#one with a lighter ending and then this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gaslysgirl · 2 days

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Would love to read something with Mr. Carlos Sainz. Imagine you have been dating Carlos for some years now (4-5) thanks to your lovely brother Charles Leclerc. Mr. Sainz has had an awful quali this Saturday and needs to let his anger out on you 😏. Please add Spanish dialogue if you can (pet names for example). Thank you so so much ☺️.

While Carlos was usually able to keep his frustrations to himself, you could clearly sense that he was upset from the way his qualifying session ended. You suggested he should take a shower, and he had silently agreed when you came back to the hotel. You hated to see him this way, because a part of him was blaming himself, another part of him was confused with the way the car had reacted in Q3 all of a sudden. Carlos asked if you wouldn't rather wanted to be with your brother, as Charles didn't manage to have a great qualifying session either, but you had kissed the palm of his hand when he cupped your cheek and shaken your head. You'd much rather wanted to help Carlos to feel better. His eyes had darkened when you said that, and he had slowly nodded.

While he showered, you got changed into one of his shirts, wearing nothing but a Ferrari shirt and some panties, you waited for him to finish. You leaned against the large window in the hotel room all the stories up and above the ground, watching the roads beneath you light up, the pretty view distracting you from the fact that Carlos had walked out of the bathroom and was admiring you. His hands reached for your hips, drawing you in and against him. His head nuzzled into your neck, his soft lips nipping at your skin and making you feel lighter than a feather. "¿Vas a ser buena conmigo, querida?" his voice rasped, one of his hands slipping under his shirt you were wearing, rough palms feeling the skin of your stomach, sliding up to your tits.

"Si, Carlos," you replied with a breathy voice, one of your hands disappearing into his lush hair that was still wet, his teeth scraping gently along the skin of your neck. "Me vas a escuchar?" he continued. "Siempre," you weakly whimpered when his hand disappeared into your panties, fingers dancing over your clit before his middle finger started to rub firm circles over it. Carlos' other hand was gently pulling on one of your nipples, the combination of the stimulation causing you to lull your head against his shoulder. Your eyes rolled back when his teeth nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath ghosting over your ear before he spoke up again. "Get on your knees for me, cariño." You were slightly dizzy when his fingers left your pussy, and you sunk to your knees in front of him.

The towel around his waist dropped to the floor, his pretty, fat cock slapping up against his lower abdomen. You looked up at him before your eyes diverted to his cock, briefly admiring the curved shape, the thick veins running over it. Your panties were ruined with your slick at the thought of having him inside you soon. "Remember our safeword?" Carlos asked. "Yes," you reply. "Such a good girl," he praised, gathering your hair in his fist behind your head. "Abre tus bonitos labios para mí, querida." You were nearly drooling at the heavy weight of his cock on your lips, gladly sticking out your tongue to take more of him in your mouth. You made sure his cock was wet enough for you to properly take him down your throat when he started to rut his hips towards your face.

Carlos cursed under his breath when he looked down at you, your lips stretched so prettily around his cock while your eyes started to water from how far down your throat he was. His lips parted with a moan when you gagged around him, swallowing your spit briefly, allowing him to continue meanwhile. You watched his abs tense when your tongue licked the sensitive underside of his cock, moaning when you felt his grip on your hair tighten. He looked so hot above you, in control, using your mouth for his pleasure, muttering Spanish praise to let you know how much he appreciated it that you were on your knees, looking so pretty, all for him. You were nearly out of breath when he continued his pace, his cock pulsing in your mouth, and you were almost disappointed he pulled out.

Carlos pulled you up, your lips colliding with a searing kiss, his cock standing up angrily between your bodies. "Please, fuck me," you said against his lips. Your hands landing on his fine abs, feeling the muscles before tracing his v-lines and wrapping around his cock. "I want you to cum inside me," you continue, his hand leaving your hair and curling around your shoulder instead, pushing you face down, ass up, on the bed. "I need you to cum inside me," you add, offering one of your hands behind your back to show him that you were a very good girl. "Fuck, I know," Carlos replied, knowing that, once he stuffed you full with his cock, he wouldn't be able to pull out anyway. You let out a cry of his name when the thick head of his cock entered the slick walls of your cunt, his hand settling on the wrist behind your back.

"Give me your other hand, princess," his voice rasped. You spread your knees a little further to steady yourself, wrapping your other hand behind your back as well. Carlos caught both of your wrists in one hand, his hips rutting forward, nestling his cock deeply between the snug walls of your pussy. He briefly forgot about the one of his worst Saturdays of his year so far as he buried himself inside you, watching you squirm underneath him, feeling your cunt squeeze him tight, hearing you moan when the head of his cock brushed against your cervix. "Your brother should know how you're comforting me now, cariño," Carlos said. "Letting his teammate use you like this," he continued, making your eyes roll back when his pace quickened.

The fitly sounds of sex filled the room, the noises of your bodies colliding with each shift of his hips bouncing off the walls, the slick sounds of your pussy sucking in his cock making his ears ring, hazing his mind with a lusty cloud. Carlos watched his cock disappear into you, hearing your sweet whimpers getting higher pitched each time he spread you further open. "Gonna beg for it?" he asked, feeling his balls tighten at the sight of your back, the way the globes of your ass jiggle with each thrust. "Please," you whine. "Please give it to me, Carlos," your throat started to get raw already. "I need your cum now. Please," you tried, fingers wrapping around his behind your back. His cock brushed over your g-spot each time he entered you, nearly having you drooling on the sheets beneath you.

Carlos grew possibly even harder at hearing the sounds you let out, feeling your slick pussy around his cock. Your thighs were getting wet and he had to force himself not to pull out and bury his tongue in your cunt. You came without a warning, convulsing around him while he emptied his balls inside you. Warm ropes of cum made you shiver, prolonging your orgasm as he remained nestled deeply in your pussy. You didn't notice how stiff your arms were until he let go of them, massaging your wrists. You yelped when he lifted you up and turned you around without slipping out of you. His eyes watched his cock pulse inside you, your mixed juices slowly starting to spill. You leaned up on your elbows to look at him, watching the way his eyes were so fixated on where your bodies were still connected. You shivered when he finally pulled out, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit with a cheeky smile.

He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom to get you a cloth to clean you up, taking good care of you, as he always did.

#cs #carlos sainz smut #cs x reader

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sansaorgana · 2 days

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— FADING LIGHT

PAIRING — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — When your daughter's mysterious sickness progresses, you are desperate to find a cure. You choose to travel all the way to Mirkwood but you are captured by the Orcs on the road and soon you find out that their leader is your husband who you thought of as dead.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I fell for Adar while watching Season One already but in the last episode when he mentioned that Sauron promised him children... I just knew I had to write some fic about him having a family once that he lost. 🤧 Also, I am like 100 percent sure that Adar was not his name when he was an Elf but I didn't want to make it up on my own so I kept it the same. 😅 The daughter's name – Moreth – apparently means gloom. The ending is bittersweet and angsty... but with an open ending! 🥺 PS – I've read The Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit books but it was long time ago and I have never even tried to read The Silmarillion but I tried to do some research on the wiki and I hope the fic is pretty accurate.

WORD COUNT — 6,420

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FADING LIGHT

You watched Moreth through the window. She was sitting on a bench under the tree and reading a heavy book in a dark brown leather cover. Her black hair danced in the wind but she looked far from ethereal like other elven girls spending time around. There was some sort of darkness around your daughter which worried you deeply. The sadness and the quietness you had grown to – despite all the years that had passed, she had never smiled as brightly and happily as before her father’s mysterious disappearance and most likely death. She had never been cheerful, which was painful enough to you since you were her mother and you wanted nothing but happiness for her. But lately, something very worrying had been happening to her. As if the light that Elves were supposed to carry and shine bright with all through Middle-earth was fading away from her.

“Her skin…” You bit on your lower lip as you looked at Gil-galad who was standing by you. “She’s growing paler but in an unnatural way. Her skin doesn’t simply get lighter but… whiter,” you pointed out. “I don’t know what to do, I am desperate,” you admitted sadly.

“Her light is fading, (Y/N),” Gil-galad whispered and put his hand on your arm as if it brought you any comfort. A single tear escaped your eye and streamed down your cheek when you took one more look at your daughter even though he only said what you had known already.

“Is she dying?” You asked, not fully understanding the situation but it felt awfully wrong that all these things were happening to you. First, you lost a husband and now you were about to lose a daughter? What was the point of this suffering? “Is she somehow turning into a human?”

“No, not a human,” Gil-galad shook his head and walked away. “Worse,” he commented and you furrowed your brows but you had no idea what he meant. You did not want to know. “I suggest sending her to Valinor before it becomes too late,” he added.

“No!” You sniffled your tears back as you protested. “Please, no! I would not handle another loss… Ever since Adar’s death, I am her only family. I am her only protector. And I know it is not the time yet for her or me to leave Middle-earth,” you explained. “I cannot explain it but I know that our destiny here has not been fulfilled yet. I must do everything it takes to save Moreth,” you clenched your jaw with determination.

“I do not know how to help her and all my wise and experienced friends I have asked for help do not know either. The longer you wait, the more she fades away and after a certain point of this mysterious change, she will not be accepted in Valinor,” Gil-galad explained. “It is an honour to be sent there.”

“And a pain for me. I shall miss her. I already miss her father,” you walked away from him to look out of a different window and take a deep breath at the sight of the sea. “I shall go to Oropher in Mirkwood then,” you decided. “Perhaps they know how to help her there. It is my last resort,” you looked at Gil-galad.

“It is dangerous to travel so far away these days. The army of Orcs…” He started but you interrupted him.

“I do not care,” you snapped. “I am her mother. I shall do everything to help her. I am desperate,” you looked deep into his eyes with so much pain and hopelessness that he eventually gave up with a sigh.

“I really hope then that you will find all the answers that you seek there. And that both of you will come back safe and unharmed,” he approached you to squeeze your arm.

“Thank you, High King,” you bowed your head at him.

Adar was an Elf much older than you but you spotted him watching you many times while you were with your friends in Mithlond. He was calm and quiet, smiling at you kindly but never bothering you. Respectfully, he waited for you to initiate the conversation first, which you did because he fascinated you. You admired his knowledge and how different he was from your friends – how mature. He was giving you flowers he had picked himself whenever you walked together and he always complimented you in a way that would make you blush.

When Elves loved each other and married, forever was always a promise. And for some it truly was like that but you were not one of the lucky ones. It was not long after the birth of your daughter when you lost your husband. Moreth was only a few years old when he disappeared and you began your desperate attempts to find him but you soon were informed by multiple sources that most likely your husband had been killed by Morgoth or one of his minions. There was nothing you could do – not even give him a funeral he deserved since there was no body. You grieved for long years and tried to raise your daughter as well as you could but apparently the burden of this grief and sadness had been affecting her more than you would like to admit it.

You still dreamt of him often – your husband. Of his kisses, of his promises of the life you would live one day. Far away from others; that had been his dream. And he had been often talking about achieving something more whatever that more had meant. An ambitious dreamer – that was how you remembered him. And despite the years that had gone already, not a day passed without you thinking of him dearly.

The thing he loved the most in life was being a father, though. Moreth was his whole world. He would sit her on his lap, tell her stories while braiding or simply brushing her hair. He would pick flowers for her or watch her play in the fields for hours, helping her to catch butterflies. You had never seen a man so mesmerised by his daughter and now this very daughter was sick and you had to do everything to help her. You owed him that.

You were nearby Khazad-dûm on the back of your horse with Moreth sitting behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist when you felt the horse getting nervous and anxious. You knew it was not a good sign but you did not want to turn around and seek refuge with the dwarves or in Eregion.

“Keep going,” you whispered to the horse as you patted its neck but you were cautiously looking around, sensing the danger as well. “It reeks of something filthy,” you admitted.

“I do not feel anything,” Moreth shrugged her arms, which calmed you down a little but it also caused you to lower your guard down, which was a mistake. On the other hand, you would not be able to do anything anyway even if you had spotted them earlier – a small unit of Orcs jumping out on the road in front of you as they laughed.

