#//fancy hotel with all the rumpled sheets

[writermuses]

[after-witch]

Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title:  Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying. 

word count: 5417

notes:  yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside. 

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight. 

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it. 

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room. 

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet. 

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable. 

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in. 

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row? 

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario. 

But… the damn bed situation. 

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping. 

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want. 

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you. 

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can. 

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you. 

On that, you stood firm. 

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

--

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant,  you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.” 

You purse your lips. 

You remember the first day well. 

--

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you. 

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled. 

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour. 

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you. 

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled. 

--

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.” 

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.” 

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone. 

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff. 

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.” 

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…? 

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.  

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session. 

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away.  “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken. 

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well. 

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about. 

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw. 

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space. 

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away. 

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you. 

You don’t look up.

--

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed. 

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment. 

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace. 

“Are you enjoying the book, love?” 

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.” 

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more. 

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously. 

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.” 

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.” 

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else. 

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?”  He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for. 

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months. 

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels. 

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.” 

--

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes. 

It was enough to make your stomach churn. 

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up. 

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable. 

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in  your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick. 

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.” 

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher. 

“Are you going to be good today?” 

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced. 

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes. 

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand.  His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now. 

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

--

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him? 

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it. 

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind. 

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.” 

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all. 

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

--

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think 

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it. 

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.” 

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you. 

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly. 

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.” 

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never. 

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again. 

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure. 

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?” 

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip.  You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?” 

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you. 

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.” 

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise. 

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.” 

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Polaroids: Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Oh babe, you've been with me a long time. That's like 6-ish years I think

Thanks for sticking around ;)

Contains: Detailed polaroids of boudoir shots, male masturbation, phone sex(?), dirty talk/degration

His brawny shoulders slumped as he was finally able to take a real breath for the first time in over a week. He had just freshly showered with hot water for the first time in such time, it felt almost euphoric to get all of the caked-up sweat and grime and dried blood off of him. Now dressed in clean clothes, Chris stalked back into cozy bedroom of the hotel. It was a shock to him that the B.S.A.A. forked over money for something like a hotel, but he wasn’t complaining. Cracking his neck for some relief, his tired steely-blue eyes scanned the room as he walked up to the locked patio door. He carefully opened it and slipped outside, his skin prickling from how cold the air had gotten as his exhales clouded in front of him.

He needed to relax.

His hand reached into his front pocket and felt around for the carton of cigarettes before fishing the damn thing out. His other hand reached into its respective pocket and produced the fancy metal flip lighter you had gotten for him as an on-the-whim gift a couple of weeks ago. He noticed that the cigarette carton was lighter than he remembered, he was just hoping it wasn’t empty as he leaned up against the metal railing of the patio.

Flipping open the top of the carton, Chris originally sneered at the sight of an empty cigarette carton only to notice that it wasn’t in fact empty, but filled with something other than tobacco.

Retreating back inside from the biting cold, he got a good look at what was inside thanks to the light illuminating from the bedside lamp.

His cigarette carton was nearly packed full of some thick-looking paper. There was no room left in the carton for him to slide his thumb in and take them all out, but he did manage to snag at the paper with his nails and pull them all out at once. The empty carton fell to the carpeted floor as Chris turned over the multiple pieces of paper which had turned out to be polaroids.

The heavy flip lighter fell from his hand and clattered against the carpet at what he saw when he turned them over in his hands.

His jaw unhinged a bit, his eyes wide, his blood suddenly boiling hot inside of his veins.

He shuffled through the polaroids like they were a deck of cards.

They were all of you.

They were all of you looking sinful as hell.

Chris sat down at the foot of the bed, legs spread as he stared at the polaroids one by one.

You looked absolutely divine in all of them, like you had been ripped straight from an adult magazine. He couldn’t help the slight tremble in his hands as he looked them over one by one.

The one he had first saw was of you in a loose black satin robe that was long enough to cover the curve of your ass. Your back to the camera, head turned, eyes peeking over your shoulder and right into the lens at the flash. You had garters strapped to your hidden waist, black silky bands stretching down the length of your legs to cling to black cotton knee-high socks that hugged every curve your legs had to offer.

The next was of you on your shared bed, the sheets rumpled up slightly beneath you. Your robe was gone, showing off the navy blue little number you had on underneath it. A deep blue babydoll dress was just see-through enough for him to make out the curves of your hips and waist. Your breasts were cupped by dual pads that pushed them together, a little golden bow right between the cups as you purposefully let the straps sag on your shoulders. Your hands were messing with the hem of the dress, small gold accents were stitched into the near-opaque body. You still had on the garters and thigh-highs as you sat on the bed facing the camera. Your face was painted, eyeshadow smoky and lips a deep matte wine color.

Chris felt his dick throb in his pants, drums of life stirring up the shaft.

He flipped the card to the back of the line, eyes lighting up at the next one. You were on your knees in a completely different set of lingerie. It was a bra and panty set that was ruby red. Your breasts were pushed together, the panties you wore hugged your hips and waist oh-so fucking well. It left so little to Chris’ imagination. You were on your knees on the bed, one hand was holding a compact open and the other was attempting to clean up your lipstick. The glossy red looked as though it had been kissed off, red smudged against your chin. He wanted to feel those lips wrapped around his throbbing dick so fucking badly. He wanted you to leave lipstick rings around his dick up to where you could take him before you gagged and pulled away.

The next was of you standing again with your back to the camera. You were bent over the vanity dresser in your room. Fuck, the angle you had your back at and the way your ass was just right there begging to be spanked had Chris pawing himself through his tight sleep pants. You were facing a mirror and the polaroid camera caught the reflection perfectly. You wore an olive green corset with a darker-colored thong and no bra. Instead, you had positioned your arm to be right under your breasts, hiding your nipples while also pushing your breasts together. Your other hand was swiping on dark lipstick across your pouted lips. Your eyes looked right into the camera through the reflection in the mirror, almost like you were staring right at Chris.

The next was of you completely naked but your body was slightly obscured by the sheet you had protecting your sensitive areas from view of the camera. You were on your knees again, fully facing the camera. One of your hands was holding the sheet up to your breasts, palm open and pressed flat against your tits to push them together for support as much as possible. One of your legs had not been tangled in the sheets, instead, it was out in front of your person, bent at the knee to show off the delicate curves of your body. Chris cursed to himself, his mind begging to feel your thighs wrapped around him as he fucked you mercilessly into that fucking bed. Your hair was tousled as though you just had sex, your eyes dazed on purpose and your makeup had been painted on naturally.

The last one was his breaking point.

You were wearing nothing but his old S.T.A.R.S. jacket. Nothing. You were completely naked sitting on the bed, one leg crossed over the other to hide your cunt from his greedy eyes. Your hair was touseled, your makeup was light with only eyeliner and a dee and nude lipstick. You had the jacket on in just a way that it barely covered your breasts but made sure to cover your nipples. He noticed that you were also wearing his old dog tags as well, the cold silver nesting comfortably between your breasts.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

As he looked at the last polaroid again, he saw that you had drawn a little arrow in the bottom corner pointing to the other side. ‘Call me when you see these’ you wrote on the back.

Chris stood up quickly, ignoring the swirling of his mind and marched over to his phone on the nightstand before he sat back down. He tossed the other five polaroids onto the nightstand and kept the one of you in his S.T.A.R.S. jacket in his big mitt as he tapped your name on his phone to call you. The phone only rang twice before you picked up.

“Hey handsome,” you purred.

You knew. You fucking knew why he was calling.

You fucking devil.

“(Y/n),” Chris grunted into the phone.

He was pawing himself, squeezing his clothed cock in his hand as he nestled the phone between his jaw and shoulder.

“Did you see the little surprises I left for you?”

He could hear rustling in the background. You were in bed, he could hear the tv on in the background at a low volume.

“I did- fuck- I saw ‘em. You looked hot as hell, baby girl.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

His mind was foggy from lust. His brain was going one million miles a minute. His dick was practically controlling his thoughts.

“What’re wearing right now?” he growled into his phone.

His hands snatched at the waistband of his sleep pants and boxers, peeling them both down until his heaty dick sprung out, nearly hitting his chiseled stomach. He squeezed himself at first, gritting his teeth as he felt a pressure tingle right behind his belly button.

“Mmm, just one of your shirts and a pair of shorts, the one you like, the one that you can see my ass poking out,” you hummed. Chris could just see you now, in a shirt that swallows you and a pair of shorts just waiting to give him a surprise should you bend over. “It’s pretty cold here, though. I may put on a jacket.”

Chris groaned, his hand giving his cock a good few pumps before he reeled his hand back to spit into his palm. He heard you laugh softly and sultry before you moaned. Were you also masturbating?

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Chris growled.

“I have an idea, Captain.” Chris’ head nearly smacked into the wall at just the way you called him. His mouth opened as a deep moan pushed through his chest, his hand quickened its pace against his dick. “Was that your favorite one of me? In your old S.T.A.R.S. jacket, just me naked?” He let out a pathetic whine, eyes squeezing shut as his chest grew heavy. “What were thinking when you saw that?” you spurred him on.

