#oh and the second one is uncharacteristically smutty

[clunelover]

Okay book rec - I’m obsessed with this series, Rivers of London, about a young London police officer who meets a ghost and then ends up being inducted into the magic arm of the police. Then the books are sort of combination crime and sci fi/fantasy? I’m always hesitant to tell people about them cause they’re not Literary Fiction (🙄) but - they’re funny and interesting and exciting and unique…I can’t speak to what it’s like to just read them, because I do them as audiobooks, which I really really recommend - they’re read by a Ghanaian-British man with the most amaaaazing voice that IMO is essential to the books as I’ve experienced them. Anyway, without giving too much away, some of the things that make them unique:

- the protagonist is biracial, his dad is a white British guy and his mom is from Sierra Leone. The author is himself a white guy married to an African woman, and they have a biracial son, so I think he draws from that, in a way that feels…idk, like, smart about race, but in a casual way that sometimes comes close to skirting the lines of what is PC, but always stays on the right side of that, and seems true to the character, and nobody is a stereotype? Very deftly done.

- the protagonist has an interest in architecture so there’s random sprinklings about architectural styles and history of London that again feels true to the character and not forced, but also very unique and interesting

- the supernatural elements are very well realized and not hokey

- Like the pitch perfect way race and class are handled, there’s a similarly deft touch to addiction, sexuality, gender identity, etc. (but again not in that heavy handed “there are Diverse Characters in this book!” way). Like…okay I am going to spoil one little moment from like the 8th book in the series because I keep coming back to it as a great example:

The detective is meeting a group of people and identifies one as “a white woman with short brown hair” and then when the introductions are made (paraphrasing this to the best of my memory):

“She said, ‘my name’s Victor,’ with a particular emphasis on the name, as if to say ‘here’s a clue, let’s see if you get one.’ I shook his hand and said I was pleased to meet him.” Like - it just felt so real, he thought it was a woman, he found out he was wrong, he switched pronouns in his mind.

- And then the intrigue and suspense and all that across the books is great too

So, I’ve listened to all 9 of these books (and am DYING for the next one) multiple times, just like any time I’m doing something and need something to listen to, I re-listen to one of them because repetition is so soothing to me. I strongly recommend them AS AUDIOBOOKS

Oh also I think they’re being developed into a tv show, so get on it now so you can say you liked the books better!!

#oh and the second one is uncharacteristically smutty #but it’s for a REASON #so don’t worry if you get to that one and think it’s weird #rivers of london

[bruh-changbin]

[09: 57 pm]

pairing: co-worker!bang chan x afab reader

requested: yes

genre: smutty smut (minors dni)

warnings: use of sex toys (vibrating panties) in public, slight exhibitionism, like lowkey humiliation, that's it

word count: 1.8k

a/n: so i guess the season of office holiday parties is kinda over so my apologies lol. i planned on posting this earlier but i kept getting drunk and then procrastinating so here it is about a week late. nevertheless, i hope you enjoy.

photos not mine, credit to the original owners (retrieved from Pinterest)

・・・・・・・・・・・

dim lighting, flukes of champagne, semi-formal attire; a quintessential office holiday party. upon your arrival, your jacket is peeled off of your shoulders and a glass of bubbling alcohol is shoved into your hand before you even have the chance to greet anyone. albeit you are a little late, so most people have already gotten comfortable by now.

your gaze travels across the crowd as you scan the faces of your co-workers before making eye contact with a particular individual: bang christopher chan, the office flirt.

and the bane of your existence.

it had become a sort of tradition for you and chan to compete over who handmade the most sales in a particular window of time. so, when he approached your desk at the beginning of december, you already knew what he was going to talk about. although this time, it was slightly different.

“i have a proposition for you,” chan started, his hands planted on the edge of your desk as he leaned closer to you.

“i have a proposition for you,” chan started, his hands planted on the edge of your desk as he leaned closer to you.

“ok, shoot.”

“whoever gets the most sales this month gets to embarrass the other at our winter holiday party.”

chan’s question hung in the air for a moment as you thought about it, contemplating the possible outcomes if you were to lose. but you had never been one to back down, so you agreed. and oh boy, was that a mistake. you should’ve known from the way that chan strode confidently back to his own desk that he had something up his sleeve; but you were oblivious and too competitive to even notice.

december flew by in a flash. as with most businesses, it was your busiest month of the year and by the time the holiday’s rolled around, you were exhausted. the endless amount of phone-calls, e-mails, meetings, client complaints and so forth had driven you to near insanity - to say you needed a break was an understatement.

it was the evening of your second last day in the office when you were reminded of your bet with chan. the view from the office windows was almost entirely white as snow fell onto the street below; you tightened your grip on your jacket as you dreaded venturing out into the cold. your view was then obstructed by none other than bang chan, who triumphantly waved a piece of paper with his total sales in front of your face. a quick glance at the number let you know that you had lost, and you sighed in defeat. that was all chan needed before he started celebrating, cheering and teasing that he had beat you once again.

the following day was your last day of work as well as the aforementioned holiday party. the day seemed to drag on and on as you worked on wrapping everything up before you had some time off. bang chan had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, causing you to wonder what he was planning on pulling this evening. you tried bringing it up with him during your lunch break, but he just chuckled and replied with ‘you’ll see’ before walking away.

it was nearing 5:00 pm and the office was clearing out. few people were still at their desks and those that were were getting ready to head out. chan still hadn’t said anything to you, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you stood up and headed to the washroom once more before leaving.

when you came back, chan was no longer seated at his desk, and you were alone. heading back to your workspace, you grab your bag before noticing a cream coloured office envelope placed on the centre of your desk. ‘so this is what bang chan planned?’ you wonder as you scan your surroundings before flipping the envelope open. and boy are you glad you made sure you were alone before opening it.

inside was a pair of lacy panties with a small vibrator built in them - and they were your favourite colour, how considerate. with no sign of a remote or anything of the sort you assume that chan would be the one controlling it, and you physically shudder at the thought. you huff in disbelief as you pick up the sticky note attached to the inside of the envelope. ‘see you tonight ;)’ in chan’s somewhat neat handwriting was scrawled across the piece of paper, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment.

when chan said he was going to embarrass you in front of your co-workers, you didn’t think he meant like this! at the worst you expected him to spill about how you were the one who accidentally pulled the fire alarm and made everyone wait outside in the rain, or about the time he caught you watching twilight instead of working, or the time you spilled coffee all over important documents and the intern took the blame…

the point is, there are many other ways chan could embarrass you in front of your colleagues- he just chose to go this particular route - the sexual route. in all honesty you did contemplate not wearing them, but in the end you reluctantly slipped the panties on before pulling on your evening attire and heading out, which is what lead you to the situation you’re in now.

as soon as chan made eye contact with you he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone and low and behold, the little toy inside of you sprung to life. here we go. you try to keep your reaction to the sudden buzzing of the toy to a minimum, but chan picks up on the way your body jolts slightly and your eyes widen.

in a poor attempt to distract yourself from bang chan’s antics you decide to spark up a conversation with some co-workers - although that proves to be a bust since you’re now far too distracted to keep a conversation going.

you defeatedly shuffle through your peers towards the bar before ordering some liquid courage - alcohol is the only thing that can save you now. if anyone notices you being weird you can just say you’re drunk!

“having fun?”

you felt his presence behind you before he spoke, but his sudden statement startles you nonetheless.

“why yes chan, i’m having a great time. why do you ask?” you counter before downing some of your drink.

“you just seem a little tense… is something going on?” he feigns ignorance while laughing into his drink before taking a sip.

“ha ha very funny. you’re a perv, you know that right?”

“come on y/n, have some fun! loosen up a bit, yeah?” chan jesters, his hand travelling down the expanse of your back before pulling away. he shoots you a wink before walking away, his eyes gracing your figure before he directs his attention elsewhere. although you scoff at his actions, you can’t deny that they make you feel some type of way. and the vibrator pressed up against your pussy isn’t helping in any way shape or form.

not wanting to look like an outcast, you venture away from the bar and busy yourself by scanning the plates of hors d'oeuvres that are placed on clothed tables. although chan hasn’t changed the speed of the vibrator (thank god), the steady vibrations against your clit are dizzying and you find your legs wobbling with every step you take. all you have to do is avoid everyone for the rest of the night - great plan. chan will definitely notice if you go hide out in the bathroom, so your best bet is to just stick it out and avoid confrontation. this will be easy!

that is until your boss approaches you. in your peripheral vision you see chan smile before reaching into his pocket - you give him your best doe eyes in an attempt to get him to stop. but this is bang chan we’re talking about, and you’re sure your pleads mean nothing to him.

“there you are y/n! i don’t think i’ve gotten a chance to speak to you yet. how are things?” your boss starts, and you swallow hard before bullshitting some generic response.

the conversation with your boss continues and the vibrator tucked in your panties stays at the same speed. maybe chan decided to have mercy on you.

but alas, you spoke too soon. chan must be in earshot of your conversation because the second your boss brings up the topic of sales the speed of the vibrator increases tenfold. the sudden increase startles you just enough that your grip on your glass loosens, sending it crashing onto the floor.

the steady vibrations beforehand had gotten you worked up to the point where your pleasure was slowly but steadily increasing, so this new increased speed has your body hurtling towards an orgasm at full throttle.

and you are not about to cum in front of your entire office.

“oh my goodness y/n!” your boss exclaims before stepping away from the shards of broken glass. your boss’ sudden exclamation coupled with the sound of a glass shattering means that every single person in the room now has their eyes trained on you. chan is biting his lip to abstain from laughing, and you’re clenching your thighs in a feeble attempt at stopping your impending orgasm from crashing over you.

“sorry uhh… too much alcohol. not feeling good.” you manage to mutter before making a mad dash to the nearest washroom, feeling the eyes of all of your co-workers on you.

once you’re out of sight of everyone you all but sprint into the washroom, slamming the stall door shut behind you as you feel your core getting tighter and tighter, your cunt throbbing and slick with arousal as the small toy tucked into your panties continues to vibrate.

you’re so so close you can practically taste it and you brace yourself against the flimsy door of the bathroom stall, your shoes barely providing enough traction against the tiled floor.

and then it stops.

an audible whine escaped your lips as you felt the toy stop right as you were about to finish, your head falling backwards to rest against the stall door. you don’t care if there are people in the stalls beside you, you don’t care if your co-workers are talking about how weird you’re acting tonight, you just had your orgasm ripped away from you! and it’s all because of bang chan. that cheeky mother fucker was the one that got you into this mess in the first place!

once you muster up the strength to push yourself up and swing open the stall door, you spare a glance in the mirror. great, your makeup is smudged and your forehead is damp with sweat. you cringe at the feeling of your soiled panties sticking to your folds as you attempt to blot your face with a paper towel. in your delirious haze your mind can only think of one thing; or one person for that matter.

bang chan.

he’ll pay for this. you aren’t sure how, and you aren’t sure when, but he will.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz fanfiction #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz blurbs #bang chan scenarios

[sunder-soul]

For Now

A gift for @jujugentle​! Hope it does its job and cheers you up lovely 💖

Summary: A very fluffy, very smutty, very indulgent Tom Riddle one-shot, read at your own risk. Wordcount: 2k. Content warning: oral sex, toe-curling fluff.

PERMANENT TAGS: @jujugentle​​ @weirdowithnobeardo​​ @sweetgoodangel​​ @fromthehellmouth​​ @whoevenfrickenknows​​ @moatsnow​​ @voidmalfoy​​ @lucys-brain​​ @sunles​​ @arana-alpha​​ @tallyovie​​ @expectoscamander​ @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“I’m excited for this year,” you say enthusiastically, piling food onto your plate. “All the classes are so interesting.”

“How optimistic,” Tom smirks, “you’re a veritable beacon of positivity.”

“Don’t you rain on my parade,” you say with mock sternness.

“My apologies,” he says softly, reaching out and gently lacing your hair behind your ear, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“Did you like Professor Dime?” you ask curiously, glancing at him.

He shrugs delicately.

“What?” you ask humorously.

“She’s exactly what I might expect from a Professor of Ancient Studies,” he says very tactfully.

You snort a laugh. “I didn’t like her so much. She teaches like she expects us to already understand everything.”

“I think that’s because she does,” Tom says quietly, smirking again.

“I love you,” you say, smiling.

Tom’s eyes flash to yours and there’s a brief moment of silence. “You do say that at the strangest times,” he eventually says, quite slowly.

You shrug. “I say it when I feel it.”

“Is that so,” he murmurs.

He stands very suddenly and steps out off his seat. “Come with me, I have something to show you.”

You arch a brow curiously, but you stand with him and take his proffered hand. He leads you around the table and out the door of the Hall, the chattering students not paying you the least attention. You frown as he begins to head towards the dungeons. “What are you showing me?”

“You’ll see,” he mutters, pulling you a little harder.

You blink at him as you quickly descend the stairs and round the corner on to the corridor that leads to the Slytherin common room – not that you make it that far. The door to a small broom closet bursts open at the wave of Tom’s hand and he pulls you inside, the door closing behind you as his hands flash to your face and he kisses you deeply.

You exhale, kissing him back as warmth spreads across your face and swells in your stomach, and Tom slowly steps you back against the door as you lace your arms around his neck. “Is this seriously what you meant?” you giggle, pulling back.

“I can stop if you want,” he murmurs, and you blink in surprise because Tom’s hands cup your jaw and brings you into a very slow, very soft kiss before pulling back and…

Tom kneels before you, looking up at you as his hands slip up your legs and gently push up your skirt. Automatically, you spread your fingers through his dark curls, heart racing at the sight.

“I didn’t say that,” you breathe, your head fall back against the door as you look down at him.

Tom smiles as his hands slide higher, his fingers tugging aside your underwear and anticipation thrums achingly in your core, unable to stop pushing your fingers through his hair as he leans forward, slowly, torturously slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours right as his lips press against you.

“Oh god,” you whisper, eyes falling shut, breathless already.

His tongue slides against you, gentle, hot, delicate, moving ceaselessly and smoothly and jesus –

You look down at him. Tom’s eyes are closed, his lips moving slick and wet as his tongue goads you further and further into the heat. You never want it to stop but you’re impatient too, feeling pressure coil in your core when he suddenly looks up at you, his mouth not stopping, his eyes dark and hooded, his cheeks flushed and his lips glistening and god you’re slipping, your fingers tightening in his hair as he smirks slightly, as he doesn’t stop for a second, as he watches you fall –

It breaks over you strangely softly, an ache that makes your head hit the wall again, sweet and blissful, your cheeks thrumming with heat and your stomach going tense in the best possible way before it slowly, gently fades away and leaves you warm and tingling. You breathe deeply, feeling Tom’s hands slip down your legs and your skirt fall, your eyes still closed as he stands again and presses his lips to your neck. “I love you,” he murmurs.

You wrap your arms around him and exhale a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

“We should probably go to dinner,” he says softly as his lips travel down to your shoulder.

“Didn’t you just eat?” you smirk.

Tom breaths a laugh that you feel on your skin. “You are so vulgar.”

“Can you even accuse me of that after what you just did?” you snicker, amused.

“Do you consider that vulgar?” he asks softly, kissing the slope of your shoulder and sending shivers up your neck. “I don’t.”

“Oh?” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “What do you consider it?”

Tom lifts his head and rests his forehead against yours. “Adoration,” he murmurs.

Your cheeks flush. “Oh.”

“Exaltation,” he whispers, smirking as he leans closer to your lips.

“Tom,” you say breathlessly, staring at him wide-eyed.

“You would put me on my knees for worship,” he says silkily, smirking right against your lips, “so that I might pay homage.”

You go very warm, your brain short-circuiting slightly. “And you?” you breath.

His brow furrows, hesitating. “Me?”

“Would you put me on my knees to worship you, Tom?” you ask quietly.

He goes very still.

“I think you would,” you whisper. “I think you like to be adored.”

“It’s impossible not to like your adoration,” he says quietly.

“Then let me,” you smile, kissing him very lightly, slowly, sweetly.

His hands find your cheeks and he exhales, his eyes closing. “How can you be mine?” he murmurs.

You slide your hands down his chest, watching his head tilt at the sensation. “I love being yours.” You slowly pull his shirt from his trousers as you lean in and press your lips under his jaw. “I don’t ever want to stop being yours,” you murmur against his skin.

Tom exhales again, his head tilting forward as you undo his belt, trailing your lips down his neck. “Will you let me?” you ask him quietly, and you lower yourself to your knees, looking up at him as you push up his shirt and press your lips to his hipbone.

“Don’t play with me.” he says darkly, watching you with heated, heavy eyes.

“But I like playing with you,” you smile, kissing across his stomach.

One of Tom’s palms flattens on the wall above you, the other resting gently against your cheek. “You like to torment me,” he amends quietly.

“Same thing,” you smirk, your eyes flicking up to his as you pull his trousers down an inch.

He exhales sharply.

“Would you show me how to worship you, Tom?” you murmur, taking his hand and moving it to the back of you head. He stares down at you tense and hot.

You pull his trousers out of the way, looking up at him. “Show me,” you whisper, opening your mouth and taking him slightly.

His eyes flicker, his whole posture taut like he can’t believe what you’re asking. You place your hand over his and push, watching his jaw tense, his eyes go darker still. His hand beneath yours just barely pushes your head a little deeper, slowly, carefully, like he’s seeing if that’s really what you’re asking him to do, if you’re really wanting him to take control like that.  

It is.

You let your hand slip from his, your eyes closing as he pushes you a little deeper, and you hear him take a slow breath above you as you rest your hands on his hips. You look up at him and watch his eyes flicker, and then, just as carefully, his fingers tighten in your hair and he pulls you back, his fingers right against your roots.

Arousal blossoms again in your stomach as you watch him, as his jaw tenses again, as he slowly pushes you back down.

You sigh as your eyes flutter shut again, the sound muffled by him in your mouth and Tom’s grip tightens in your hair and you know, you know it’s because he’s watching you enjoy this, that you love this, that it destroys him how much you like to belong to him like this.

He takes to it quickly. You listen as his his breath gets sharper, his grip tighter, his movements remaining steady but slowly becoming more assertive, and soon you’re having to hold back a gag as he guides you back and forth, and then –

Tom’s other hand drops from the wall to your head and you look up at him, watch his expression shift with pleasure, with desire, because he’s close and you’re letting him use you to get there, you like it, you want to taste him.

“Are you going to let me?” he murmurs, and he’s tilting your head slightly as he pushes you down again and god –

You can only moan, the smallest sound but it’s desperate and wanting and Tom’s eyes fall shut and then he pushes you so deep that you give a muffled gasp and then he’s pouring into your throat, his lips falling open as a low, breathy sound comes from between them and you’re swallowing as you look up at him, watching him come undone, his lips slick and expression in rapture.

You pull off him slowly, his hands remaining loose in your hair as you stand and take his face in your hands. “I’ll pay homage,” you whisper, “whenever you want me to.”

Tom’s head falls onto your shoulder and he presses his face into your neck, his touch suddenly turning strangely sweet. He takes a long breath and you lace your arms around his neck again.

“Skip dinner,” he murmurs, “Room of Requirement.”

You laugh once, very softly. He sounds extremely drowsy and it’s probably the least coherent you’ve ever heard him. “Why?”

“I want to lie with you,” he says against your skin, “on the couches. By the fire”

“Alright,” you smile, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go.”

The minute you enter the Room, Tom collapses with an uncharacteristic lack of grace onto the couch that’s appeared there by a crackling fire just like he’d said, one leg fully outstretched before him and the other bent with his foot still on the ground.

“Come here,” he says sleepily, waving at you.

You smile and sit down between his legs, lying back on his chest as he lowers his arms around your neck and takes a deep breath. “I could quite comfortably sleep like this,” he murmurs.

You believe it, looking backwards up at him to find his eyes shut and his face relaxed. “I love you,” you say softly.

He laughs, no more than a breath, cracking his eyes open to look down at you. “I love you,” he replies gently.

“Shall I sneak into your dorm to sleep with you tonight?” you grin.

“Don’t tempt me,” Tom chuckles, eyes shutting again as he lays his head down against the armrest of the couch. “That would be an incredibly reckless thing for us to do.”