The horse startled and shook you and Moreth out of its back before running away as fast as possible. You quickly grabbed your dagger even though you knew it was hopeless to fight a unit on your own with nothing but a small knife. They laughed contemptuously, showing off their awful teeth.

Squeezing the dagger in your hand, you hovered over your daughter, trying to shield her from the Orcs. She was shivering slightly and clutched to the fabric of your cloak.

“L-leave us alone, we mean no harm, just passing through,” you tried to reason with them even though you knew they were not creatures of high intelligence. If they were creatures of any intelligence at all.

“Have you heard her?” One of the Orcs mocked you. “The Elven ladies are just passing through…” He pointed his own dagger at you as you trembled at the sight of the blade, which was dirty from dried up blood.

“P-please… My daughter is sick,” you pleaded but he only tilted his head and brushed your reckless hair strand with the tip of his blade.

“Leave it,” one of his friends barked at him. “They’re Elves. Lord Father won’t be happy if we hurt them. He wants all captured Elves to be taken to him immediately.”

“Oh… Yes… Lord Father will have lots of fun with them,” the Orc standing in front of you grinned at you, which caused a shiver go down your spine. His words sounded ominous – you were terrified of an idea of some sort of leader of the Orcs who was respected and called Lord Father by them. You didn’t even want to think about what he looked like and what he would do to you or your daughter… And now you were a hostage, taken to him.

Perhaps Gil-galad had been right but now it was too late to admit such things. Full of fear and anxiety, you dropped the dagger you were holding, counting on a merciful treatment after giving your weapon up willingly.

You were inside a wooden cage with your daughter by your side. Your hands were in shackles behind your backs but Moreth was sitting as close to you as possible, weeping silently and clinging to you. You knew that she was blaming herself because if it wasn’t for her sickness, you would never be travelling on that road. You didn’t blame her, though. She had never asked for any of this. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, praying for the infamous Lord Father of the Orcs to be a creature of a higher intelligence than his children. That you could reason with him and maybe offer him something in return to let you and your daughter go to Mirkwood freely although you had no idea what to offer. Perhaps a conversation with him would reveal more of his nature, which would help you to come up with a good idea. You were desperate to heal your daughter or at least to try to do so. You would never send her to Valinor too early without knowing that you had done absolutely everything to prevent it.

“It stinks,” you winced after your cage entered the Orcs’ camp.

“I do not feel it, mother,” Moreth admitted and you looked down at her face with nothing but shock. How could she not smell that odour of the Orcs and all their filth?

You were not given enough time to think about it, though. You heard the awful noises of the Orcs’ tongue and laughter. Through the wooden bars of your cage you spotted them staring at you and pointing their fingers with hatred and disgust as if it was them who had reasons to find you and your daughter hideous.

“We are being taken to their leader,” you whispered to Moreth. “Let me handle it, darling. Do not talk, do not do anything, please.”

“I promise, mother,” she nodded and sniffled back her tears. She was terrified and so were you but you were trying not to show it too much because there was no point of scaring her more and to appear weak in front of the Orcs’ leader.

“Lord Father,” you heard a raspy voice of one of the Orcs once the cage stopped in the middle of something that used to be a market square of one of the human villages before the Orcs’ invasion. “We have captured two Elven women near Khazad-dûm. “They thought we would let them go freely. Claimed to be just passing through and that one of them was sick.”

You waited for the answer but there was none. You could see the mysterious figure only through the bars of the cage and you were not able to spot any details about him. He had to nod his head at the Orcs, though, because the cage was opened shortly after. You and Moreth were dragged out and pushed, making you both hit the ground with your hands still in shackles behind your backs. Clumsily, trying to keep your dignity, you held your head straight while moving your body up to rest on your knees at least, feeling the mud and dirt sticking to your scratched cheek. Your hair was a mess and your eyes filled with hatred as the Orcs surrounding you laughed with contempt.

You laid your eyes on your daughter and how she moved up on her knees as well. Her long black hair – just like her father’s – was full of mud and her skin looked even more unhealthy under the dark and stormy skies. In fact, your heart clenched in your chest because in this light you could truly see how sick she truly was and how little time she had before her light fades away completely and she becomes… Becomes something you did not even want to think of. The reason behind this sickness was beyond your comprehension, though.

You squinted your eyes at the man walking up towards you. To your surprise, his figure was nothing like the Orcs around you. He was either human or… an Elf? You swore, you could see pointed ears and it confused you greatly. With one more step he walked out of the shadow and you finally could see him perfectly well, which caused a gasp to leave your mouth and your heart skipped a beat. Moreth yelped at the sight but you were too stunned to comfort her in any way.

The man walking towards you was your husband.

It was not the same Adar you remembered – he looked damaged and tortured. His skin was sickly white…, which dangerously reminded you of your daughter’s worrying condition. His skin was full of scars and there was a sinister darkness about him that turned your blood cold inside your veins.

He froze at the sight of you as well as the Orcs went silent, realising that something was not right about this encounter. Adar furrowed his brows and opened his mouth slightly as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Impossible…” He breathed out but you heard him very well. His voice made shivers go down your spine. It was changed, too but it was still his. The sound of it brought back all the memories of your marriage and the courting. Of all the walks you had been taking together, all the stories he had been telling you and all the flowers he had been putting inside your hair. All the giggles he had shared with your daughter and all the kisses he had stolen from you under the moonlight.

Adar crouched down in front of you and Moreth to be on the same level but he kept his safe distance. He tilted his head and continued to look confused.

“You died,” he said and it was a statement, not a question. “I saw it,” he added. “Sauron,” he explained, “he showed me your death. A bunch of humans attacking your carriage and leaving your dead bodies by the road to bleed out,” he whispered as his voice and eyes filled with pain. “The vision has been coming back to me in nightmares ever since.”

You had many questions.

Question number one – how did your husband know Sauron personally?

But that was not time to ask that. It was time to explain something that had to be an awful misunderstanding.

“It is true, we were attacked some time after your dea– …disappearance,” you fixed yourself, trying to look for the best words. You still could not believe that your husband was alive after all but you were not sure if alive was the right word to use because the creature in front of you did not look like the Elf you had married. “We were robbed by poor human villagers. They took my jewellery and let us go. I did not even remember about it until now, it holds no significance to me,” you admitted.

Long silence occurred. No Orc was brave enough to say anything, seeing that their leader was engaged in a conversation of this sort and he seemed to be as confused as they were.

“Free them,” Adar ordered and stood up, waiting for the Orc standing nearby to get rid of your shackles. Once your wrists were free, he moved to free Moreth and Adar approached you to offer you his hand to help you stand up.

You did not take his hand, though, as you stood up on your own with your jaw clenched and your eyes filled with anger and hatred when you looked him up and down.

“My children mentioned that one of you was sick,” Adar pointed out and took a better look at his daughter. He had not seen her grown up yet. “That must be you,” he walked up to Moreth and raised his hand to caress her cheek.

“Do not touch her!” You snapped but he did not listen and your daughter did not seem to mind either.

“Father…” Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed. Adar gathered her tears with his fingertips and pressed his forehead to hers.

A sudden thought made you realise that perhaps the answers you were seeking were not in Mirkwood but here – with him.

“Do you know what sickness is tormenting her?” You approached them, interrupting the bittersweet reunion moment. “Moreth’s light is fading. I am desperate to save her.”

Adar turned around to look at you and your daughter kept staring at you as well. And when they stood like that – side by side – you realised that it was no mysterious sickness at all. She had just been turning into a creature like her father. You gasped and took a step back, nearly falling down after stumbling.

“It is you…” You shook your head as tears filled your eyes when you laid them on your husband. “You are the sickness. You are the poison in her veins.”

But after hearing your words, Moreth looked outraged and saddened as she hid behind Adar. Her reaction shocked you. You knew that she had been missing him for long years but it had been you who actually raised her. Your bond was so strong and now she was siding with him? You couldn’t understand anything about her behaviour.

“Let us talk inside,” Adar pointed at one of the houses in the village that he was living in now.

Moreth walked there and waved at you to hurry you up as the Orcs kept staring at her and you with curiosity mixed with a little bit of respect. They had to realise by now that you were related to their Lord Father.

“Do not rush your mother, my darling,” Adar approached your daughter and put his arm around her. “She shall join us when she is ready to,” he nodded at you and you watched them both disappear inside the house.

You were left alone in the middle of the market square with dozens of Orcs staring at you and tilting their heads. You were unarmed and deeply uncomfortable in their presence even though they were not attacking or bothering you. They were just staring. Still, you would rather follow your daughter and Adar inside the house. There were many questions to ask.

Walking slowly without revealing your nervousness, you approached the door of the house and pushed them open. You spotted Adar and Moreth sitting together on a bench with a bowl full of water on the table in front of them. He was washing the mud and dirt off of your daughter’s hair gently just like he had been brushing and braiding it back in the day. The sight made your eyes fill with fresh tears again.

“It did not take you long, mother,” Moreth smiled at you weakly.

You looked around the dark house and felt awkward, not knowing what to do with yourself. You watched Moreth and Adar for a while as he silently cleaned her hair and face. You remembered that yours were dirty, too, so you approached the bowl and grabbed the spare cloth lying nearby as if it had been put there for you.

Slowly, you dipped the cloth in the water and wiped your face first, hissing when it touched the scratch on your cheek. Then you began working on your hair, brushing it with your fingers and getting rid of the dried up mud.

“How do you know Sauron and why did he lie to you about our death?” You asked finally. Moreth froze at your uncomfortable questions but Adar did not even flinch as he continued to brush her hair.

“I was lured by the promise of power given to me by Morgoth,” Adar explained calmly, avoiding your gaze. “I desired to learn everything I could about this world. Both light and dark,” he admitted, his voice stoic and melancholic. “After Morgoth’s defeat, I wished to come back for you and Moreth but Sauron wanted me to be his lieutenant. I refused at first. You and Moreth were all I was thinking about so he revealed to me that you were dead and that he had been sparing me the pain of this truth before. After seeing his vision, which felt incredibly real, I had nothing to lose. He had to deceive me to make me more willing to follow him,” Adar finally looked up to meet your gaze and you saw how his eyes filled with so much pain that it made your heart clench inside your chest. “If only I knew…”

“You do not speak of him fondly,” you did not let him finish as you pointed out. “I thought that the Orcs followed Sauron.”

“Uruks,” he fixed you. “After losing my family… they became like children to me,” Adar revealed. “Sauron does not care about them. He sacrifices them and treats them with no respect. I killed him once and now I am going to kill him again,” he told you.

You snorted at that as you started realising the absurdity of the whole situation. You couldn’t believe that your husband – whom you had been admiring for intelligence and knowledge – had acted so stupidly and proudly. So… haughty. That one day he had decided to abandon you to learn some forbidden magic tricks. What had he been expecting exactly?

And that your husband – whom you had been missing every day for many long years and whom you grieved – had been alive all that time, causing evil and misery all over Middle-earth.

“So… When you were telling me that you craved for something more… That’s the more that you meant?” You looked around with contempt.

“Mother, do not be so harsh. Father has been in so much pain, can’t you see?” Moreth stood up for him. “Are you not glad he is alive after all? We were told that you had been killed by Morgoth,” she looked at her father and cupped his face as if she still could not believe that he was alive. And as if she did not mind his cruel change at all.

“In many ways… I was, my child,” Adar smiled sadly at her.

“Let us go,” you insisted as you threw the cloth down onto the table, not needing it anymore. Adar and Moreth looked up at you both and once again you felt sick in your stomach as your insides twisted at the sight of how similar they were becoming. “She is sick, can’t you see? Her light is fading. Soon she will not be welcomed in Valinor.”

“I am not sick, mother!” Moreth interrupted you before her father could answer. “I could not understand this change either. For years, I have been tormented and scared, trying to fight it. But now I see that I have never been sick. Oh, can’t you see? This is exactly where I was supposed to end up. Nothing happens without a reason and the fact we were captured today was a part of the plan, too. Weren’t you always saying there had been a reason for us to be here, in Middle-earth? That is my purpose. I am not sick. I am becoming myself. Like father,” she nodded and squeezed Adar’s hands. He was staring at her lovingly and you could imagine that, indeed, those words had to feel like honey being poured onto his rotten heart – or whatever was left of it.