“I’m gonna ruin you when I get home tomorrow night,” he snarled, his cock twitching in his hand. His head had leaked precum, his thumb massaging his slit as he grit his teeth and moaned again. “I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress, make you choke you on my dick- ah! Fuck~”

His chest seized as he felt his climax beating his nerves senseless.

“Oh, I look forward to that, Captain Redfield.”

[rommahh]

+18

[furrrr. He makes me think things.]

After the show you could just tell that Harry was going to be in a mood. His confidence on stage left you feeling a pool of wetness between your thighs. Also the fur on the suit was your pick tonight and just to see him in it? You were a goner.

Harry declined every after party and dinner invite- his excuse being a confident, “gotta take my girl to the hotel.” This comment left you embarrassed and red in the face but your stomach churned with excitement.

The door was barely unlocked before he launched at you. He gripped, groped, and rubbed any part of your body he could touch. Your dress was the first to go, right in front of the freshly closed door. He lifted your nude body up, walking blindly to the bedroom.

Throwing you onto the bed, he was quick to rip your panties off. Your lips were exposed to the cold air making you whine at the feeling. Harry smirks above you while removing the suit jack. His hands fumble with the buttons of his pants but as soon as they were unbuttoned, the pants and the briefs went down together.

“Gonna fuck you so good.” He promised hovering over you. You nod at him eagerly, mouth watering at his hard cock. It stood loud and proud, precum dancing at the tip.

“Please baby, please.” Your begging fed Harry’s ego. He growled at you before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanked you towards the edge of the bed, pulling you to your knees. A hand on your spine forced you to arch, your ass high in the air and chest shoved Into the mattress.

The teasing movements of his cock between your lips made your legs quiver. I’m one fell swoop he shoved himself into you making your chest tighten with a sob of pleasure.

He pounded into you with rigor, hitting the spot every time. His low groans resonated in chest all brought out from the right warmth of your hole. It gripped and brought him back in with every thrust.

“My fiancé takes me so well. Takes whatever I give her.”

He reached forward to lean over your back, one hand weaving into your own to hold. That alluring tightening feeling formed in your core, a build up of pleasure waiting to be released. And released it did. From the mix of his cock hitting your g-spot to the feeling of his hot chest against your back.

Your release coated Harry’s length, warm and slippery. Harry couldn’t contain his own orgasm, spilling deep inside of you. Pulling out he pulled your cheeks apart to watch his seed seep out of you slowly. His fingers pushed deep into your cunt, fingering his cum into your hole. It felt too good, your moans were loud as Harry caressed your inner walls with his fingers. Those fingers curled into you building another orgasm. The sounds of you wetness on Harry’s fingers echoing around the room took you over the edge. The sheets rumpled under your harsh grip as your second orgasm of the night racked through your body.

Harry stood behind you, his body relaxing having ravished your body. Sweat beads rolled down his back and chest mixing with the sweat he produced from the concert.

“You ok?” He asks lying beside you. You could only nod. His hand rubbed your back making you melt further into the bed. “We should go test out that fancy jet bathtub.”

“You set it up and I’ll meet you there.” You finally say.

The bath was just what you two needed. Mountains of bubbles and the sweet aroma of your rose essential oils surrounded the two of you. He cradled you between his legs, washing away the sweat and grime from the concert and love making.

“Harry?” You whisper with closed eyes.

“Yes lovie?”

“Will you order me some pizza?”

[trueshellz]

Maid to Surrender

Warnings: non con, forced stripping, female reader, spanking, manhandling, face grabbing, reader cries, sanzu x hanma x smiley x mikey x kokonoi x reader (others hinted), gangbang, choking, fingers in mouth, oral (m receiving), fingering, spit roasting, double penetration, manipulation, coercion, breast play and slapping, creampie, facial, female reader

Summary: Your job cleaning the penthouse suite ends up very differently than you imagined...

The penthouse you had been assigned too was huge, fancy and messy. There were bottles on the floor, the bed a mess with sheets rumpled and thrown askew, the bins overflowing with food wrappers and take out boxes. You could see paperwork all over the desk, tables and the living area floor scattered like leaves on a windy day, as if a hurricane has swept through the room and left chaos in wake. Your phone in your pocket blasting your favourite songs as you started cleaning, removing all the rubbish and emptying the bins before moving to change the sheets and dust the cabinets. Wiping under the papers before placing them back as you found them, per the instructions you had been given, sacks and sacks of trash filled that you placed outside the room. The peace and quiet you had created in this little bubble completely shattered when a voice spoke behind you.

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing?"

Gasping from shock, the half bottle of alcohol you were tidying up dropping from your hands and landing with a smack onto the carpet, the sound of liquid seeping through the fibres as it leaked out and made a puddle by your feet. You glanced up to the clock in worry, knowing the owner of the room was at least two hours early, before looking back at him with wide eyes.

"I'm the maid, sir. You're back early, I was told-"

Your next words were stolen as a hand gripped your face, cheeks squished together as dead eyes met yours and pulled you forward. Your hands automatically coming up to stop yourself, landing on his chest as you squeaked out in half pain and half surprise. His blonde hair messy, some strands falling down and framing his face, dark ink working it's way up the side of his neck that you could see below the high collar of his jacket.

"Who do you work for?"

Words garbled as you tried to speak, your hand moving from his chest to his hand so you could pry them away. "The hotel, sir."

"Do not lie to me."

Hands reaching for the ID card in your pocket, another thump when your phone landed there instead, his eyes dropping to the floor as he growled. You could do nothing to stop his hand reaching for it, the battery removed as he flipped it around and examined each side of it before pocketing it.

"Are you recording this? How many bugs have you planted? Tell me right now."

"I didn't- there's no bugs. I'm just a maid. I swear."

Yelping when he grabbed your arm, pulling you past the bedroom and into the bathroom, standing you in the middle as he shrugged off his jacket. You could see his holster under each arm, the glint of metal catching the light as he rolled up hi sleeves and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Strip."

"No."

You felt the cool metal next to your temple before you heard the loud click, gun cocking as he entered your personal space again. Eyes closing automatically, you couldn't help the few stray tears you were trying to hold back stream down your face, shaky hands as you reached for the uniform and started to rub the zipper down. The snick of the metal catching each tooth, loud in the empty bathroom, your heavy breathing as you willed your heartbeat to slow down. The dress opened to your navel as you shrugged out of it, the state of undress leaving you in one of your fancier lingerie sets. Hands clasped in front of you as you stared past him, eyes focusing on the wall just past his head. You felt his hands skim your body, taking a step back to distance yourself only to have the gun moved to the back of your head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, angel."

A shaky nod, mumbling 'sorry, sir' as he picked up your dress and checked it, turning it inside out before running a blade through the hem, the ripping sound echoing in the bathroom as he tore the dress to shreds. His hair now messier than before, movements frantic as he checked you again and again, eye darting across your body and turning you around before he stepped back and returned the gun to his holster.

"How much did you see?"

"See?"

You yelped when he grabbed your hand again, dragging you back to the living room where there were now other men crowding around. Four pairs of eyes staring at you, your hands coming to cover yourself up as one with pink hair stepped close and ran a finger down the side of your face with a wide smirk. You tried not to flinch too much, staring at the scars on the side of his mouth as your eyes darted around the room looking at the others. Another hand grabbing your face, inked this time, so tall that you needed to raise your head to look at him. His mouth turning into a grin when he saw your hand placement across your chest to cover whatever modesty you could, signalling behind you to someone before you felt your hands wrenched behind your back.

"Not sure why you're hiding away, princess."

"I-"

Fingers pushed into your mouth making you choke and splutter, eyes watering again as he pushed them in and out until you stopped wriggling. A low chuckle when you did stop, nodding as if he was impressed as he pushed you to your knees onto the carpet.

"So, Mikey tells me you saw something you shouldn't have."

"No, sir. I'm the maid. I just tidied up. That's all."

"Hear that Mikey? She didn't see nothing."

Loud laughter now, five voices worth echoing around you, your gaze fixed on the ground as another person came into view. Pale peach hair slicked back, a wide grin on his face as he pinches your nipples through your bra and pulls, laughing loudly when you whine and try to move back. Except there's someone kneeling behind you, thick thighs blocking your movement as you tried to shuffle back, hands pinned behind you as his mouth attached to your neck and began to bite and lick. Whines and whimpers leaving your mouth as your bra was ripped open, front clasp broken as your breasts were freed and exposed to their hungry eyes. Mr Peach Hair wasting no time in pulling them both now, forefinger and thumbs on each of them and watching your back arch as he pinches.

"So responsive. You got a good one Mikey."

"Don't fuck her yet. I want first dibs on her cunt."

"Wha-"

Words stolen as a thick cock was pushed past your mouth, your throat gagging and closing around the intrusion as you tried to pull your hands away from the vice grip restraining you. Glancing up to meet cat like eyes, a wink as he glanced down at you before tying his hair back, you could see the sides of his hair shaved closer to his head as he thrust himself into your unwilling mouth. A sound of outcry as your body was held in place, a hand under your chin keeping it up, a mouth attached to your nipples while another hand trailed down your body and into your underwear, tears flowing freely now as you felt them swipe through the treacherous wetness gathered there already.