“So yes or no?” you smirk.

“No,” he says dryly.

“You’re no fun,” you grumble, settling down against his chest.

“That is simply not true, I am a lot of fun,” he drawls.

You blink at the ceiling. “I’m shocked, but… yeah,” you deadpan, “wow, I genuinely can’t believe that’s actually accurate…”

“You are entirely too cruel to me.”

“I’m just mad that you don’t want to sleep with me.”

There’s a pause. “I very much want to sleep with you,” says Tom very softly, “I can imagine nothing would give me more pleasure.”

You blink again, feeling a blush rise on your cheeks.

“I do not, however, want Malfoy and Lestrange to discover you in my bed and ruin your life,” he continues lightly.

“I suppose that’s fair…” you allow a little playfully, closing your eyes and losing yourself a bit in the warm heaviness of his arms around you, the rise and fall of his chest beneath you, his smell in your head, his everything around you. “For now then, this is enough,” you say sleepily.

“For now,” Tom murmurs quietly.

The fire crackles behind you, and a very comfortable silence falls.

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle smut #smut #fluff #established relationship #harry potter

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Invitation (NSFW)

Part of Entrapped - series of smutty NSFW fansequels for Vyn's cards, with their own sort of continuity Pt 01 Layers | Pt 02 House Call | Pt 03 Invitation

Fansequel to Medieval Suspense - Rosa still can't get over how the game turned out, and Vyn helps her deal with it...

"Are you looking for a specific book? Anything in particular?"

Vyn's gentle voice flows directly into your ear as you browse a shelf for books.

He has invited you to go visit a newly-opened bookstore near his estate in the Victorian Quarter. The idea was to pick up one or two books that pique your interest, and have a leisurely read in his mansion over some tea and dessert afterwards.

You smile as you return the book you were holding back into the shelf. "Nothing in mind yet, but maybe something about the occult or European culture?"

"If you would allow me, I have a few books that I can recommend," he says, brushing his fingers briefly against yours. "I believe the occult section is a few rows back. Do you want to check it now?"

"Sure."

He then takes your hand, your fingers interlaced with his, leading you to the less populated area of the bookstore.

You cannot ignore how his cool fingertips feel electric against your warm skin; the tug of his hand on yours as he leads you through numerous shelves firm yet tender.

It is almost like that time during the live-action detective role playing game you have participated with him a while back, when he led you through castle corridors, to the room filled with unimaginable horror...

"Here we go," Vyn says as he lets go of your hand.

The sensation of his hand holding yours linger even after he has let go, like a magic charm printed directly onto your skin.

A black tome accentuated with silver leaf catches your attention, and so you pull it out of the shelf by its spine. Occultism: History and Theory, the cover reads, and printed on the cover are several symbols that you recognize as alchemical sigils.

Your mind wanders to that fateful time when you opened the door to that ominously-decorated room with peeling wallpaper painted over with the very same sigils, and the damning message about selling one's soul to the devil in exchange for their lover's life...

The memories eventually lead to your immense regret on how everything turned out in that game, despite you securing victory for yourself and the other players, except the man directly beside you. Him, you have condemned to death, and yet he welcomed your objective cruelty with open arms...

"Interested in alchemy, Rosa?"

You must have zoned out for quite a bit, as you feel Vyn's cool lips plant a soft kiss on your cheek, and it takes you a full second or two before you react.

"...Vyn?" You look up at him, surprised, then look around to see if there were any other people around who could have seen his uncharacteristically public show of affection.

He merely smiles at you. "You were deep in thought for a bit. I had to do something drastic to get a reaction out of you."

"Oh no! I'm sorry Vyn, I didn't mean to ignore you!" A fierce flush blooms all over your face, skin uncomfortably warm with embarrassment. "I was...I was just remembering something."

"Yes, I was about to ask about what had gotten you in so lost in your thoughts." Vyn's soft voice is a salve, calming your nerves. "What were you thinking about?"

Should you tell him your regret? Or keep it in? He did tell you once that you have scolded him enough about the turn of events in that game--but you are not seeking to scold him, instead you would like to apologize...

Vyn looks at you with a tender gaze, patiently waiting for your answer.

You do not want him to think you are scolding him, not even for a second, so you say, "I don't think I have apologized enough."

"Apologize? About what, beloved?"

You let out a deep sigh. "I know I probably am beating a dead horse to a deader death," you say to lighten the mood even by a fraction. "But the outcome of the game, and my outburst is still one of my biggest regrets to date. I'm really sorry, Vyn."

You slip the book on occultism back into the shelf. No need to remind yourself about your past sin; it is now at the forefront of your consciousness. "No matter what you say, I still feel horrible about throwing you...your character, rather, to the dogs."

Deep pools of gold behind glass meet your remorseful eyes as you look up to your lover.

"I didn't trust you--that was what I loudly proclaimed, at the final round. You of all people. I am still kicking myself over it, Vyn. Is it funny that thinking about it keeps me up at night sometimes?"

This time it is Vyn who lets out a sigh as he tousles your hair affectionately. "You really need to let go of those thoughts, Rosa. You have acted in accordance to your principles, and that is what matters. But,"

Smiling mischievously, he bends over to give you a chaste kiss on your lips. "I shall help you process your feelings on the matter," he whispers as he pulls back. "Let me help you take care of it. We shall deal with it together, one step at a time."

The both of you do not speak any more about the topic; instead your thoughts are filled with questions about how and why Dr. Vyn Richter is bold enough to kiss you in the middle of a bookstore.

Probably because he is in his element. Or maybe he just does not care about propriety except when it suits him...

Or maybe he is just that worried about you.

===

One week later.

"...Vyn," you breathe out as you behold the items laid out on the bed in front of you. "You didn't."

"But I did," The ends of his lips curl into a knowing smile. "And that is what matters, is it not?"

The both of you are in one of the guest bedrooms in his Victorian mansion; laid out onto the bed are two sets of all-too familiar clothes: the costumes both of you have donned for the live-action detective game.

The elaborate costumes of the young Duke, and the Lady Viscount.

"It is quite fortunate that the game organizer does not have any events scheduled for the foreseeable future," Vyn says as he starts to undress. "And so I managed to borrow these dresses for a small fee."

"Wait, we are going to change into these, Vyn?" Your eyes are glued onto Vyn's gradual showing of his pale, lithe form as he peels off his own layers.

"That is the idea, yes," Vyn says as he lets his shirt slip off his arms. "And we will be doing a little roleplaying exercise."

He notices you staring at him; his lips curve into a smile of acknowledgment. "You are doing it again, pet," Vyn says. "But as much as I am tempted to indulge you, we need to address your dilemma, first."

"Er. Yes," you laugh nervously. "I'll change now..."

Vyn did go through such lengths to rent the costumes, and he did it because of a short conversation that you yourself almost forgot.

You decide to not let his effort go to waste, and taking Vyn's cue you start to take off your clothes...

In a matter of mere seconds you find yourself pushed onto the bed with such force that the bedsprings creak loudly as you bounce on the mattress. "Vyn?!"

"Haha, I apologize..." Vyn smothers you with kisses: a deep, probing French kiss; then proceeding to plant wet kisses all over your face, your neck, your decolletage. "...for succumbing to the temptation, even a little."

His lips feel cool, so much that gooseflesh bloom from where his lips graze and flutter against your skin.

Vyn has a way of making you crave for him, and you are soon reminded of it with his featherlike touches that draw out your moans and sighs; his lips finding purchase on your nape, biting you with teeth as his arms around your body coil tighter, like a snake preparing to devour a willing prey...

He briefly pulls back, and you can see his smile turn wistful, even a little sad. "Let me indulge, just for a little bit? For once we start the roleplay, we will need to avoid breaking out of character until it all ends."

You want to ask him why his mood has turned darker, but your need to feel him, to taste him, has effectively won out. Things can be discussed later, and so you file it away in the inner recesses of your mind for now.

(Little do you know that the entire roleplay exercise will bring it out into the open)

"And to think that you told me that I was the one who wanted to indulge." You pull him down for another kiss as his hands slowly take off your clothes.  "Not that I mind," you remark as you briefly surface for air. "I like it when you kiss me."

"I am glad," he says, yet mirth does not touch his eyes as he says it.

His hand gently tugs on the hem of your skirt--hook already undone--letting it fall off the edge of the bed. "Please, Rosa, one more kiss. One more kiss and I will help you into your costume."

One more kiss, he said, you note as his face and his hair eclipse your vision; his lips and tongue slowly yet ravenously consume you; his roaming hands staking claim to your entire being. One more kiss, and yet...

Eventually he pulls back, and the way he has to steel himself from dipping down once again for yet another kiss; the way he has to take deep breaths to calm himself down tells you how much of a Herculean task it is for him to pull away of his own accord. "L-let me help you change, now," he rasps out.

Vyn has, you are surprised to find out as he pulls you up from the bed, actually removed enough of what you were wearing while the both of you were preoccupied the passionate embrace, and all you need to do at this point is to slip on the heavy dress.

Your lover gathers your dress and he slides his arms into the voluminous skirt, helping you from getting lost in its myriad petticoats as he slips it over your head and shoulders.

With a few firm pulls and tugs your head finally surfaces through the dress's neckline, and it only takes a few remaining steps for you to become the Lady Viscount once again: fastening the clasps of the belt and the lavender choker; putting your hair up and tying it with the purple ribbon that comes with the costume.

It is Vyn's skillful fingers that knot the hair ribbon around your ponytail.

"Beautiful," your lover whispers, as he eyes you and your alter ego lovingly, yet with a gaze tinged with a certain darkness.

It is finally his turn to don the young Duke's costume; Vyn methodically and effortlessly puts on the Duke's layers, as if it were second nature. You briefly wonder if there was a point in his life when he had to wear such elaborate clothing on a daily basis--you do not miss his well-practiced movements of buttoning up the inner shirt, the double-breasted jacket, even tying the cravat and fastening the brooch over its embroidered lily.

As his fingers let go of the brooch he is now almost the young Duke, sans the cape and his long ponytail.

"Let me help you with the cape."

"Thank you," Vyn murmurs as he bends down towards you, allowing you access enough to drape the velvet cape onto his shoulders. Your fingers slightly tremble when you fasten the clasps that would hold the cape in place, unsure if you are doing it right--fearing that your inexpert hands may break the delicate-looking metal work--but you manage.

"Whew. I thought I was going to break the metal clasps." You let out a sigh of relief as your fingers let go of the cape, but before your hands could fully pull away from Vyn his now-gloved hands grab yours, his gold eyes piercing through you.

He does not say anything; Vyn only looks at you with an unreadable stare, as if mulling whether or not to tell you whatever is weighing heavily in his mind, only to withhold his words at the last minute.

"Vyn...is something the matter?" you ask, this time a little unnerved with how he is acting around you today. "I can't help but feel like something's bothering you..."

He then lets go of one of your hands to reach out to tenderly brush your cheek. "I suppose this roleplay exercise is not only for you, my beloved," he says quietly with a taut smile.

Yeah. Something is up.

You do not put it into words, but instead you hold up the only remaining piece of his costume that is yet to be put on.

The young Duke's ponytail.

"May I trouble you with putting it on for me, Rosa?" Vyn asks.

"Mhm. Sit down on the bed so it's easier for me?" You ask him as you stretch the thin elastic hairband with the fingers of your right hand.

"As you wish." Vyn sits himself by the edge of the bed, his back towards you.

Gently you comb his silken, silver hair with the fingers of both your hands, gathering what bit of hair you could tie into a small ponytail. Using the hair band wound around the fingers of your right hand you carefully tie his short hair into a small twig of a ponytail, something you would consider cute enough to send you in a fit of laughter, if only the prevailing mood in the room wasn't so somber.

Now, how do hair extensions work again? You wonder as you check the underside of the attachable ponytail the same color as Vyn's natural hair. Ah, I think I get it now, you tell yourself as you notice the tines of a small comb attached to the underside of the extension; it does not take you more than a minute to finish attaching the hair extension to his ponytail. You hide the seam between his natural hair and the extension with the thin strip of blue ribbon that comes with the costume, tying it into a loose bow.

And Vyn's transformation into the young Duke is finally complete.

He stands up from the bed, stretching out to his full height. "I thank you, my beloved Rose," he says as he plants a small kiss on the top of your head. "The young Duke shall see the Lady Viscount then, in a short while." He picks up the metal scepter leaning against the wall, tapping the floor with its tip with a dull thud sound.

"Wait, Vyn," you call out to him as he makes his way towards the door. "You haven't told me yet what the roleplay is about."

He pauses mid-step, then turns to face you. "Let the young Duke and the Lady Viscount meet, and you will know, Rosa," he says, his words a bit too vague for your liking. "Keep in mind, beloved, that once you step out of this room, you will need to be in character. You are not Rosa, but the Lady Viscount; this will apply to me and my role as the young Duke as well."

His voice somehow takes on a sharp edge, his eyes losing the glimmer of warm affection he holds for you. As if he had already started playing his role...

"Alright," you tell him, and you watch him as he exits the room; your eyes linger on the door even long after his back disappears from your view.

You decide to wait for five minutes until you leave the guest room.

And when you finally do, you are the Lady Viscount.

You are not sure exactly what Vyn--as the young Duke--has in store for you. All you know is that you have your misgivings on how things turned out the last time, and now that the one who bore the brunt of your recklessness has so graciously offered you a second chance there is nothing left to do but grab it.

===

The master of the manor has taken pains not only to procure the costumes for the roleplay, but has also done slight modifications throughout the interior that is only apparent upon nighttime: the lighting of the entire mansion is now dimmer than usual; candles are scattered all throughout, their ever-flickering lights lending a slight macabre feel.

You wander the vaguely-familiar corridors, hallways, and the staircase of his home. It is both of the familiar and unfamiliar; it is still the same Victorian-style mansion that houses your most intimate memories with its master within its walls. Yet it is now bereft of the warm, golden lighting that mirrors the warmth radiating from his champagne gold eyes, leaving a mere shell, a husk of a small architectural nugget, something to house a myriad of other little things and nothing more.

The scant light of the full moon streaming through the French windows cast elongated shadows in your path. This is no longer his home, the sanctuary he has shared with me, you realize. This place now stands for something else; somewhere cold, somewhere lonely.

You shiver--is it the cold, or is it something else?--as you descend the staircase, hoping to catch a glimpse of your lover: but as Vyn? Or the Duke?

After a few minutes of meandering it is now certain that he is nowhere to be found within the mansion.

The garden.

Your eyes throw a glance to the back door that leads to the garden; sure enough, it is open, beckoning you to go out into the night.

Steeling your resolve you gather your billowing skirts with one hand, and stride your way through the door.

The striking of your heels upon stone announce your determination. Your march has cadence, and the rhythm gradually reaches climax as you follow the paved paths winding through the roses a sea of deep purple gray in the moonlight, leading your way to him, he whose back is turned towards you, refusing to look at you even as your footsteps ring clear into the night.

"I am here," you tell him. "My Duke."

He finally turns to face you, his golden eyes dark behind lenses. "Good evening, my dearest Lady." He digs the tip of the metal scepter directly in front of him, resting both of his hands upon the bejeweled handle. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your most gracious presence?"

"I am here, seeking you out." You do not show him your frustration at him still refusing to let you know the entire point of this exercise. "Or is my presence unwelcome?"

The Duke gives you a wan smile, the moonlight reflected on his glasses obscuring your view of his eyes. "Your presence is never unwelcome. Come, join me. It is a pleasant night, and I find the darkness and the quiet comforting."

You take a few steps towards him; you would be right next to him, yet his scepter is in the way--and does not budge.

The Duke does not remove the scepter blocking your path towards him; he merely looks at you passively, not saying a word.

You grit your teeth inwardly at this. A test?

How dare he.

Wordlessly one of your hands--which have been always described as soft, tender, delicate, gentle--grab the scepter below its bejeweled handle, taking it for your own.

This time, it is your hand that strikes the tip of the scepter to the ground, off to the side, no longer in the way between you and your lover.

This time, it is your hand that rests upon its handle.

The Duke's eyes blink at you, betraying the look of surprise he that he hides behind his long lashes.

Your other hand tugs at his cravat. "Kiss me." Your words are a command. "We have not seen each other for a long time, my Duke, and yet you meet my longing with a test. How dare you."

Yet he does not move. "Are you sure that is wise, my Lady?" The Duke asks, his voice clipped. "Or do you still not know the fate of your mother?"

"I am no longer a nun. I have lived, cloistered--no, caged--long enough, and I am here to take what is rightfully mine," you boldly declare. "I come here expecting to see the man I fell in love with, the man who has rebelled against heaven itself, yet who is this coward in front of me?"

Your words flow out like a river breaking through a dam: thunderous and overwhelming, threatening to swallow everything in sight.

"Why is my lover abiding by the demands of his--our--sworn enemy? Those who murdered my poor innocent mother, who did nothing wrong but love!"

You do not know why these are the words that leave your mouth; but you have been thinking about it for days and nights on end, wracked and consumed by guilt made worse by how the victim of your recklessness embraced his fate in your hands. "I will always accept and embrace your strengths, your flaws, your everything," he had said, but it struck you the wrong way--it sounded like an elegy more than a final declaration of love.

No, no I refuse to accept this!

Your hand holding the scepter is trembling.

There is a flash of confusion in your lover's--the Duke's--eyes. "Beloved, I..." he takes a deep breath. "Does this mean you change your mind? Will you join me, walk with me into darkness?"

There is a slight look of sadness in his eyes. Disappointment? Pity?

Somehow this ticks you off even more. "Hell no!" you exclaim loudly, striking the stone pavement with the metal tip, the sharp sound ringing into the night. "Why are we made to choose between two options that both appease our enemy? Why should I condemn my savior to death? Why should I condemn someone else to death?"

You know full well why--it was a game, and the game had outlined these two choices.

But it is no longer a game for you. Not when you are this consumed by guilt after you so foolishly proclaimed your distrust of your lover who sacrificed himself for you.

This has now become personal.

The Duke sighs. "So," He touches his cravat. "Have you abandoned your love for the lilies? What they stand for?"

"What are you talking about, my Duke?" The edges of your lips, which has been locked to a look of righteous indignation until now, curls into a twisted smile. "The lilies, my beloved Duke, stand for my mother and my mother's love for my father. If you are talking about them being the official flower of the Church, then let me clarify something--I do not care. I alone ascribe the significance of the lily in my life. The Church has nothing to do with it."

Your voice rings clear, imperious and proud.

"Carry on like that, and it will be you beside me in the gallows," the Duke whispers quietly. "That is not what I wished for when I made the decision to sacrifice myself. The Church is formidable. The Church dictates the rules. We can only shake our fists at the sky to express our anger."

"You disappoint me."

As soon as these words leave your lips only do you realize what you have just said. But there is no turning back, and you do feel the disappointment.

"I am only doing this to protect the woman I love," the Duke now seethes. "Why must you--"

"You do not understand me, my Duke." Your anger gradually dissipates, to be replaced with sadness. "If the punishment of gaining knowledge is dying, if the punishment of loving who we want to love is dying..."

"Then I will gladly die struggling against this absolute injustice," you say, your voice regaining its edge. "This absolute tyranny."

"Your invitation was to make a new truth. Condemn someone to take the fall, so the Church will be appeased as well. I find this unacceptable, and is against the moral fabric of my very being. I decline your invitation."

"...Very well. If that is what my Lady desires."

He looks at you, but with an expression that can only be described as unreadable.

And then, to his surprise--and yours as well--it is you who extends your hand to him. An invitation of your own.

"Come, take my hand." You look up at him directly into his gold eyes; your olive ones tempered with sheer determination and grit. "I offer you the chance to fight for the truth, with me. With nothing left out; with everything revealed in the open. Together we shall seek happiness. Together we can grasp knowledge. We may die trying,"

You pause, taking a deep breath.

"...but we can love."

Your hand remains extended to him, the Duke, your lover--and just as you think he will decline your invitation he grasps it with both of his hands.