But for you her words were hideous and terrifying. You were staring at her in pure shock and you felt both sad and betrayed.

“No, that is not your purpose. Your blood is poisoned because of your father but… But there is still hope for you, Moreth. You are my daughter, too,” you pleaded. “Let us go,” you looked at Adar again and this time the tone of your voice was harsher. “We are going to Mirkwood to search for the answers.”

“There are no answers in Mirkwood,” your husband chuckled at that and caressed your daughter’s wrists with his thumbs as she kept squeezing his hands. “We might continue calling it a sickness if you wish, my love,” he nodded at you and you winced at the way he called you but at the same time it felt so… oddly good. However, you shook the feeling off. Your daughter and her health were more important than your heart’s conflicting desires. “The only person who can stop the sickness is Moreth herself. She would have to want to stop it and to truly fight it. She would have to seek the light instead of darkness. And those past years she has been chasing the corruption, haven’t you, my darling?” He asked Moreth and she looked down as your eyes widened.

“Moreth?” You asked her.

“It was stronger than me, mother. I have been studying things I should not have. I have blamed it on the sickness you were talking about. You were blaming my grief and sadness but it was not true. I took it for the symptom but it was the reason itself. I remembered that my father loved to learn and I tried to justify my hunger for the forbidden knowledge with the fact that I was his daughter. And I am his daughter indeed. Twisted, is it not, mother?” She looked up at you again, scared of your reaction. With each of her confessions, you felt your heart breaking into more and more pieces. Your whole world was crumbling down. Not only your husband but also your daughter were corrupted with great evil. “I still love you. I forever shall love you, mother. But do you still love me?”

“I forever shall love you,” you mirrored her words and felt tears stream down your cheeks. “It is too late for you,” you looked at Adar. “But not for her. Let her go. Help me,” you begged.

“You are right, (Y/N). It is too late for me and I do wish for my daughter to remain by my side if that is her wish,” Adar smirked, making you realise that you were not on the same page with this.

“Moreth?!” You took a step ahead but your husband stood up and shielded your daughter from you. That gesture hurt you deeply because you were the last person in the whole world who would ever want to put her in any form of danger. You furrowed your brows at him. “Is that what you want?” You kept asking your daughter although your eyes were fixed on her father as you were staring at him with hatred mixed with pain. It was a pure torture to see your beloved husband turning into a monster. All that grief and sadness after his death – they had been a useless waste of feelings after all. “Is that what you want?” You repeated your question. “To be an Orc Princess?” You asked with contempt through the gritted teeth.

“Uruk,” Adar fixed you again. You spotted anger in his eyes but he was very calm towards you and you realised he still had to have very strong feelings for you because even now, seeing what he had become, you felt no fear around him. As if you were sure that he would never hurt you. “You are free to go,” he added with a nod. “Tomorrow morning. You should rest now. I shall give you a horse and you can leave if you do not wish to stay,” he explained and walked away, finally allowing you to look at your daughter.

Your heart broke and your eyes filled with even more tears at the sight of your daughter. Now, seeing her face clearly, you could see that her decision had been truly made already. Her eyes – your eyes – were filled with tears that meant only one thing. She was preparing to say goodbye.

“Why can’t you stay, mother? We could be a family again,” Moreth pleaded.

“How can you expect me to stay? How can you even ask me?” You shook your head. “And how can you want to stay? Don’t you understand that you are robbing yourself of seeing all of your friends ever again? You are robbing yourself of the light of Valinor. You are robbing yourself of the beauty of Eregion, of the greatness of Mithlond… In the name of what?”

“Freedom,” Moreth answered in all seriousness. “Being a carrier of the light is an honourable task but the light is often a burden, too. I want to be free of the shackles – no matter how virtuous they are.”

“Then I have lost you,” you turned around and covered your lips with your hand to muffle your sob.

“Moreth, there is a room upstairs on the right,” Adar told her. “It is inhabited and it is yours for the night. Go there and rest. You have had a long day,” he nodded at her.

“Father,” she stood up and bowed her head at him. Then she looked at you and hesitated. “Mother…” She bowed her head, too. Waiting for you to say something but not receiving any reaction from you, she turned around and walked away to go upstairs.

You were left alone with Adar now and despite the fact he was your husband whom you still loved no matter what – it was hard to stop loving somebody so quickly, after all – you felt nothing but anger towards him now. He had stolen your daughter from you. His darkness had poisoned her and now you lost her.

“She is everything to me,” you swallowed a lump in your throat. You kept staring at the wall in front of you and you didn’t even flinch when he put his hand on your arm. It felt so odd to feel his touch again that it sent a shiver down your body.

“She is everything to me, too. So are you,” he whispered, standing right behind you. You could feel his breath on your neck. “Stay with us, (Y/N),” he pleaded in a broken whisper.

You stood like that in silence for a long while as your lower lip kept trembling and you were overthinking his proposition. Everything you cared for was here but you could not picture yourself taking part in this cruelty and destruction. On your way here, through the wooden bars of your cage, you could see what the Orcs and Adar had done to this land. You did not want to be a Queen of the ruins, ruling over the ashes in the name of the ungraspable idea of power.

You turned around very slowly, facing your husband. To see his face so damaged and full of scars made your heart weep. Carefully, you raised your hand to touch his cheek and to caress it as he watched your every movement with a hint of curiosity and affection.

“Why have you chosen me all those years ago? You told me you had spotted me but I have never understood why,” you whispered sadly, remembering the day when you first realised he had been watching you lovingly from afar.

“I have waited a long time to meet a woman like you. And I knew ever since I was very young that I would only marry if I met her,” Adar explained.

“And what do you mean by that? What was so special about me?” You swallowed thickly, scared of the answer.

“You know very well that Moreth’s darkness does not come only from me,” he smirked and held your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers together. You looked away nervously. “You are curious about what your life here would be like. I know your heart enough to know that you are thinking of it way too much than you should be,” he smiled but there was no contempt about it, just pure affection. You dared to meet his gaze and you nearly gasped when you saw how much he still loved you.

You even allowed him to kiss you. When Adar joined your lips together, you did not move away and you did not flinch. In fact, it felt so natural that you closed your eyes and did not even attempt to resist him in any way. You gave in, putting your hands flat on his chest.

And for that moment of the kiss, you could see it – you could see it all. You could see yourself walking next to him through the war camps like this one with Moreth following you. Both of you were wearing black dresses, your skins were sickly paler, your eyes were hollow and terrifying. You could hear yourself speaking in the tongue of the Orcs and you could see them bowing down at your sight. You could see the comfort in the darkness and your home being wherever your husband and daughter were.

But your visions were being fought with the faces of your friends and the beautiful cities of your kin. The images of Valinor were like sun rays penetrating your dark fantasies and making them fade away. And when the last little part of the ominous daydream disappeared, you broke the kiss. Both you and Adar looked at each other and he smiled sadly as his eyes filled with pain because he already knew what your decision was.

“I cannot stay,” you whispered.

He nodded without a word as he took a step back and walked away, leaving you all alone in the room.

You spent the night on the bench in the room downstairs and in the morning Adar kept his promise as he presented you with a horse after breakfast. During the meal you all were silent and you spotted that after that night your daughter looked even more sickly than usual as if her sickness had progressed very quickly all of a sudden. You tried not to comment and she tried not to beg with her words for you to stay but she kept asking for it with her eyes. For that reason, you tried to avoid her gaze.

The horse Adar had presented you with was black and it had a mark burnt on its side that you quickly learnt all the humans serving your husband had burnt on them as well. Moreth was standing behind her father when they walked you to the stables and watched you caress the horse’s neck.

You could not help the feeling that your life had no meaning outside this camp because you had no one to live for anymore if your daughter was supposed to stay here. Yet, remaining by your husband’s side felt too wrong.

And so did trying to force Moreth to change her mind. She was your daughter but she was her own person and old enough to make decisions for herself – no matter how much they hurt you.

Two Orcs walked inside the stables to join you and they awaited Adar’s orders. He pointed at you and smiled at them.

“Walk my wife out of the camp and make sure she is not bothered. Allow her to ride away in any direction she wishes to and remember her face because she is under our protection wherever you might see her again,” he ordered and you were quite surprised to hear those words. You knew he still loved you but you did not expect him to grant you such protection despite your decision to leave him.

“Yes, Lord Father,” the Orcs nodded and walked out of the stables.

One last time, you looked sadly at your daughter but you did not even hug her and she did not approach you either. After that, with a heavy heart, you followed the Orcs outside and allowed them to lead you out of the camp. They kept looking back all the time to make sure you were still walking behind them and they were nervously staring you up and down, which was quite annoying.

You finally reached the gate of the camp and they nodded at the other Orcs to open it for you. You were about to hop on your horse when you saw that the Orcs bowed in front of you.

“Farewell, Lady Mother,” one of them said.

“Do not call me that!” You snapped angrily and – filled with disgust – you mounted your horse and rode away as fast as possible although you had no idea what direction you should take.

Technically, you should hurry to Mithlond and inform Gil-galad about everything that had happened but you did not want to cause your daughter any problems. Conflicted, you hit the road ahead of you, not entirely sure where it was leading and allowing it to decide your fate.

Far behind you, Moreth was staring at your silhouette disappearing over the horizon while she stood by her father’s side. He was looking in the same direction as her but when she finally laid her eyes on him, she realised he was way calmer than her and there was even a shadow of a smile on his lips even though her own eyes were filled with tears.

“Are you not sad that she has left us?” Moreth asked.

“Do not weep, my child,” Adar wrapped his arm around his daughter and squeezed her arm comfortingly. “Your mother will come back to us sooner than you expect.”

MASTERLIST

#adar x reader #lilysfiction

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pricegouge · 2 days

Text

Alone, Together

alone x reader | on AO3

cw: male reader. dubcon/noncon/coercion. pseudo-tentacles, ghost has two (or more, depending on how you count 'em) dicks. ass eating, oral, overstimulation, anal sex, frotting/handjobs, a small smackeral of cbt, slapping, degradation, exhibitionism, breathplay. implied character death. MDNI

if you need a good visual aid for what i have in mind for the cocks situation, see my ramble here

divider by @/cafekitsune

Taglist @pricegouged

You're helping them. You have to remember you're helping them.

There's some method to it, some reason. Pseudoscience and technobabble bullshit that went far over your head even as Reynolds yammered on over the coms. It didn't matter, not really. Not when your entire team is -

Compromised.

"And how will this help?"

Reynold's voice is croaky in your ear - probably burnt out the long string of five syllable words he'd just thrown at you. It's a struggle to hear him over all the commotion in the room next door, the deep groans of pain and frustration. Confusion. "They way he - it -."

They, you decide, trying to remember that's your team in there, somehow.

"- absorbs people… I think it's a defense mechanism. So you gotta make yourself as inoffensive as possible."

A hard feat, carrying forty kilos of weaponry and tac gear. Removing the most egregious pieces had seemed logical enough when Reynolds suggested it, plates and straps falling away with an odd sense of relief and dread. No one ever relished keeping a full kit on another minute, but to take it off when you knew the next room held a potential hostile went against everything you'd learned since your very first days in basic. Taking it off when you knew the thing in the next room was fuck off big, fuck off angry, and had access to the weaponry of four S.A.S. officers, if not also the capabilities, was downright untenable.

Still, when your boots crunch over the broken glass of the window which separates you from your target, your tread is that much lighter. And when they turn, they do not find you armed to the teeth as they had with all the people who went in before you. It's hard to tell if this pleases them, the whole team having been dressed for a ghost mission meant each head now wore an obfuscating mask. Further, the cold eyes that stare back at you are decidedly not the varied eyes of the men you'd expected to see, each head somehow having adopted Soap's pale gaze. It lends a sense of lifelessness to them, each eye matching the cataract-cloudy irises of the head on the end. They each look like corpses, but the animated way they move toward you reminds you they are something much worse.