“You fuckers better not have stuck your cocks into her.”

“It’s all good, boss. Haji has her mouth and Smiley is enamoured by her tits… they’re pretty good tits to be fair. Shuji has her pinned in place.”

“And you, Sanzu? What are you doing?”

“I’m just watching, boss.”

Your attention was pulled away, fingers on your nose making your mouth widen so he could fuck your throat in long thrusts, pulling all the way out so just the tip remained in your lips and pushing all the way back in, repeating this until you felt yourself gag and shake your head to break free. The mouth on your breasts sucking harder, you were sure your nipples were going to be sore and bruised after this, tongue lapping at the peaks before drawing one into his mouth and massaging the other one roughly. A yelp around Hajime’s dick as Smiley landed a harsh slap, your mouth opening on a small sob as a finger was pushed inside you. Glancing down, you could see the tattooed hand between your legs as his other hand held your knees wide, teeth scraping against your neck and down your back when you tried to move. The dick pulled out your mouth suddenly, your body being pulled up and over Shuji’s shoulder onto the bed where Mikey was, your head dangling over the side and held in place by Sanzu. His mouth curved into an evil smirk as he made small talk at first, his eyes dancing in mischief and only getting more animated when you felt a thick length being pushed inside your pussy.

“Mouth like sin, baby. Fuck. You better not choke, you gotta take us all before we even think about letting you go.

“Wait-“

Words stolen as Sanzu pushed his own dick into your mouth, hands coming down to slap your breasts when you tried to shake him off as he set a punishing pace to match the one between your legs, somehow they were moving in tandem, alternating in and out of your body. Mikey’s hands gripping your waist, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he fucked into you hard and deep, holding himself inside you and circling his hips each time. You felt a thumb on your clit, spreading the mixture of your cum around as he held your legs open wider to reach even deeper inside you, each thrust stealing your breath and knocking you higher up the bed towards the intrusion in your mouth, being pulled down again when he couldn’t get deep enough.

When you tried to reach for Sanzu again to push him off, your hands were held to the side, providing handles for him to hold and fuck into your mouth like he was the one using your pussy. You heard a groan, felt Mikey hold himself deep inside you and grind on your swollen clit a few times until you sobbed, legs kicking out only to be spanked and held in place as he filled you up. Another chuckle as you felt the dick in your mouth throb, warm and salty cum covering your tongue as you choked and sputtered, raising your head to prevent yourself choking only to find your mouth held open as Sanzu jerked himself off on your face, wiping his spent cock on your cheeks until he was soft.

A low voice, near your legs again as you tried to raise your head and see, gaze fixed on the tattooed hands tugging you down the bed and turning you over onto your stomach, your body giving out as you landed on your face, the cum now cooling and sticking to your hair as you tried to wipe it off best you could on the sheets. You felt your ass held open, something cold landing on your ass making you flinch and gasp as you tried to move away, climb up the bed only to see Hajime’s penetrating gaze on you, a shaking head and tutting noise as he stripped himself and pulled you to sit on his lap, laughing when your feeble hands pushed at his broad chest.

“Aw, sweetheart. You look wrecked. Did poor Sanzu do this to you? Poor baby. Lemme make you feel better, ok? I’ll take good care of you.”

You whimpered, mouth open to speak when you felt a finger inside your ass pushing in without preamble, body moving forward into Hajime as Shuji scissored you open and ignored your weak whines of protest. Hajime shushing you, hand trailing down the back of your head as he stroked you, his other hand reaching over to wipe the congealed cum off your face. His gaze was soft, scarily so, mouth curved up on one side as he cleaned you until there was nothing left.

"It's ok, sweetheart. Let Shuji in, it'll feel so good in a minute. You gonna be a good girl and let Shuji have his way with you? Hmm?"

False sacharine.

Fake smile.

Lies and deceit as another finger was added inside you, your head dropping forward on a loud sob as more lube was dripped down your ass. Hajime holding your ass open now, you heard a rustle of clothing and the clanging of a belt before a large pressure against your virgin hole, the feeling alone making you move forward only to be met with a wall. Shuji's hand holding your shoulder as he pressed in, his mouth licking your neck again and reaching for your sore nipples as the head popped in. Your mouth open on silent scream, tears rolling down your cheeks and undoing the careful clean up Hajime just done. Chuckles all around you as you clawed his back, not that he cared, shushing you again when Shuji pulled out slowly.

"Better not clench down, princess. Don't want you bleeding all over my cock."

Trying to turn to look back at Shuji, your head held in place by Hajime who simply shook his head in a warning. The stretch and pressure in your ass still uncomfortable, the feeling of him inside you so deep like he was hitting a huge bundle of nerves each time. Two fingers in your pussy making you rise up on your knees, a groan behind you and a yelp leaving your mouth when it pushed Shuji further inside.

"It's ok, sweetheart. Gotta let me in too, don't you? This little pussy all empty, just begging to be filled."

"Nooo... I can't. It's too much."

"Tsk, you can. Just the tip, ok? Just a little bit and then I'll stop, ok? I helped you didn't I? Surely you should repay the favour?"

A small nod, a mistake on your part and all the agreement he needed as Hajime simply pulled you down onto his cock in one go. Hips snapping against your ass, pussy clenching around him as hour struggled to acclimatise to the sheer length of him inside you. Two dicks splitting you open, separated by a thin membrane inside you as they both groaned, your hands raining down aimless punches on his shoulders as Hajime simply smiled. Your body full and open, clit swollen and sensitive with each swipe across it, your body reacting to the movements and their cocks filling you up until you came, nails digging into Hajime's chest as your body shook. To your dismay, they didn't let up, fucking you through your orgasm and past that, leaving you jumpy and gasping each time.

"Too much? Huh? Stuffed so full of dick, you can't even speak can you? Gonna fuck you so good that you're gonna forget what you saw."

Shaking your head, both of them moving inside you at once while you could do nothing except drop your head back and whimper, any strength you had completely failing you as your head was drawn back and mouth taken in a harsh kiss. Shuji's tongue pressing into the deepest caverns on your mouth, teeth nipping at your lips until you felt them sore and swollen. His hips stuttering as filled you up, balls pressed against you as white ropes of his cum painted your walls. One last grin as he bit your lips, pulling out and moving away leaving your ass sore and abused. You took a deep breath, hand reaching down to your stretched ass and feeling his cum drip down, the time short as Hajime pinned you on your back again.

"Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart. We haven't finished yet."

"But-"

Hands grabbing under your armpits, body held in place as Smiley grinned down at you and sat across your stomach. His thick cock slapping the skin on your breasts each time he moved, rough hands slapping them left and right until you were crying again. Hajime fucking you alone now, swallow thrusts aimed against your g-spot, sensitive and making your body twitch from the last orgasm. Smiley holding your breasts together, spit from his mouth dripping down between them as he rubbed it into your nipples and the valley between them, lube following the same journey before his dick slipped in their place. Hands gripping your breasts as he fucked them, his head thrown back as he grunted and pushed then together harder, you could feel the tip of his dick hit your chin and didn't realise your tongue was licking the end until he laughed at you.

"Cockhungry slut, can't help yourself can you?"

The thrusts inside you getting faster, balls slapping against your ass as he rubbed over your swollen ass, making your moan and jerk away as his cum joined Mikey's, a white ring around the base of his dick from the combined juices. You couldn't help the whine when you felt his cock drag against your gunmy walls, your hands clenching and unclenching as Smiley landed another harsh slap on your tits. His eyes creased in a huge grin, thumb rubbing your nipples as he rutted against you until you felt the splatter of cum across your chest and gace once more. The load bigger than Sanzu's, thick globs of it coating your cheeks and lashes as he held himself on your chest, emptying himself completely before climbing off. Your body felt sore, arms and legs held and moved into whatever positions you wanted while your holes had been opened and stretched around their dicks. You jumped when new voices were heard, head turning slightly when you heard the front door slam.

"Oh ho! You started the party without us?"

You saw Mikey grin at you, hand held out to the three new guys who walked in, coloured hair and intense eyes again as they circled you.

"Oh, angel, you didn't think you were done right?"

Tagging: @hisvillainess

[caitlesshea]

wanna call you fever, baby, you can set a fire on me

Buck meets Eddie in a bar. What happens when they wake up to a video of them getting drunkenly engaged that ended up all over social media? 

Well, they have to decide if they’re going to keep up the charade.

From this prompt list.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Buck shakes his head and then realizes that the stranger probably can’t see, with how his chin is basically against his chest and his hands are gripping his beer. 

“No, go ahead,” Buck answers and then looks up and pauses.

The man smiles at him and he’s beautiful. 

“Thanks.”

Buck nods again and goes back to looking at his beer, wondering if he should get something stronger, when the stranger speaks again. 

“You okay?” 

Buck looks over at him and wonders if it’s that obvious. It must be right? His eyes are bloodshot, making the blue stand out, his suit is rumpled, the tie long gone in a fit of rage in the parking lot. 

“That obvious?”

The man chuckles and it’s a deep, wonderful sound. 

“A little.” The man smiles. “I’m Eddie.”