He grasps your hand tightly, holding it close to his chest. His face remains unreadable, but in the moonlight you can see his lower lip tremble almost imperceptibly.

Then he speaks. "My Lady--No, Rosa," he corrects himself. "I pray that you will not forget everything that you have told me tonight, in this garden."

Vyn's desperate hold on your hand tightens even more. "There may come a time when I will need your strength. And in those tumultuous moments, I will put my life in your hands."

He plants a reverent kiss on your knuckle, now holding your hand against his lips. "For our sake, Rosa. I will entrust my life, and my love, to you.

"I accept your invitation."

With his gold eyes upon you overflowing with affection, Vyn envelops you in his arms to finally fulfill your one command: a kiss.

It starts out chaste, as Vyn expresses his utmost loyalty to his beloved Lady. "I surrender," he whispers after he has planted a soft kiss on your lips. "I am now your most loyal servant..."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel him tremble with need. His hands cup your hands lovingly; his breath shudders as he takes your lips once again with his, with his tongue coaxing yours to slip inside his mouth so he could suck on it with abandon, committing your flavor in his memory. A kiss so deep that it leaves you breathless. A kiss so needy that it sings volumes about how vulnerable your lover is when it comes to you.

A heartfelt, passionate kiss bathed in moonlight, in the midst of the roses.

Vyn finally pulls away from the kiss, catching his breath. "Do you remember when you led me here, in the garden?" His smile finally regains its sparkle. "That first time?"

"Yes. Why?"

You do not forget it--in fact, you cannot forget about it. It is one of those memories printed into your brain with indelible ink. That sweet moment when he revealed his vulnerabilities to you. That sweet moment when he first taught you about pleasure...

"You have won complete dominion over all that I am," he murmurs against your ear. "Do you not want to lead me to my bedroom to enjoy your spoils? The night is still young."

"Vyn, I only led you by hand to the garden because you did not wear your glasses," you smile as you plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. "And you stumbled on your way. I do not want to imagine what would happen if you fell over the stairs."

"True," Vyn relents. "What does my Lady wish of this loyal servant, then?"

You give it some thought.

Then, "Please. I want to make love to you.

"Take me."

With a guttural groan Vyn quickly gathers you in his arms, accidentally knocking away the metal scepter that is in your left hand all this time. "We can pick it up tomorrow morning," he hisses as he dashes through the garden, and into the house with such speed that one would think there was an emergency that requires hauling you into his bedroom as if he is a man possessed.

Your arms are coiled around his shoulders as he carries you; you tease him with small kisses planted to the side of his neck, and all the while you can feel and hear his shallow, rapid breathing that bear hints of what may happen to you once you finally enter his bedroom.

The climb upstairs to the second floor is a short five-second sprint; a record, most probably. And from there it was only ten more seconds til he nudges the bedroom open.

"And take you, I shall." Vyn mutters as he makes fast work of getting you out of the costume: unfastening the belt; slipping the dress over your shoulders. You can hear him panting heavily as he does the requisite work of undressing you.

When you are finally left with nothing on your body but panties and thigh-high stockings he all but pushes you onto his bed, himself still fully clothed as the Duke. "I want you, I want you," he chants under his breath, his prayer to the altar of you. Gloved hands gently trace the outline of your breasts, feeling their heft underneath his palms until he strums your nipples with suede-clothed thumbs.

"Ah, damn, how can that feel so good," you moan out loud, arching your body ever so closer against the sweet, delicious treatment of suede against the sensitive bundle of nerves that are your nipples...

You look up at his face and all you see is desire barely hidden in his now-misty gold eyes, obscured by long silver lashes of his hooded eyelids. "Kiss me more," you say, and it comes as a command. Vyn immediately complies, his lips now perfectly locking with yours as your tongues thrash against each other.

All throughout you hear his shallow, fast breathing, and his chanting of your name. "Rosa," he breathes your name fervently against your lips. "Rosa. Rosa..."

Your body thrums at the thrill of it all; writhing, you unconsciously brush your now drenched sex onto the hard on straining against the fabric of his pants. Vyn moans out loud at the unexpected contact. "Shit," he groans. "Not yet. Not yet..." He pulls away from your torrid kissing; his lips now trace wet kisses from your lips, down to your neck, then runs his tongue down across your stomach until it settles just above your wet slit.

When you finally realize what he is about to do your body freezes up. "Vyn," you gasp out loud, thighs closing on reflex. "Are you...are you...?"

"Lick and suck your cunt with abandon?" Vyn says as he gently but firmly prises your thighs apart. "Oh yes. Yes I will, my Lady."

"Vyn! I..." Your further protests are effectively cut short upon feeling your lover's tongue licking the entire length of your sex, each run ending with a firm flick against your clit. "Let me wash first, at least!"

As a response Vyn's tongue slips inside your inner muscles, tasting you, his lips making smacking noises as he lightly sucks on your clit. "You were saying?" He asks, surfacing briefly just so he can leer at you from between your legs as he licks his lips.

"N-nothing," you moan out loud, utterly defeated.

Then he starts assaulting your sex with even more licks, this time concentrating on your clit. "Then I shall continue. Do you like this, or do you want me to stop?"

Your fingertips dig deep into the bedsheets. "Stop teasing me, Vyn!"

The all-too familiar feeling of imminent climax now starts to spread over your inner thighs, and your lower body tenses up to chase your release...

"Vyn, I'm near, I'm..."

Without letting up his oral treatment of your sex his hands fumble to remove one of his suede gloves, throwing it to the floor.

And when he slips two fingers inside you, you finally fall off the precipice of your orgasm, prompting you to shout your lover's name out loud into the night, over and over as your thighs clamp onto his shoulders, pushing his face even deeper against your pussy...

"Did you like it?" Vyn asks as he drapes his body over you, kissing you deeply with your juices still on his face and tongue. "Is this your first time being...eaten out?"

"Mhm," Is all you can say, still recovering from your orgasm.

Then you notice that he is still fully clothed in his costume. "Vyn...won't having sex in that ruin the costume?"

Your lover laughs, his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. "I plan to have the clothes dry-cleaned before returning them," he says. "But if my Lady insists..."

"You can strip?" You ask as you stretch your limbs across the luxurious bedsheets. It is, however, a command cushioned into a question, and Vyn knows it.

"I suppose I can try," Vyn hums as he pushes himself off his bed to stand right in front of you. His fingers then slowly unties the cravat, making sure that the brooch is still pinned to the silken fabric before he completely slips it off.

The other clothes come off easy: his cape, easily unclasped and shrugged off his shoulders; the double breasted jacket that he drapes over one of his chairs; then comes off his inner shirt and his pants; his other suede glove...

All the while you enjoy the gradual reveal of his fair complexioned, wiry form; Vyn is not as broad-shouldered as Marius or the other taller men, but his slender, delicate form belie the sheer core strength he possesses.

This time it is your turn to whisper, "Beautiful."

Grinning, Vyn's thumbs then ride over the garter of his underwear. "You have seen this part of me in your bathtub last month," he says with a knowing grin on his face.

"Vyn, stop teasing me and take it off!"

"Heh, as you wish," then he slips it off, leaving his underwear pooling around his ankle before kicking it off onto the carpeted floor. His hard cock twitches slightly as he joins you once again on the bed.

It is then that you notice that he is still wearing the long ponytail extension.

"You look nice with the ponytail on," you murmur as you pull him close for yet another kiss. "It makes me feel like I'm going to make love to the Duke."

Vyn laughs. "You actually are making love to the Duke," he says offhandedly.

You merely smile--you do not comprehend the real meaning behind those words--but they are not important at the moment. "Vyn...since I won you, let me take you..." You take a deep breath.

"By that, I mean. I want to try riding you."

Vyn licks his lips in delight upon hearing your words. "You are a virgin, Rosa, not yet taken...it may be uncomfortable, but I will try to lessen the discomfort."

"Yeah. I just feel like it. Especially since you told me that I won you."

He chuckles as he rolls onto his back, his hard cock at the ready. "I am yours, my Lady, feel free to use me, for I am at your disposal..."

Steeling yourself you straddle his hips, slowly lowering your slit onto the tip of his erection.

You steal a glance at Vyn's face; you see him intently watching the moment where your bodies finally join, biting his lower lip in pure anticipation.

And finally you feel your entrance wrapping around the tip of his cock. "Oh god," you moan in reflex, anticipating the worst as you slowly lower your dripping sex further downwards around Vyn's girth, until you come to a point where his cock is starting to stretch you...

"Try moving your hips, pet," Vyn suggests, his voice ragged. "Take your time, slowly, a bit at a time..."

"Okay..." You start grinding your hips slowly; his cock slipping in and out of you, as you try to take in more of your lover's shaft inside. "Hahh...just a bit more," you moan. "Just a bit more..."

It is then that you feel Vyn thrusting his cock inside, prompting you to cry out in a mixture of surprise and pain. "I am sorry, pet," he moans. "I just cannot be made to wait any longer..."

"Haaaaaahn!" You cry out; there is an unmistakable dull ache of a wound inside you, but you aren't too sure what it actually is; the only thing that you are sure right now is your and Vyn's bodies joining.

"How does it feel to no longer be a virgin?" Vyn smirks as he starts to move from underneath you. His grin gradually melts into a more primal facial expression--something akin to hunger--as he starts moving against your hips...

"I...I don't know?" You confess, not knowing how to process the feeling of your inner muscles being stretched out for someone else's pleasure. "Vyn...I..."

"Yes?"

"Could you take over for me please?"  Your words come off shyly, devoid of the bravado that you have exhibited so far until right this very moment.

"..."

"With pleasure," Vyn suddenly reaches out to grab you, pushing you down on the bed as he wraps your thighs around his waist with such urgency. "I have been made to wait so long, so long, Rosa," he grits his teeth, guiding his cock back into your entrance. "Let me show you how it is to get properly and thoroughly fucked..."

And when he finally starts to rail you hard with strong, steady thrusts that slowly pick up speed it is then that you finally experience how it feels to be so sex-addled that you cannot form coherent strings of thought. "Haaaahh--Vyn!" You shout as you wrap your legs even tighter around waist. "Oh god. Oh god--!"

"Just a little more, Rosa," he grunts as he keeps on fucking your hard and fast, the bedsprings now creaking loudly underneath. "Just a little-!"

Vyn finally throws his head back, shouting your name as he loses himself in his own throes of ecstasy, his come shooting inside you in strong bursts...

===

"There is one hole to your reasoning as the Lady Viscount, Rosa dearest," murmurs Vyn as he cradles you in his bed, basking in the afterglow.

"Do tell." You do not bother looking up from the crook of his neck.

"You do remember that there is an investigator still on scene who will put cuffs on whoever has been judged as the murderer, right?" He now draws lazy circles on the back of your shoulder.

"Mhm." You merely bury your face deeper against his neck.

"How do you plan to deal with them, then? If I am still made out as the murderer."

"Ehhhh," your lips form a moue as your face finally pulls away from the comfort of his neck. "Make good use of your metal scepter. That thing is a good melee weapon. Or maybe talk your way out of it. Get creative. It all depends on the dice."

Vyn chuckles. "I believe we're talking about different games, pet."

Your brows furrow. "No we're not," you say. "It's a role playing game. Therefore a rolling a Nat 20 lets us escape to live out our lives together, if it's a critical failure then maybe we get thrown into a dungeon..."

"Yes, we are  talking about different games, and I think Luke is the culprit," Vyn sighs. "Ah, well. Maybe he has some board games we can borrow..."

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfiction #tears of themis smut #tot smut #vyn richter #vyn richter smut #mo yi #mo yi smut #tot mo yi

[heli0s-writes]

It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.  

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

-

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

-

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

[persefone88]

10 + 1 Wangxian Recs - Theme Cloud Recesses Era Getting Together

I am currently mostly in MDZS (Mo Dao Zu Shi/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) fandom. And fully and wholeheartily shipping Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian. And since I have collected 2000+ Wangxian bookmarks on AO3 I thought it was high time to pick out some of my favourite fics to Recommend. But since it is hard to pic just a few I decided to separate them into themes.

This time it is Wangxian getting together as teenagers during the Cloud Recesses Studying Arc. So don't be suprised if any of these fics contain underage sex.

Deep in the Woods by malkinmalkout

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641446

Summary:Wei Wuxian discovers a new kind of pornography which makes him very curious. Luckily Lan Wangji is there to help.

Romeo, oh! Romeo. Whyfore art thou-WEI WUXIAN?!?! by mondengel

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081920

Summary:WangXian happens a lot sooner and Lan Qiren is suffering.

The Secret Life Of Lan Wangji by Dei_Starr (DeiStarr), DeiStarr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503048

Summary:Teenage Lan Wangji keeps a journal to help him organize his thoughts.Then Wei Ying shows up, and throws his carefully-ordered world into chaos. He has no idea what's happening; what is wrong with him; Wei Ying must be doing something to cause this - clearly, it's all his fault! Wangji's body just keeps doing strange things without his permission and it's all very confusing and upsetting.With a little help, he eventually figures things out. But next thing he knows; before he even notices what he's been doing, he realizes all of his journal entries have started turning into porn. It's all very disturbing; especially because it just keeps happening.Eventually he gives in and starts keeping a record of every smutty thought he has; every last filthy detail about what he wishes he could do to Wei Ying. (He's the only one that will ever read it, so it's fine. It'll just be his dirty little secret.)Except that Wei Ying wants to know everything about Lan Zhan; in the course of his snooping, he just might end up learning more than he bargained for!

Maybe We Should by petiteneko

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659871

Summary:Wei WuXian is having trouble dealing with the accusations Jiang WanYin has thrown his way.

Double Dare by malkinmalkout

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032478

Summary:For a prank Jiang Cheng dares Nie Huaisang to pretend he has a crush on Lan Wangji. This results in Wei Wuxian having a few realisations about his own feelings.

My Boyfriend Is So Talented by Xiao_Zhang

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527140

Summary:Lan WangJi failed to restrain himself and gave in to his lust. He took Wei WuXian right then and there at the Library Pavilion, indirectly confessing his feelings to Wei WuXian. This one mishap changes not only the relationship between the boys but also the people around them.Or : What follows if chapter 117 Incense Burner - Library Pavilion happened for real.

Losing My Mind by pupeez4eva

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792202

Summary:On a drunken dare, Jiang Cheng drinks a potion that allows him to hear other people’s lustful thoughts. It’s just his luck that he’s stuck in close vicinity with the guy who is completely and utterly besotted with his idiot brother.One thing's for certain - there is no way he's leaving this with his sanity intact.(Or, where Jiang Cheng has a lot of regrets, Lan Wangji is having an ongoing sexuality crisis, and Wei Wuxian is as oblivious as ever).

Just say yes by edenwolfie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781133

Summary:Lan Qiren had never had a student he couldn’t improve, and Wei Wuxian would not be the exception, especially not now that his nephew was in love with the troublemaker. He would not allow history to repeat itself.

held still, held here by eicaswrites (Eicas)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767155

Summary:(Library scene rewrite! D/s au! That's... basically it!)"Tell me to stop," he said, tightening his grip on Wei Ying's hair. Wei Ying winced, but his defiant stare did not waver. For the first time since Lan Wangji had met him, his mouth stayed stubbornly shut. Lan Wangji nodded."Punishment," he continued, barely able to hear himself over the roaring in his ears, "For inappropriate behaviour.""And you call me shameless, Lan Zhan?" he said, with a shadow of the teasing from before, belied by the breathless quality of his voice, the uncharacteristic stillness of his body.

teeth on my waist (i come undone) by martyrsdaughter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887657

Summary:His eyes follow the length of Wei Wuxian’s body, all the way down to his toes and back up to his eyes again. Wei Wuxian thought that only happened to maidens seconds from being ravished and forced to present in those lascivious novels Nie Huaisang’s been passing around. Or maybe he’s unfamiliar because he’s not a buxom maiden?“Wei Ying is sure he will put them on their back.”Wei Wuxian tilts his head, grinning. “Yeah. Aren’t you?”Lan Zhan just looks at him.

To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097151

Summary:Madam Yu comes to Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen is woken to be told worrying news. Lan WangJi does not break someone's arm. It was dislocated.

#mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #fanfiction recommendations #wangxian #cloud recesses

[andie-cake]

for the paulkins ficlets, perhaps a paulkins first kiss? and a very flustered paul?

I like the way you think, those are both Very Good Things. This takes place at that Halloween party I mentioned in Hold Me Closer, bc I feel very strongly about that hc. Gets a teeny bit spicy towards the end, but not like,,, actively smutty.

"For real, man, thanks for coming. You really didn't have to."

"And let you suffer through this alone? No way."

It was the day before Halloween, and Paul was very much out of his comfort zone. He was never the type to attend parties, and yet, here he was at Beanies after closing hours with a cup of booze-spiked raspberry punch in hand while a bunch of loud theatre kids mingled in the other room. He would've never attended an event like this of his own accord, and frankly he was stressed out of his mind.

But for Emma? It was all worth it.

About a week prior, Paul had arrived at Beanies for his daily coffee run/Emma visit, where she had told him that Nora was throwing a company party for Halloween. She'd explained that employees were allowed to invite a plus-one, and she- in perhaps the most uncharacteristically sheepish manner possible, had asked Paul to accompany her. An offer that he'd immediately accepted, after getting over his initial shock, of course.

The days came and went, and before Paul knew it, he was walking through the front door of Beanies side-by-side with Emma on a chilly October evening. The party had been exactly what he'd expected so far. Emma's theatre kid co-workers blasting loud music over the speakers and grinding on their dates, sugary punch that had definitely been spiked with cheap booze at some point, a few of the baristas in those store-bought "sexy costumes". Paul and Emma hadn't dressed up as anything, earning some lighthearted jeers from Zoey.

An hour or two passed, and Paul soon found himself getting a bit overwhelmed by all the noise. Emma had offered to join him in the break room, which had been surprisingly quiet and empty for most of the party. And aside from the strong smell of perfume and alcohol, it was a lot more peaceful than the main room. So there they were, sitting on the worn, olive green break room couch, talking about anything and everything that was on their minds.

Emma snickered. "Very gallant of you, Paul," she teased, taking a sip of her own punch. "You're a real knight in shining khakis."

Paul snorted, looking down at the aforementioned khakis that adorned his legs. "All things considered," he said. "This isn't so bad. I'm actually having an alright time!"

Emma looked him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "No shit?" she asked.

"No shit!" he affirmed.

"Even with all the noise, and theatre kids, and noisy theatre kids?"

Paul chuckled, nodding. "Yep," he replied, leaning back on the sofa in content. "I enjoy spending time with you like this."

He winced. Fuck, he hadn't meant to say that. Eyeing the red solo cup in his hand, Paul wondered if maybe he'd had a little too much punch tonight. For a moment, he hoped that Emma hadn't caught that little moment of emotional honesty, but her playful smirk as she looked at him suggested otherwise.

"What're you saying?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her tone. "That I'm the only reason you're having any fun tonight?"

"I, uh..." Paul muttered bashfully, his cheeks going warm. Jesus, why'd that cute smile of hers have to fluster him so? "Would it be a bad thing if I said yes?"

A small giggle escaped Emma, another thing that always got Paul's heart racing. "Nah, it's cool," she replied, reaching over and gently squeezing his knee. She then cleared her throat, looking down at her lap. "Truth be told, um... you're the only reason I'm getting any enjoyment out of this party at all, too."

Paul's heart jumped into his throat, its pace growing ever quicker. "R-really?"

"Mhm," Emma responded, averting her gaze with a small smile. "Honestly, if you hadn't agreed to come with me, I was probably gonna fake a fever or something as an excuse not to come, since Nora would've gotten on my case otherwise."

"O-oh..." Paul stammered, unsure how else to respond. Had she really wanted to spend time with him that much?

"Listen, Paul," she piped up after a moment, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I've been... thinking about this for a while, but, um..."

"...Yeah?" Paul pressed her, his voice small.

"I like you, Paul, like... a lot," she admitted, finally making eye contact with him again. Paul's heart must've skipped around seven beats. He couldn't even imagine how red his face must've looked. "And I wanna make our relationship a little more... something, I'm not really sure what to call it."