They - Simon. The heads - cannot move independently, which renders their necks a bit obsolete. When they turn toward you, their whole, immense chest follows suit. One of the arms toward the back dangles limply, perhaps genuinely dead. You try to clock the equipment which adorns it, hoping against hope it doesn't mean one of them is dead in there.

"Easy," you try as it barrels closer, stumbling backwards before you can even think it through.

"Steady," Reynolds warns - must have a good view through the lab cameras - and you cringe when you see he has the right of it, your falter acting as blood in the water.

Their steps come heavy and hard. Quicker than you'd expect them to move. The rhythm of their steps strike you as odd and when you glance down, you're shocked to find one leg is nearly double the size of the other, an extra shin and foot spliced into the side of their right leg. The boot there has movement, but doesn't quite reach the ground beside the odd tap of thick tread off the tile. Whoever's that was - is -, they're not quite as tall as Simon, it seems.

Despite your backpedaling, it doesn't take long for them to overtake you. Gloved fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking you closer and you can't help the yelp that escapes you, rubbery black tendrils which burst through the seams of your captain's glove brushing against the hair of your forearm unexpectedly. It's sticky, almost, and you can't help but think of this being the end; you've seen how quickly the stuff grows, drags bigger men than you into its collection. If they wanted you, this brief contact would likely be enough and suddenly it doesn't matter that you promised Reynolds you'd be as friendly and approachable as you could manage because this thing has you, and you're going to be taken in, lost amongst them, just another set of useless arms it can hang from its armpits like trophies -

And then the touch is gone, the tendrils with it. You inspect your skin for damage, feel premature relief flood you when you find none. It's not a guarantee that you're safe, ofcourse, but it's further than the others made.

"Holy shit, it's working," Reynolds breathes, and then his voice is ripped unceremoniously from your ear when another gloved hand lashes out like a viper and yanks the cord that runs up your neck right out.

"Okay! Okay, sorry," you stammer, hands coming up in that oddly placating gesture you know would never work on any of them, least of all from you. "Just you and me, yeah? Is that what you want?"

You're not sure why you don't expect an answer. Perhaps it's the way the visible jaw of the middle head bleeds ominously, lined with more black growth than proper gum tissue at this point. Maybe it's because the one on the left has been eaten away to bone, hanging precariously. Or perhaps it's because the one on the right - somehow the most human of them despite the eye currently trying to escape the confines of its face - looks so twisted in pain and anguish you don't imagine it's capable of thought, much less speech. But they do speak, a low growl which sounds like none of and all of them at once, and the dread you feel when they bend to tilt toward you, talk down at you like your captain was wont to do is a cold, physical thing.

"No," they drawl, their voice echoing in their own throat like layered vocal tracks, "just want you and us."

***

The jump from one life altering event to the next moves quickly, the way things often do in the field. You'd long ago stopped measuring events in time stamps, the markers ultimately meaningless when they flow like a river, here white water and rapid, there a slow meander. It's usually much more meaningful to chronicle missions by snap decisions - which choices led where, when things started to go pear shaped. When you decided to help your team, and when they decided what that help would look like.

It's all very concise on paper, when viewed as such. They say they need help and you say that's why you're there, sent to take them back to base where a specialized team can start the process of reversing the damage. They scoff, say you all know there will be no recovery. When they say you can help them in another way, you balk. They say they can just absorb you if you refuse and you concede, rationalizing that you are still helping them, in a way. They've already stopped screaming in pain, at least.

So it's not a very wide web of possible outcomes, all told. A concise, logical statement of events you'd feel no shame in returning to your superior at time of debrief. Even if it's landed you here, grinding your ass back onto the skeletal remains of one head's jaw while they work you open with the long, surprisingly prehensile black growth which you had originally mistaken for a vein of sorts running down their thickly corded neck. It seeped through their skin at their jaw, twined and morphed their tongue into something much longer, harder. It still leaked spit like that was its job, soaking your thoroughly in drool as it wedged itself ever deeper.

They had requested comfort, something to take their mind off the pain, but so far you're the only one being touched. Not that you're complaining. As good as the slimy appendage feels inside you, you're not exactly eager to touch them - so much melty, dead-looking flesh triggering the base parts of your lizard brain which still feared things like communicable, flesh eating diseases on a cellular level. There may be some selfish, brazen part of you that wants more of them, but it's the same part of you that can't look away from a car crash or a fallen soldier - a part that revels in the fear and revulsion, mistakes the stomach churn for an excitable swoop. It's not an instinct you want to be listening to now, considering you're riding a razor's edge of being merged forever with this thing but there's no ignoring it, and there's no stopping yourself from thrusting forward into the wet heat of the middle mouth when prompted, your own hardness surprising you when they note it, encouraging you forward with a twined hand at your back. And there's no stopping the whine of frustration when they slacken their tongue, let the base curl back into their mouth to keep you rocking on just the tip. It's no use correcting your movements to compensate, much as you try. The angle's all wrong, your thighs planted above their heads on one side and positioned firmly on their sturdy chest on the other. With your legs spread so wide, you cannot gain enough leverage to thrust properly and even when you do, the black growth moves nimbly with you, never letting you take it any deeper than a few frustrating inches.

The far head, the only mouth unoccupied, laughs when you groan impatiently. They tell you to beg but you're not far enough gone yet to oblige so instead, a thick arm is propped up behind you, Price's gloved hand sliding up your front to palm your belly. They take over your pace, rocking you back and forth with more speed than you'd been able to manage on your own. But they keep you raised too high above them, your cock barely reaching their tongue no, and when they keep you like that, just there, it would be understimulating enough to let you flag considering the circumstances and the feeling of raw mandible rubbing up against your balls, if not for the free mouth which suddenly won't shut up, prattling on about how good you taste on their tongue, how hot and tight your hole is for them. How much they want you to take their entire length, want you to swallow them whole while they do the same to you.

You tell yourself you're being demanding when you ask why they don't, know you land somewhere closer to whiney. They don't entertain you either way.

"Told you to beg."

And so you do, quiet and shameful, until they stop altogether and suddenly you're calling for them - for their mouth, their strange hot tongue, their fingers, anything. You even beg for their cock when they order you to, a desperate little whore for the hot, wet tendril they slide back into you, so far you nearly convince yourself you can feel it in your diaphragm. This time when they tilt you forward and take you into their mouth all the way to the root, the appendage stays put, rooted deep. And when it begins to pulsate, sliding a knobby bend of itself which may have once been a hyoid bone back and forth against your prostate with a rhythmic series of contractions, the shudder that wracks you nearly knocks their hands from you.

"Fuck," you hiss, somehow shimmying your hips even lower, reveling in the tight heat which which engulfs you. The unused mouth hums in agreement between gasps for air. When you realize it's probably breathing for all of them in that moment, you lean forward to plant your hands on the ground and fuck into the middle mouth for all you're able, aided by a hand on your hip when your legs go shaky and weak with the work the tendril is putting on you.

And when they tell you they can feel your pulse in their throat, you cum so hard your vision whites out. They're relentless, the grip on your hip turning iron strong when you try to flinch away from them, the tongue in your hole never once stopping until you're wrung out and crying, too overstimulated to care about the noises you're making other than to worry you're being understood. Small miracle perhaps, given you're too fucked out to grasp the names they call you, or how they tease you for getting off to an abomination like them. If you were present enough to comprehend them, the shame would have overwhelmed you. Good thing your ears are still ringing too hard for that. You're still floaty when they jostle you into position, get you straddling their considerable hips. Two hands hold you high above them while the other works their belt and fly, and you come back to yourself with a cold jolt when their cock springs free, an incomprehensible meld of two genitals which makes you cringe in pain just to behold.

At the center, Gaz's cock stands high and proud, relatively normal looking all things considered. But around it, split up the center like some kind of perverse flower, a thicker, shorter dicck wraps itself in two branches around the inner stamen, leaking trace amounts of precum from the seams where it clings.

It makes your stomach roll.

It makes your mouth water.

"Just as ugly as the rest of us, is it?" the middle head growls. They do their best to coordinate a peak down, but the head on the right seems cemented too stiffly to account for the movement. You don't think they can see it at all, though you wonder if that's for the better. You suppose if you saw your cock split up the middle one day, you'd never be able to get it hard again.

For the better?

"Worse."

You're surprised when they laugh, though you suppose you shouldn't be. You know the men trapped in there, even if they don't seem very familiar anymore. But then, as if to prove you wrong, an alien hand grips your ass cheek hard while another set of fingers prod your hole to make sure you are indeed stretched enough for them. And then, when they lower you on to their cock, any sense of familiarity leaves you.

The stretch is not unmanageable at first, Kyle's pretty head notching deliciously within you. But the further you sink onto him, the more that second head prods at your hole and you hiss in warning, not trusting the quick preparation you'd received. They tell you to relax, rock you shallowly on the tip until the second head grows wet with precum and when you reach below yourself to spread it over the shaft, you're surprised to find it already slicked.

They don't stop you when you pull back enough to get a proper look at them, inspecting the shaft and your own hand to find it covered in pre. Curiosity takes over and you drag your fingers along the shaft, ignoring their shiver in favor of tracing the slick back to its source, the seam where the two cocks splice together. The more your fingers explore, the twitchier they get beneath you until you can't help but tease them, ignoring your baseline revulsion in favor of running your thumb over the split head. "Hurt?" you ask, tone indicating you know full well it doesn't.

"Fuckin' -!" This time when they pull you onto them, they do not heed your protests.

You know tensing up will only make it worse but it's an instinct you can't fight, shrieking when they bully their way inside, the flare of the second head becoming soaked when you squeeze against the intrusion. They gasp, throats working around thick swallows while they keep you anchored to them, aborted little thrusts jostling you just enough to keep you off balance. Keep you from adjusting properly. It fucking hurts, but the surprising amount of pre and spit helps to ease your grip on them eventually, especially when their weak little grinds begin to work the slick into you, their movements coming deeper and quicker the more you let them in.

They know when they've found your sweet spot by the embarrassingly garbled mewl you emit.

"That's it," one of them growls, the hand on your left hip squeezing impossibly tighter. On the other side, the one in the balaklava calls you a sweetheart, tells you you're taking them so well.

You can't manage much beyond a bobble headed nod in response, but they don't seem to require one, three arms now working to keep you bouncing on their cock at a quick, deep pace which has your breath catching in your throat, embarrassing little punched out sounds bubbling up each time they bottom out. So overwhelmed, you don't even notice your cock stirring back to life until it begins bobbing uselessly, slapping against their marbled belly and leaving pathetic little dribbles of cum to catch in the thatch of hair there. Even the brief touch makes you whine, makes you grab yourself by the base to keep your twitchy length from grinding too hard against the coarse pelt. Except they don't like that, one hand from the seeming never ending supply snaking up to grab your wrist, holding it behind your back.

"Useless little thing, ain't you? Can't even properly take us without crying about it."

You don't think that's fair, but you suppose they don't want to hear how this wasn't what you had signed up for, nor would they likely wish to know that no human could probably take them anymore.

But they seem to realize that anyway. "Maybe we should eat you up? Take you in and make you part of something strong for once? They can't expect us to find any real satisfaction in you, can they?"

And something about the way they say it cuts through your addled thoughts, makes your blood run cold. "Reynolds. He said -?"

"Peace offering," middle head clarifies.

"Not a very good one," righty adds.

The mix of emotions their words bring is concerning, not least because the pre-existing shame you'd felt for even being in this situation now combines with a deeply confusing feeling of being not good enough and the deep seated need to prove yourself to your superiors rears its ugly head. This time, when you work yourself back down onto them, they let you take the lead, dead eyes adopting as near an expression of smugness as they can manage.

"Better do a good job, sweetheart. Hate to have to merge you with that backstabbing Reynolds just to get a decent play thing."

"Oh, fuck you," you hiss, wires crossing now as you try to figure out if you want their approval or their apology.

You get neither. "That's the plan."

Maybe it's a bad idea. Probably, you'll get your fingers bit off and then you'll sink so far into their chest you'll come out the other side and they'll wear you like a backpack until your cells all melt into an unrecognizable puddle. They'll call you Six despite the fact you'll never watch it for them, just waiting to die every minute.