“Bu - Evan. I’m Evan.” Buck doesn’t know why he doesn’t say Buck. It’s what he prefers, but he just kind of wants to be someone else right now. 

“So, Evan, want to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know you.”

“You’re right,” Eddie concedes. “But I’m a good listener.”

“You probably have something better to do than listen to me drown my sorrows in a bar,” Buck points out. 

“Eh, not really.” 

Buck raises an eyebrow and Eddie shrugs. 

“I just moved here so I figured I’d spend a night out and I came across this place.”

“A hotel bar?”

“It is a nice bar,” Eddie quips and then nods at the bartender who sets down a beer and two shots.

“You planning on getting trashed?” Buck asks and Eddie smiles and passes him a shot. 

“C’mon. One shot and tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Buck looks at Eddie, this handsome stranger, and decides fuck it. 

He picks up the shot, clinks his glass with Eddie’s and then sets the black tungsten ring he’s been holding down onto the table. 

“I was going to propose to my boyfriend, bought the ring, booked the fancy hotel room.” Buck looks up towards the ceiling, where the rooms are. “Came home to find him screwing someone else, so...here I am.” 

“Shit.” 

Buck looks over at Eddie, hoping, praying, that he isn’t homophobic and that Buck didn’t just out himself to then get hurt. 

“What an asshole,” Eddie says after a moment. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Thanks,” Buck chokes back the sob as he watches Eddie pick up the ring. 

“It’s a nice ring.” 

Buck’s heart clenches at the sight of Eddie holding it. 

“Yeah. I think I loved the ring more than I loved him.”

“I’ve been there.” Eddie smiles at him and Buck relaxes. 

“Care to share?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Just an ex-wife that never should’ve been my wife. An ex-boyfriend too, almost took that plunge, glad we didn’t.” 

Buck nods because he understands that. 

“Let’s do some more shots,” Buck says after a moment and Eddie chuckles. 