"...Intimate?" Paul proposed, probably sounding much more bashful than he should've.

Emma snickered, briefly averting her gaze once more before looking back up at Paul, her beautiful brown eyes perhaps the most gentle he'd ever seen them.

"Y-yeah," she agreed. "So, Paul... kiss me?"

As Paul's heart began to do a whole acrobatics routine in his chest, all he could do was stammer in surprise for a moment. Emma Perkins, the funny, clever, beautiful, amazing woman that he'd been smitten with for the better part of a year, wanted to kiss him. How was this his life? Despite his flustered state, he managed to utter one simple word that would seal the deal.

"Okay...!"

The noise of the party behind the door seeming to fade into nothing, Emma leaned forward slightly with her lips parted. After a split second of nervous hesitation, Paul closed the gap between them, easing his lips against her own. It started off slow, before Emma deepened the kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Paul welcomed the extra passion, his arms moving to wrap themselves around her. One hand resting on the small of her back, the other entangling it's fingers in her hair. Smiling slightly into the kiss, Emma moved her hands as well, one to gently cup his face, and the other under his shirt to claw at his back. Paul bristled slightly at the touch, before allowing himself to relax at the sensation of her nails against his skin. After several seconds of pure, mindless passion, they pulled away for air.

"Damn..." Emma huffed, her hands still holding onto Paul. "If I'd known you were such a good kisser, I would've had that talk with you at least a week earlier."

Paul chuckled, his brain in a lovestruck daze. "Y-you too..." he said, not really comprehending how little sense that reply made in the context of what she'd just said.

Thankfully, Emma seemed to find his dopey lack of coherency amusing, and let out that beautiful, beautiful laugh of hers. "God, you're such a fucking geek..." she teased, leaning against him and letting her arms properly wrap around him in a hug.

Face still flushing like mad, Paul returned her embrace, letting himself come down from the pure, emotional high that was kissing Emma Perkins. Before long, Emma pulled back and looked at him, a flirtatious look in her eyes.

"So, uh... I've got a couple grams on me," she began, a smile creeping onto her face. "You wanna get high, and... I dunno... see where things go next?"

Paul's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his face heating up all over again. "Wh-what if somebody walks in on us?" he asked.

"Hey, I've walked in on Zoey giving Sam a full-on handjob in here during work hours-" Emma justified.

Paul winced. "God, ew."

Emma nodded. "Yeah, I know right?" she snickered. "But yeah, if she can pull that stunt and get away with it, then I think we'll be okay."

Paul thought over her words for a second, before replying with an enthusiastic:

"Okay!"

A look of excitement in her eyes, Emma began to rummage through her pockets for her weed. This, Paul thought, was not what he was expecting to happen at this party. But with the feeling of Emma's kiss still lingering on his lips, he definitely wasn't complaining.

#hatchetfield #paulkins

[kingdomheartsmarts]

Okay can you please turn that chain of Xigbar thirst into an ask (you don't have to place it at the front of the line though, and please only do it if you want to! Thanks ❤)

so~ I combined these two and it took me a hot minute- i had soooo much fun writing this. 

word count: 2.1 k

smutty under the cutty 

Xigbar/Reader~ Little Minx

“Do you think a little stunt like that was cute? Do you?” Xigbar growled in your ear, your only response being a broken moan while he continued to rail into you, bruising your pelvis, “Answer me.” 

“No-” 

“Then why did you do it? Are you that fucking needy?” 

“Please, Xig-” 

“Please what? Please stop giving my little minx exactly what she wanted? Please don’t fuck you like the little whore you are for doing that?” 

“Please let me kiss you,” You finally choked out, your voice hoarse from screaming. 

“Why should I do that? They already heard me moan; let them hear you-” 

And you remembered what you did vividly and warmly, for it only happened minutes earlier: 

Xigbar sitting on a couch in the grey area with you in his lap, resting against him while he read to himself, and definitely not alone; the other’s conversations that you were sure Xigbar was listening in on simply becoming murmurs in your ears while you rested on your boyfriends lap, becoming increasingly bored. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, acting as if you were going to nap against him, before gently kissing his sensitive Neck. 

“Whatcha doin’, babydoll?” Xigbar quietly asked you in your ear, his lips gently kissing it in response to your neck kisses. 

“I’m bored,” You whined quietly, kissing up to his ear and nibbling on his earlobe. 

“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a little minx about it,” 

“But I’m bored, Xiggy,” you gently kissed down his neck again, before finding a spot on his neck you knew all too well and gently nibbling on it, his breath stilling for a moment while he bit his cheek to not moan. 

“Babydoll,” He quietly said in warning. 

“Please take care of me,” You begged against his neck, Xigbar still trying to read while you did everything to make him stop. 

“In a minute baby,” 

“Please,” 

“Baby-” Xigbar warned in your ear, becoming increasingly irritated. 

You pouted, your arms that had been wrapped around his back, slowly moving up to his hair, intertwining your fingers into it. 

“Don’t you dare,” He growled, seeing your smirk. 

“I’m just snuggling,” You said a little louder, making other’s attention come to look at the two of you, Xigbar going back to his reading. You gently nuzzled your face in his neck, innocently clinging onto him while he slowly forgot the hand that was still in his hair, gently kissing him once and laying your head against his shoulder.

“See, if you just act right, we’ll go back in a few minutes,” Xigbar quietly whispered in your ear, his arm tightening around you. 

“But what if I want to go back now?”

“Then you’ll have to wait,” 

You pouted, looking at him once more, before yanking his hair back harshly- Xigbar moaning deeply at the action, his eye snapping open and glaring at you- a hungry, animalistic look in his eye while everyone’s attention was now on the two of you. His eye cut you open- staring at you before throwing you over his shoulder- your squeal just making him chuckle before he opened a dark corridor, your eyes briefly meeting with Demyx’s wide ones- and now you were here. 

“Please, Xig-” your groan echoing through the room, “Let me cum!” 

“And why should I do that? We have a meeting after all,” 

Shit. 

Either you would have to sit through a meeting absolutely frustrated without release, or sit through a meeting with Xigbar’s cum slowly seeping out of you- 

“Unless, you will be good during the meeting-” Xigbar sneered, his hand tightly holding your hip and your wrist together. 

“Please, please i'll be good-” 

“Then cum baby girl-” Xigbar growled, rutting into you while your orgasm overtook you, your walls crashing down on his length and milking him through your orgasm, your whimper only riding him through before slowing his thrust- panting and sweaty behind you while you came down from the intensity of your high. 

“Now, we gotta go to that meeting,” Xigbar told you, pulling you up after pulling out of you, your exhausted body protesting any movement, “And you’re going to sit through it, with my cum in you, and if I finger you because I get bored, you can’t cum. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes, Xig,” You weakly said, his gentle kiss against your forehead lasting too short before he threw your ruined panties at you-

“Oh, and wear these. They’re already ruined anyway”-

----------

You quietly tried to stay still, sitting uncomfortably while you felt your sore core leaking out your boyfriends cum; your body sore and tired, sitting through another boring meeting while you dozed off. It was normal for you to doze off; no one really spoke during the meetings unless they were high up, and honestly, you could care less. You normally sat with your arms and legs crossed, barely paying any attention while you drifted off into a nap, Xigbar’s cum still slowly dripping out of you. 

Your eyes snapped open in feeling something in between your legs, something touching you while you froze-

That bastard

Xigbar- this is what he warned you about- telling you that he would finger you- and it finally clicked how- 

Was he seriously using his power to just finger you during a meeting? 

Feeling a finger enter your entrance, you glanced up at the second highest chair; Xigbar with his arms crossed, leaning to one side- the one side that he was using to cover his portal while he fingered you. You could feel his gaze on you, even with everyone's hoods up (does anyone watch One Piece? I immediately thought of the Hands Up! Opening when i wrote that), his finger gently curling in you. You bit back a whimper, staying as still as possible while his fingers found your familiar spot within you- softly massaging your sweet spot. You wished you could moan- you wished you could whimper- you wished you could groan- but here you were, sitting in a meeting, listening to Xemnas monologue. 

“You can’t cum”- echoed in your ears, wishing you could just smack his arm away- but there was no arm to smack away- just his finger massaging you. 

You kept your gaze locked on his figure while a second finger was added to your core, joining the first in fingering your spot, making you wish you could cling onto him. You tightened your grip on your crossed arms, hugging yourself while the pleasure slowly built. You felt your coil starting to tighten, the gentle touch becoming rougher while you struggled to stay still and quiet. He roughly pushed against your spot, waiting on you to embarrass yourself in front of the entire organization, but his satisfaction never came- you stayed still through his torture, his eye watching you intently. 

You stayed like this for what felt like hours, but it was only thirty minutes; letting the pleasure slowly build while Xemnas discussed whatever he cared about at the moment. Xigbar slowly began pushing against your spot in a slow, drawn out rhythm, slowly increasing the speed while you attempted to hold out from cumming for just ten more minutes. The fingers pressed rougher, your breathing becoming uneven while you bit your lip, thankful that your hood was on, before you felt your coil break- 

You wanted to scream in that moment- your orgasm rushing through you in waves while he continued finger-fucking you through it- while you knew that something was going to be your punishment for this- something was going to happen from this. 

The fingers slowed and you swore you could feel his cockiness cut through the room. And before you knew it- it was over. 

You opened a corridor back to your shared room. You knew that Xigbar was trailing right behind you- and honestly it just made your core clench at the thought of it. You walked over to the desk that rested against the wall, where some magazines and books of Xigbar’s were stacked, taking off your gloves and boots while acting as if everything was normal- 

Because it was. It was normal for the two of you to constantly go back and forth, teasing and fucking each other in plain sight, only for the two of you to run off somewhere and do it all over again. 

You heard a corridor open behind you, not even paying attention while you rested your boots neatly on the left of the table, gently folding your gloves before placing them by your mini vanity on the desk, consisting of makeup and a couple of necklaces- before a hand roughly gripped your hair, yanking your head back while two fingers were shoved in your mouth, the remains of your orgasm cold but still slick while you worked your tongue against them. 

“Little minx- first, pulling my hair,” Xigbar lowly began in your ear, jerking on your hair for emphasis, “Then you got your little pussy fucked, and i let you cum, under one condition,” he bit your ear before pulling your hair again, “That you wouldn’t cum on my fingers- isn’t that right?”“Yes, Xig,” You quietly said, his fingers only leaving your mouth to let you answer him, before they were shoved right back to where they were. 

“And now I have to decide what to do with you,” He growled, grinding his length against your ass, your sore core aching at the thought of what he would do with you. You felt one of his hands gently work up your leg before he softly kissed you, uncharacteristic to the way he was eyeing you, before his hand cupped your core, gently palming and massaging your pussy while you whimpered against his lips- his hand leaving your hair before pushing you down onto the desk. 

“Hm, since you can’t act right, little minx, I’ll make sure that you cum,” You heard his coat hit the ground, his belt buckle being undone before his free hand rested on your hip, “I’ll make sure that you cum until you’re begging me to stop.” 

His hands roughly pulled off your pants and panties, shoving your coat up before he roughly thrust into you, his groan mixing with your cry of pleasure while he filled you- his length rubbing your walls in the best way despite their soreness from his previous activities. His hips roughly snapped forward, your walls clenching around his length while his brutal pace was set-

Your body rocking forward against the desk, your open-mouthed moans ringing in his ears, your body trembling and convulsing under his thrust, everything making your head spin- 

Your hand clawed at the desk before Xigbar’s hand gently held yours in stark contrast to his thrust, your eyes rolling to the back of your head while he caged you down on the desk- his hot chest resting against your still clothed back, his teeth sinking into your skin below your ear, your loud groan echoing through the room-

“God!-” You screamed, your voice echoing through the bedroom while he groaned at your convulsing walls, while his pace never faltered- your body falling limp against the desk while his hips began to bruise yours. 

“God, you feel so good around me, babygirl,” Xigbar quietly praised, biting down against your skin, “So tight and wet, god-” 

His breaths were staggering while he kept up his punishing pace, gently kissing over your bruised skin, his low groans making your walls clench around him. 

“I bet you want to cum again, don’t you?” He growled in your ear, his hands bruising whatever they were gripping while he chased after his orgasm, your low whimper escalating to a scream while your body convulsed again, “Cum for me baby girl, cum around my cock-”

Your body twitched and convulsed, the roughness never faltering while your vision went white, your cry mixing with his own- your walls crashing down onto his length, his cum filling you while your wetness dripped out of your pussy, running down your thigh before Xigbar fell limp on top of you. His pants fanning against his your while your heart pounded in your chest, his weight pressing you down on the desk, your loud pants against the desk slowly evening out as Xigbar finally stood up. He gently pulled you up, holding you as your knees gave out under you, laying you down onto the bed while you whimpered at the growing soreness between your legs. 

“You did lovely, baby,” His gruff voice echoed in your ear, your eyes shut while you continued panting, relaxing against the softness of the bed before you heard Xigbar temporarily leave, before his arms pulled you into his arms, carrying you bridal style. 

“Let’s clean you up, baby girl.”

Okay can you please turn that chain of Xigbar thirst into an ask (you don't have to place it at the front of the line though, and please only do it if you want to! Thanks ❤)

#xigbar x reader #xigbar #xigbar kh #xigbar kingdom hearts #xigbar smut #kingdom hearts smut #smut #x reader #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts ii #kingdom hearts iii #kingdom hearts 2 #kingdom hearts 3 #kingdom hearts ddd #kingdom hearts 358/2 days #kh #khii #khiii #kh3 #kh2 #kh 358/2 days #kh ddd

[fragilevixenfic]

Dulce Periculum

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031747 (read it here or continue below)

Summary: Dulce periculum translates to “danger is sweet”. Takes place nine months after the episode “…And in the End.”Maxine and Spencer have continued seeing each other, in spite of the interference brought to the surface by Cat Adams. Spencer continues to work closely with the BAU after it nearly dismantled, with signature members scattering to the winds, leaving behind only a few, including himself, to keep working on their caseload. After a long, intense case, Spencer returns home to a little more than a can of worms.

Rating: M

Ship: Spencer/Maxine

Show: Criminal Minds

Category: Fluff/Angst/Humor/Smut

Note: “Seduce my mind and you can have my body, Find my soul and I’m yours forever.” – Anonymous

I am nowhere near Spencer’s level of intellect but I hope I did him justice. I didn’t want it to be too smutty or too fluffy so I hope the angst didn’t overtake the story. I hope that I lived up to the request - this is my first foray into this world of Criminal Minds in spite of it being one of my FAVE shows. I adore these characters. 

  A modest demeanor arouses

Thoughts of seduction.

-Mason Cooley

 9:30 PM

Spencer Reid’s Apartment

Washington DC

                 Exhaustion had been a familiar friend for longer than Spencer wanted to admit as his keys stabbed at the keyhole, missing four or five times before finally intercepting and setting off the mechanism inside. Instinct had carried him home and pure adrenaline had kept him from losing the battle with gravity as balance was a cruel mistress that had him hanging by a thread. Twenty-six hours, fourteen minutes, thirteen seconds, and the time was still ticking away. That’s how long it had been since he’d slept and J.J. did her best to distract him long enough on the jet back from their case but, it only made her relaxed enough to pass out in mid-story. The white flag sailed as he watched her for a few moments, relieved over the reclamation of their friendship, and indulged in a Rossi-like activity by accepting that glass of single-malt from Alvez as the clouds moved by.

               The scent of books, old and new, wafted across his nostrils, ushering him over the threshold until the juniper paint, patterned wallpaper, and walnut wainscoting adjusted in his line of sight. It was home even if it hadn’t always inspired a feeling of comfort or care. Tonight, though, it was different, as the warm air nipped at his wrists and his Adam’s apple as he loosened his loudly patterned tie above the curve of his vest while he kicked out of his shoes. Spencer hadn’t considered himself the drinking type but he was eyeing a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from Sonoma Valley gifted to him by Garcia the week before she left. He’d made a promise that it wouldn’t just sit and collect dust but it had started to do just that as he looked at it nestled between a section of old Shakespearean collections.

               Poetically placed, he had figured, as he pulled the bottle from the shelf and smiled at the wine’s vintage of 1981. He chuckled over the choice of a wine from the year he was born and at the intentional way that Garcia knew how to appeal to his attention to detail. Missing her presence didn’t do it justice as he pulled his phone from his pocket, formulating the text to the bubbly woman that never ceased to put a smile on his face even at the darkest of times. She really had become his rock and kept him sane as the world seemed to be falling apart around him.

               I made you a promise when you gave this to me. I’m getting ready to pop the cork on this one.

               He snapped a picture of the bottle and sent it with the text, a smirk still resting on his lips as he pushed the phone into his pocket and glanced at the closed door behind him. It was quiet and lonely in the room, almost to the point of agony as he went to the stereo equipment in the corner, flipping through the albums until a Jazz compilation stood out. The cover was bright, loud even, and represented everything that Spencer wasn’t as he put the vinyl on and let the needle touch the ridged surface as it spun. The melody filled the room with just enough sound to be a murmur that played against his eardrums while he went to the kitchen in search of a corkscrew.

               The phone buzzed in his pocket and Penelope Garcia’s name lit up across the display as he took a peek, conjuring a smile that rivaled a first kiss as he pressed the speaker. “Garcia…You didn’t need to call me while I open the bottle.”

               “Nonsense, mon ami,” Garcia’s voice was refreshing and missed as he searched through a kitchen drawer that was uncharacteristically cluttered, rifling through everything. “Where’s that lovely girl Maxine? You should be popping that bottle with her not sitting there alone.”

               “I sent a text when I got back to DC but she hasn’t replied yet,” Spencer unearthed a corkscrew with a red handle from the mess and pushed the drawer closed, a confused look on his face as he went to work on the bottle. “I know that she was complicit in the Cat ordeal, but there are times that I feel as though it’s still hovering over our heads like a dark cloud.”

               “You’re literally the smartest man I know but you’re also the dumbest, Reid,” Garcia’s remark coaxed a scoff as he popped the cork free, the sound echoing in the nearly sterile kitchen as he let the bottle breathe. “Sometimes, you have to woo a woman even when she says you don’t need to woo her.”

               “Speaking of wooing…how are things with Alvez?” Spencer opened the curio and retrieved a squatty wine glass with a gold rim, a faint smile appearing as he carried it and the bottle into the living room. “Every time I inquire he threatens to take my sidearm and shoot me.”

               “Shut the front door…I wouldn’t have pegged him for a privacy guy,” Garcia’s laugh in Spencer’s ear was a welcomed distraction as he poured the wine and sank into a leather chair, the squish considerable as he felt it give beneath his backside. “We’re taking it slow. Dinner and movie nights every chance we get, nothing extravagant yet. I’m, shockingly, okay with it with respect to my relationship history.”

               “I’m absolutely overjoyed for you, Garcia,” Spencer took his first sip of the deep red liquid and let it wash over his palate for a moment before swallowing, appreciating the blend of flavor that his friend had picked for him. “As expected, the wine is exactly as it should be and more. Thank you.”

               “Oh, it’s good? I was worried that it would be too pungent with the vintage but something about it spoke to me and you know me. The louder the message, the quicker the grab,” Garcia couldn’t hide the excitement through the phone as her voice climbed a little higher while his eyes watched the bubble in the burgundy shade swirl. “You’re being honest, right?”

               “I’m a notoriously bad liar when it comes to you and I wouldn’t lie about a gift from you, Garcia,” Spencer was enraptured by the texture of the label on the bottle as he twisted it with the tips of his fingers as it sat against the top of the table next to him. “Drinking alone, though? I’m out of my element.”

               “You should call her, Spence,” Garcia’s tone softened as she referenced Maxine with a soft implication, tapping at the weaker parts of his psyche as he picked the glass back up and elevated it, before taking a sip. “It couldn’t hurt to have company. Just rip off the band-aid.”

               “It couldn’t hurt to have a lot of things but I seem to find new and exciting ways of ripping open a perfectly good suture,” Spencer was thinking of Maeve, haunted by her pale ghost to the point that he could almost see her visage standing at the window with a book open while delivering a pointed look that scolded him for even thinking of her right now. “I don’t know what to do without sounding like a desperate, lonely man.”