None of it stops you from sticking your fingers into the offending mouth. "Shut the fuck up."

Your stunt earns you peace for all of three seconds before you remember which mouth you've chosen to take your frustration out on when that same dark, prehensile tongue wraps itself around your wrist, drawing your fingers down its throat eagerly. The shudder it earns isn't entirely disgusted and the other heads laugh at you, insultingly amused.

You'd almost rather be Six. Especially when the slimy drool begins to coat your wrist, the weird tendril working itself across your skin as if it could wring more pleasure from the appendage while they groan in apparent pleasure, breaths coming slightly quicker.

"Feels so good," one of them confesses, their hips beginning to piston up into you. Sensitive, must be. Fresh new tissue despite its leathery texture. It would explain the way they stroke the skin of your hairy forearm at least. Your frustration grows when you realize that not only have you failed to shut them up, but you've also managed to give them even more satisfaction, somehow.

Well, maybe they won't kill you at least.

But the hope dies in your chest when they grab your cock in their meaty fist, squeezing until you flinch and cry out in pain. They tut at you condescendingly, continue to work your length with far too much aggression. You're prevented from curling in on yourself by the broad hands at your waist and the hand currently being held hostage by a concerningly strong tongue. All the while they rumble about how useless you are to them, how they'll have to make you into something that suits their needs if you can't please them. It's a bad enough threat, as is, but when they start talking about alpha team like just more meat for the grinder, more limbs with which to combine you, the sob that wracks you isn't solely rooted in pain and overstimulation.

Somewhere, in some base part of your brain which still craves the approval of the men beneath you, you spare a thought for how badly you will have failed your mission if the amalgamation you'd been sent to wrangle, in an attempt to split them back up, ended with you earning the merge of your entire team. Probably, you shouldn't be worried about it right now, but the way they ramble about you being a disappointment to them has already turned you into a needy little thing, so you've just been set up for failure, really. So when they tell you you'll have to do better, you try; and when they prompt you to shove your fingers further down their throat, you do. And when they say you're much too pathetic to please them if you can't even take their smallest cock without crying, you falter, apprehensive.

"Smaller?"

They're mean, your open fear making them shutter beneath you. Their cum is so hot it nearly burns, leaking from you in a frothy ring as they continue to pump into you for a minute longer, working themselves back from the edge before pulling you off their length, Gaz's cock still hard at the center despite the way the split cock still dribbles weakly. They keep you raised high enough you can see when they reach down, one set of thick fingers working their fly looser. In retrospect, you're not entirely certain how you never felt it beneath you. Likely just assumed it was another strange black growth, like the kind that corded him all over, pulsing strangely with angry-looking veins. What he pulls out of his pants next isn't too dissimilar, a thick, angry-looking shaft which splits toward the tip, the pulsing blue vein which runs along the bottom branching into two merged heads, each of which look plenty formidable on its own. The end result is a frankly terrifying behemoth, its head the thickest part except perhaps its belly which looks swollen with whatever that blue vein carries. It leaks in some places, the familiar pearl of precum collecting at its heads and a darker, thinner substance which seems to ooze from the strange veins. It's… pretty, in its own way. At the very least, far more human than the one which now rests against their belly, too heavy to stand tall now that the outer cock is no longer hard. Still…

"That's not gonna fit."

Their laugh is slightly breathless, chest still heaving from their sudden orgasm. "You'd best make it. Told you what would happen if you couldn't please us."

For a moment, you think to call their bluff, your self-preservation instinct finally outweighing your loyalty. Your team isn't here, surely it wouldn't be as easy as they say to turn everyone? But ultimately, they do not need the rest of the team to turn you into something you do not want to be and you decide not to try your luck.

There's no easy way to take the heads all at once so you reach back to stretch yourself on your fingers, surprised at how easily three slip in among the spit and cum. A tendril of shame winds up your spine, the way you've so easily accepted them settling uneasily. Your expression must be telling because they laugh at you, swat your hand away so they can properly assess your stretch.

"Christ, what a slag. Already dripping with it and wanting more?" The hand they're using is ungloved, but the texture of the skin is all wrong anyway, and the way it twitches and shakes makes it hard to close your eyes and just forget what's working you open on thick, probing fingers, much as you try. It's bad, uncomfortable, makes your skin crawl. Worse even than that, however, is knowing that they're right.

Slick with spend, the noise their fingers make within you is inescapable, a lewd sound you've been conditioned to appreciate since you even knew what getting your dick wet entailed. Despite yourself, it's not long before you're rocking back onto the alien fingers, your head thrown back as they tear breathy little gasps and curses from you. A proper moan when they hook the forefinger of another hand in against your rim and pull.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you pant, unable to get away from the middle finger which slides in against this new intrusion with little preamble due to the way the remaining arms hold you in place.

"Shut up and take it," they order, fingers now holding you open like a pair of forceps as they wrangle you into position above their second cock. "Should be thankful we even bothered stretching you out."

But despite their words, sliding down onto the double heads makes it feel like they haven't bothered to at all. Their fingers keep you spread until you're notched over the flare, the stretch of their fingers and their cock bringing tears to your eyes which they quickly wipe away with that long prehensile tongue. You hadn't even noticed when your fingers had slid from their mouth, both hands now braced against their chest as you try to keep yourself from sliding down their length before you've had time to adjust. It's a worthless attempt of course, all hands now gripping your waist, hips, thighs, shoulders, and dragging you down centimeter by relentless centimeter. They chatter all the while, degrading words somehow keeping you grounded if only because it gives you something to focus on other than the unpleasant stretch of your ass.

"Ungrateful, that's what you are. Worked you open on fingers and tongue. Slicked that hole right up when we came in you, didn't we? And all you do is whine -."

The slap to your ass isn't too surprising, but the gloved hand striking hard against your cheek with the strength of the two combined arms that wield it, is.

Barely audible over the ringing in your ears, you hear them demand you thank them and you do so, stuttering. "Th-thank you!"

You're not sure if it's your cry that gets them, or their patience finally snapping. You see the cords of their neck flex beneath a ridden-up balaklava when they groan and then their hips are working up beneath you, burying themselves to the root within you. They lay there panting for a moment, collecting themselves. You take advantage of it as best you can as well, wriggling your hips against theirs in an attempt to adjust, feeling the slick leaking from your hole as you do so.

Overflowing. Fucking slag, indeed.

They want you to ride them again but you can't, legs too far spread and sore to be much use. They roll you over with minimal complaint after a few failed attempts, their grumbling getting lost in the rush of your ears when they pin one leg to your chest and lean heavily against it. Gravity lets their first cock flop onto yours, hot length sliding against your flagging erection while you try to ignore their comments about how tiny you are beneath them.

It doesn't work, and the fact it only makes you harder makes your shame burn hotter.

"Pretty little thing, though," they mutter, one heavy hand cradling your jaw to keep you looking at them. They're the stuff of nightmares, looming over you as they are, but your cock twitches anyway because you've always been so desperate for their approval.

Another fist finds yours, wraps your hands around your frotting cocks as best it can. Combined like this, your fingers are barely able to encase even half of it, your grip not nearly tight enough to do either of you any good despite the way he tells you to give him something to fuck. He hisses in frustration when you're unable, one hand slapping the back of your thigh as he bullies it off to the side, his own hand twining with yours and squeezing much too hard as he begins to fuck up into you, his slick cock moving against yours as the other notches against your prostate when he withdraws, earning a ragged moan from you.

"There?" he asks, pistoning hard enough into you you'd go shuttling across the ground if not for the grip he still has on your hip, or the immense weight he leans on to you. You nod, throat and tongue working uselessly. One hand remains locked in his grasp but the other scrabbles up his chest, catching on some PALS webbing and holding on for dear life.

"Fuck yeah, squeeze me just like that, love," he pants. You're unsure if he means the way your walls clamp down around him or your fist, currently gripping too tight to be comfortable. You remain tense in both anyway, suddenly desperate to hear more of his labored breaths. It's an instinct you do not want to analyze. Can't, given how suddenly your every thought is occupied by the way the heads of his cock scrapes against your sweet spot, has your mouth hanging open uselessly.

The grip on your jaw shifts, palm laying heavy and flat against the column of your throat. They don't squeeze, waiting until you whine in want to duck closer, long tongue sliding against your lips as drool drips down on to you. The middle head hums, pale eyes heavy on your pathetic display. "Still need more, honey? Is that it? Need something to suck on too?"

"Knew 'e was a fuckin' slag," the last head mutters, and the tongue slips into your mouth before you can respond - not that you could've, brain sent skipping by the relentless pace he's set. The tendril in your mouth swells, fills the area between your teeth until your jaw aches with the stretch. It thins out some as it creeps down your throat, the very tip of it a thin little column which it eases past your gag reflex. You'd think they were trying to be nice if not for the way it immediately swelled again, your breaths coming hard through your nose as it continued, threatening to cut off your air from within.

"Needy," the head on the end gripes, but the one in the middle is nicer. "Deep breath, sweetheart."

But nice as the sentiment is, the tongue in your throat doesn't actually give you enough time to abide, forcing its way deeper as the middle head does nothing more than tut disapprovingly. The hand around your throat flexes, all three heads groaning in unison as you tense up tighter on reflex, panic beginning to climb up your throat - only made worse by the knowledge you can't express it for the intrusion blocking your airways.

Within you, the tendril pulses once. The hand around your throat flexes with it, a pressure from within and without which feels like it might tear your delicate skin apart - and then they both relent, pulling away from you altogether until only their thick heads remain notched within you. They watch you splutter and cough, vaguely sympathetic noises cooing down at you while heavy hands trace over your body, too rough to be soothing. After a moment, one of them asks if you're ready, but again they do not wait for a response before filling you completely, hips bucking into you as they make you gag on their tongue. They stay there longer this time, cock twitching against yours when your throat works around the intrusion.

"Again," they hiss, but you gag and cough, eyes growing swollen and leaky in your panic and they relent, panting nearly as much as you as they wait for you to collect yourself.

They don't even bother to ask if you're ready this time, their hips fucking up into yours the only warning you get before the hand around your throat tilts your face just so, the slimy tendril slipping down your raw throat nearly familiar. "Breathe," they warn, and this time they give you enough time to comply before slipping past your reflex, their fingers drumming off the column of your neck as they sigh into it, curling around you as their hips keep working. You whimper when their grip tightens around your cocks, but it just comes out as a snotty sound.

"Swallow, sweetheart," the far head whispers, breath hot against your ear even as it's filtered through the mask. You blink a few times, confused as to how you can manage that, and then the tongue in your throat pulses and it's automatic, reflex, the mouth at your ear groaning as the hand against your throat tightens.

"Can feel ourselves," the middle head admits, flexing their grip again. "Here."

This time, when they grip your throat, their fingers dig into your pulse points and your vision tunnels, sensory input narrowing down to each place they touch you - the way they occupy your throat, control your breathing, your very pulse, the way their cock slides hot and wet against your own, grip so tight it would be painful if not for the way their twin heads keep notching against and framing that spot deep within you on each pass.

They only make it worse when you cum, tongue thickening in your throat as their grip tightens. They relent when you gag, the relief of your first breath only heightening your release until your back arches and you're cumming up to your chin. They hiss at the way you clench around them but their hips work even harder, balls slapping against your ass as they bury themselves into you until they're cumming so deep you think you can feel them in your stomach.

Panting, you feel them pull out and the flood of cum that follows. You grimace, your leg lowering as you try to regain some semblance of pride. You have no clue how you're ever going to look any of them in the eye again, if they're ever successfully split. Despite your lethargy, your body spent after two rounds with a literal monster, your brain is finally coming back online, conveniently choosing now to remind you that Reynolds definitely saw all that from his end of the security feed. You roll onto your stomach when they pull away from you, desperate to bury your head in the ground while you collect yourself -.

But then a firm grip around each ankle makes your blood run cold, and you yelp when they pull you close again, leaning forward until they hover over you ominously, the length they slide into you slipping past your rim with ease.

The first cock. Gaz's. He still hasn't finished.

"Not going anywhere, are ya luv? Thought you could handle all of us?"