“Alright, your turn to order.” 

~~~ 

“Oh, god. Shut it off,” Buck groans and then turns his head when he hears a chuckle. 

“Pretty sure it’s your phone,” a deep, scratchy, masculine voice responds, and then a tanned, muscular arm, with tattoos, reaches out from under the covers and pats Buck’s naked hip. 

And, okay. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” The man next to him shifts and Buck’s greeted with a dazzling smile and adorable bed head. 

Buck shakes away the cobwebs as the night before comes back to him in flashes. 

Meeting Eddie at the bar, taking shots, inviting him up to Buck’s room, because hey I paid for it, it shouldn’t go to waste. Kissing, lots of kissing, clothes coming off, falling into bed together, feeling almost feverish when they finally touched skin to skin. 

So, that happened. 

Buck groans and leans down to kiss Eddie once as Eddie’s nose scrunches up adorably. He grabs his phone, and then immediately drops it when he sees the notifications on the lock screen. 

“What. The. Fuck.”

“What?” Eddie asks as he turns to sit up, the sheets pooling around his lap, and okay focus Buck. 

“Just too many notifications and texts from friends and family.” 

“Oh, did you not tell them about?”

“No,” Buck shakes his head. “They never actually met him and didn’t know I wanted to propose.”

“Huh? Then is everything okay?” Eddie leans over and snags his phone from his jeans on the floor and makes a shocked noise.

“Is everything okay with you?” Buck asks. 

“Yeah, just my sisters texting me.”

“Oh, you have sisters? I have one.”

“Yeah, two. Adriana and Sofia,” Eddie responds as he smiles. 

“Sisters are great, if not annoying. Maddie texted me like twenty times,” Buck says and then sets his phone down for a second. 

“Uh, Evan?”

Buck looks over at Eddie and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Do you have TikTok?” 

“Yeah? Why? Do you? I can add you.”

“No, but I think you should open yours.”

Buck picks up his phone and that’s when he realizes that most of the notifications are coming from TikTok and Instagram. 

What happened? 

Buck opens up TikTok and goes right to his page for videos he’s tagged in. 

“Fifteen thousand followers, damn, my kid’s gonna be impressed.”

“You have a kid?” Buck asks brightly before he clicks on a video.

“Yeah, a son. Christopher, he’s seven.” Eddie shows him a photo of the young boy and smiles.

“He’s adorable. I uh, I love kids.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks almost shyly. “I love this one.” 

Buck smiles and then shows Eddie his own phone which has a video pulled up of them at the bar last night. 

“Looks like someone caught us on video.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, should we watch it?” Buck asks, extremely curious. 

“Sure. I guess that explains why my sisters were messaging me.” 

“Yeah. This video has over a million views and they tagged me, which explains why I have so many texts.”

“Alright. Just play it.”

“Okay.” Buck presses play and he’s very grateful there’s no sound of their conversation and just the sounds of the bar. 

Buck watches as Eddie subtly holds Buck’s hand but Buck knows it’s because Eddie was taking the ring from Buck. 

Buck remembers suddenly, the shots, the dare that Eddie wouldn’t propose to Buck, and Eddie grabbing the ring from Buck and doing just that. 

Buck watches as Eddie keeps a hold of one of his hands and then sinks down to one knee, holding the ring out for Buck to see. 

Buck can hear the gasps in the crowd and can see Eddie’s lips moving, “Evan, will you marry me?”

He can see himself nodding and saying yes as Eddie puts his ring on his own ring finger, which Buck can still feel on his hand now. 

He watches as Eddie stands up and brings his hands up to his face and kisses him. 

Their first kiss. 

A joke, a dare, a night of frankly phenomenal sex, with a total stranger, and now they’re viral internet sensations. 

Buck watches the other people in the bar start clapping and cheering for them and then Buck’s whispering in Eddie’s ear, “Come upstairs with me.”

Eddie nods and drops down some bills on the bar and then Buck’s dragging him out of the bar. 

The video ends and they both keep staring at the dark phone screen. 

“Shit.” 

Buck doesn’t know which one of them says it but they both start laughing. 

“Well that’s one way to do it,” Buck says between laughs. 

“Do what?” 

“Propose?”

“Wouldn’t be my first time.” Eddie shrugs and Buck smiles. 

“Oh?”

“Maybe stories of ex-wives are for the second date,” Eddie says cheekily and Buck laughs again. 

“Well, it seems we’re engaged and that everyone knows, so…” Buck trails off and looks at Eddie expectantly. 

“Maybe we should go on a real date? In daylight? See where it goes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie leans in and kisses Buck. “I like you, Evan.”

“I like you, too.” Buck responds, and he knows it’s too soon, but he feels a connection to Eddie he’s never felt before. 

“I do have to get going eventually, and I start a new job tomorrow, but maybe next weekend we can get together?” 

Buck mentally runs through his schedule and nods, smiling. 

“I start a seventy-two hour shift tomorrow so the weekend works.”

“Seventy-two hours?”

“Oh! I’m a firefighter,” Buck responds happily. 

“No shit?”

Buck nods. “Yeah, at the one eighteen.”

Eddie gapes at him and Buck looks at him quizzically.

“The one eighteen under Captain Nash?”

“Yeah? Do you know him?”

“Well, I just met him last week, considering tomorrow is my first day.” 

Now it’s Buck’s turn to gape at Eddie and Eddie chuckles. 

“We’re...coworkers?” Buck can’t believe his luck. 

“And fiancés.”  Eddie points out helpfully and Buck shoves his shoulder and then kisses him. 

“Well, we can certainly keep up the ruse, if you want?” Buck asks shyly. “I’m sure HR will have something to say about this, but…”

“Hey. We can take it day by day. I have no problems dating you and seeing where this goes. If people think it’s something it isn’t, at least not right now, then that’s on them.”

“You sure? I’m...well I’m not the easiest person to be with.”

“I happen to think you’ve been plenty easy,” Eddie quips cheekily and Buck groans.

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do. And hey, look, any new relationship will have its bumps. So you keep the ring on? No one needs to know.”

“I like the ring.”

“I like you wearing the ring.”

“You don’t have one.” Buck points out.

“How about this? We start dating, you eventually meet my son, we fill out some HR forms, maybe move in together, and then when we’re ready for that step, you propose.” 

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Well, it’s either that or freak out because my sisters have sent me a hundred texts.”

“Okay, yeah, I like simple.”

“Perfect,” Eddie says. “What do you say we shower, have some breakfast, and then figure the rest of the day out.”

“I like that idea.” Buck leans over and kisses Eddie. 

“You’re keeping the ring on right?”

“Yeah, I’m keeping the ring on.” 

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

Don't know if my England carraville mutuals are still awake but if you are (or when you wake up) please enjoy part two of the t-swift fic to hopefully cheer you up❤

Here's part one if you haven't read it

Jamie wanted to cry when he heard the blaring alarm he’d set the night before. Gary was tucked in his arms perfectly with his nose pressed against Jamie’s chest. Jamie would rather do anything than move and disrupt his gorgeous manc, but the alarm started to wake up Gary. Jamie reluctantly moved Gary’s arm from his waist and got up to turn off the alarm.

Jamie looked back at Gary on the bed who had started to stir. He looked breathtaking. His hair was perfectly scruffed up just the way Jamie liked it. The sheets were rumpled artfully around his low back, showing off those back muscles he’d worked so hard for back in the day. Gary’s sides were softer than they were back in the day but Jamie loved them more. He ached to rub his fingers there again. He could so easily too. Just reach out and caress them as Gary comes back to life in the morning sun. Jamie doesn’t though. He’s not sure he’s allowed such a vulnerable pleasure anymore. Instead, he sat next to Gary and petted his hair. He smoothed out the hair in the way he knew Gary liked. Then, selfishly, ruffles it up again in the way that makes him look hot and endearing at the same time. Gary’s eyes fluttered open softly. He looked up at Jamie with a bittersweet smile.

“Morning, love,” Jamie said.

“I love you, James,” Gary replied instinctively like it was the simplest thing in the world. Gary’s lips curled up contentedly and he let his eyes slip closed again, basking in the moment. Jamie blinked a few times. It was partly from shock and partly from the wetness he could feel in the corners of his eyes.

“Still?” Jamie asked. He dared to let himself dream for a second of a universe where Gary was still in love with him, where they could live happily ever after and retire and get a dog. But a second after Jamie spoke, Gary’s eyes shot open and he jumped out of the bed. Jamie felt his heart break.

“Do you want some eggs?” Gary said. It wasn’t a question but Jamie didn’t know what it was. Gary was clearly distressed but Jamie, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why. He stared at Jamie like he had just appeared out of thin air or turned blue--Jamie checked, he hadn’t.

“...What?” Gary’s hands flew up to hold his head as he started pacing around Jamie’s small bedroom (Jamie preferred the term “cosy”).

“Every day,” Gary said, “every single day it’s: ‘morning, love’ ‘I love you, James’ ‘do you want some eggs?’ ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having’.” Jamie felt he was getting more and more confused by the second.

“What?” Jamie said again.

“Every day I have the same dream. I wake up in your bed. You say, ‘morning, love’. I say, ‘I love you, James’... But you didn’t say it,” Gary started walking faster, “you said ‘still’ which means this isn’t a dream and you’re going to sock me any second.” Jamie shook his head slightly trying to digest all of Gary’s information just spat at him with frankly incredible speed. Gary always had been a good talker if nothing else.

“I’m not going to hit you, Gary.” Jamie walked over to him slowly. He felt like he was approaching a wild animal, stepping and moving carefully so he wouldn’t startle him. He cautiously and gently grabbed Gary’s shoulders and pulled him back into his chest where he belonged.

“What are you doing?”

“I love you, too.” He said those words, plain and simple, to Gary for the second time in their relationship. No nicknames, no teasing tone, no mind-melting orgasm to blame it on, nothing to hide Jamie’s feelings. It was what Gary needed, Jamie knew that. Just like the first time, all those years ago at a random hotel in Birmingham.

Unlike that time, though, Gary didn’t say it back. He didn’t look into Jamie’s eyes like he just told him all of the most magical secrets of the universe. Gary just smushed his face into Jamie’s armpit and let out some muffled sniffles. Jamie’s hand moved to cup Gary’s neck with a mind of its own, though it’s not like Jamie would have done it any differently.

After a few minutes, Gary’s breathing returned to normal. Gary was clinging back to Jamie, his hands holding onto the back of Jamie’s shirt like a lifeline. Jamie tipped his face forward slightly and buried his nose in Gary’s hair. He smiled at the smell of the same old apple shampoo Jamie used to love so much on him.

“What about Tom?” Gary asked. “You can’t seriously choose me over him.”

“Oh can’t I?” Jamie smirked and gave Gary’s ear a playful flick. “I’m pretty sure I did when I broke up with him last night.”

“You can’t, James. You deserve someone like him. Someone who will make you smile after a long day. Someone kind and sweet. Someone who will take you out to dinner at fancy restaurants. You deserve so much more than I can offer you, James.”

“I know I should want him. I mean everything about him is nice and perfect, but that’s what I hate about him. Spending time with him makes me want to rip out my hair and smash my nose against a wall.” Gary looked like Jamie was speaking Spanish. “I should want him, you’re right. That’s what I keep telling myself: sunshine, rainbows, and sweet dreams. But I’ve never been like that. I’ve never been pristine or calm or sweet. I don’t want pristine or calm or sweet, Gary. I want you.” He wants Gary and every single thing he loves to hate about him. He wants Gary to wake him up at five am twice a week and insist they watch the sunrise over the London skyline. He wants Gary to whine when Jamie picks up the wrong kind of milk for Gary’s morning Weetabix. He wants Gary to complain about his late-night football watching habits and then bring down his pillow to rest on Jamie’s lap of their couch. He wants Gary to argue with him about an MLS game, impassioned yet half-asleep in the way only Gary can.

