[ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐭 ]

jeremiah was convinced emma was some sort of witch. that seemed to be the only explanation on how she had gotten him to kiss her, to touch her - to sneak into her cabin, all the way over from the hackett house. the first counselor who had ever successfully seduced him, and it was the popular blonde. not really his type ( his type being no one, as jeremiah tended to keep to himself, work, and go back home to his family, before repeating the next day ). but he found himself thinking about her through dinner service, the way she sauntered around, winking at him when she happened to catch him staring. the invitation came in the form of a murmur in his ear, and though jeremiah hadn't confirmed in the moment whether he would be there, both of them knew he would be.

as the night stretched on, emma did wonder if jeremiah was going to show up, or if this would be the night his nerves caught up with him. she didn't think he'd leave her hanging like this, but still –– you never know how people might surprise you.

it's all rhys needs to begin his relentless thrusting against her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room around them alongside both of their noises of pleasure. the male doesn't bother to hold back his own groans of pleasure, not in the slightest, one hand holding her hip and the other grasping just below her covered ribs. he grunts then, slamming his hips forward at the way nesta demands more from him. ❝ anything. ❞ he assures her, biting into his bottom lip at the speeding up of his hips, focus solely on giving the female exactly what she's asked of him. he does falter briefly, though, slowing down to catch his own breath and to watch his cock disappear inside of her only for him to pull back and watch it all again. gods, it's fucking beautiful to see her this way, to be so wrapped up in nesta that he can't see anything else around them now.

the force behind rhysand's thrusts rattles the thoughts swirling within nesta's head, all of them loudly wondering why they hadn't done this sooner, and if she could convince him to fuck her like this again, and whether, if nesta clenches just right, she can get rhys to make that delicious needy noise once more.

❝ fuck, ❞ she bites out, blue of her eyes nearly rolling back as her cunt drenches his cock. his words, the passion behind them, heat her from top to bottom, leaving her panting as she rolls her hips back insistently. gooseflesh dances down her neck and chest as though a path to her breasts. gods, they're too clothed for this still. a sound of frustration is expunged as nesta holds rhys' infuriatingly smug gaze. try as she might to grab at any attempt at deception, she's powerless to the truth: ❝ yes, ❞ she exclaims as the blunt of his cock brushes against something soft and pillowy; something that makes nesta's throat bob and her knees to quiver. ❝ n-not nearly as much as you do, ❞ she manages to laugh spitefully, her voice strained with the sort of heady pleasure that makes her vision double.

he's doing the right thing, that much is obvious as nesta reacts in such a vocal and excited way. he'll even grin to himself at the reality of what's happening, grasp tightening in her hair as an answer is given and his hips grind forward again. it's to tease them both, for it only serves to heighten the male's own excitement and lust for the female beneath him.

just as he's thought himself in control of the moment, though, she's pushing her bottoms down, letting the fabric of her leathers sit just above her knees. rhys is nearly breathless, and he'll inhale her unhindered arousal and close his eyes as he relishes in it. gods, she's beautiful, and he knows she'll feel even better. he growls in response to both the way she touches herself and the look on nesta's face when she glances at him, the movement encouraging him to tug her hair just a little more so that his mouth can hungrily capture hers in a rough and passionate kiss.

nesta's almost certain she purrs as his cock brushes against the wet of her folds, the stickiness that has built there over time because of him and his warm tongue and the hands he uses to grip nesta so perfectly. she swallows and nods as she finds herself pushed down, her hips hiked up and then–– a deep, guttural gasp emerges from somewhere in her throat. it takes nesta nearly as aback as the fullness she suddenly feels. ❝ gods, yes, ❞ she moans, lids shuttering as she takes more, and more, and eventually all of him. somewhere beneath her, where her feet graze the floor, nesta's toes curl and curl tighter and tighter yet. her walls, wet as they are, grip rhys' cock as though a vise, grabbing onto his length and refusing to let go as he saws into her slowly. each thrust expels the breath from her lungs, and nesta is left thoroughly and utterly breathless, her mouth open as she fights to gather her wits together.

❝ unh–– don't stop. harder, ❞ she pants, her voice raspy and high, her lips swollen from their kisses. even like this, so early yet, she'd never felt so full, so complete, so much pleasure burning through her like fire to parchment. her fingers curl into the edge of the table as she hikes a leg up, allowing rhys better, deeper access into her. her gaze burns where it connects with a mirror on the wall; she wishes she could see the place where they connect, the breadth of him gleaming with her slick as he drives into her. instead, she sees herself, flushed, neck bared. she sees rhysand too, and that is enough to make her throat go dry, her eyes igniting.

his breathing is shaky as nesta's whimpers of pleasure fill the space around them, the male's singular focus on eliciting more of these sounds from her. it's all consuming in a way he can't quite describe nor understand, but this moment isn't about understanding what's happening so much as it's about feeling what's happening. flicking his tongue out against her lips, rhys tries to take her mouth in a hungry kiss, eyes shut tight as hands continue to encourage her slow movements against him.

it is as though rhysand has somehow understood exactly what nesta needs to give herself over to him. the grip of her hair in his hand startles a sound of pure, wanton need out of her. her cheeks flush, legs quivering. but, with her neck exposed and her back arched just so, nesta's mind is submerged in a blissful haze of submission that has her clenching again and again on nothing. a huff of frustration and she's groaning aloud, ❝ hard. fast. as rough as you can give it. ❞ the idea of gentle, slow sex when rhysand's hardness presses against the seam of her leathers like a sultry promise is impossible to imagine. her head swims as she pictures him driving into her soon. a desperate sound escapes; one nesta is too far gone to acknowledge with anything more than the rock-back of her hips against rhys' own. the depth of her own need surprises her, though it shouldn't. not when she considers how often she'd scornfully touched herself to fantasies of the male behind her.