               “Desperate is kind of a subjective term for your situation, my philosophical friend,” Garcia had him curious and confused, which unsettled his stomach as he leaned against the armrest, elbow digging into the leather while the sigh hovered in his lungs. “No one should be alone unless that is what they actually want—and I don’t get the sense that you want to be alone.”

               Garcia had been right about him. Spencer Reid’s naiveté was oozing from his pores, lighting him up in neon as the air finally left his lips in a huff. A man could read every book ranging from the scientific methodology to the psychological qualities of beekeeping but it would not be enough to get by in a real-world situation. This wasn’t beekeeping and while hedonism could be quantified, it could not be taught. This was the one time that paying extra attention to Derek Morgan might’ve done him a little bit of good but he shied away from that kind of bravado back then. He could already picture the smirk on Derek Morgan’s face if he were present; the white flag flying to be shown the ways of natural masculinity that Spencer really never wanted to utilize.

               At least, he never wanted to until the flash of Maxine’s deep, mahogany eyes passed through his consciousness with that mysterious, playful smile that enraptured him.

               “That would involve her actually answering my calls or texts,” Spencer swallowed a considerable mouthful of the wine and tilted his head back, letting the vertebrae crack back into place with a satisfactory series of pops. “I haven’t heard back from her since yesterday when she called to tell me goodnight before we finished the final day in Chicago.”

               “Was your invitation a normal invitation or one of those signature Spencer Reid-style invitations buried in sarcasm and symbolism that only your closest friends might actually understand?” Garcia was tinkering away on her end as she let out a laugh and became an echo with a change to speaker. “You’re on speaker while I wrestle with a cork.”

               “It was a standard invite, I think,” Spencer wrinkled his nose and stood up, pacing the floor as the needle bounced against the stopper and the music came to a halt, muting the noise in the room. “Are you joining me in a glass via telephone?”

               “No, I’m letting it breathe before Luke gets here,” Garcia’s voice preceded the pop of the cork as Spencer switched the vinyl to an Annie

Lennox album in an effort to depart his typical mood. “We’re watching Hardware, drinking chardonnay, and eating fruit and cheese.”

               “You’re watching a horror film about androids?” Spencer had a smirk hiding on his lips as the androgynous, melodic vocals filled the room while he adjusted the curtains. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

               “I lost a bet to Luke about the number of texts, emails, and phone calls he could squeeze in while on a case,” Garcia was reluctant with the admission as the comment had Spencer’s interest piqued fully. “He managed to nearly double the number that I said he’d do and he, literally, sent me a text that said, ‘I win, I win, I win’ like a six-year-old.”

               “So that’s why he was on the phone so much,” Spencer started to laugh as he recollected each moment that Alvez was on his cell phone while having a full-blown conversation with him, the realization that he was paying attention to Garcia absolutely hilarious as he let the pieces fall into place. “I’m glad you’re happy, Garcia.”

               “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?” Garcia’s question blended perfectly with the distinct tapping against the door from the exterior hallway, bringing Spencer’s attention toward it without hesitation.

               “It really has,” Spencer got up, leaving the wine behind on the side table as the spirit of inquiry took over and encouraged his feet forward until his hand was at the lock to turn it.

               “Was that a knock at the door, Spence?” Garcia asked, the muddled reverberations of glass tapping together moving through the phone as she kept him on speaker.

               Spencer didn’t fully absorb the question as he clicked the deadbolt until it unlocked the door, the shift of the door vibrating against his palm as his equilibrium spun. Spencer’s anxiety jumped and his palms began to sweat as the subtle tapping of heels against the floor preceded the sigh that he could hear through the barrier between them. He had his conclusions as to who it was and the excitement was taking a backseat to the paranoia he couldn’t help but feel. Maxine hadn’t talked to him since the day before and her showing up to his apartment unannounced wasn’t one of her typical characteristics. It had him reeling as he opened the door to confirm his guesses as her brown eyes stared up at him beneath waves of dirty blond locks.

               “Hey,” Maxine’s voice was in that tenor between mousy and pointed as she tucked her hair behind her ears and rocked in her heels, folding her hands behind her back.

               “Hey,” Spencer bit down on his bottom lip until it hurt and felt the fog lift as he could hear Garcia saying his name in his ear. “Garcia, I’ll call you back. Have fun with Alvez and your wine night.”

               “Go get her, Tiger,” Garcia had an unmistakable perk in her voice before she hung up the phone, leaving Spencer with the cellular up near his face like a nervous teenage boy.

               “Are you going to let me in or is the plan to stare at me until I disappear?” Maxine exhaled slowly, her eyelashes fanning down then up as she slowly blinked.

               Spencer made a short, sweeping motion with his hand and moved to let her in, the hesitation written on his face as he furrowed his brow while closing the door. “You didn’t call. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

               “Sometimes, I want to keep you guessing,” Maxine had been a subtle, welcomed surprise in his life but the tone in her voice was different as she leaned against the back of his sofa and narrowed her stare as he turned to look at her. “Can’t a girl be a little bit mysterious once in a while?”

               “That would intimate that there was a need for something titillating and I didn’t think we’d gotten to the point where things were boring,” Spencer swallowed hard, the mental processes rocking as her smile took shape and the curves of her cheeks softened that stare for a moment. “Have we?”

               “I didn’t say that,” Maxine coiled her index around the center button of his vest closure, lingering along the flat, pearl finish as she chewed the center of her lip and looked up at him. “I have moments where I can’t get it out of my head seeing her in your arms and I want to know if you think about it, too.”

               Spencer knew she was referencing Cat as he nearly swallowed his tongue and stepped away from her, moving toward the kitchen to retrieve another glass to offer her wine. “I think I need a refill…would you like a glass? It’s from Garcia.”

               “Sure,” Maxine had been taking notes, toying with Spencer in some way as she leaned against the armrest of the sofa and crossed her legs, perching there like an elegant bird as she studied his movements. “You’re not answering me which leads me to believe you have been thinking about her.”

               “I have a photographic memory, Max,” Spencer was pouring her a glass near his own, the contents of his dwindling bottle evident as it became lighter in his hand. “I’m incapable of not recollecting pieces of my history at any given moment of the day.”

               “You know that’s not what I mean, Spence,” Maxine’s tongue lingered on his name as she went to the record player and moved the needle until the downbeat of Annie Lennox’s “Cold” began filling the room. “I have eyes. I can tell myself on a daily basis that it wasn’t loaded but there has been a part of me that just wonders…”

Don’t I exist for you

Don’t I still live for you

(Cold, cold, cold)

               “You’re not her,” Spencer extended the glass of wine and watched her big, bright eyes track up his arm until they met a gaze they’d never seen before as a swallow nearly betrayed his cool exterior. “You don’t need to be.”

               Maxine took a sip and scrutinized his body language as he battled with nerves and a desire that hadn’t quite manifested all of the way in front of her yet. “I really want to believe you but I feel like I was just the safe choice to keep you from looking inward. I don’t want to be your crutch.”

               “You’re not a safe choice and you’re definitely not my crutch, Max,” Spencer’s tongue was loosening as he raised his glass to his lips, watching her from the rim until he tipped it to drink. “You have been so much more even though I’m the worst at elucidating it.”

               “I know that she’s dangerous and you seemed to like that about her,” Maxine pressed her lips together, mingling the wine with her lip gloss as she moved them gently back and forth while angling her chin down just a touch. “Saying what you mean really isn’t your forte…you should be trying your hand at showing it for a change.”

               The comment was loaded but Maxine wasn’t wrong about her observation as she blurred the line drawn in the sand with her toe, palming the glass as the distance between them seemed like miles. Spencer wanted to be gutsy and the wine was dulling the separation between bravery and stupidity as he held the bottle in the air, tilting it toward her like a peace offering. Maxine met him in the middle, letting him fill the glass until the last drops splashed into the deep, claret liquid. The sound of Annie Lennox over their mutual silence only added to a sense of anticipation between them as Spencer let the bottom of the bottle touch the top of the table with a resonating clink.

Dying is easy

It’s living that scares me to death

I could be so content

Hearing the sound of your breath

               “It’s a little pathetic that it took a couple glasses of wine to cross the proverbial bridge, Max,” Spencer nearly melted into the floor over her fingers around his tie as she tugged it loose from the deep green and gray woven blend of his vest. “Gives a whole new meaning to the words failure to launch, doesn’t it?”

               “I see no failure in anything going on but you’re definitely going to have to tell Garcia this wine is fabulous,” Maxine grinned from behind her glass, the warmth gathering at the back of her throat with each sip as she looked up at him. “You’re overthinking being here in front of me. Do I make you nervous, Spence?”

               “Only since the second I met you,” Spencer wouldn’t have ordinarily admitted it but the combination of the wine playing on his inhibitions and her free hand tugging his tie was more than enough to tip the scales. “You’re one of the few women that I’ve encountered that speaks her mind so freely and it never ceases to amaze me. It isn’t danger that I seek, though…I need you to know that.”

               “You’re talking around the subject as though you think I’ll be bruised by what you’ll say to me,” Maxine gave the satin material between her fingers a firm tug, bringing Spencer off balance as she elevated to the tips of her toes to nibble the curve of his lip, tasting the wine that had stayed behind. “Stop being afraid of the possibilities for once in your life.”

                The needle began to stutter against the center of the record player as Spencer elevated his glass to his lips, finishing the last drops in a final swallow. Reluctance nagged at him as he pulled his tie free and moved around to the extensive collection of vinyl, thumbing through until he found Annie’s album Medusa sticking out from a section of her others. It was something about the combination of wine, Maxine, and an impromptu confessional that had him desiring the sound of Annie Lennox crooning in the background. It was an odd thing, though, that he couldn’t remember the last time either of these records had been played, let alone the last time he wanted to keep hearing more than classical emanating from his speakers.

               “The curse of the romantic is a greed for dreams, an intensity of expectation that, in the end, diminishes the reality,” Spencer had her captivated as he managed to dull and heighten seduction in the same breath as he placed his glass next to the empty bottle of wine.

               “Marya Mannes?” Maxine still had a fair amount left of her drink in the glass as she eclipsed the distance and leaned against him, arching up to breathe against his neck. “All really great lovers are articulate, and verbal seduction is the surest road to actual seduction.”

               “I had thought about going with that one but I figured you’d see right through me,” Spencer was already identifying the notes of her perfume and body butter as she directed his chin down with her fingers while she extended her arm to put her glass down. “Is this why you didn’t text or call?”

               White tea, sage, a hint of citrus. The combination was intoxicating, but not overwhelming. Delicate and sophisticated, but not girly.

               “Talking myself into coming over here with a singular goal in mind and arguing with the resistance against it?” Maxine tasted his lips again, letting a kiss develop as she ran her fingers through his hair and steered his hand around her before looking into his hazel eyes. “Agonized all day over the potential for rejection.”

               “And now?” Spencer let her tug his jacket off and toss it aside, knocking over a stack of previously read novels on the coffee table in the process. “Feeling particularly brave or brave enough to get by?”

               “Actually, I’m contemplating the impracticality of seduction when one wears as many layers as you do,” Maxine laughed as she popped the buttons free on the vest, loosening his tie as the front of his shirt finally peeked out. “How long does it take to undress alone when you wear this much? You better not be wearing an undershirt like the prim and proper man I think you might be.”

               Spencer had a bright pink sheen to his cheeks as he fiddled with the delicate material of her cardigan, folding it open across her shoulders over the top of a chemise while his eyes stayed balanced on hers. “I don’t think I get dressed thinking I’m going to have anyone trying to seduce me. I thought this was a good, sensible choice for attire when I was arranging clothes for the week.”

               “The week?” Maxine’s lips curved into a grin as she loosened his tie and gave it a tug, freeing it from his collar in a smooth motion while she licked her lips and watched the nervousness form on his face. “You really are hyper-vigilant aren’t you?”

               Maxine beamed up at him as her thumbs slid underneath of the top of his vest, guiding it away from his arms until he was casual in nothing more than a linen shirt and his slacks with those dark, houndstooth patterned socks. Spencer was captivated but his analytical eye was paying attention to the little swell of her lip as it moved between her teeth between sharp inhales. Maxine was controlling her breaths and giving him ample opportunity to read her, learning the little things that drove her crazy even as she was trying to explore him and push his limits.

               “No, I’m a specific planner so I can fit everything in a suitcase with enough foresight to anticipate the possibility of a longer than normal trip,” Spencer was rationalizing his anal-retentive behavior while Maxine was halfway down the front of his shirt, undoing each button without taking her eyes off of his. “…you’re unusually deft with buttons, has anyone told you that?”

               “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that,” Maxine had him in a tailspin to the point that his rear bumped against a bookshelf as she curled her index to draw him forward. “I really am making you anxious. It’s written from the top of your head right down to your toes.”

               “I take it back, you are a little dangerous,” Spencer swallowed another knot of nervous energy, the cold air wafting across bare skin as the linen fell away from his chest and abdominal musculature, exposing the expanse of gooseflesh as the light caught the pale gleam of his skin. “I have officially sobered up.”

               “I have to find a way to keep it interesting,” Maxine had previously admired the constant politeness from Spencer but she wanted something more from him as she felt havering fingertips against her collarbone. “We’ve tiptoed around each other for long enough and we both have nothing to lose.”

               The soft declaration was an invitation and the fire in her eyes simply provided the spark as Spencer took that leap to pull her in, taking the lead. Studying the rhythm of her beating heart on nights they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms on his couch watching an obscure movie together had given Spencer just enough ammunition of where begin and how to continue. Maxine had also begun to learn patterns of Spencer’s subtle bits of signaling, though, as she felt his hands down her arms, guiding the sleeves away from soft skin. She expected nothing less from him as his agonizingly sweet, tantalizing care with each part of her elevated the pace of her breath and pushed forth urgency as she watched him slip to his knees with each nibble of skin along her stomach.

               “You can’t tell me that you didn’t think about your outfit before you put it on, Max,” Spencer was pushing boundaries and hiking up her skirt, tugging at the nylons that were barely masking the natural porcelain skin that captivated him. “The material, the color…the fit…everything is has a purpose and my assumption is you changed clothes before you came here.”

               “Ah, fuck,” Maxine held onto the edge of the stereo stand as Spencer bit down on the space above her belly button and pulled her nylons down, pushing his fingertips against her skin to awaken the goosebumps. “I did. I had on jeans before and wanted something less, binding.”

               “We’re not so different, then, are we?” Spencer led her out of the sensible Mary Janes and finished the removal of her nylons while the lace-trimmed material of her panties peeked out from the bottom of her shoved up skirt. “You’re breathing really hard, should I stop?”

               “No, don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” Maxine breathed through a tight space between her lips as she gritted her teeth and gathered a fist full of his hair, holding him against her skin as his breath crept down, narrowing the fabric of her skirt into a bunched section at her hips. “Keep going.”

               Spencer smirked as he tilted his chin up, rubbing the five o’clock shadow of his jaw against her until the moan left her lips and her knees involuntarily parted. “Could do a study on the action versus reaction of my mildly unshaven face versus different parts of your body…using the pitch of your groans as a baseline.”

               “Oh, my God,” Maxine tossed her head back, narrowly missing a shelf of books behind her, the smile on her face as she felt the curve of his jaw move to her thighs, eliciting a lower, more drawn-out whimper. “How did you make that sound hot as fuck?”

               “Intelligence doesn’t have to inspire a chorus of yawning,” Spencer hadn’t had an opportunity to undress anyone in far too long but the feeling of Maxine’s goosebump covered flesh against his lips encouraged his hands to continue as the skirt was discarded onto the growing heap. “It can make you moan over and over.”

               “You are going to get so many complaints from your neighbors,” Maxine bit down on her lip as Spencer nibbled his way up her stomach, dragging fingers along the curve of her body until it met the soft layer of chemise to lift it away. “I want all of you…right now.”

               Rational, well-constructed thoughts and actions went out a window as Spencer stood, the material of Maxine’s chemise between his fingers as he felt her warmth radiating against his bare stomach. It had only been minutes and the tables had flipped as Maxine looked up at him with a growing throb between her thighs, an ache becoming a need as she moved her knee forward, rubbing his inner thigh with it. The wait had been worth it even as Spencer let Maxine tug the belt from the loops and pop a button from the thread in an eager attempt to free him from his confines. Spencer had a mind for painstaking enticement but Maxine was less-than-apt to follow along with his pace as her teeth found his collar on a shirt that didn’t belong on his uniquely-well-built frame, tugging him close.

               “Jesus…Christ,” Spencer uttered the words as a budding erection pushed against her while his slacks slid to his knees, trapping them together. “You’re going to wind up killing me.”

               “I don’t want to kill you, Spence,” Maxine bit her lip and made a gap between the elastic waistband of his shorts and his skin while gazing up at him. “I want you to finish what you’ve started.”

              Spencer’s eyes rolled as her index fingers grazed a flood of warmth as the erection continued to build, triggering an involuntary spasm as he squeezed her thigh and writhed the rest of the way out of his pants. Maxine gasped as Spencer’s eyes finally focused on hers and his grip slipped to her ass, giving her a decisive squeeze as the shelf behind her rattled again. Spencer covered a waiting moan with a fervent kiss, his tongue sliding beyond lips and teeth to find hers as one of his hands teased the satin and lace trim between her thighs. She was already soaked as his middle finger pressed the material along the tender flesh until he could feel the building twitch against his palm as she bucked against his hand.

              Maxine tossed her head back a second time and felt the cool air for a fleeting moment as Spencer guided the thin, wet material to one side to slip his middle finger inside of her. “Oh, my God, yes, yes, please!”

              “You’re so beautiful,” Spencer curled and withdrew his finger, repeating the motion as her moans directed toward the ceiling and echoed in the room. “The most cliché thing I could ever say while my finger is strumming but it’s so true—you are, so fucking beautiful.”

              “Sex…is…cliché…and, fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Maxine cooed and helped him along, covering his hand with her own while giving his hard on a not-so-subtle squeeze as she ground against him.

              Spencer wanted to shake the perfectly organized and categorized books free from their spot on the shelf as he shyly withdrew his finger and palm from her, the squeeze of her muscles grasping at him in his absence as he took a step back to admire her. Maxine let out a drawn-out whimper as she chewed her lip, watching his erection move against his boxers as he gave a final pull of his sleeves, rejecting the well-fitting linen onto the floor. There was a part of Spencer that didn’t want to rush as he watched her reach behind her back, the springy-click of her bra tapping against the well-constructed shelving behind her while she keened from the friction moving across her breasts. Maxine knew what she wanted and she was daring Spencer to move as he took another step forward, gliding the straps off of her shoulders then down her arms to reveal the ivory and flushed flesh that had been carefully hidden.

              Beautiful might not have accurately described her as her chest heaved and responded to his touch as he bent to kiss a trail along the curve of her neck while his digits teased the alabaster and pink of her breasts. Maxine had been waiting, impatiently, for his hands and lips to make their mark as he worked his way down her curves, sloping past eager nipples and a soft stomach as he neared an apex. Spencer’s eyes looked up at her as her tongue slid off to the side of her lips while she watched him move, her fingers weaving through his locks as he liberated her of her underwear in a smooth, downward motion.

              “Jesus, fuck, oh my God,” Maxine gripped his hair and the shelf at the same time as his mouth found wetness and his hand guided her leg higher, squeezing her thigh while he hummed against her lips, parting them with the flat of his tongue. “Spencer…I’m so close…”

              Spencer slipped a finger into Maxine’s wetness and felt a quiver from her muscles before the nerves tapped against him, clamping down as he moved along her clit, grazing the tender bundle with his fingers before circling with his tongue. She telegraphed the movement, matching the synchronicity as hips betrayed her and bucked against his face, stuttering the sound of a groan as he ignored a throb between his own legs. He wanted this for her and he wanted to hear her as a prelude to more. The moans scattered and became louder as his mouth mimicked the eagerness her body was conveying until he heard his name proclaimed, raggedly from her lips.

              “Do you need to stop?” Spencer’s erection would’ve been screaming if given a chance as he stood, licking the taste of her from his lips as she met his gaze. “I know that an orgasm can take a lot of energy out of most women.”

