before; the normally ever so composed man crumbling like this, and then, he's spilling his hot cum into you, a guttural groan reverberating throughout his chest. He fills you to the brim until the warm white liquid leaks out of your aching pussy and stains the leather under you. 

A second passes, then two, then three, then a few seconds more. Dottore lets the head of his cock press against your insides one last time before pulling out. He sits back on his knees and regards you for a moment with an almost frightening calmness, and you open your mouth to try and say something, because why was he looking at you like you were nothing but the scum of the ground he walks on after literally cumming inside of you as some lover would?

"The couch will need some cleaning. I trust you can get that sorted tomorrow, agent?" He says finally with a cock of his head, voice level and calm as he climbs off of you and stands on his feet, tucking himself back into his pants as he nonchalantly hums a tune to himself, like this was just another day of fucking his subordinates in their sleep. And maybe it was; you didn’t know, but right now, you're still paralyzed in your spot, just staring at him, and so he turns to glance at you. "Get dressed. You're dismissed for today."

You can only gape, speechless, watching as Dottore turns his back to you once more and disappears into the microscopy workroom in his lab, a certain energized spring to his step.

What the fuck just happened?

The workroom's door closes behind him with a soft click, and he smiles to himself.

Ah, the thrill.

Now, it was time to get back to his research.

[phantomsies]

no thots, just going on a camping trip with ace :)

wc: 1.8K

fresh air on a warm summer night, the ripple of small insects and discarded rocks across the muggy lake waters, intermittent gusts of wind passing through the thick trees, the crackle of debris underneath rubber soled shoes…it was all of these little things that made Ace love the outdoors. Being one with nature and exploring the beautiful unknown, one hike, fishing expedition or camping trip at a time!

it wasn’t uncommon for the spontaneous traveler to just up and decide on a whim that he was going to pack up his supplies, load up his old beater of a Silverado with enough food and water to feed an army for the weekend and head out to his next destination. Albeit a spring with glistening water or a forest some sixty miles away from home. His cell phone was only left on so that worried loved ones were aware of his location…

“..don’t worry about me, I’ll be back in a few days!” Otherwise, his only connection was to the furry animals that made his acquaintance and the earth itself. It was something about the whole experience that awakened his primal instincts…

but perhaps nothing awoken said urges more than when he decided to invite his beloved (y/n) (l/n) along for a weekend excursion to the infamous Twin Flames Peak. A recreational park that was known for its incredible hiking areas, breathtaking waterfalls and the stunning view of the stars at night over the campsites. Yes, he was thrilled to have the company of another fellow outdoorsman and one with such a pretty face to boot!

Watching intently as you tie your box braids up in a neat bun in the passenger seat of his truck. Clear gloss smearing your luscious lips and not another speck of makeup on that perfect canvas..a feeling of warmth and sheer happiness encompassing him as he watches you glide your nimble hands up and down those smooth, brown legs with coats of lotion; just in awe of how the sunlight captures the essence of your gorgeous dark skin underneath its rays. “Careful, babe. You get out smelling all sweet and looking this good, you might attract some unwanted guests.” “Well that’s what I have my big strong man for. You’ll protect me, right?” Joking as you thought he’d probably be insane enough to try and go toe to toe with a damn bear!

Despite it all, he knows he’s got nothing to worry about. Ace has watched you handle your own throughout the rough and tumble. Yes, this gorgeous woman who can pitch a tent and lug firewood just as well as she can put on a designer dress and shake ass at the club…would be spending three whole days out here in the wilderness with him. Those once primal instincts that activated when he sensed nearby danger or felt hunger and rations were low..

had now shifted towards you. Like a predator lying in wait on its prey to slip up, he glared hungrily as you strutted in front of him in those biker shorts and tank top. That plump, toned ass swaying with each step as the two of you trekked to the campsite. His mouth practically watering for a taste of what lies between those somehow thick thighs…

the ratio of your proportions would be enough to turn anyone into a rabid beast. “You better keep up back there, I might leave you behind.” “Is that right? Maybe I like it back here.” Tossing him a wink as you wave to him with a beckoning finger. It’s in this moment that Ace realizes he can no longer sate his carnal desires..discreetly cupping at the tent in his shorts before instructing you to stop at a nearby tree with some made up lie about needing to fix something on your gear. It’s then that he makes his move..

launching the first attack with his lips practically melded to yours in a haze of passion. His tongue descends deeper between your jaws with deep grunts and whimpers to follow…sweaty palms ravenously groping at your tits as the bottom half is sent upwards to be pinched between your teeth for comfort. Ace knows you’ll need it for his lecherous plans to defile your body right here in the forest! Nightfall is soon to come so others are scarce, meaning that he didn��t need to hold back.

instead, he’d instruct you to wrap your arms around the back of the tree and hold still..with a gentle suck of his teeth and muttered expletives under his breath, he’d run those fingers down the curvature your torso before not so subtly shoving his hand in the seat of your panties. He can feel your warmth..the arousal already forming only seconds in. ”You’re wet, babe. That’s a lil’ surprising..” Chuckling as the sounds of your stirred up slick met the crackle of the leaves.

two digits slowly make place on that budding clit and your reaction is priceless! An adorable yelp before tossing your hand over your mouth to shield those whimpers. However, you don’t resist..you don’t even tell him to stop. You just continue working the pads of his index and middle fingers..rolling those hips as you peer down over your stomach. Meanwhile, those exposed tits gently bounce each time he jolts a finger in and out of you.