“As for what I deserve,” Jamie started, “I think we miserable bastards deserve each other. Let Tom have a sunshine, carefree, happy-fun-time partner. I’m not that and I never would be. I couldn’t make him happy and he couldn’t make me happy. Only you can do that.” Jamie took Gary’s hand into his own. Gary took the liberty of lacing their fingers together.

“Alright, I get it, you sappy bastard,” Gary’s voice filled with a practised faux annoyance that was entirely betrayed by the dopey grin on his face. His beautiful eyes lit up happily in the morning light. “I’m not as good with words as you are--you’re practically a poet, James. But, you’re it for me too. You make me so, ridiculously happy and... I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice was strained and tight as he choked out his last sentence. Jamie searched his face only to meet the steely gates in his eyes he’d have to break down for a second time.

“Stop,” Jamie said, pulling his manc closer by their joined hand, “I know. God, Gaz, I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry. We both said shit we didn’t mean--being fucking scared out of your mind does that to you--but I started it, and I’m sorry.”

“You were fucking outed, Jamie!” Gary screamed with all of the pent up rage in his body. The frantic energy between the two of them came to a screeching halt. It was clear to Jamie that Gary had been seething about the situation almost as much as he had. “Come here, James.” Gary yanked Jamie into his arms and squeezed him so hard Jamie was sure he’d burst any second.

“I want to come out,” Gary whispered the words softly into Jamie’s ear. Jamie thought he was hearing things until he noticed Gary was holding his breath, waiting for him to answer.

“Are you sure?” It was all he could say. Coming out was scary if it was just your family and friends. Coming out to the whole world was beyond bloody terrifying. It wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly. Gary took Jamie’s face into his hands. He placed seven kisses on his face: one on each cheek, one over each brow, one on his forehead, one on his nose, and finally one, perfect, soft kiss on his lips. When Gary pulls back his eyes are sparkling with the beginnings of tears: happy tears.

“I’m sure.”

[courtesansjewelbox]

Dark Academia Interiors

Artist

Various canvases in different stages of completion stacked against a wall. Jars of brushes and pens on a paint-splattered desk, a sketchbook open on a page with a pencil sketch of a nude reclining like a dead body. A pile of wide hardbound books on your favourite artists serving as a makeshift table for a white marble bust. A bare window; you need all the light you can get. A box of drawers holding more supplies. A portrait of your muse hangs across your bed so you can look at her before you sleep. Sheets always rumpled. In the corner is a rag stained with what could be paint... or blood.

Poet

Hardbound dictionaries, spine-creased paperbacks with yellowing pages, thick anthologies, thin chapbooks all crammed onto the bookshelves, spilling over on tables, on the floors... Notebooks and pens always within reach, but there are words written everywhere, in book margins, on the back of torn envelopes, on hotel stationery. A list of words describing the darkness in your soul pinned to the wall beside a photo of Oscar Wilde, and a quote by Sappho. Your plaid jacket draped over the back of your chair. In its pocket is a list of names, half of them crossed out, of all the people you are writing poems about. Vengeance is sweet.

Scientist

Prints from old botanicals or anatomy books on your wall. Or cyanotype photos or x-rays or blown-up microscope slides. Or framed butterflies, wings already turning to dust. A row of notebooks on your table, the same colour and size, filled with your scrawling. Field notes, lab notes, therapy session notes, the consistency of format matters; the neatness of your penmanship does not. White coat hanging from a hook behind the door, front pocket full of pens, one of them bleeding. A skull on your bookshelf (not necessarily human) sharing space with a battered copy of Darwin, Campbell’s Biology, and a stack of pulpy sci fi books.

Theatre Folk

Posters from various productions either up on the walls or rolled up and shoved in a cardboard box. Your velvet cape swinging from the fancy coat rack you found in a thrift shop. A cloche hat with a feather on a marble bust. A piece of the backdrop from the last play you were in serves as your headboard. A script, lines highlighted, on your bedside table. A full-length mirror. A vanity table with your extensive makeup collection. A knife in the drawer, a prop you kept from the murder mystery where you played the last victim. It still gleams red.

[thecosmicsen]

*   :   happy valentines day @shesin​  !!

it is that time of the year where the pastel heart-shaped candies flood delicate crystal glass vases.  tacky red and golden helium balloons fill up the recently dusted corners of every single local florist.  suddenly,  no other colour theme besides the roaring lust of reds and dainty pink blush dominate the product spaces of every commercial establishment.  not so long ago,  the rosy extravaganza of this commodified holiday used tickled the boy’s heart with giddy delight to be caught up in the whirlwind romance of valentines day.  the thoughts of handwritten letters sealed with lavishing kiss marks and the abundant sweet lingering fragrance of flowers in the air were a traditional trademark for this month.  even before he had met the love of his life,  the concept of celebrating love in its full bursting eternal glory has always enraptured Jaewoo.  after all,  what is more wholesome than planning a day dedicated to rejoicing the existence of the person who owns your heart  ?

those are the memories that swirl in his mind in a hazy peachy glow filter as he awaits in the opulent hotel reception.  limbs nonchalant but his jaw taut with tension,  he reclines back in the plush armchair as he attempts to keep his impatience at bay.  he knows Inés is going to arrive at this hotel with her new boytoy since he followed her car with hawk-eyed scrutiny,  moreso since this is valentines and he knows she must have selected the disgusting deluxe valentines day hotel room offer.  his nose crinkles with heaving disapproval,  unable to fathom the images of another man between her parted legs upon petal-scattered sheets.  that should be him. 

the second the vehicle disappeared behind the barriers of the five-star destination,  he wasted no time with immediately ditching his own car elsewhere so he can make his way to his very visible spot in the reception.  sure enough,  Inés emerges from the elevators,  her latest thing in tow.  as expected,  she has gone all out for the special occasion with her pout painted ruby red and a v-neck dress that dips down just shy of her navel.  jealousy flares in the pit of his stomach and it takes all of his strained willpower to not stab the man right there and then who has his filthy hands resting on her waist.  no,  he cannot afford to yield at this moment.  he has a special gift for the woman who ruthlessly dominates every square inch space of his heart.  for every single year they have spent so adoringly wrapped up and intertwined with each other,  he has never once missed out on worshipping her existence on this day.  so why should this year be any different  ?  she still wants to claim full ownership of himself.  what Inés wants,  Inés gets. 

now she makes her way from checking in at the front desk,  the gold hotel room keycard gleaming cheekily underneath the decadent lighting as she heads giggling to the elevators,  presumably getting to the room.  on her way,  he makes sure to lock eye contact with her although she pretends to make no notice of his existence as she irritatingly continues to engage with the existence of her new toy.  that’s fine.  it’s a part of today’s exclusive heart-themed plan anyway.  even when she keeps excessively caressing swift palm touches to her new partner’s lower body and arms.  at least she knows he has followed her and made his fixed presence open for her to acknowledge,  as much as she wants to fake ignoring him.  

they head upstairs in the elevators.  to the seventh floor.  is this another fucking jibe  — 

this has become their new routine.  a waltz of lure,  nip and trap.  Inés dangles the bait of her going out with whoever she decided to piss him off with and lure him with the bait of faux albeit temporary ownership over her toy.  look how well I fuck them too,  she seems to be challenging him in his mind,  the devious glint in her darkened eyes forever penetrating the back of his mind.  yet he rises to the challenge every time.  he devours the bait and rolls it around in his mouth in relish.  this is more added time to be with her despite a third party being the cause of interference.  which is fine in the end.  he kills them all anyway.  she moves onto the next one,  he follows after her with his bloody trail.  

depending on his mood and the various circumstances that she smugly twirls him through,  he may follow them to the hotel room and make his grand entrance in there.  but today,  on this wondrous commercial holiday with origins that date back to gruesome blood-splattered epic romance antics,  a different course of action is more suited.  

heading down to the car park instead,  he swiftly searches for her maserati which he finds in no time.  making a full show of checking her car out,  inspecting the tyres,  swiping his fingers across the engine hood,  he finally makes eye contact with where he believes the black box may be hidden.  he knows she has something recording so she can get off from his spectacles of following her gallivanting about town.  now she has video material of him purposefully lurking about her vehicle as she is upstairs doing god knows what to her latest addition.  he’ll leave it up for her suspense on what is to come next.  he isn’t entirely sure on whether her recordings are linked and live-streamed to her phone but it is highly plausible.  perhaps she is even squinting at the stream mid-fucking.  the thought makes him want to smash a dent in the gleaming hood,  his knuckles whitening from the sheer force of violent anger that wrecks his body.  

leave it for later.

heading back upstairs to the reception,  he passes time by obsessively checking instagram and her other online platforms for any potential updates which he inevitably regrets seeing.  moments away from allowing the simmering nausea to just take over and allow himself to throw up on the intricate carpet details,  a more rumpled looking Inés eventually shows up again to check out.  again,  he is thrusted into a furious pooling wave of revolted resentment to witness her fucked out transformation.  but he has a task at hand.  he cannot afford to waste any more seconds of wistfully reminiscing about how he was the one leaning in,  pressing harsh kisses square to her lips,  catching her pout between his teeth till he feels it growing tender with oozing beads of blood.  

snapping out of his reverie,  he waits a few more cautious moments before leaving Inés behind in the reception to skilfully make his way back down to her car.  effortlessly opening up her car,  he quells the security with a simple flare of annoyance to jumble up the system.  he folds himself up to fit in the gap behind the driver’s seat,  his all black outfit camouflaging him for the most part.  he knows Inés will be able to detect him straight away but that doesn’t matter when he places his bets on her not immediately calling him out. 

in due time,  Inés and the guy who doesn’t deserve to have a name head back to her car in which he hears her beginning her tittering again.  rolling his eyes,  he has to stuff his sleeve in his mouth to retain audible retching as he can hear them discuss a spot for a  ‘  change of scenery  ’.  

ah yes,  this is usually the time she flaunts her exhibitionism by deliberately parking in a spot where she knows he will have a full clear view of whatever she decides to do to her partner at hand.  most of the time,  he can barely contain himself for more than a minute before barging in to interrupt the obscene display in full raging fury.  it’s slightly different this time. 

they enter the majestic vehicle,  Inés presumably acting on his bet that she will not immediately call him out for being hidden in the backseat of her car.  if anything,  he knows she purposefully slides a hand over the other male’s thigh to forcefully squeeze and grope at it hard when he slightly peeps over to see what is happening.  fuck you,  Inés.  