#DON'T ask me why it took me nearly two weeks to write 6k of smut i don't wanna talk about it #blackcell

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inkspiredwriting · 10 hours

Text

Countless cups of coffee

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves stared at the half-empty cup of coffee on the kitchen table. The steam curled into the air, mingling with the morning light filtering through the curtains. It was a quiet moment, one that he had come to cherish in his otherwise tumultuous life. The coffee was strong, just the way he liked it, but it wasn’t the caffeine that he looked forward to. It was the company.

Across from him sat Y/n, her hands wrapped around her own mug. Her eyes were still sleepy, her hair tousled from the night before. Five found solace in these simple moments, the world reduced to just the two of them and the warmth of their morning brew.

“I think this is the best part of my day,” Y/n said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was like a soft hum, comforting and familiar.

Five smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. “Mine too,” he replied.

Their lives were often chaotic—filled with timelines, apocalypses, and the never-ending struggles of time travel. But here, in the soft glow of the morning, it was just them. The rest of the world could wait.

Their relationship had always been complicated, fraught with the trials of Five’s time-hopping existence and the burdens they both carried. Yet, somehow, they always found their way back to each other. Coffee had become their ritual, a way to ground themselves amid the madness.

Y/n reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Five’s. “Do you ever wish things were different?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

Five considered her question, his gaze lingering on the way their hands touched. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then I think about how lucky I am to have you, even in this crazy life.”

Y/n’s smile was soft, her eyes filled with understanding. “I feel the same way. These moments... they make everything worth it.”

The peace of their morning was suddenly shattered by a loud crash from the other room. Five sighed, knowing exactly who it was. The Hargreeves household was never short of chaos, and his siblings had a knack for disrupting even the calmest of moments.

“Klaus!” Five called out, irritation creeping into his voice. “What did you break this time?”

Klaus appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. “Just a vase. I was... uh, redecorating.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “You and your redecorating.”

Klaus grinned, unrepentant. “Hey, if you guys didn’t want chaos, you wouldn’t live here.”

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Despite the constant disruptions, he wouldn’t trade his family for anything. And he knew Y/n felt the same way. She had become part of their crazy world, fitting in seamlessly with the dysfunction.

As the day went on, Five found himself caught up in the usual whirl of events—family squabbles, and the occasional existential crisis. Y/n was right there with him, her presence a steady anchor in the storm.

By evening, they were both exhausted, sinking onto the couch together. Five’s mind was still buzzing with the day’s events, but Y/n’s hand on his arm brought him back to the present.

“You’re thinking too much again,” she said, her voice a gentle tease.

Five sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “Can’t help it. There’s always something to worry about.”

Y/n shifted closer, her fingers tracing patterns on his arm. “Then let’s not think for a while,” she suggested. “Just be here, with me.”

Five looked at her, taking in the warmth of her gaze, the softness of her expression. He nodded, his heart feeling lighter. “I can do that.”

They spent the rest of the evening in comfortable silence, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the familiarity of home, that Five realized how much he cherished what they had.

As they sat together, the memories of their journey played through Five’s mind. Their first encounter, the struggles they had faced, and the way they always found their way back to each other. It was like their relationship was written in the stars, no matter how many times the timelines tried to tear them apart.

“Hey, Five?” Y/n’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something,” she said, her gaze steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to this. To us.”

Five nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. “I promise,” he said, his voice firm. “No matter what.”

The next morning, Five woke to the smell of coffee brewing. He smiled, stretching as he got out of bed. Y/n was already in the kitchen, her back to him as she poured their cups.

“Morning,” he greeted her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Y/n leaned into his embrace, her smile evident in her voice. “Morning. Ready for another day of chaos?”

Five chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as I have my coffee and you, I can handle anything.”

Y/n turned in his arms, her eyes sparkling. “Then we’re set.”

They took their coffee to the table, savoring the warmth and the quiet. It was another day, another chance to face the world together. And in that moment, with the scent of coffee in the air and the person he loved by his side, Five knew that together, they could face anything.

Years later, Five and Y/n still held onto their morning ritual. Life continued to throw challenges their way, but their love remained a constant, unbreakable bond. Over countless cups of coffee, they built a life together, finding strength in each other’s presence.

And as they sipped their coffee, sharing dreams and fears, they knew that no matter where time took them, they would always find their way back to each other. Their love, like their morning ritual, was a testament to their enduring bond, a promise kept through every twist and turn of their extraordinary lives.

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five imagine #number five x reader #the umbrella academy #number five #number five one shot #five hargreeves

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mychlapci · 2 days

Note

Can we bring back the college slut Ratchet for a sec I never actually got over that

Imagine it's time for finals, and Ratchet is cracking down hard on studying. He may be a shareware slut but he still needs to make time for class, and now is the time to get serious. The problem is though, there's hardly enough time in the day to get through all his homework, have time to study for exams, and still go out for a good time. Enter his shifty deals with some scummy hookup he met online. Ratchet would get on his knees and suck spike while his contact would tell him he had all sorts of energizers and boosters he could take that would give Ratchet that extra kick to get through the day.

He didn't want anything hardcore, but he did take what his date offered him as he made his way out; some strange sort of energy boosters. The packaging said it was all natural in big cybertronian font, but the rest of the label was in some other alien language Ratchet couldn't read. He should know better than taking mystery pills, but Ratchet was pretty desperate for a quick fix to his problems, finals were getting closer after all.

After a few weeks of taking his daily pill, Ratchet felt great. He was full of energy all day long, he was getting plenty of work done rereading his notes and watching lectures, and he's had plenty of compliments on his perfect tight valve from his hookups. The only downsides Ratchet could point out were the extreme jump in his libido and the soreness in his chest. He was always an active bot, but Ratchet had been ready to crawl on other bots to get to their interface arrays. No one he hooked up with had any complaints that Ratchet wanted them around longer, so he didn't take it too seriously. The pain though wasn't as easy to ignore. He just felt so sore and tender, and he felt an increase of pressure on his windshield over time.

It was probably just the stress, he would tell himself. Ratchet had been eating more energon treats lately instead of eating full meals, the junk food binges just saved time in comparison to cooking. The stress probably also didn't help the bloating, he was sure once his exams were over he'd bounce right back to his usual specs. It'd have to be something he worried about later, because Ratchet had another date with his dealer to pick up more of his strange energy pills.

After a while of hot and heavy interfacing, the mech had smacked against Ratchet's windshield when their frames connected, leading the glass to crack. Ratchet didn't panic when pulling the remaining thick glass out of its slot in his chest, he was more shocked what was left from it. Ratchet's swollen chest bulged out the busted window. When he unlatched his armor, he stared in surprise at the enormous heavy energon pouches he didn't remember having a month ago. No wonder the glass had broken, clearly his breasts were too much strain! When he got back to campus he'd have to speak to the university doctors. He hated to say it, but he had to close up and end his hot date early.

The other mech was understanding and handed over Ratchet's energy pills before he left for the evening. Ratchet looked over the package, noticing it had changed from his empty pack. This time the box was a lighter pink, and all the text was in cybertronian. He read the box carefully now that he could understand it and froze up. The packaging wasn't a natural energy booster, or at least it wasn't a good description of what he was given. The pills Ratchet had been taking daily for weeks was what mechs would use to feminize their frames before any update work to lay groundwork for new plating. Ratchet's protoform was redistributing to thicken his thighs and aft and caused his usually inactive excess energon pouches to fill rapidly. It probably tied to his bad eating habits too, he figured. Only wanting sweets to bulk out his protoform more for all the changing it had done. Ratchet barely noticed the changes under his armor, but now that he was really examining it, he did feel more loose in some places and tighter in others.

He bounced between turning around to give his hook up a piece of his mind or going home and ended up just going back to his dorm. He could get angry and do something about the pill switch once exam week was over. He needed his full focus on his classes, even if studying without his pills was exhausting. Maybe just for a little longer Ratchet could stay on his pretty pills, but he'd stop right after exams.... And maybe after the party he planned to go to after exams, after all the horny pent up medbots in training would love to get their hands on his milky tits, and getting fondled by dozens of big strong mechs sounded amazing to Ratchet. -🌱

RATCHET FORCEFEM!!!! Aaaaaa!!!! Medic in training, he should've known not to take strange pills from shady older bots, but spike makes his head muddy, and he liked the promise of a little energy boost. His pills make him feel so good, not in a suspicious way, he's just... so lively and full of energy these days. aw, if only his chest wouldn't ache so much <33 i bet his contract loved watching him fill out a little bit, and his titties spilling out was just the cherry on top.

Ratchet should stop taking the pills, but it would be so stupid to go cold turkey now. And his titties are a big hit with all his classmates, and Ratchet loves having them fondled by big strong hands and maybe he should just have a little reframe so his fat thighs aren't so tight under their plating and maybe get a slightly bigger windshield so his chest isn't too sore all the time.

Soon he'll be a curvy little thing that no mech can take their optics off of...

#valveplug #texty #dubcon #scheduled

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i-did · 3 days

Text

bullet fic where Andrew works at one of those reptile birthday party companies, and Neil is hiding from the kids at Dan and Matt's kids 6th Birthday

Andrew first got into reptiles because a foster dad was really into them, his whole garage filled with vivariums of different animals, mostly reptiles but some were tarantulas and other bugs

Andrew thought it was interesting watching feeding time, and he liked that the animals were set in a designated space where the animal wouldn’t touch him unless he approached the space first

He learned how to fiddle with and maintain the spaces, which can become very self sustaining and many only need to be fed once every few weeks or once a week

After meeting Aaron, Andrew’s first job is at an adoption center, handling all the “scary” pets that aren't cuddly or cute, because of his experience and isn't afraid of them

Andrew ends up working for one of those lizard birthday party companies – unfortunately named Kreepie Krawlies – as an animal handler who both takes care of them and drives the van to events occasionally

Renee, his coworker, handles the kids, doing educational talks and passing off some of the creatures for kids to hold

Andrews maximum involvement around the kids typically being setting up the tanks as well as holding things the kids aren't allowed to touch, but depending on the party size he hangs out back by the neon green and yellow van with the company logo, blending in with his khaki and green uniform

He meets Neil in his mid 30s, at a really expensive birthday party for some professional athletes kid, child of Matthew Boyd and Danielle Wilds

Andrew is waiting out by the Van, waiting for when Renee will need him and call him on his walkie talkie, smoking his cigarette, listening to kids shriek, and play, one giving a startled cry and beginning to sob

When an adult from the party wanders over, like he's hiding from the kids

Hes burned heavily on his arms, half his face and neck melted, one ear a waxy nub, Andrew wouldn't be surprised if they continued down,

The non burned side has cuts like shards of glass scarring his other cheek, he was hot, Andrew decided, and wondered if he was vain before whatever had happened to him

He reaches out, asking “Can I bum one?”

Andrew quirks his brow, thinking this could very well be a deadbeat dad hiding from his own kid, as Andrew gives one over

The guy, answering a question Andrew didn't ask, says, “Dan doesn't mind if I smoke as long as they don't see it”

Andrew resists responding with, ‘didn’t ask’, and instead says, “Husband?”

“Ah, no. Friend’s wife – well – she's my friend too, I just met him first.”

Ah, Dan short for Danielle, Andrew thinks, then states: “Hiding.”

Neil confirms, nodding his head, “Their kid is used to me but uh, not the others, kinda scared of some of the others.” and gestures vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette.

“Hm” Andrew says, watching the other man's fingers, burned and some shorter than they should be, a mixed set, fiddle with Andrew's lighter, flicking the spark for the flame, completely unafraid of burning his hands any further.

“You?” the man asks

“I don’t hide.” Andrew responds, and it's the truth, he isn't hiding, he's waiting, and smoking away from helicopter parents eyes.

He looks at Andrew for a second, before nodding and accepting it for the answer it was, and reaches his hand out to pass back the lighter

Andrew waits until his hand drops, “Don't burn yourself, not much skin left for anymore grafts”

He laughs, and pockets the lighter, he's about to say something, a smile on his lips when a voice calls out, “NEIL?” and his head whips around, looking for who called him over.

He, Neil, turns back around, and does one last inhale, before he carefully stubs out the cigarette

“Thanks uh..”