Hell, he knew the thought of lewd acts in a public place was a bit shameful but it was called the wild for a reason. You were merely mammals, acting in the way you were intended to..no need to be bashful of that!

he’d smugly reach for that hand and peel it back from your mouth whilst those pumps grew faster.

“Instead of trying to hide those moans, pretty girl..squeeze those nipples f’r me. You’ll feel a lot better.”

“Ace, we’ve gotta stop this. I’m gonna fucking come—“

in that moment, your breath hitched in your throat and you realized those pleas were futile because that was his plan. To make you reach climatic bliss right under the night sky. “Then do it..why hold back? Because you’re embarrassed?..afraid we’ll get caught?” His words seeped into your brain as his teeth and lips met your neck once more. Like a carnivorous beast, he’d scrape along your skin before gently grazing you with bites. “Because I’m not. Hell, I hope they see us..see me fucking you like a little slut.”

The entire prospect had him so aroused, he couldn't help but to shuffle those pants to his waistline and tease the head of his throbbing cock against your slick folds. Which prompted him to suck his teeth. “Listen at that..it’s like your little pussy is just begging to be stuffed.” Without haste, he’d snatch your head towards him and force you to focus on that thick member rubbing on your clit. “So beg me, babe. Beg me to fuck you.” It was such a different side of him than before. The jovial, wide eyed camper turned deviant animal had you in his claws with no plans to release…and you had no complaints! So you’d fulfill his wish and plead to feel him inside of you. To be pinned against this tree and fucked until your eyes trailed to the back of your skull.

“Please..fuck me. I don’t care if anyone hears us. I need you..”

it was all he needed to feel affirmed. For you to be equally as carefree as he was. Your shorts had been residing at your knees so he’d finish removing them before hoisting a leg to his shoulder and keeping his eyes focused on your own. “Good girl. That’s all you had to say.” In a moment's notice, you’d find yourself impaled on him; split open by that tip and a few more inches. Releasing loud wails, the two of you moved like a well oiled machine. His hips snapping without so much as slowing down and you meeting those thrusts. The sounds of your skin smacking colliding with the ruffle of the leaves underneath your shoes and of course, the foul words escaping those lips.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart..I hope you’ve been taking your pill because I can’t wait to breed all these pretty holes. Make you walk back to camp with all my cum in you…that’ll be so fucking sexy. Maybe we should’ve brought your plug too.”

meanwhile, you were honing in on massaging your clit, even lobbing a trail of saliva down your tummy to aid in those strokes. Giggling at how calculated his plan whilst gasping and moaning.

“How long have you been waiting to get me out here like this?”

“Only since forever.”

and he had no plans to squander this opportunity. Only to make it worth both of your time. Cradling a hand to the back of your neck, Ace keeps your faces glued to one another..eventually drawing you closer for some deep, sloppy pecks. Those lips smacking as loud as the wet skin below; hips bucking..snapping with each movement and the next thrust growing harder than the last. Praising you for the way you took him so easily. His pace quickens and he can’t seem to slow down…hell, he’s insatiable and the only cure is to feel that tight hole squeezing him and squirting all over his shaft. The sensation of that warmth continuously wrapping around him..pulling him back in each time he felt as if he was going to slip out.

it was evident by the tears welling in your eyes that you were close and who was he to deny you the sweet surrender of an orgasm?

“Oh my gosh! Fuck..right there, right there—“

“Come f’r me, pretty girl. Let it out…come all over this dick.”

each stroke from then on brought forth spurts of wetness, until that little bladder emptied all over his shoes and the ground beneath. But that wasn’t the end..no, he couldn’t let up until he saw his earlier promise through. So he’d force himself through that overly sensitive flesh..getting only half of those eight or so inches before it’d begin to snap. Even so, he persists..because the only thing he wants is to feel that seed pouring into your womb. And it’s not long before his wish is granted. You’d pull him in close, pleading with him to fill you to the brim. Marking his back previously and now with those deep scratch marks, signifying that he was your territory and now he’d done the same..all but growling as he empties his balls into you and leaves a stream of that hot white load embedded inside of you. Chest heaving and curse words are still spewing from his mouth, along with a laugh.

“Fuck..I swear you bring out the worst in me.”

“Says the one whose idea it was in the first goddamn place.”

but there aren’t any complaints. It was no secret you enjoyed this as much as he did. And those primal urges were only just beginning to be quelled…

“Well I have a better idea..why don’t we go for round two when we get back to the tent?”

after all, you had a long weekend ahead of you!