              Maxine shook her head slowly and glanced at the bulge as it bumped against her, the smile creeping across her lips as she stood up straight, reaching for him. “I’m not most women.”

              Spencer didn’t have time to let that comment absorb fully as the sensation of Maxine’s fingers wrapped around his cock was doing little for his processes, making every nerve over-fire as the cold air nipped at his backside. The electricity in the atmosphere increased as his shorts slid to his ankles, leaving nothing more between them than a breeze and the brewing heat from readied friction. The shelf didn’t stand a chance against their hedonism as Spencer guided Maxine’s legs around his hips, into a position that beckoned so much more than the intertwining of bodies. They collided and the space between them all but evaporated as Spencer thrust slow, burying himself inside of her as she came down to meet him.

               Mouths met and the shelf shuddered from the top to the bottom as Spencer manhandled Maxine, rocking her backside against a smooth edge until a stack of books came tumbling down from the top. The mutual moaning blended with a series of laughs as he cradled her ass, moving her away from the unstable mess they’d created before carrying her to the sofa. Maxine maneuvered her way onto him as they tumbled onto the cushions, straddling his thighs as she took charge of the motion, giving him no time to recover before riding him. They had become a touch graceless as Spencer held onto her thighs while she rocked and swiveled her hips, repeating his name in a series of whispers as the whimpers rivaled his.

               “I’m so close,” They both found the words as the murmur became a little closer to a wail.

               Spencer grasped her wrists and pulled her close, rolling uncoordinatedly onto the floor, knocking the throw pillows in every direction in the process, as he made a valiant attempt to switch positions. A laugh left Maxine’s lips as they met the rug with a thud but was replaced with a drawn-out moan as Spencer thrust deep and flicked his tongue across a nipple. It lit a spark as the thrusts could barely be met and the movements became frenzied with every little move he made while sweat began to glimmer across the surface of their skin. Maxine tilted her head back as the climax hit her in a rush and set off the one waiting in the wings from Spencer; the flood gates opened and the cries reverberated until their rhythm finally slowed.

               “I think I bruised my tailbone,” Maxine groaned as they stayed wrapped around each other on the floor, breathing hard as muscles continued to spasm while the room spun.

               Spencer snagged the pillows from their discarded roll before groping for the throw blanket on the edge of the couch to cover up with, glancing back at the mess of books that were now all over the floor across the room. “It’s going to take at least an hour to re-organize that shelf.”

@pprettyboyreid​ @dreatine​ @theauthor97​ @criminalgubler​ @gublernation​ tagging you all...I’m not normally into shameless self promotion.

#Spencer Reid #Maxine Brenner #Smut #writing is life #fanfic #intellect with a side of sex #fanfiction #Criminal Minds

[otonymous]

Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 1: Hit and Miss

Description: Go ahead and give Victor a piece of your mind. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Nb) This chapter is not smutty, but you best believe we’re gonna get there 😂   Word Count: 1424 words (~7 mins of…Victor being Victor) AO3: read here Author’s Notes:  Hey everyone!  This story is a BIG first for me, as I’m finally trying my hand at a something longer than a one-shot!  At the risk of sounding vague, I thought it would be fun to toy around with Victor for a bit, so let’s see how this works out LOL!  Hope you all enjoy it, and as always, happy reading!

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

“Fuck you, Victor.”

One blink, then another.  A slackening of the jaw as his mouth hangs open in surprise, practically imperceptible if you weren’t already staring intently at his face.  You find the sight strangely satisfying and it goads you onwards.

“I’ve fucking had it with you and your demands.  Our relationship is purely professional; why do I have to get your goddamn lunch?  Go get it yourself!”

Victor had been picking apart every second line in your proposal, and you just about had enough of his attitude after the word “idiot” had been tossed around for the tenth time.

Yes, you had been counting.

And when he ordered you in that tone of voice to get his lunch from the LFG office kitchen, that was the final straw that broke the back of an extremely tired, hungry and irritated camel.

At the back of your mind, you’re vaguely aware that you’ve scrunched up the proposal you spent all week preparing in your hand.  Victor’s copy lay on the imposing avant-garde desk in the middle of his office, pinned under the critical tip of his golden pen.

The ensuing silence, uncomfortably loud, stretches on for much longer than necessary for you to have made your point.  So you decide to speak.  

“Listen-“

“I’m sor-“

Except that Victor opens his mouth at the exact same time, and you question whether your ears were working properly.  Was Victor Li actually apologizing?

“Sorry, you go first.”  Suddenly feeling sheepish about your outburst, you gesticulate towards Victor, gaze flitting over his face en route to the buckles that decorated your taupe flats.  But what you saw in that split second scared you.

Were the features of Victor’s face even capable of drawing into such an expression?  Always self-possessed and brimming with a commanding confidence, the uncertainty in the violet-indigo of his eyes didn’t suit him.  The discomfort stirring in the pit of your stomach made you shift from foot to foot like a child awaiting impending punishment.

“Ahem.  You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

You never thought you’d hear the deep bass of his voice even so much as express remorse, let alone apologize.

“That’s okay.  I mean...I shouldn’t have swore at you.  My outburst was out of line.  Forgive me.”

“That’s fine,” his reply is clipped as he reaches for the intercom button on the phone on his desk.  “Jane, bring me the package in the kitchen.  The one in the fridge.  Thank you.”

Why’d you bother asking me to get your lunch if your secretary could’ve done it?!  The exchange you just witnessed had you thoroughly annoyed all over again, silently fuming until his secretary entered after two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door.  

“Here you are, Mr. Li.  Will you be requiring anything else?”  Jane was sharply dressed and spoke confidently as she placed a brown paper bag on Victor’s desk.  She was also devastatingly beautiful, a fact that annoyed you a lot more than it should have.  You relaxed your grip around the document in your hand as you stood a bit taller, wishing you wore heels instead of flats today.

“That’ll be all, Jane, thank you.”

Jane.  The way he said her name made you wonder how yours would sound rolling off the tip of his tongue.  Would it be equally pleasant?  But then again, anything sounded better than “idiot.”

Drawing himself up from his seat, Victor towers over you, imposing in the crisp perfection of his dark suit.  He holds out the paper bag and his next words effectively signal the end of your meeting:

“I’ll email you the rest of my thoughts on your proposal.  Have it amended for Friday.”

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Four of the most juvenile looking bowls, each hand painted with the face of a dog bearing the most ridiculously cute expression.  Each containing the most ridiculously delicious pudding you had ever tasted in your life, the stuff of dulce de leche fantasies spun from the kitchen of Souvenir.  And an accompanying note, filled with the same handwritten scrawl that had dissected your proposal with brutal precision earlier that day, reading:

“As incapable of self-control as you are, try not to finish it all in one sitting unless you’re deliberately courting a stomachache like an idiot.”

And on the paper bag that had waited for you in the fridge of the LFG office kitchen, your name printed in the same hand.

Your heart ran the gamut of emotions: surprise, happiness, but above all, a deep remorse so unsettling you immediately tapped on Victor’s contact on your phone without thinking.

When he finally picked up after the fourth ring, uncharacteristic for Victor, the first thing you heard was the enticing laughter of a sultry soprano in the background.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”  

His voice is raspy, prompting you to glance at the time on your open laptop at the foot of your bed.

1:45 am.  Shit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t realize-“

“What do you need?”

Deep breaths.

“I...I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today.  Well, I guess technically, for what happened yesterday.”

“You already did.  Put it from your mind, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Laughter again, this time, fainter in volume.  Subconsciously, you found yourself comparing the voice to Jane’s.  Or did it have the lilting quality of Loveland City’s latest cinematic sweetheart, Chik?  The head-to-toe in haute couture phenomenon who seemed hell bent on sweeping Victor off his feet as she did with the rest of the city’s fawning population. At least, that’s what the tabloids would have everyone believe.

Shaking your head free of useless thoughts, you refocused on the conversation at hand, hoping to catch Victor before he got impatient and hung up.

“No, Victor.  I meant to apologize for misinterpreting your intentions this afternoon.  I had no idea you asked me to get your lunch because...because you actually had a surprise gift planned for me.”

“...”

You were used to Victor’s awkward silences by now, on the phone and by text, waiting forever for the wave of ellipses to materialize into words that seemed far too simplistic to require that much forethought.

“If it’s any consolation, the pudding was delicious.”

“Did you already eat it all?”

“No, I only had one!  What do you take me for?  Wait, don’t answer that, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Hm.  Seems like there is something you do know after all.”

“Is this a retaliatory dig for that time I laughed at you for asking whether it was possible to delete a sent text?  You know Mr Li, next time, don’t broadcast your sad lack of technological prowess on the internet if you don’t want to be made fun of.”

“Is this the real reason why you called me so early in the morning?  To pick a fight?”

“What?  No.  I told you, I...I misunderstood your intentions and I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.  I also wanted to thank you.  I can’t believe you remembered me complimenting your pudding!  That was months ago!”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it.  Instead of letting one’s heart rule their head, I guess it’s your stomach that reigns supreme.  But you’re welcome.  Is there anything else?”

Normally, you couldn’t wait to be free of Victor, whether it was from the intensity of his gaze as you pitched ideas his way, or the scrutiny he subjected you to over the phone, asking twenty-one questions to which you only knew the answers to two.

So why did his asking “is there anything else” rankle you now?

“Um, just one more thing.  The bowls — they’re so interesting.  You wouldn’t happened to know the artist who painted them, would you?”

Silence again.  You strained to make out that twinkling laughter you heard earlier in the background as you waited for the LFG CEO to speak.  But the airwaves were silent save for the rise and fall of Victor’s breath telling you he hadn’t hung up yet.

“I painted the bowls.  If you don’t like them, feel free to throw them out.  And next time, don’t call me Mr Li.  Victor is fine.”

Click.  Beep, beep, beep.

It took a moment in your flabbergasted state to realize you still held the phone to your ear, the screen having gone dark long ago.

Victor just never struck you as the arts and crafts type.  The dogs with the lopsided faces told you the same.

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Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more!  Check out the rest of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #fanfiction #my writing #elex

[jetsetlife138]

Could i request “Mine“ with beetlejuice??

Summary: Beetlejuice walked in on you during a very intimate moment. He shows you there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, despite your reluctance. 

(I’m awful at summaries, sorry.) 

Pairing: Beetlejuice x fem!reader Word Count: 1,500 Warnings: Possessiveness, masturbation, SLIGHT dub-con, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, smutty smut smut. 

Beetlejuice was an enigma. That much was obvious. In the short amount of time that you had spent with him, the few things that you had determined about him were the following: He was some sort of ghost-demon creature, he had insurmountable powers, and he was a cocky, flirtatious son of a bitch. 

It wasn’t clear how you found yourself in this situation. Dumbfounded and speechless, you continued to glare at the dead guy at the foot of your bed, still dazed and breathing heavily from the unexpected shock of him walking in on you pleasuring yourself. The ghoul stared back at you smugly, making you want to crawl into a hole and hide. “You know, babe… I can finish taking care of that for you,” he gestured towards your dripping cunt. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you seethed, snapping at him harshly due to your embarrassment. “Ohohoho! She’s feisty! Two can play that game.” You were caught off guard by the comment, trying to understand what he meant before unexpectedly, a powerful sensation was surging through you, making you gasp out in surprise and absolute euphoric bliss. You immediately dropped from your defensive position against the headboard and involuntarily sunk down onto the soft sheets beneath you. 

“O-oh fuck,” you moaned between your cries of pleasure as you were immobilized on the bed. It was pointless to try and play hard-to-get now that he saw you in your most vulnerable state and was more than willing to comply with your needs. “W-whatever you’re doing… p-please don’t stop.”

Beetlejuice hummed happily at your response to his overwhelming influence. “Shh, just relax, babe,” he cooed, making you want to agree to his every command. “It’s my turn to play with you.” 

Moments later, you vaguely felt a tug on your legs as you were dragged from the top of the bed towards the bottom where Beetlejuice was kneeling. “That’s it,” you heard him mutter softly before you felt fingers trailing up your legs and thighs. Still paralyzed with ecstasy, you were struggling to comprehend anything other than how good you felt. Had you known what Beetlejuice was capable of, you would have done this ages ago. 

Lost in the sensations, you became even more needy once you felt Beetlejuice hover over you as he leaned in close enough for you to feel his breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered in your ear before you felt a chilled, wet touch leaving a trail on the side of your face. He had dragged his tongue along your cheek before nibbling on your ear. “Tell me that you’re mine, babe.” “Go… fuck… yourself,” you breathed assertively, proud of the fact that you were even able to form words, let alone be bratty and defiant. Though it was obvious that you wanted this, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction knowing exactly how badly you needed him. Beetlejuice’s breathy laugh echoed in your ear as one of his large hands made their way to your core, running the tips of his fingers along your folds teasingly. “Babe, you’ve got no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he mewled as his hot breath coated your throat. He lifted his hand to stroke your face again as he spoke. “You drive me crazy. I want you so bad, doll. I can hardly think of anything else when I’m around you,” he cooed as he ran the tip of his tongue across your lips. “You make me feel more alive than I ever thought I could. Just give in to me, babe,” he demanded as he kissed you roughly before pulling back and looking straight into your eyes with a desperate need for affection.

It was then that you started to completely surrender yourself to him. Your mind had been going crazy, struggling with the fact that he was… well, a demon, and seemed to have no form of conscience whatsoever. You had no idea what he had planned after he was through seducing you, but as his hands continued to roam your body, your inhibitions went out the window, and you gave little thought to the aftermath of your actions.

You found yourself reaching for one of his hands to grab it and place it on your breast, silently asking him to touch you, to which he quickly complied, squeezing the flesh experimentally and rolling your hardened nipple in between his thumb and index finger. A low groan escaped you at the sensation to which he replied with a low, raspy chuckle. He then lifted up to meet your eyes with his signature smirk as he ceased his movements. You embarrassingly found yourself whimpering at the loss of contact, begging him with a single glance to continue.

“It’s showtime,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows as he slid down your body and positioned his face between your legs. Without so much as a warning, he plunged into your head, his long tongue dancing wildly between your folds.

Throwing your head back into the pillow, a shameless moan escaped your throat as you bucked up against him, the feeling of his rough and skilled tongue working hard against you was almost too much for you to handle at once. “O-oh my god,” you keened, too lost in bliss to form a full sentence. He hummed happily at your response, placing his hands on your breasts once again to knead them roughly while you mewled against him. You almost lost it when his tongue went from vibrating against your clit to penetrating forcefully inside of you, the slick muscle twisting and lapping at your inner walls. You cried out wantonly, feeling the familiar heat building up inside of you in desperate need of a release.

Without giving you any time to prepare, he then shoved one of his long, beefy fingers into you, thrusting in and out forcefully, making you choke on your own breath. After allowing you a moment to adjust, he added a second finger, shortly followed by a third as he stretched you, filling you. Glancing down at his groin, you could see the strain of his cock against his striped pants, which appeared to be prominently erect at that point. You were about to tease him about his obvious arousal when he flicked his thumb over your swollen clit as he continued to thrust in and out of your wetness. “F-fuck! Please…” you begged, knowing that he would probably enjoy that. “Please, what?” he rasped lowly, his voice absolutely wrecked. You had never seen him like this before.

Apparently, you had taken too long to answer his question, causing him to increase his speed. “Ooh, god,” you cried, arching your back in response to his skilled fingers. “Please, more… I need you to… Ah!” Arcing his fingers, he hit your sweet spot dead on as your request got lost in your desperate cries. Forcing yourself to open your eyes to look at him, you could see that he was clearly affected by your words and the way you writhed beneath him, so needy and compliant. “Mine,” he stated once more for emphasis. You bucked wildly against his fingers, your loud, hoarse moans echoing throughout the room. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched keenly as he lowered his face back to your core, pressing his slick, wet muscle against your nub, swirling his tongue around as he continued to work inside of you. Struggling to stay coherent, your fingers dug into the sheets as you recognized the familiar tension forming quickly in your lower half, begging to come undone. “Beetleju-” “Watch it, babe,” he insisted, reaching up to press a finger to your mouth to shush you. You mumbled against his digit, trying to warn him in between your pants and mewls. “I-I’m gonna… I can’t…”

The blissful sensation was too much for you to handle. With a few final thrusts, you cried out shamelessly as the tension came undone and you lost yourself in pure pleasure, feeling your eyes roll into the back of your head as his movements never wavered, even as your inner walls convulsed around him.

You could barely make out the sound of his low laughter, clearly pleased with himself after discovering how easily he could bring you to this state of desperate compliance. 

It took you awhile to remember where you were after the intensity of your orgasm. Almost too soon he removed his fingers from you and lifted them up to his mouth to lick each digit separately, savoring the taste of you. “Good girl,” you vaguely heard him praise as he crawled up your body and placed an uncharacteristically tender kiss to your lips. His hardened cock pressed against your thigh as he began to grind on top of you, desperate for some friction. “Buckle up, buttercup. You’re in for a long night!”

[elialys]

Ten x Rose - A Leap of Faith

Dear @lastbluetardis​​, let’s try this again, shall we? ^^’ As I’ve told you last weekend, I had a much bigger story cooking for you as part of the @dwsecretsanta​​ exchange. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it, but it’s done now, so I hope you’ll enjoy it!

This takes place right at the end of The Satan Pit. It’s almost 6,000 words long, and it’s also sliiiiightly smutty :p

[READ IT ON AO3]

A Leap of Faith

“Oh, the stuff of legend.”

Any other day and Rose might have rolled her eyes at this melodramatic description of their duo, far from thinking so highly of herself. She smiles back at the Doctor instead and lets him have this moment; it is clear from the way he looks at her that he believes her to be exactly as he says.

As soon as he pulls the right lever between them, the Time rotor comes to life.

“Where d’you send her?” Rose can’t help but ask, glancing away from the rotor to look up at him, expecting to find him staring at the screen, the way he usually is when standing by the console.

When she meets his gaze dead on, a shiver runs down her spine.

“Home,” he says simply, his voice lower than usual.

Rose makes a face at these words. She hasn’t showered in what feels like days, although no more than twenty-four hours can have gone by since they landed on Krop Tor; she supposes spending a good portion of that time running away from murderous Oods or crawling through maintenance tunnels would make anyone feel grimy. Not to mention the exhaustion settling down upon her.

That’s one of the many feelings she’s become rather familiar with since she started traveling with the Doctor, that ‘I almost died and now I’m a bit tired’ heaviness in every one of her muscles and bones.

“D’you really feel up for an evening with Mum?” she asks him with a bit of a frown, because she sure isn’t. As much as she’d worried about never seeing her Mum again only hours ago, simply being back on the TARDIS has put those fears to rest.

Quieting down her fears about nearly losing the Doctor is not as easy, even with him standing right there next to her, their bodies so close, their arms are almost touching.

“Blimey, no,” the Doctor answers with a glower, a tad too emphatically – although she can’t blame him. Jackie hadn’t been at her friendliest during their last visit, which had involved consoling her daughter about Mickey’s decision to stay in the parallel universe. “We’re merely orbiting around good old planet Earth,” he adds. “After the day we’ve had, I figured a quiet night away from anything resembling a black hole would be rather nice.”

There was a time when Rose would have dashed from the console to pull the door open and take a look outside, never tiring from seeing the Earth from this point of view – and that time might have been as recently as yesterday.

She’s reluctant to move at the moment, just as reluctant as the Doctor is to look away from her, apparently. They rarely do ‘still’ and ‘quiet’ to this degree, and whenever these moments present themselves, as they ought to on occasions, he’s always been keen to put an end to them as quickly as possible.

As Rose stares back at him and more seconds pass slowly, almost sluggishly, the potent energy that comes with their most recent ‘I’ve almost lost you’ scare pulses between them, embedding them both with a pull that feels almost magnetic.

Rose blames that pull for soon finding herself in his arms again, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, his embrace as strong as it’s been every other time he’s hugged her today.