it’s only when they’re a good thirty minutes cruising down one of the main big roads when Jaewoo decides he will finally make his move.  stealthily shifting to the seat behind the male passenger in shotgun,  he springs up with his knife in hand and his other hand immediately finding its way to harshly yank at the hair of the male’s head,  preening his neck all the way backwards as he presses the tip of his knife against the crook of his neck.  

“  don’t scream or I’ll slit your throat open,  ”  he smoothly addresses the male.  “  mm-mm,  no funny business either.  ”  grabbing hold of the man’s sneaking hand to his pocket to retrieve his phone,  Jaewoo beats him to it and mercilessly snaps his fancy latest iPhone model within a split second in the murderous crushing grip of his palm.  now turning to Inés who is completely unperturbed by the so-called surprise,  he flattens the entire breadth of his knife’s edge across the male’s neck,  toying along the defining lines of his jaw as he maintains eye contact between her as her gaze flits directly to him and between the road,  addressing her fully now.  “  why another rich bastard with rocks for brains  ?  doesn’t your demon scum already fit that criteria perfectly  ?  pathetic.  how long did he last,  huh  ?  big boy looks like he’s about to piss himself right now.  ”  with that,  he digs in his blade with a tad bit more of pressure till a trickle of blood stains the trembling male’s neck which he smears all over the canvas of his neck,  still carefully assessing Inés’ reaction. 

“  how the fuck is it any of your business,  Jaewoo  ?  ”  she hisses at him,  his name being emphasised with callous glee that address him formally as she turns her gaze back to him with full scorn.  “  shouldn’t you be at home with your bitch  ?  why the fuck are you in my car throwing a fit about who gets to taste my cunt  ?  unlike you,  he knows when to be a good boy so that he can eat my pussy.  ”

that is when his jealousy hits its limit and his body moves wholly out of his control.  jumping forwards to the front seat where the shrieking male attempts to grab hold of him and push away,  Jaewoo is unfazed as he unstraps the cowering figure and shoves him down to the floor so that he can fully slit his throat open with the projectile of fresh blood splaying all over his body.  wrinkling his nose in disgust,  he doesn’t bother wiping off the crimson that stains his face as he shoves the dead weight of the body fully onto the floor which he uses as a footrest for himself now as he belts himself up in full bloody gore.  

the roses that he has tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket remain intact despite the chaotic jostling in the spur of the moment.  but he uses the petals to wipe off any small splatters of blood that manage to escape to the maserati’s crystal clear passenger window.  also wiping off his dripping wet knife onto the roses,  he sets the bloody bouquet in the flower holder,  their wedding ring band fully glimmering underneath the passing city lights,  showing off how its made its way back onto his ring finger.  there’s a silent plea in the silent electric tension that has utterly blanketed the air of the car as he lowers his eyes,  fully focusing on the soaked stained petals.  I killed him for you.  please accept me.  take me back.  I want to listen to you again.  I’ll be your only baby boy.  I’ll do anything to have you back again.  

here he is with a testament to his love for her that still burns like an inferno.  he hasn’t broken their tradition cycle for this day of love.  he hasn’t forgotten and never will.  Inés takes a turn and he realises that she is driving them back to her apartment.  what once used to be their home.  at least this means,  he has successfully done his work for today.  he will get slightly rewarded even if it may be a minuscule moment of her giving to him but he’s desperate.  he’ll lick up anything she has to offer him.

“ happy valentines day,  Inés. ”  he ends up murmuring,  a steely edge to his tone that’s rough with emotion.  

[anciientboosh]

Henlo! If you're still bored and traveling, does "What are you doing in here at this time of night?!" strike your fancy?

Katey for you, for you I am putting out my first ever Noelian writing. I took so long on this one because while I've written Noelian before I've never published any of it (especially not to someone like you- I.e. The Noelian QUEEN) so I hope you enjoy a bit of (bitter)sweet tour times!

There were a lot of ways tonight could have ended, but this wasn't the one Noel had envisioned when he'd rolled out of his bunk that morning. 

Not that his life thus far had been much of an exercise in following a plan. 

Arranging and executing actions in an orderly fashion was not where the fun in life lay-- no that was all in the impulse of a thing.

It certainly had not been intended for him to imprint on a lanky northern stand-up comic all those years back. Nor to go on to build his life like a shrine around said comic. But lo and behold, his gut acted long before his head could and while he wouldn't change any of it for the world… It made his point pretty well. 

Planning was not his shtick. 

Which is exactly why he finds himself outside of Julian's hotel room at 2am, half-cut and bumping his fist against the wood just loud enough to be heard. 

The tabloids were having a field day about him already, he did not need The Sun deciding he was having another breakdown. Not in the middle of a tour. What he needed was a familiar body and a warm bed and a decent fucking nights sleep. 

It doesn't take him long to answer, which typically signals that for whatever reason Julian was still awake too, but when the door is creaked open it's to reveal a bare chested and sleep rumpled man. The kind of soft squint to his features indicative of being woken up. 

As much as he feels guilty about it-- this far into a tour Julian's sleep is as elusive as Noel's sobriety-- it forces a grin onto his features. 

"You're back early." The larger man sighs. He steps aside willingly, allowing Noel to slip past him and into the dark room. 

"Turned 'round and you were gone." Julian's bed is still warm, Noel drops to sit on it without waiting to be offered a seat. Julian is much too busy trying to tuck unsightly clues to his mental state away where prying eyes won't see. 

Too late for that, though. Noel could have strut in upside down and blindfolded he'd still point out all the things his other half had been up to since sneaking away from the after party. The butts of cigarettes he was supposed to have given up and the torn pages of frustrated notes about which jokes aren't landing and what dialogue needed tightening. 

Trust Julian to be ninety shows in to a one hundred date tour and still be finding things that aren't perfect. 

“What are you doing in here at this time of night, Noel?" Julian asks as he tidies. At least he doesn't sound annoyed, he never does when this happens. Just resigned. Complicit in the fact that no matter what they do, no matter how old they get, this would always be a part of who they were. 

No matter how often they swore not to let it control them, they both knew better. It wasn't theirs to control anymore; not really. It lived and it breathed and it longed. 

“I’m tired,” Noel says simply. 

“You have a room, don’t you?” Julian's travel bag is kicked out of the way so his large frame can crouch before Noel's smaller one and tug at his boots. 

As ever, the man exists in a state of contradiction. He leaps between the extremes, jaunts merrily about in the realm of mystery and he knows it. Mr Barratt, his mouth will tell you to go but his eyes… His eyes beg you to stay. 

Those eyes are looking at him now, sleep soft and yet alert. Crinkled at the edges with humour and each blink a slow deliberate drag. There's nothing intense about this look, but it pins Noel in place all the same as his first boot slides free. "Why are you stumbling to my door and monopolising my bed space?" 

“You know I don’ sleep well alone.” Noel whispers, providing the answer Julian was looking for. He gets a small quirk of his lip in return. “Bed’s too big.” 

Boots off and tossed aside, Julian's practiced fingers reach up to rid him of his jacket. Noel’s unresponsive limbs move like rope through tar trying to help; Julian shushes away any distress. The man is reaching to peel Noel's shirt over his head when a thought occurs, "How come you left without sayin' goodbye?" Noel asks.  "Time was you always told me when you were leavin’." 

“Time was you'd notice when I wasn’t there.”

He doesn't look up as he says it, much too occupied peeling tight jeans from Noel's legs. But Noel doesn't have to see him to know how his features are pinched; an expression that is wiped clean by the time Julian stands and urges him towards the head of the bed. 

Noel slips under soft sheets like an integral piece coming to rest in its intended place. The world rights itself on its axis once more. Everything slows to a low hum. Julian doesn't join him right away, but that's fine. The familiar sounds of running water and a glass landing softly on the table beside the bed is enough indication that he will be with him soon. 

And when he does reclaim his place in the bed, Noel is at his side in an instant. Wiry arms wrapping about his waist and nose pressed against the underside of his jaw. Julian smells like sweat and cologne and stale beer but its good; behind his closed eyelids Noel sees shooting stars and multicoloured fireworks-- undercut with a grounding sense of home. 

It's comfortable. It's perfect. 

It won’t last forever. This equilibrium they find together while existing in a world purely of their own creation. The way they know each other better than any script they could write; understand one another like a first language. The way their biological rhythms blend like the melodies of their own songs. 

It won’t last forever.

Eventually, the space Julian carved for himself in the hollow of Noel's chest will once more be vacant. It will remain so, no matter how hard he tries to fill it, because everyone else who gets in can never seem to take up the space the same way this man does. Once in a while, Julian will return for a short visit to his home away from home-- slotting into place comfortably-- and everything will seem okay until its not. 

Right now, though, it will last. 

Ten more shows to make it last. 

Noel sleeps. 

[finalgirlkateausten]

Positivity Challenge #25

From my 2x09 au, set between 5x01 and 5x02. I’m adding a bit of a warning for some heavy making out and implied sex

Morning After

Shawn wakes up slowly, not sure where he is or what day it is. The sunlight illuminating the room is too pale for it to be a reasonable time to wake up. He rolls over slightly to find Juliet lying next to him, a smile on her face. She’s propped up on one elbow, but hasn’t bothered pulling up the sheets. Seeing her in front of him, naked, hair loose and rumpled, and backlit by the morning sun in a way that makes it look like she’s glowing, Shawn slowly remembers the events of the night before. He smiles back.

“Good morning, Mrs. Spencer,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep. He reaches for her hand to kiss the back of it, but Juliet has other plans. She leans over, her body practically melting into his, and kisses him slowly on the lips. “I think you mean Detective Spencer.”

Shawn laughs. “Well, Detective, answer me this... why are you up at--” he cranes his neck to look at the clock-- “seven in the morning on a day we don’t have to work?”

She hums against his lips. “We should go get Maisie.”

“We should try out the big huge bath in our fancy hotel suite,” he counters.

“We have to check out by eleven,” she warns.

“Jules.” Shawn kisses his way down her neck. “That’s four whole hours.”

“Four hours, huh?” Juliet sits up a little bit in a way that draws his eyes down to her chest.

“Four more hours of newlywed bliss... without worrying about Maisie.”

Juliet purses her lips. “We’ll buy your parents lunch.”

“We don’t have to buy them anything, you know they love her.”

She sits up more, straddling him. Her hand strokes over his face, coming to cup his cheek. “We’re gonna buy them lunch.”

Shawn nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But right now...” her hand moves down his chest. “Four hours. All for us.”

“Room service for breakfast?”

She leans forward and kisses him. “Not just yet...”

What she does with her tongue after that makes him forget all about breakfast.

There’s something else he’d like to taste first.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“Better When I’m Dancing” After the Show (Part Two)

           “MAJESTY!” Roland ran at her the moment the door opened, leaping into her arms. She caught him easily, cuddling with him as he hugged her tightly. “I missed you.”