“Andrew.”

“Thanks, Andrew.” and he walks away

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg fanart #andreil #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg bullet fic #fig art #fig writes #mailob #i made this in a few hours literally just rn #i just see andrew as someone who could be a reptile type person #and was trying to figure out a way that it could make sense since i dont see him ever seeking out a pet #a job is a different story tho #when i say i made this rn i mean right now like the entire idea writing and sketch happened in the last hour or so and did it all no stop

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missmonsters2 · 3 days

Note

Heya, i was wondering if i could ask a question about Under the light/you found me?

I'm assuming after under the light yn started her physio again and got better since it seemed she didn't have a limp. But I was wondering if it left any permanent scars? As I was wondering after their first time having sex after the break, wanda might have asked about it while they were in bed? Or when yn was undressed at some point had her back to wanda, she noticed the scars and delicately touched them?

I'd like to think she def had yns body memorised so seeing all the new marks made her want to etch them into her mind. But she also felt guilty, not being there in her time of need (even tho yn didn't want her to see anyway).

So yeah I was just curious whether wanda talked or focused her touch of them after she made love to yn?

Under the Light || You Found Me

Hiii!! This is a mix between explaning and partially written behind the scenes!!

Yes, Reader finished her weekly physio in california and keeps up with her regular stretches and exercises to prevent her legs from getting bad. She still goes to physio monthly.

As for scars, there are definitely some on her legs. Particularly, there's one that starts mid-calf and goes up her thigh to her hip. It's completely healed over but the the scar healed as whatever lighter skin-tonned raised bump.

Reader typically never feels self-conscious about it, but the way Wanda gazes upon her skin, her fingers tracing over the scar can make Reader feel slightly uncomfortable in an insecure way.

"I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours." Is all Wanda ever says when she notices you're uncomfortable.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

They've talked about it a few times late at night when the world is sleeping but they're just basking in each other's presence in bed. The sheets rest just below their shoulders.

"I don't know," you say quietly. "I don't hate the scars, per se. I don't love them either. They're a reminder that I survived." The implied words that your best friend didn't hung in the silence.

Wanda nods because she feels the same way. "I understand. I feel the same way. Not because I think they're gruesome or anything. I love them because they are a reminder you survived and I'm so, so thankful. But they're also a reminder that I was a bad girlfriend—that I was a coward and neglected to notice."

You brush a stray strand of hair behind Wanda's ear.

"I think the way you look and touch them every day has more than made up for it."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There are times when you are in a mood, one that can't quite be explained.

It's your own fault really. Sometimes you neglect your daily streches and miss your monthly physio appointments.

Your legs hurt and you're cranky, and you just don't want Wanda to know.

"Why do you insist on hiding it from me?" Wanda scowls at you.

"Why are you always in my business?" you scowl at her back.

Wanda doesn't engage further, knowing that it'll only lead down to a horrid fight with you that ends up with the two of you feeling guilty.

"Lay down on the couch," Wanda jerks her head towards the couch and walks off to grab some icy-hot lotion.

"It's fin—"

"JUST LAY DOWN!" Wanda yells from the kitchen and you purse your lips before doing as she says.

"Just lay down," you mockingly whisper to yourself as you lay on your stomach.

Wanda comes with the lotion and hovers of you. She debates taking off your shorts but decides to leave it be since they're short enough.

Once Wanda's hands start working in slow motions, massaging your calf and slowly making her way up, and the lotion slowly warming up your muslces, you relax.

It's only about 10 minutes into the massage that you turn your head and watch Wanda's focused face but her eyes filled with concern and love that guilt wracks you.

"Sorry," you mumble. "Thank you."

Wanda eyes merely moves to look at you while she continues working. She looks back at your legs, her eyes trailing the long rasied scar. "I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours."

#mm: answered #xxxtwilightaxelxxx #fic.underthelight #wanda maximoff x reader

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playmiya · 14 hours

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LIKE A BOY — CYBERPUNK!SUNA cw: description of murder, violence, alcoholism & drug mentions / takes inspiration from cyberpunk: 2077 and cyberpunk edgerunners

suna stares at the view in front of him. night city is a giant, glimmering monster of neon from his perch on the rooftop of this abandoned skyscraper, one of many that dot his line of sight. flickering holograms advertising everything from subway passes to nightclubs rapidly flash, and the sounds of whirring trains and cars surround him in an endless cacophony. the stench of acid and smoke from the factories mingle to create a toxic blend of air that only a true citizen of the city would be able to withstand.

he hates it. he hates it all so much. if there was a world where the clouds, instead of raining sulphur, rained lighter fuel and he could ignite a matchstick just to throw it off this building, he would set night city on fire in a heartbeat.

he's certain he's losing his mind. he doesn't need to be doped out on glitter or teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis to feel the way he does. every couple of weeks, when the endless slashing and maiming and killing gets a bit much, when he conflates the face of his previous target with the next, his head gets a bit blurry. his hands seem to be perpetually dirty — and scrubbing them to no end, like that germaphobe sakusa — does nothing to clean them. he's overcome with the urge of slitting the throat of anyone within five feet of him, if that'll make him feel better.

the price of devotion to inarizaki must be quantified in blood. it's a mandatory tax he needs to pay, a burden passed down from his father from his grandfather. a burden that's becoming increasingly difficult to pay in a city where every next target is more metal, and less human.

suna can only do so much with his hands before he either sees them as weak or splattered with blood from different beings.

peeling off his shirt, caked with blood and damp with sweat, he wonders what he's doing here instead of trudging back home in japantown.

the click-clack of your heels crunching through broken glass and discarded syringes up the stairs reminds him. if suna's a loaded gun waiting to be fired, you're both the trigger and the safety.

he supposes the only reason he's still somewhat who he was and not some mindless lapdog for the gang is thanks to you. the princess of arasaka, set to inherit their pharmaceutical empire, playing anchor for someone who'll always be second-best in inarizaki. he's so beneath you that it's pathetic. he sometimes thinks he has a better chance of building a stairway to the moon than seriously being with you.

and yet, here you were, rushing out of whatever meeting your parents had trapped you in, taking the godforsaken subway that you'd normally never step foot in, climbing up three flights of stairs in heels that would cover a week's worth of bounties, just for him.

your perfume greets him before you do. it's a delicate floral number he knows you only reserve for important days, so he feels just a little guilty, until your cold hands come to settle against warm, bare skin and he can't think at all.

"hi," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your nails — is that a new set? — adorned with pretty flecks of chrome mixed in with pink glitter gently graze against him, and he can't help but melt into your touch.

"hey," he mumbles in response, bringing one large, calloused palm on top of yours. there's a low magnetic hum from where your ring meets his, and they clink in a comfortable sound as you join him in dangling your legs over the edge of the building, content with resting your face in the crook of his neck to watch over his shoulder at the neon cityscape.

"long day?", you whisper, not wanting to disturb him. truthfully, he thinks you could start screaming about a new dress you ordered from paris and he'd still be grateful to just have you there with him.

"mhm." you shift, just a little, so you're now sitting next to him. he does look a little worse for wear than usual, and you can't help but feel the dull bubble of anger that consumes you at just how tired he looks. he rests his head on your shoulder, and the smell of copper and smoke is a heady mixture that envelops you. you don't budge, not one bit, even as he's sweaty and dirty, and every instinct of yours is screaming at you to return to the boardroom you're supposed to be in instead of bailing and spending the night at a polluted building on the outskirts of the city with a man who'd otherwise make light work of killing you and claiming the millions of eddies that are set on your head.

fate is at its best when it works in diametrically opposite ways.

you run a hand soothingly over his arm, concerned every time about the new scar he's picked up just underneath his elbow.

"wanna talk about it?", you hesitantly offer. you know the suit of events like the back of your hands.

"no," he mumbles, and he nuzzles closer into your neck, fanning the juncture near your clavicle with his hot breath.

"not even a little?", you ask again, feeling his eyelashes flutter. how can be so pretty, bathed in the ugly, harsh glow of pink and purple light even while exhausted will always confuse you. suna was so achingly pretty that you were scared. scared of how you'd respond when he'd ask you to stay, just for a little longer, like he always asks you on nights like these, nights that turn to daybreaks being spent in his arms.

he strips away any rationality you hold. he knows that. you don't know for how much longer you can keep giving in, but that was a worry for another day.

"no," he grumbles again, and his grip on your waist tightens. you giggle at his petulance.

"i think it'll make you feel better."

he may be fatigued beyond words, but he can spare you one of his trademarked dramatic sighs, a sign that there's still the suna you know so very well underneath the layers of the complicated, messy, dangerous persona he has to maintain.

"work today was.... shit," he exhales, thinking of the hostage situation he'd been forced to mediate. a mother being held at gunpoint by her husband, who'd been driven into a deep state of cyberpsychosis after embedding a militech chip into his brain. a chip that suna, who was originally supposed to recover it quietly from new harbour, had to retrieve by sifting through the splattered brains of mother, daughter and husband. that's what the husband gets for fucking with what isn't his. the mother and daughter, though, were collateral damage that hit a too little close to home for him.

"then i went home and that was shit too," he laughs harshly, finding perverse amusement in the irony of his life. rei was all out of her chuupets, and that led her to hiding out in her room and crying for dear life as his dad chose the literal worst time to come home drunk, bitching and yelling to his mother about yet another day spent in miya senior's shadow and how it was all her fault.

the old-fashioned yet highly modified katana suna uses, engraved with the prophetic words of the gang, we don't need the memories, felt heavy in his hands as he chose to run away from home and bury himself in a pile of bodies. he shouldn't have taken so many commissions on, but he did. all to make him think of anything but the broken bottles and rei's wails as he carried her in his arms to kita's place, where he deposited her for the rest of the day.

"do you think i'm a coward?", he asks you, because you're the only person who knows who he truly is, what he truly is, and still decides, every day, to be with him.

you study his amber eyes, so observant despite what they let on. it's not even a question worth asking.

your lips are on his before he can even anticipate it. it's sweet, and desperate at the same time, like you're kissing frantically him so any doubt can disappear from his brain and he's only thinking of you. you're soft, and he can taste the cherry of your gloss when you part your mouth to let out the quietest noise of contentment that he drinks up when his hand creeps up the short dress that hits just right at your mid thigh.

it takes a phenomenal amount of self-control for you to pull away and not kiss him senseless. he's clearly disappointed, and groans when you rest your forehead against his. how you manage to flip his switches so effortlessly will always bewilder him.

"you're perfect. you've never been a coward, and you never will be," you breathe, and for someone who has to measure their words and consider the weight of all their actions as a part of a grander corporate scheme, you find yourself unrestrainedly honest with suna. it's difficult not to be. you kiss his forehead gently, and suna thinks he's going to explode at just how saccharinely sweet you are to someone like him.

"you're too fuckin' good to me," he sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. "too good for me," he adds as you let out a hum of disapproval, beautiful face scrunching up into an annoyed expression.

"should've never bought you that drink," he chuckles wearily, reminiscing about the day he decided to shoot his shot at his deskmate at the academy when he'd spotted you at manhattan's bar.

"you never should've said yes," he grouses, but he doesn't mean it.

"stupid boy," you chide, flicking the same spot of his forehead where you'd just kissed him. the remnants of your gloss are still there.

"you know you're going to buy me a drink in every universe. and i'm going to keep saying yes."

a/n hello hi sorry if this was a bit ,,, dreary but i promise i'm going to make this fun, i plan on doing a little cyberpunk sunarin miniseries because i'm missing the show so much :( also i know suna's ooc in this but i love making my men a little pathetic <3

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #sunarin x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #suna fluff #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna x you #suna x y/n #[ tracklisted ]

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lovezbrownies · 1 day

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I wanna request for the bully, Lauren. How does she react when she discovers that she's pregnant with her darling's child? They're still in the final year of High School.

I mean, she did invite reader to her house (forcefully) and reader made things unintentionally...suggestive.

this was hard oomfie icl >< Lauren is a lil ooc and so is Julie and I'm sleepyy

Happy Accident. (Yandere!Bully x GN!Reader.) Chapter one.