She doesn’t mind this mutual clinginess, all too happy to reciprocate, even if her feet don’t leave the ground, this time; there is no laughter either, only the tight hold of his arms around her, her fingers clenching the fabric of his jacket, revelling in that tangible proof that he is here.

He puts an end to the moment by making a…peculiar noise, causing her to frown against him.

“Did you just…sniff me?”

“Well,” he says, not yet moving away. “You’re giving off some very strong smells. As anyone would after running for their life while trapped in close quarters.”

In another words, she reeks.

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff, before sniffing him even more obnoxiously in retaliation. “You smell just like my grandpa used to, and I don’t mean it as a compliment either.”

“Sulphur does give out quite a pungent odour, doesn’t it?” he notes, unfazed. “It was bad, all the way down that Pit. I don’t think you would have been able to keep that blue purée down for very long if you’d been there.”

They both tense at these words. Somehow, this involuntary stiffness sets him into motion again, finally pulling away to peer at her, his hands on her upper arms. “You should shower. And sleep.”

She gives a short shake of her head. “There’s no way ’m gonna be able to sleep.”

“You look tired,” he counters.

“I feel it, too,” she admits. “Still won’t make that sleeping thing any easier.” When he simply carries on looking at her, she shrugs a little. “I just…I know we’re safe, orbiting the Earth and all that, but it’s like my brain’s not completely caught up with that yet, and…it still thinks there’s a black hole above us, you know?”

He stares at her for another long, stretching second, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“I may be able to help with that,” he tells her, his chipper tone contrasting with the grave look on his face. “Give me…thirty minutes to do some tinkering, then meet me in the media room, eh? I’ll even let you put me through another one of those twentieth-century romantic movies you enjoy so much.”

Rose’s curiosity is piqued, but she’s long ago learnt it would be pointless to ask. “Okay,” she agrees with another small frown and a shrug.

“Brilliant!” the Doctor beams at her, before springing out of the room.

Rose does take a shower, washing away the layers of grime and fear still clinging to her skin. As much as she tries not to think back on the events of the day, her brain refuses to comply, a mixture of anxiety and guilt twisting at her gut whenever she recalls those twenty minutes spent on that rocket, forcefully strapped to a seat while the planet the Doctor was trapped on got sucked into the black hole.

In her rush to get back to him as quickly as possible, she doesn’t even dry her hair, not doing anything beyond swiftly putting on some pyjamas. After nearly two years of companionship, this is far from being the first time they do this.

Her heart’s never beaten quite as fast as it does as she enters the room, though, finding him sitting on the couch, one of his long arms draped over the back of it, fingers drumming at it; whatever thoughts he’s lost into, they can’t be any better than hers, his expression even more solemn than it’d been in the control room, his specs giving him a particularly stern look.

He’s changed since they were last together, and she supposes he must have showered, too. He’s not bothered with a suit jacket, only wearing a white shirt and a blue tie, the light colour contrasting with the dark fabric of the couch, making his limbs look impossibly long.

There is no logic to the rush of anticipation and relief that sweeps through her as she takes him in. She’d known he’d be right there, waiting for her, and yet, she cannot help the small sigh that escapes her at the sight of him, the sound enough to pull him out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at her.

Or stare, really.

The way her insides dip at the intensity of his gaze is far from being unpleasant, nor is it entirely  new.

“What do you want?” he asks her quietly, and her brain must be very tired, because he cannot possibly mean what she thinks he means.

“What?” she hears herself asking, sounding oddly breathless.

He frowns the smallest of frowns, before tilting his head toward the large screen on the other side of the room. “Film selection,” he says. “What would you like to watch?”

Rose looks away as she scolds herself for letting her mind go anywhere near there. She forces herself to move, too, hoping it will help put an end to the heavy statics crackling between them, well aware that the tingles at the back of her neck are caused by his relentless staring.

“Dunno,” she answers at last, grabbing one of the blankets she likes to wraps herself in when she watches the telly. “Anything with Hugh Grant in it will do, I guess.”

He scowls as she pops down onto the other end of the couch. “Is he that British bloke with the puppy eyes and the ridiculous head of hair?”

She gives him a look, unable not to stare pointedly at his lush head of hair.

He doesn’t see it, too busy staring at the uncharacteristically large space between them, frowning as he meets her eyes again. Rose scoots closer to him before he can ask what is up with her – because in all honesty, she’s not entirely sure what is up with her at all.

They have done this many times before, snuggling on the couch watching a film, and while she’s always been very much aware of his body in situations like this one (how could she not?), it just feels…different, this time, as if the events of the day have made her even more responsive to his proximity.

Like she just cannot get enough proofs that he is here.

Obviously, that excessive need to touch him translates into her trying to stay as far away from him as possible, not entirely sure how much she can trust herself around him tonight.

She’s always liked him more than as a friend, even back when he was gruffier and less prone to hugging, but lately, she’s been finding it hard not to cross that line between friendship and more. He’s been sending her mixed signals, too, and she has no idea how he would react to her doing as much as putting a toe on that line – although she suspects ‘bolting’ would be a probable outcome.

He’s not bolting tonight, quite happy to let her snuggle up against his side. While he would typically keep his arm above the blanket, said arm actually disappears under the blanket this time, getting a much more secured hold on her waist.

This need for proximity obviously isn’t one sided.

With her nose once again pressed to his shoulder, she breathes in the clean scents from his shirt. There is no trace of sulphur left, just laundry detergent and…him, feeling herself relaxing at these familiar smells, just as comforted by the feel of his body against hers.

“Look up,” he eventually tells her, his voice still lower than usual.

She does, lifting her head to look at him, meeting his slightly-augmented eyes through his lenses. A small smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head, indicating the ceiling. “Up up,” he clarifies.

She’s tempted to ignore his directive for a moment, more than happy to carry on drinking in his features instead, as always a bit too affected by things like the dash of freckles across his cheekbones.

Rose does look up, eventually, seeing nothing but the smooth expanse of coral overhead; there is a characteristic noise beside her, the Doctor’s free hand now pointing toward the ceiling, his sonic flaring.

“Made a couple of modifications, hold on.” He changes the setting on his device, then tries again.

Overhead, the coral begins to change, shimmering brightly, before it seems to disappear altogether, until Rose finds herself staring at planet Earth, suspended into space.

“It’s not a window, not like it was on their base,” he says. “It’s just a projection, but I suppose it will do, considering I came up with this in seven and a half minutes. Looks real enough.”

‘Real enough’ doesn’t cover it.

Rose watches, as mesmerized as ever by the many nuances of colours that make up her home planet, from the various shades of its oceans and landscapes, to its amalgam of shifting white clouds.

“See,” he speaks again. “No more black hole.”

His voice is low as he says those words, his tone dragging Rose’s eyes back to him, not entirely surprised to find him staring at her, oblivious to the beauty above. He looks so confident about their safety…she wishes she could tell him how she feels – which is not entirely soothed, at the moment.

She can fend for herself well enough, as proven today, and she knows he’ll always do his best to get her out of harm’s way, but this is beyond the point.

The valiant child, who will die in battle so very soon.

Rose shudders at the memory of that…voice. Close as they are, the tremors echo through him, and the Doctor frowns in concern, his brow creasing in question. She shakes her head, unable to share her fears with him, remembering the way he’d dismissed those words less than an hour ago.

She lowers her head instead, back to pressing her nose to his shoulder. “What…was it?” she cannot help but ask in a half-whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and there is no more false-bravado in his voice, no quick dismissal either.

Rose swallows hard, seeing herself as she’d been in that rocket, faced with that…thing possessing Toby, using the bolt gun to shatter the front screen before unfastening Toby’s belt, watching him getting sucked into space.

“I killed him,” she says against his shoulder, her voice thick. “Toby,” she adds. “When he…changed again. I didn’t even hesitate, I just…killed him.”

The Doctor moves slightly, and she looks up, meeting his eyes. “Whatever took possession of him on that planet…that’s what killed him,” he tells her, quietly. “He probably died the moment his body became a vessel for that creature’s mind. What you did was prevent that mind from escaping and hurting a lot more people. Just as I knew you would.”

She stares up at him. “And what if I hadn’t?”

“Nonsensical,” he replies at once with a small glower. “Rose Tyler, not saving the day? What a ludicrous concept.”

She finds herself smiling softly against his shoulder, even as she shakes her head. “You’ve got way too much faith in me.”

His own smile fades at her words, replaced by an expression that is once again too solemn, back to staring at her with an intensity and stillness she’s not quite used to, causing her toes to curl under her.

Her breath actually gets caught in her throat when he brings a hand up to her face, his thumb slowly tracing the line of her jaw.

“You’ve heard me praise humans before,” he speaks quietly. “For their resilience, and their curiosity, for their insatiable urge to go further. Yet humans are inexorably flawed. That resilience of theirs often turns into recklessness, and their curiosity leads them to open doors that should never be opened in the first place, until they find themselves scrambling for their lives. And it’s not that you don’t get reckless, we both know that’s a silly notion. But you’ve never been big on the scrambling.”

Rose lets out a small scoff into the fabric of his shirt. “Should’ve seen me in those maintenance tunnels, trying to escape the Oods. ‘Scrambling’ was definitely a big part of my day.”

He’s stopped the tracing of her jaw, all five of his fingertips now pressed lightly upon the side of her face, his skin cool in contrast with hers. “So maybe you do scramble from time to time,” he concedes. “But I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming you’re the one who got the crew to focus long enough so you could all escape?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her lips grazing his shoulder. “Maybe I helped a bit,” she admits, rather meekly.

“And from everything I’ve gathered, when I realised the creature’s mind was on that rocket with you and I destroyed the energy field that kept the planet from getting sucked into that black hole, you’re the one who figured it out and took action.”

Rose doesn’t say anything at all this time, simply looking back at him. His fingers have moved to cup her face, and her skin burns under the coolness of his palm.

He leans forward, then, until his lips are brushing her forehead. “Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you,” he tells her quietly.

Most of the tension she still held in her body seems to leave her, and she finds herself slumping against him, her eyes closing. He responds to her movements, shifting just enough so that she rests more comfortably against his side and part of his chest, her head tucked under his chin while he buries his nose in her hair.

Under her ear, his heartbeats are slow and even; strong, and alive.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers in her hair, obviously aware that she’s already halfway there.

“You gonna get bored…” she breathes out sleepily.

“Naaah,” he says in a whispered version of his familiar, chipper tone. “I’ll have Hugh to keep me company.”

She lets out a small, rumbly chuckle as he uses his free hand to point the remote at the telly.

“Doctor?” she murmurs.

“Mm?”

But she’s already gone.

…

When she emerges, the telly is still playing, although the volume is too low for her to be able to decipher any dialogue. Even with her eyes closed, it doesn’t take her long to realise the Doctor is asleep against her, his breathing deep, his heartbeat even slower than before; there is an unmistakable heaviness to the arm wrapped around her waist, too, his hand resting limply upon her thigh.

While this is definitely not the first time she’s fallen asleep against him, he’s never actually slept with her before.

She’s tempted to move to take a better look at him in this unusual, vulnerable state, but from the feel of it, his face appears to be mostly buried in her hair, and she has no doubt any excessive movement will instantly wake up him up.

Still, she cannot quite resist the urge to touch him.

Her hand finds his under the blanket, her fingertips grazing the top of it, lightly tracing his knuckles, before following the sinuous path of the veins beneath his skin.

She hears the change in his heartbeats before anything else, speeding up slightly. A couple seconds later, he sighs deeply into her hair, before his arm actually moves, slowly tightening his hold to pin her more firmly to him. That does not stop her from carrying on with the slow exploration of his hand.

“Didn’t think you did naps,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

He lets out another gust of air in her hair, like a scoff. “Attenuating circumstances,” he replies, his voice low and rumbly. “Body’s still recuperating. Those are more like bouts of regenerative coma than naps, to be honest. Not my first one today either.”

Her hand has stopped moving upon his. “Regenerative coma?”

“Ah,” he says, his face moving a little, soon feeling his breath upon her forehead. “Took a bit of a fall down that Pit. There was some kind of air cushion in place to absorb most of the shock, but I suspect I fell at least a good hundred meters.”

“That’s…insane, even for you,” she speaks quietly, her throat closing up.

She feels him shrug.

“You were up on the planet’s surface, I was down in that Pit,” he says simply. “Had no way of getting back to you, or even communicating with you. The only way onward was…downward. Way, way down, as it turned out.”

“How did you know, though?” she asks. “That you’d find what you were looking for?”

“I didn’t,” he admits. “Call it…a leap of faith, I suppose.”

Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you.

She hears his words, even as her hand leaves the warmth that has gathered under the blanket, coming up to splay her fingers over the side of his neck, the heat of her skin slowly seeping into his, soon feeling the echoes of the beats still thumping under her ear. Inside her chest, her own heart squeezes at this added realisation of just how close she’d come to losing him today.

The fact that they both made it out alive is nothing short of a miracle.

This is far from being their first embrace today – she’s honestly losing count, not to mention the unknown amount of time she’s just spent sleeping against him. And yet, the slow, almost rhythmic feel of his breath upon her forehead soon causes shivers to run down her spine, the small tremors spreading through her entire body, another reaction he’s close enough to feel.

Any other day, and this would have been his cue to release her and put some much needed distance between them.

He doesn’t.

When her fingers begin to move again, slowly going up around his neck to curl into the hair at the back of his head, he lets her, feeling the shivers she’s creating under his skin. Not only is he letting her do this, he’s also joining in.

Cool fingers are slipping under the fabric of her top, his palm running slowly over her stomach, causing her muscles to twitch as her whole body shudders again, her heart speeding up inside her chest. His pinkie finger is trailing the hem of her pyjamas bottoms, now, not quite daring to pass that threshold, but the simple fact that his hand is right there, touching her, is enough to cause her insides to clench.

She tilts her head back, needing to look at him, meeting his eyes behind his lenses. Although he appears calm, that intensity in his gaze is stronger than it’s been at any point tonight.

“Doctor…” she says quietly, almost breathing out his name.

She wants to tell him…how terrified she was through it all. How the only reason why she took charge the way she did out there is because she kept hearing his voice in her head, telling her she knew what to do. How ultimately, she’d had to survive, because how would she help him if she died?

She wants to tell him how heartsick she felt when she realised she’d been drugged and forced away from Krop Tor, forced to leave him on his own, all the way down that Pit.

“I know,” he tells her thickly, his eyes full with the same fears and relief.

He’s leaning forward, then, his shortened breath following the bridge of her nose, until his forehead is resting against hers, his subsequent exhales pooling upon her lips, which tingle in anticipation. As seconds pass, she wonders if he’s fighting that urge to go on again, that urge to just give in, and take another leap of faith.

Rose encourages him, giving his hair the slightest of tugs, taking that leap with him.

When he kisses her, he does it slowly…so slowly…yet every brush of his lips, each small shift of his body, is bursting with barely contained longing, his fingers getting entangled in her hair to try bringing her closer. Shivering in bemusement, relief and swelling desire, Rose follows his cues, unwilling to do anything that might make him change his mind.

She cannot keep herself from aching for more, though, her conscious self not exactly in charge anymore as more seconds tick on and he carries on kissing her almost in reverence; the next time their mouths part for air, she keeps hers open as she pulls his face back to hers, gliding the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.

His response is immediate and eager, not opposed to this at all, judging by the way he shifts his entire hold on her to pull her onto his lap with a low noise. She finds herself straddling him almost clumsily, wrapping her arms around his neck while he circles her waist tightly, the blanket crumpled against her lower back. There is nothing chaste in the way they seek one another, then, Rose using the entire length of her body to press him firmly to the back of the couch, their faces so close that the frame of his glasses digs into her flesh.

She doesn’t really care if they damage the bloody things, or if she ends up with a black eye, too engrossed in the sturdy, shivering feel of him, pressed so tightly to her, intoxicated by the languid meeting of their tongues. When she begins rolling her hips into him, slowly yet steadily, he gasps into her mouth, before completely shifting their positions again.

Her stomach drops as she falls backward, the Doctor following along, entrapped between her limbs, until her back hits the couch. Her entire body flushes with heat as he mirrors her previous moves, all rolling hips and growing pressure; trapped as he is between her legs, his movements are rather limited, but he makes do, creating a kind of friction that is a little too pleasant, soon drawing a hoarse sound out of her, her body caring very little about how many layers of clothes still separate them.

Her rational mind chooses this moment to resurface, something nudging at it. Her curiosity quickly getting the best of her, she forces her lips away from his, reopening her eyes to look at their surroundings.

Technically, they still are on the couch they were on moments ago. It doesn’t look anything like it did when they first sat on it, though, its surface area having somehow tripled, if not quadrupled, so that it now resembles a king-size bed.

“What the hell happened to the couch?” she finds herself asking, her voice breathless and low.

There is a pause, his brain apparently needing a moment to refocus and form words. His hair is a tousled mess, his glasses adorably askew, his eyes glazed over.

“You know the TARDIS,” he eventually replies, his respiratory bypass system obviously operational; despite his dazed tone, he doesn’t sound nearly as affected as she does – although she’s feeling how affected he is getting alright. “She likes making things bigger.”

This could have been awkward, the two of them back to talking for the first time since they started snogging rather intensely; it could have put an end to the moment, broken the mood, reminded him that this should absolutely, definitely not be happening.

It doesn’t feel awkward.

Different, for sure, but ultimately, it’s all still very…chummy.

(Except for the dry humping, maybe)

Rose reaches up to pull the specs off his face, tossing them aside without much care. “Looks like your TARDIS got some competition,” she points out as she lifts her hips off the couch, purposefully pressing herself to that hardening bulge.

He lets out a small groan as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, and she cannot decide if that sound is caused by what she just did, or if he’s lamenting her terrible attempt at salacious humour.

That thought fizzles away as her breath gets caught in her throat. With his head out of the way, the projection overhead has come into full view again, having somehow forgotten about that window into space he created above them.

This glimpse into such a familiar part of their cosmos makes her head spins, even as it tethers her, comforted in her awareness that they are as far from Krop Tor as they can be right now.

Nothing tethers her quite as successfully as his lips upon her throat, though…his lips, and his tongue, and the graze of his teeth, one of his hands back under her top, travelling upward with one clear destination in mind, unable to focus on anything but the feel of him and the jolts of pleasure he’s sparking in her.

Despite the heat nothing short of radiating from her, his fingers remain cooler than any human’s, causing her nipple to harden the instant his hand starts trailing the sensitive skin of her breast. Her pleasure stirs low as he cups it fully, caressing, massaging, teasing…his tongue having discovered a particularly erogenous zone below her ear, and she cannot do anything but cling to him, her nails raking at his scalp and clothes.

The next time he lifts himself up and meets her gaze, it doesn’t feel that chummy anymore, his pupils dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed from having been pinned to her warm skin, the look in his eyes enough to cause another tug, deep within her.

She wants to reciprocate some of the attention, but the moment she tries getting a hand between them, he grabs at it gently yet firmly, pulling it back out with a small shake of his head. As soon as he releases her wrist, he begins undoing the buttons of her pyjama top.

He takes his time, too, well aware of what this is doing to her. When the last one comes undone, he’s just as slow in revealing her heaving breasts, pulling the fabric aside, one half at a time.

The darkening look on his face is not what she expected.

Rose’s confusion only worsens when his fingers begin tracing something upon her sternum.

“What is it?” she asks quietly, the angle making it impossible for her to see what he’s seeing.

“You’re bruising,” he says, before raising his eyes to look at her. “Looks like a belt mark.”

Rose swallows hard. “Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. “Shot off the front screen of that rocket with a bolt gun, created a vacuum to suck…whatever that was out. I guess that belt saved my life.”

When the Doctor lowers his head, Rose buries her fingers in his hair, his lips grazing her bruised skin, his gestures even slower than they were moments ago. Her caress becomes a twist when wet heat entraps one of her nipples, and pleasure trickles down the length of her, pooling between her legs, where she aches to be touched, her hips rising off the bed as she seeks friction.

He soon recaptures her lips in a languid kiss, one of her legs having slipped between his to pin him  more firmly to her. He doesn’t indulge in that friction she’s encouraging, one of his hands moving instead, disappearing inside her pyjama bottoms.