and perhaps she ought to mention her lack of experience, but the thought doesn't dare cross her mind. she wants this, against all odds, and unless he wants to stop, she certainly won't.

there's even a slight shudder in nesta's toned frame that the male feels, and it encourages him to press just a little further against her. ❝ it's a promise. ❞ rhys coos against her lips, for he's more than ready to take on such a challenge as tongue caresses nesta's own, control once more claimed.

her ears burn with the sound of rhysand's heavy groan, the sound so masculine and decadent that it causes her nipples to clearly pebble beneath her shirt. a ragged breath escapes as nesta's core glides along the muscle of his thigh. sparks ignite behind her eyes with every brush against her clothed clit –– it's almost more than she can possibly take... and still not anywhere near enough.

Here's the thing: when Troy had given Sharpay a key to his apartment ( something Highschool Troy would have never thought possible ) he hadn't counted on her bursting in during the worst possible moment. Or well, maybe not the worst possible moment, but he thinks it's coming pretty close. ( pun NOT intended ).

To be fair, he also hadn't expected her to make it all the way to his bedroom when she hadn't found him in the living area of the apartment, so now he's scrambling to get the bedsheets over his naked body, his face flushing right to the tips of his ears.

sharpay had trotted in, her arms heaped with bags ( she'd gone on an itsy bitsy shopping spree that afternoon, and has bags and bags of cute outfits to get troy's opinion on ), and pouting when she couldn't find @amillixnvoices. she'd let the bags fall to the ground in order to go looking for him, following the sound of... something ( maybe he was injured? ) to his bedroom where she now stands blinking at the sight of him.

❝ uh, I did knock, ❞ she complains, a slow blush starting to rise up and over her face. she might not have what he has under there, but this set up is very familair to her. except when sharpay indulges, it's usually with a lot more candles and satin around. and she can't forget her favorite hot pink toy.

neither of them are pushing the other away, both wanting — needing — more and more. drinking in that sweet and delicious whimper, rhys pushes his tongue further into her mouth, fighting the female for dominance. it's once more short lived, though, for he can feel it when she pushes back. it may not be intentional, might not even be consciously done, but she power emanating from her frame has him more than willing to do just about anything nesta archeron might ask. rhys feels the tightness of his pants increase, his hardness easily pushing against the fabric as she presses into him.

the hardness vying for her attention leaves nesta seeing stars for a moment. although, those might just be the ones flashing in rhysand's eyes as she stares up at him, her face flushed and her lips tender. by now the alcohol in nesta's blood has burned away, leaving only desire for the male before her. if she should feel hesitance... in this moment she doesn't. somehow, she cooly responds, ❝ if you want me to beg, you'd better give me something worth begging for. ❞ but nesta's throat bobs as the high lord's knee presses against her. she's certain he can feel her breath catch as her lower lip parts for him, allowing him entry back into her mouth.

there's something in that storm of the female's gaze that tells rhys just how untrue her own words are, how her body is singing for his — and, unsurprisingly, — how his sings for hers in return. he's almost unprepared for the way she pushes harder against him, an action obviously intended to intimidate him but one achieving the exact opposite, but the high lord is fully prepared for what follows.

a silken moan escapes as he tugs her close –– a hidden, obscured urge to be possessed and to possess drove through her. and as rhys' tongue meets her own, nesta flushes at the sound of the torrid little whimper that escapes as her hold falters and her fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt as if to push him away... or more likely, pull him closer. it shouldn't be surprising, this heat roiling between them, but nesta has hidden her desire for the high lord so deep inside she'd almost convinced even herself that it doesn't exist. and now here she is, pressing her hips against his own, seeking the hardness she knows lies waiting for her.

she is disgusted by him –– his shit-eating grin, that haughty gaze and the cockiness in his voice –– all of it disgusts nesta as much as it sends a surge of bitter arousal running through her. her core burns as fiercely as the cold, silver fire in her eyes. ❝ you are vile, ❞ she whispers, disdain dripping from every word. but again that mouth distracts her, a furrow forming between her brows as she watches his tongue sweep along his lower. her body presses itself against his, and she can feel all of him. her core clenches, a betrayal she hates to admit to herself.

rhys is utterly infuriating. nesta's cold glare burns as though it could eat through him. the length of her arm pushes against his throat, but even see can she that she poses no threat to him –– the surge of power it sends through her, though? it nearly sends nesta's head spinning. a swirl of frustration and fury comes boiling to the surface, all of it concentrated on the smug-faced male standing before her. she is not prone to cursing, but as she leans in, her nose grazing against his, she finds she no longer gives a damn about propriety : ❝ fuck you and your friends and your court. ❞

So, their jobs are amazing, there's no denying that, but they are also VERY DANGEROUS and life threatening on a daily basis, which means that coming out of a situation like that spikes the adrenaline in their bloodstreams, and while Nate doesn't want to die, he very much enjoys THIS part of surviving another dangerous mission.

desire doesn't always come easily to lara, who would much rather be under three hundred feet of stone than stuck somewhere navigating the complexities of interpersonal relationships. but sometimes there are things a woman needs. she thinks nate understands. if anyone might, it's another tomb-exploring thrill-seeker.

keyleth's heart clenches, the pain unbearable as she looks up at percy. he'd always seemed so unruffled to her –– so stoic and put together. until vax'ildan died, and vex'ahlia left, and it was just the two of them struggling to put their broken pieces back together.