Lauren's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Maybe you two had a bit too much carefree fun, which ended up completely flipping your lives.

Warnings: Pregnancy, suggestive, and pregnancy panic. Also a lil bit of coercion.

Lauren loves you. And you can tell, not just from the way she demands your attention, but from the moments she opens up, even though she’d never admit it out loud. It starts with casual invitations, telling you that her mother isn’t home and there’s an “emergency” she needs your help with. And by emergency, of course, she means she’s just feeling a bit too needy. If that counts as an emergency. You learned quickly that when Lauren called you over, it was rarely about anything serious.

That first time she’d beckoned you to her house, there had been a sense of urgency, of insistence in her voice. “Oh, come on,” she’d said, almost whining, “You’ve got to let go of that stress. I can help.” Her attempts to sound casual were betrayed by the way she stumbled over her words, her face flushed as she avoided looking you in the eye. She hadn’t hesitated, though, to demand things more forcefully, to act like it was your problem to fix her tension, her frustration, all by simply giving in to her advances.

You didn’t really know how to say no, not when she was so insistent. And besides, it wasn’t like the idea was entirely unappealing. Lauren, for all her intensity, was captivating in her own strange way. Her boldness, the way she took control, it was all so different from what you expected. And when you finally gave in—after months of teasing and her pushing every boundary you had—you realized she had been right.

You felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted. You hadn’t even realized how much tension had built up until it was gone. So, what started as a one-time thing became routine. Whenever her mother was too busy with her research or meetings, Lauren would send you a flood of texts, pleading for you to come over. It was almost a game now—her exaggeration, her declarations that she’d “fall into a deep depression” without you were all part of the fun. And honestly, you didn’t mind.

But as casual as it seemed, there was always an underlying intensity. Lauren needed this connection. She reveled in the physicality of it, in how much you depended on her to release your own stress. It gave her a sense of control that she thrived on. And, of course, the marks both of you bore—hickeys, bruises, reminders of what happened behind closed doors—were a testament to the fact that this was more than just a passing fling. Lauren was possessive, fiercely so, and the constant physical reminders on your skin were her way of marking you as hers.

Things had been going so well, at least until recently.

"Hm. Lauren, come to the study, now." Her mother’s voice cut through the house, the speakers embedded in every room amplifying the sound. Julie's calm tone, the kind that always felt more like a command than a request, made the hair on the back of Lauren's neck stand up. Julie, award-winning scientist and notorious for her lack of emotional expression, rarely summoned Lauren unless it was something important.

Lauren felt her stomach twist. Julie had been acting a little strange lately, asking questions about her health that felt invasive, even for her. Lauren hadn’t had her period in two months, something she had tried not to think too much about. Maybe it was just stress—after all, she was juggling school, extracurriculars, and her relationship. But the truth gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Lauren entered the room, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Hey, mo—”

“Are you pregnant, Lauren?” Julie’s question was blunt, cutting through any pretense of a casual conversation.

Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood frozen in front of her mother, feeling as though the walls of the lab were closing in on her. Julie’s calm demeanor—always so cool and composed—only heightened the tension as Lauren struggled to form coherent thoughts. Pregnancy? It was a word that didn’t fit in her life, her carefully constructed reality. She blinked hard, her lips parting as if to protest, but the words never came. Instead, she stared at the sterile cup in her hand, as though it held the answer to a question she never wanted to ask.

“Mom, I—this is ridiculous!” Lauren snapped, her voice shaking, trying to find some footing in her usual confidence. “I can’t be pregnant. I mean… there’s no way. You’re just overreacting or something, right?” Her fingers gripped the cup tighter, nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold onto the last vestiges of control.

Julie’s eyes, sharp and clinical as always, didn’t waver. “Overreacting? I’ve observed very real signs, Lauren. I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’—I deal in facts. And right now, the facts suggest a possibility we need to eliminate.”

Lauren’s jaw clenched, but her defiance felt weak under her mother’s unrelenting gaze. “Fine,” she muttered, snatching the cup with an eye roll, though the act was more about maintaining her dignity than any real objection. “But this is so humiliating, Mom. Do you even care how weird this is?”

“I care about the truth,” Julie replied simply, folding her arms across her chest in that annoyingly logical way she had. “And I care about your well-being, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

Lauren huffed, stomping off toward the bathroom, her mind spinning. Peeing in a cup for her mother—a scientist—wasn’t exactly on the list of things she thought she’d have to do at 18. As she closed the bathroom door behind her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her usually flawless appearance seemed… off. Her skin was a bit more flushed, her eyes wider than normal, like a deer caught in headlights. She sighed, placing the cup on the counter.

“This is insane,” she whispered to herself, biting her lip as she started the test. The quiet, sterile bathroom only amplified her fears. Each passing second felt like a countdown to a life-altering moment she wasn’t ready for. She had never planned for this. Sure, you two had been careless, reckless even, but this? This was something else entirely. Something permanent.

A few minutes later, Lauren returned to the lab, placing the cup on the counter next to her mother. Julie, without a word, took it and began her scientific analysis, her movements precise, focused. Lauren couldn’t help but pace nervously, her hands wringing together as her mind raced.

Julie’s gaze was fixed on the small screen as the test results processed. The cold, sterile environment of the lab only amplified the tension in the air. Lauren could feel her palms getting sweaty, her heartbeat thrumming loudly in her ears. Time seemed to stretch infinitely as her mother’s fingers moved with mechanical precision, each click of the mouse a reminder of how this moment could change everything. Lauren tapped her foot anxiously, trying to maintain her composure, but it felt like the walls were closing in.

She didn’t want to admit it, but fear had rooted itself deep inside her, growing with each passing second. The thought of being pregnant—actually, undeniably pregnant—was something that she had shoved to the back of her mind, convinced that it couldn’t happen to her. That wasn’t how her story was supposed to go. Not now. Not when everything in her life was laid out so perfectly.

Suddenly, the printer buzzed, a small slip of paper sliding out with that same mechanical efficiency her mother had. Julie reached for it, holding the printout with her typical calm, almost detached demeanor. Lauren’s eyes were glued to the paper as her mother scanned it, and when Julie’s gaze flicked back to her daughter, Lauren could see it in her eyes—there was no escaping this.

“It’s positive,” Julie stated, her voice as steady and measured as if she were discussing a mundane lab experiment rather than her daughter’s future. “You’re pregnant.”

Lauren felt her knees buckle, her legs suddenly weak beneath her. The word “pregnant” echoed in her mind, over and over again, each repetition louder, more terrifying than the last. She had hoped for a different outcome, prayed that her mother had been wrong, that this was all some huge mistake. But there it was, staring her in the face, undeniable. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No, no, no… this can’t be happening.”

She sank into the nearest chair, her mind spiraling. It felt like everything she had built—her carefully controlled, perfect life—was crumbling in an instant. The confident, fiery Lauren was nowhere to be found. In her place was a panicking teenager who suddenly felt like the ground was slipping out from under her. “Mom, I can’t be pregnant!” she said, her voice rising as panic set in. “I’m still in high school! I have plans! I’m going to college! How am I supposed to do any of that if I’m pregnant?”

Julie watched her for a moment, her expression still neutral, though there was a softness in her eyes that Lauren didn’t often see. She didn’t reach out to embrace her daughter, but she moved closer, standing tall as if trying to offer support through her presence alone. “Lauren,” she began, her tone a mix of sternness and something close to concern, “I won’t lie to you. This will change your life, whether you like it or not. There are consequences to your actions, and those consequences don’t just disappear because you don’t want them to.”

Lauren groaned, burying her face in her hands. Her stomach churned, the weight of her mother’s words sinking deeper and deeper into her bones. She didn’t need a lecture right now, but the worst part was—her mother wasn’t wrong. This was the reality. “What am I supposed to do?” she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands.

Julie exhaled softly, sitting down beside her. “You have decisions to make, Lauren. And none of them will be easy. But before you start thinking about all the what-ifs, let’s talk about what’s happening right now. You’re going to have a child, and that will change every aspect of your life. Teen pregnancy is no small matter, and you know as well as I do that this is going to affect your education, your career… everything.”

Lauren swallowed hard, trying to suppress the growing lump in her throat. Her mother was right, and that made it even worse. Her dreams of heading off to college, of being someone successful, someone who made a difference in the world—how could any of that happen now? She could feel tears welling up, but she blinked them back. Lauren wasn’t the type to cry, not over something like this. She had to stay strong. She had to be the tough, no-nonsense girl she always was.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. “We were careful—at least, I thought we were. This… this isn’t fair.”

Julie raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening just a fraction. “Lauren, being ‘careful’ isn’t foolproof. You’re an adult now, and it’s time you start taking responsibility for the choices you make. Life doesn’t care if it’s fair or not.”

Lauren winced, the words stinging more than she expected. She knew her mother was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Julie wasn’t being mean, but her rational, scientific approach felt colder than ever. “So what, are you going to lecture me the whole time? Tell me I’ve ruined my life?”

Julie’s gaze softened again, and she shook her head. “No, Lauren. I’m not here to lecture you. I’m here to help you understand the reality of your situation. You’ve made a mistake—one that many people make—but it’s not the end of your life. However, you need to face the consequences head-on. Running away from this won’t solve anything.”

Lauren pressed her lips together, her head still spinning. “What am I supposed to tell them?” she asked, her voice small. She wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. The thought of facing you made her stomach churn with anxiety. What if you don’t take it well? What if you freak out? What if you walked away from her completely?

Julie tilted her head slightly, studying her daughter with those sharp, analytical eyes. “You tell them the truth,” she said simply. “There’s no point in hiding this. They deserve to know, and you deserve to have support.”

Lauren groaned, slumping back in her chair. “But what if they freak out? What if they leave me? What if they think this was all some trap or something?”

“You don’t know how they’ll react until you tell them,” Julie replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “But delaying the conversation will only make things worse. The sooner you address this, the sooner you can start figuring out what comes next.”

Lauren sat in silence for a moment, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. She felt like she was trapped in a whirlwind of fear, uncertainty, and regret. But even through the panic, there was a small part of her that knew her mother was right. She couldn’t avoid this forever. She couldn’t hide from the reality of what was happening. No matter how much she wanted to.

With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she pressed on your contact. The phone rang once, twice, and then your familiar voice answered on the other end, “Uh– Hello?” Hearing your voice immediately sent a wave of comfort but also a wave of guilt both emotions clashing as she tries to bring up the courage to speak.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm. “I… I need to talk to you. Can you come over? Please?”

There was a pause on the other end before you agreed, your voice tinged with exhaustion, “Yea, okay but I don’t–”. Lauren hung up quickly not even trying to let you talk anymore else she’d crumble in fear, her stomach twisting into knots as she set the phone down. This was it. The moment she had been dreading. She glanced over at her mother, who gave her a small nod of approval.

“You’ll get through this, Lauren,” Julie said, her voice softer now, more like a mother than a scientist. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Lauren paced around the room, her nerves frayed to the point where she felt like she might unravel completely. Her mind kept spinning through every possible scenario, from the worst to the best, but no matter how many times she tried to rehearse what she would say, the words just wouldn’t come together. How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to make you understand? Would you step up? Would you yell at her? Are you finally at your tipping point and is this the last shove to finally break up with her?

The doorbell rang, jolting her from her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she considered not answering. Maybe if she stayed in her room, pretended she wasn’t home, this whole nightmare would just go away. But she knew better than that. Running away wasn’t an option.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, her eyes immediately meeting yours. You looked at her, confused over how sweaty and scared she looked, your brows furrowed as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. “Lauren? What’s going on? You look weird.”

Lauren’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, her mind screaming at her to just say it, but the words stuck in her throat. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to summon the courage to face this head-on.

“I… I don’t know how to say this,” she began, her voice shaky. She could feel your eyes on her, your concern growing with each passing second. “But I have to tell you because… because you deserve to know.” Lauren swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she finally forced the words out.

“I’m pregnant.”

#x reader #oc x reader #gn reader #yandere oc x reader #tw yandere #gender neutral #yandere x darling #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #female yandere #female yandere x reader #yandere x you #lauren mccanister

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