Although he remains slow, there is no hesitation in the way he touches her, his fingers gliding through her folds, and the feel of how much she’s responded to him is enough to cause him to groan into her mouth. She echoes that sound when he uses his slick fingers to work on her, and that contrast between cool skin and heat is a sensation she cannot get enough of, adding to the tendrils of pleasure spreading all the way from her core to her toes.

The way he touches her goes beyond longing, beyond yearning.

He’s…worshiping her, drawing out her pleasure, swallowing each of her gasps and moans as they rise out of her, and when she becomes unable to kiss him, too wrapped up in her swelling pleasure, he simply brings his face back to the crook of her neck, his tongue easily finding that spot again.

Pinned as she is beneath him, both of them still nearly fully dressed, Rose is burning up, beads of perspiration beginning to leather her skin, most of it immediately absorbed by the fabric of her pyjamas. She craves for the cool feel of him, getting rather fed up with all these clothes on him, as everywhere she tries clinging to him, she’s met with fabric instead of skin.

She slips a hand between them to grab at his wrist in a halting gesture, and he stops almost at once, her other hand back in his hair, tugging to bring his face back to hers. She cups his cheek as he does, finding his skin uncharacteristically warm under her fingertips, having absorbed some of her heat.

“Please…” she whispers against his lips, her insides pulsing and clenching with need, blood rushing in her ears and where his fingers remain. “I want to feel you…” She releases his wrist to press her hand against the length of him through his trousers, causing him to let out his loudest moan yet.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she begins to unfasten his belt and unbutton his trousers, helping her along instead, his boxers just as swiftly discarded. Within moments, her pyjamas are pulled down her legs. When he begins to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, Rose pulls on his tie and brings him back down, their foreheads once more pressed together, and she shakes her head, loosely encasing his hips, with just enough pressure to initiate contact.

The feel of her seems to break any kind of control he had left, one of his arms supporting his weight while the other one slips beneath her to pull her flush against him, his hips rolling, causing him to slide upon her, both shuddering at the sensation.

“Doctor…” she gasps almost in supplication, twisting his hair in her fist.

There’s no more hesitation, the next shifts of his body all directed towards one goal, and her nails dig into his scalp when he enters her in one long thrust. Whatever discomfort she feels is small compared to having him inside of her, filling her so completely, and the way he keeps his face pressed to hers makes her feel like he’s attempting to fuse himself to her.

He doesn’t remain still for long, quite unable to; judging by the uneven way he begins to move upon her, she doubts he will last long, his body trembling against hers. It doesn’t matter, her pleasure already building back up with every thrust of his hips, one of her hands having disappeared under his shirt, relishing the feel of his cool skin, while the other one clutches at his backside, encouraging him all the while driving him deeper inside of her, his breath anything but cold against her face.

As her climax nears, Rose reopens her eyes, and gets lost into space, the stars and the Earth expending high above, certain that gravity will find her, and send her both soaring and plummeting towards the ground.

His fingers in her hair tether her back to him, dragging her heavy gaze away from this piece of universe he’s created just for her, meeting his eyes as she refocuses on him, pressing her fingertips upon the stars on his cheeks.

And as her name falls from his lips like a prayer, Rose lets herself be pulled into his infinite.

#ten x rose #ficandchips #doctor who #dwsecretsanta #lastbluetardis #fic of mine #RELUCTANT fic of mine i may add #my brain is an asshole #i shall keep on fighting

[saltyromanov]

Hello I love your work so much. Could you please bless us with something smutty where carolnat get caught by some of the other avengers?

“Stop looking at me like that.” muttered Carol, the strain in her voice obvious as she exhaled slowly and pushed up the weights again.

From where she was stood beside Carol’s head at the top of the bench press, Natasha couldn’t complain about the view, “Eighteen ... how am I looking at you?”

“You know exactly how Romanoff and you’re gonna get us in trouble again.” warned Carol playfully, huffing out a grunt as she lifted the weights from her chest.

“Nineteen.” Natasha smiled innocently, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is that so?” breathed out Carol, lowering the weights slowly and ticking an eyebrow, “Cause if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were checking me out.”

“Really?” mused Natasha, raking her eyes slowly over the length of Carol’s body and smirking, “It’d be kind of hard not to watch you, wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”

Carol snorted as she started her final rep, “The idea that you could save me is amusing, I’ll give you that.”

“Twenty. And just cause you’ve got your magic, twinkly hands, doesn’t mean I couldn’t still kick your ass.”

Laughing louder as she set the weights back on the rack, Carol sat up straight and turned her body towards Nat, ducking her head and eyeing the other woman with a grin, “Oh really?”

“I think I could take you.”

“Hmm.” Carol brushed the few stray hairs that had fallen across her forehead out of her eyes, rising to her feet and stepping towards Natasha so she could rest her hands on her hips, “And where would you take me exactly?”

“How about ...” Natasha’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as she thought about it for a second, tapping her chin a few times until she felt Carol dig her fingers impatiently into her waist, “Right here?”

“I told you that you were gonna get us in trouble.” started Carol with a grin, bending down enough to grip the underside of Natasha’s thighs and lifting her off the ground. “But I still don’t think it’s gonna be you taking me.”

Natasha huffed in mock disappointment, wrapping her legs around Carol’s waist and combing a hand through her hair to push it back from her face, “Oh no, that sounds awful.”

“My poor baby.” teased Carol, reaching one hand to Natasha’s face and skimming her thumb over her lower lip as she took a few steps forward.

Natasha wrapped her arms around the blonde’s shoulders, fingers tracing down the back of her neck and not missing the way Carol shivered at the action, “Put your money where your mouth is then, Captain.”

Carol walked a little further forward until she could rest a knee at the bottom of the bench press and press their lips together eagerly. For all of her joking about Natasha being a distraction during her work out, both women knew that when it came down to it, Carol struggled just as much with keeping her mind out of the gutter when it came to Nat. The way Natasha would look at her sometimes was enough to make her skin flush hot and it made it impossible to be anything other than impulsive.

She lost herself quickly, using her weight to push Natasha backwards until she was lay flat on her back with Carol on top of her. Not that Natasha was about to complain about her current predicament, pulling at the front of Carol’s vest as she opened her mouth further to deepen the kiss and moaning at the sensation of Carol’s tongue dipping into her mouth. It grew hungry and desperate within seconds, the kiss all tongue and teeth as hands clawed at whatever they could reach. Carol rocked her hips gently, feeling Natasha’s thighs tighten around her waist and teeth snagging at her lower lip in response.

Carol’s hands moved from where they were resting against Natasha’s hips, travelling up and over her rib cage to take a hand full of her breasts, one of her thumbs moving to circle over Natasha’s nipple and feeling it harden immediately through the thin material of her sports bra.

Natasha hissed out a breath and broke the kiss as she felt Carol’s fingers pinch at her nipple harshly, the blonde barely missing a beat before attaching her lips to Natasha’s throat instead.

It felt like no time at all before Carol’s hands had moved again, this time tugging eagerly at the waistband of the red head’s workout pants. Natasha raised her hips off the bench slightly to help, making it easier for Carol to pull them down just enough that she could slip her hand down the front of them and graze the front of Natasha’s underwear with her thumb.

In a failed attempt to stifle a moan, Natasha gripped either side of Carol’s face to bring their lips back together, mumbling the words almost frantically against her mouth, “Fuck me, please.”

For a moment Carol considered making a smart ass comment of some kind, maybe even teasing Natasha into begging for it. But the dampness she could feel soaking through the cotton of Nat’s underwear combined with the way she was tugging at her hair and the fact she was kissing her like her life literally depended on it was all too compelling of an arguement to deny her.

Almost immediately she complied, pressing down harder and circling the pad of her thumb firmly over Natasha’s clit through her underwear and practically shuddering in satisfaction at the moan it earned her. The kiss was becoming messier quickly, Natasha’s heavy breathing and whimpering and writhing making it difficult to keep much control of the situation. She felt like she was going to downright lose her mind with how badly she wanted it as Carol started to trace the outline of her underwear, fingers skimming lightly over her skin in a way that made Natasha feel like every hair on her body was stood on end. Her stomach tightened and she could feel the arousal pooling between her legs in a way that only Carol seemed to have the power to do and it made her pull harder on her hair and grind her hips down more eagerly towards her hand in a bid for more friction.

Natasha was so utterly lost in her own arousal and need that the fact the two of them were in the gym of the compound had completely left her head. With the way Carol’s fingers pushed her underwear to one side and traced the length of her pussy, Natasha could be forgiven for forgetting that this was by no means a private setting.

The sound of a bell ringing several times snapped both women out of their daze, separating themselves from one another in what had to be record-breaking time as Carol jumped to her feet, flattening a hand over her hair and Natasha pulled her pants back up before bringing her knees up to her chest and clearing her throat awkwardly. Both women were visibly blushing at the interruption they had received, somewhat embarrassed and equally frustrated at being caught in such an intimate moment.

“You know when you’ve got your opponent pinned on her back Danvers, it usually means the fight is over.” teased Tony, ringing the bell at the side of the boxing ring one more time for good measure. He looked relatively amused unlike the others stood around him; neither Steve, Rhodey or Sam entirely sure where to look.

“Ohhh is that how it works? ... My bad, see I was waiting for a tap out.” drawled Carol with mock interest, turning her head just enough to shoot Natasha a playful wink, “Sorry baby, apparently I don’t play fair.”

“I thought we talked about this? After the sofa incident? And the kitchen incident?” asked Sam, his tone feigning irritation but his smile betraying him.

“Yeah yeah, you know how it is ... we’re very sorry, won’t happy again.” rushed out Carol, already looking bored with the conversation and her mind drifting to what they could be doing instead if it hadn’t been for the interruption.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Romanoff.” observed Tony, his smile teasing as he glanced over Carol’s shoulder to see Natasha rising to her feet and stepping closer.

Natasha rested a hand on Carol’s shoulder, using the blonde’s body to shield herself in an attempt to at least keep some of her dignity after being found flat on her back by her team mates. “I apologise whole heartedly for interrupting your gym session.”

Carol wanted to roll her eyes at the sarcasm, turning her head so she could see Natasha again and lowering her voice so no one else could hear, “I told you that you’d get us in trouble.”

“Whatever.” muttered Natasha, pressing a kiss to the side of Carol’s cheek with a smirk, “I think it’s time to hit the showers Danvers.”

#this is what happens when im allowed to drunk post #carolnat #carol x natasha #carol danvers x natasha romanoff #carol danvers #natasha romanoff #marvel smut #carolnat smut #abby.txt

[let-sanji-say-fuck]

Scenario for Law and his crew telling Laws s/o that she's annoying and to clingy also saying awful things and telling her that she's too weak and always in the way. She has an awful past that she craves love. People abused, abounded, betrayed her and she's been cheated on multiple times. She feels so ashamed and unloved, that she lifted the crew. Two years later she's completely different (she acts like Law) Law and his crew stills cares about her and Law stills loves her. Add NSFW at the end.

When I started writing this and it was turning angsty af I was about ready to gift my spent heart to some twisted soul who would want it more than I needed it anymore, but then I wrote the smutty part and felt better because there’s slight fluff in it muahahaha. For real though, I quite enjoyed this request, and I really hope you do too!

Word count: 1936.

Warnings: angst… but then smut! And also you might want to consider this an AU scenario because Shachi and Penguin are, uncharacteristically, hoes.

Trafalgar Law

“You look exactly the same as two years ago. Same resting bitch face.”

“I can’t say the same about you. New resting bitch face… [Name]-ya.”

The plan was to meet up with his crew in Zou. Shachi, Penguin, Bepo, Jean Bart, everyone was there. Everyone, including [Name]. She was in Zou, but she wasn’t a part of his crew anymore. Why the heck was she in Zou?

They weren’t supposed to meet again.

~

It had been a bad week. No matter what she did, [Name] didn’t seem able to get it right. She had overslept most mornings, resulting in a scolding from Law, who thought she only wanted to run away from her chores, which she ended up messing up. Spilling the bucket and slipping across the bubbly floor, tripping and breaking a burning hot pipe that earned her a nasty burn on her forearm, accidentally stepping on Bepo’s paw while he was napping on the deck and almost falling over the railing, getting another unnecessary injury from when that time a Marine ship attacked the submarine, and the list seemed to go on endlessly.

Nothing was going well, and it had affected [Name]’s mood severely, She really wouldn’t have minded it, had it stopped at that, but for some reason the rest of the crew had grown distant from her. Law included. The lively maze she once knew the submarine as would suddenly become an empty shell whenever she turned up, and the anxiety began to bubble unpleasantly within her with each passing day.

One morning, she decided to approach her friends directly. The girl was so desperate to find relief in knowing that everything was just her tired mind playing tricks, that no one was actually pushing her away, that she wouldn’t be abandoned again… That thin glimmer of hope gave her the inner strength to step into the mess hall that morning to find Shachi, Penguin and Bepo viciously downing their breakfasts like starved men and Mink. 

“Morning guys! That smells delicious!” She sat down next to Penguin, who nodded his head in agreement. The other two greeted her back, and [Name] felt a pleasant smile curl at her lips. It certainly didn’t feel like they were opposed to her company, and she noticed with delight that a weight was slipping from her chest, lump in her throat shrinking. “We haven’t talked much lately, right?” Grabbing the man’s arm, she looked up at him and smiled brightly. “How’s it been?”

“Well, fine, nothing much but… could you please pull away a little? Sorry, it’s kinda hot today and…” Her eyes opened like saucers and she froze, noticing that she had been cuddling her friend’s arm out of habit. He had never been bothered by it before! His words broke on her like a jar of icy water, and she scurried off with an ashamed hue on her cheeks.

“O-Oh! That’s okay! I’m sorry, Penguin!” He had just asked her to move aside a little, it wasn’t that big a deal, nor that difficult to do, but she cursed the terribly narrow space between the long bench and table. She was trying so hard to properly fulfill his request that she didn’t notice Shachi’s cup of tea and harshly elbowed it, knocking it over in its owner’s direction and spilling the steaming contents on him.

“SHIT!” [Name] sat down, quivering while she listened to each “damn it all” and “fuck, it’s so hot”. She shrank in fear when she noticed the eyes of the ginger directed at her. His scrunched-up brow gave away the hard glare on his half-hidden featured. “Oh god, [Name], can you just… stay still and do nothing? Our lives might be safer if you stop fucking up at every given chance!”

“I-I’m so sorry.” The familiar sting in the back of her nostrils and the lump coming back even tighter than before barely allowed her to breathe, to talk, and much less could she see with the overflowing tears that had quickly started welling in her eyes. She got up abruptly, nearly tripping on top of Bepo, before running away and out of the mess hall, which was now quite a literal mess.

~

“Law?” She knocked gently on the door leading to the wide medical ward, where she knew she was to find her Captain. Her eyes felt sore from all the tears she had shed back in her room. Embracing her pillow, she had remembered those times when Law would comfort her without a question whenever she knocked on his door after being startled by a nightmare. How his arms would gently pull her closer and how he would press his lips to the crown of her head and make her feel fully loved for once in her whole life. Betrayed by her own friends, he was everything she had left. If this didn’t work… She didn’t even want to think about it.

“What is it?” His voice sounded gruff and echoed across a room so wide that no matter how many beds were fit into it, any sound would reverberate unpleasantly. She flinched, hearing the sharp sigh coming from his lips as he stretched. “You don’t need a change of bandages yet, [Name].”

He sounded exasperated and tired. Would he really have the patience? She didn’t even dare step into the room in fear of tripping over something and managing to make him snap. Her eyes flew to the pristine wrappings around her arm, the new ones he had fastened the night before without even looking at her in the eyes.

“I-It’s not that… You see, Law… Can you take a break, or something? Only five minutes if you’re really busy. I really need it.” With every second that passed without an answer her eyes grew heavier with droplets of a fresh batch of tears. She really hoped he would concede her some time. She was his lover for crying out loud! If she didn’t even have his shoulder to cry on, she didn’t know who to trust anymore. “P-Please…”

She would be content with just sitting on his lap while he continued working. Just anything as long as it involved having him close.

“Okay, but make it brief. As you said, I’ve been really busy lately,” he muttered, eyeing the couple of treated injuries on her limbs. [Name] didn’t fail to catch this and looked at her feet, ashamed. Did he really need to make that comment?

“I… I want to cuddle you,” but her voice betrayed her in the last second, when she noticed the erratic tapping of his fingers on the table, and she could only mumble so lowly that not even herself could hear her words properly. He was impatient, he was irritated. He groaned and harshly pressed his palm on the table. He ignored the flinch of her shoulders. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself, there was no way he had just missed it.

“Louder,  [Name]. If you’re going to make me waste my time at least speak clearly.” Tears were staining her cheeks now. What was wrong with everyone? Why did they hate her so much? She wanted to believe that it was just the stress talking for him, that he cared about her, that he…

…He wouldn’t care. She pressed her lips into a thin line a breathed shakily through her nose.

No, he wouldn’t give a fuck.

“I’m going to leave the crew.”

She didn’t allow her heart a second thought, a moment to stare into her Captain’s shocked eyes… No. Ex-Captain’s shocked eyes. She turned around and stepped away, ignoring the calls of her name and managing to escape a good bunch of meters before the blue film brought her back into Law’s arms.

“Stop joking! Why would you say that?! I’m done with your pranks now, [Name]!” The girl struggled in his grasp, kicking and hoping that her leg would somehow make contact with his face.

“It’s not a prank or a joke! I’m done with every last one of you! I’m going to leave this fucking submarine even if it means drowning instead-!”

Any other words she had to say died in died in her throat or against his lips as he kissed her forcefully, not wishing to hear anything else. Her struggling, however, only rocketed from there; she  shifted wildly, let out muffled cries against his lips and started to feel a moisture on her cheeks that, at that point in time, she believed were her own tears. Only after she bit his lip roughly did he pull away, hissing, and the first thing she did with with the newly gained proximity was turn his face to the side with a deafening slap.

Law stilled and his arms grew limp, resulting in [Name] falling to the floor with a loud and painful thud, but she didn’t care. She looked feral as she glared at Law’s numb expression and snarled the words that would haunt him on countless nights.

“I fucking hate you, Trafalgar Law.”

The days that followed the event were of voluntary confinement. [Name] didn’t exit her room, and Law didn’t force her out. The tension in the submarine was so thick it could be cut with a knife, but no one ever moved a finger to do so, to change the situation, to fix things.

After a week, the submarine reached an island, docked and [Name] was gone for good.

~

“I’ve traveled a lot, Law… These past two years…”

The night was serene, dark and beautiful, and Law realized that the sky had that in common with [Name]. She had changed a lot indeed, looked more mature, breathtakingly so. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at her when she had told him about her experiences, about the people she met, the guys she despised more than she had despised him, back in the day. This felt like a truce, he was in a dangerous place.

And yet he couldn’t stop himself from looking into those two very beautiful eyes as he pounded her higher up the moist bark of the most faraway tree they could find. She bit her lip, staring back at him with just as much lust. She moaned quietly, thoroughly enjoying everything he did to her, from the one hand that was lazily rubbing her clit in sync with every thrust to the other one – which he wouldn’t have the pleasure of using if he wasn’t such a lucky bastard, she had found out – supporting and fondling her right ass cheek.

“Did you find love out there?” Law’s voice was strained and breathy against her neck when he forced his eyes away from her face to hide his own into her neck. His pace fastened, and he felt himself approaching.

“No.” The single word was a relief to Law, he smiled against her skin. “But lots of sex, I gained some experience.” As if to prove her point, she tightened around him and moaned next to his ear. He shuddered, losing the rhythm for a second and fearing he could cum right then and there.

“I can see that.” Feeling her moist lips against his ear, sucking and biting at his earrings, he chuckled hoarsely. “I still remember our last kiss.”

“Way to fuck up a romantic farewell kiss.”

“Heh, would you let me make up for it?” When he looked back up, her eyes shone like the stars above, and she managed a small smile before tentatively pressing her lips to his for the first time in years.

Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder.

#Trafalgar Law #Female Pronouns #Angst #Smut #Scenario #One Piece #soul-stealer-reaper