           “I missed you too,” she said, opening her arm at toward her own son. Henry ran to her as well, hugging her tightly. She wrapped the arm around him and held both boys close.

           Henry buried his head against her chest. “I missed you, Mom.”

           She kissed the top of his head. “I know, sweetheart, but we’re all together now.”

           “Yes, we are,” Roland said, happily. He leaned his head against her shoulder as she continued to hold them.

           By the door, Robin hugged his mother as Emma closed the door behind them. She grinned as she took in scene, holding open her arms. “Do I get a hug too?”

           Regina grinned, unable to help herself as she said: “Killian’s room is just down the hall. I’m sure he’d love to give you a hug.”

           Emma glared at her. “Really?”

           “Come on, Emma,” Robin said, grinning. “You two haven’t really been subtle about how you feel about each other.”

           “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

           He chuckled. “We all saw you ‘comforting’ him after the finale. You two looked pretty close.”

           She blushed. “I felt bad for him. He worked hard. And he wasn’t as much of a dick as I thought he was.”

           “Em, it’s okay,” Regina assured her, noticing how uncomfortable her friend was. “We just want you to be happy.”

           “Even if it’s Killian,” Henry replied before making a face.

           Robin gave him a pointed look. “He’s not that bad, Henry.”

           Henry grew sheepish. “Yeah, I guess he’s not. He still can be a bit arrogant, though.”

           “I’ll give you that,” Robin agreed before turning back to Emma. “But otherwise, I think you two would be very happy together.”

           She gave them a sheepish smile, looking between him and Regina. “His room is down the hall?”

           “Yes,” Robin said, giving her the number. She slipped out of their suite as the rest of them chuckled.

           Robin headed toward Regina and the children, smiling widely. “Now, have you missed me too?”

           Henry threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms around him and hugging tightly. Robin staggered back a bit but recovered quickly, holding the boy close. He cupped the back of Henry’s head. “I missed you too, Henry.”

           “What about me, Papa?” Roland asked, climbing out of Regina’s hold. He walked over to his father, hugging his leg. “I missed you as well.”

           Robin reached down and managed to pick him up with one arm so he didn’t have to let go of Henry. He held both boys close, kissing his son’s cheek. “I definitely missed you.”

           Chuckling, Claire hugged Regina. “Since everyone is saying it, I missed you, Regina.”

           “I missed you too, Claire,” she replied, laughing as she hugged Claire back.

           “Alright, we all missed each other,” Robin said, “but we should get going. We want to show you all of New York.”

           Claire released Regina, pulling on her bag. “I’d like to freshen up first.”

           “I’ll show you to the bathroom,” Regina said, leading her into the next room. She tried not to look at the rumpled sheets on the bed, caused by another night of passion, and hoped Claire didn’t notice either.

           She stopped outside the room in question. “Right here. We’ll wait for you in the sitting room.”

           Claire looked around the suite with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. “You know, I’ve stayed in a lot of fancy places since Robin became a famous musician...but I still can never get over how opulent some of these rooms are. This is more like an apartment than a hotel room!”

           Regina chuckled. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? Especially since we’ve mostly been just sleeping here.”

           “Well, I won’t keep everyone waiting,” Claire said, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

           Once the door clicked closed, Regina hurried over to the bed and tried to smooth out the blankets. It was more for her own peace of mind as she was sure Claire had to have some idea of what they were doing in the hotel room even before she arrived. She knew there was a difference, though, between having an idea and seeing proof.

           She then returned to the living room, where Roland was bouncing around his father. “I wanna see the Statue of Liberty! I wanna see the Statue of Liberty!”

           Robin chuckled as he tried to calm his son down. “We’ll go see the Statue of Liberty, Roland. You need to stop jumping. There are people on the floor below us.”

           “There are?” Roland stopped, looking down as if he could see through the floor. “Really?”

           Henry chuckled. “That’s how hotels work. There are a lot of rooms and people stay in them so they have a place to sleep while they are away from home.”

           “Oh,” Roland replied, looking amazed. “But our room looks like a home.”

           “That’s because the show is paying for us to stay in the best room in the hotel so we all will be comfortable together,” Regina told him, cupping her cheek.

           He smiled, his dimples on full display. “That’s really nice of them. Is it because you and Papa won?”

           “Pretty much,” Robin replied, ruffling his son’s curls.

           Claire emerged from the bathroom, pulling her purse onto her shoulder. “Okay, I’m ready to explore the city. Who is with me?”

           Everyone cheered except Henry. He glanced at the door. “Should we tell Emma?” he asked Regina.

           She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to do. It was pretty clear that Emma had something going on with Killian and Regina was sure they probably wanted some time to herself. Emma probably also wanted to see New York with him rather than their group. She knew she’d probably chose Robin if she was in the same position.

           “I’ll send her a text,” she told her son by way of compromise. “If Emma wants to join us, she can always do so.”

           Robin clapped his hands. “Now that that’s all settled, let’s go paint the town red!”

           Stopping short, Roland frowned. “But I don’t have any paint.”

           They all tried to hide their laughter, Henry pressing his hand over his mouth to do so. Regina crouched down, looking Roland in the eyes as she explained: “It’s just an expression. It means we’re going to do a lot of things as we explore the city.”

           “Oh,” he said, brightening up. He took Regina’s hand again. “Okay. I can do that!”

           Laughing, the small family left the hotel room and headed to the elevator, all eager to begin their adventure in New York.

Continue reading on FFN (non-smut), AO3 or Wattpad (both with smut) 

[bitchcakegreen]

Stay With Me

Jonsa Smut Week submission for Day 5 - Heat of the Night

Dirty little story in a modern AU where Jon is a famous actor in London and Sansa is a teacher from Scotland. Told from Sansa’s POV. I hope everyone enjoys my little attempt at fanfic. NSFW

“Where are you going?”

I’d thought he was asleep and I would be able to make my escape with minimal fuss. I turned, looking over my shoulder at the sight he presented laying on the rumpled cream-colored sheets. His dark hair was mussed from sleep and last night’s shared activities. His eyes were hooded in that stomach-flipping way. God, he was handsome.

“Back to my hotel room,” I answered pulling the blanket up a nit to cover my breasts.

“Stay,” He traced his fingers down my spine, running one over the tattoo on my hip. That had taken him by surprise last night when he’d undressed me. I couldn’t control the shiver that slipped through me at his touch. Fiery passion. A cliched as it sounded that was what this man made me feel in the span of a few short, but precious hours. I was surprised the bed sheets hadn’t ignited the moment we hit them.

I looked out the window of his apartment, focusing on the fat raindrops sliding down the glass pane and not the feel of his skin on mine. You could barely make out the shadowy silhouette of the building next door. Anything to get my head back in the game. I needed to get out of here. Fast. I was letting emotion take over and that wasn’t like me.

“You and I both know this was nothing more than a one off,” I turned to face him, not letting the blanket slip from my shoulders and I knew the pin-up girl make-up that transformed me into a beauty by daylight was smeared all over my face. But when I met his gaze I knew he didn’t see any of that. Those soulful brown eyes held the same passion and wanting they had when he’d stopped to help me with my shoes only a few short hours before.

The sound of those raindrops was the only thing in the room for a few moments. I blame the rain for being in this bed, in this room, in his arms. If I haven’t stepped on that grate and caught my heel in the metal struts just outside the theatre he would have walked right by me without a word. Without his hand on my elbow as he steadied me. Without he fingers light caressing my ankle as he knelt to replace my shoe. I swear I heard some ladies sighing when he pulled that Cinderella move on the cobblestoned pathway.

“Why do you say that?” He sat up, propping some pillows behind his but never moving his hand from the small of my back.

“You’re a big movie star who lives in London. I’m just a teacher from Scotland.”

Tugging on the blanket, he pulled me down once again to lie beside him and idly ran his thumb circles on my bare back.

“It’s raining. You should stay here with me.”

He ran his hand down my back and under the blanket to caress my ass.

“Go do your matinee. I’ll go wander through Harrod’s. If, when you’re done, you still want to see me again,” I leaned down and brushed my lips over his “we’ll have dinner before your evening show.” I wasn’t sure who I was lying to him…or me.

This was a one-night stand, a memory to help me through the cold winter nights when nothing, not even a raging fire would warm a person up. He might be enamored with me right now, but I wasn’t harboring any delusions it was anything more than fleeting fancy.

He slipped his hand to the back of my head and deepened our kiss. He tasted so good, the scruff from his beard rasped against my cheeks.

“Stay with me. You’re all I need,” he murmured against my lips, his tone needy, his hands greedy.

Gripping my hips, he lifted me up until I straddled him, the blanket falling away to leave me gloriously bared to his hungry gaze.

A gasp escaped my lips when my pussy connected with his hardening cock. Despite having taken me six ways to Sunday the night before he appeared ready for more.

“I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he growled, sliding those big hands up my ribcage to rest just below my breasts. I knew the feeling.

He rotated his hips, pressing that impressive erection intimately against my pussy. I groaned in response. I couldn’t help it. I began rocking my hips back and forth, slowly, rubbing myself up and down his shaft. My clit was throbbing, and I could feel myself growing wetter. I rocked once more, causing him to shudder beneath me. I did that. I made this powerfully built, famously cool and collected actor weak with need.

Moving his hands up my body he cupped my breasts, kneading them gently, rolling my nipples in between his forefingers and thumbs. He licked his lips that wicked tongue darting out, begging me to suck on it. I obliged.

Leaning down, I pressed a kiss against his mouth, simply tasting him, taking my time, committing him to memory. I felt his growl of pleasure rumble through his chest and over my skin. Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I caressed his warm flesh. The hard points of his nipples scraped my palms as I explored every ridge and hard plane of his torso. He was thickly muscled, and the smooth flesh was marked by a few long scars.

Slithering his hand down my body, he dug his fingers into my hips, guiding me down fully onto his cock. The tip brushed my swollen pussy and graze my clit. A shiver raced through me and I moaned against his lips. He slid smoothly, easily between my folds and pushed into my entrance. Nothing had ever felt so good.

“Tell me you were really going to run out on this,” he shifted his hips slightly and changed the position of his cock until he filled me even more.

“It was just an idea.”

“Worst idea ever.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” my laughter turned to gasps of pleasure as we both moved in concert, his cock driving into me deep, heavy thrusts.

I kissed him again, this time feeding on his mouth like a hungry wolf. If this was the last time I wanted to remember every single moment of it. The rasp of his whiskers against my chin, the smooth, hot feel of his chest against mine, and the exquisite length of his cock buried deep inside me.

“More.”

His thrusts sped up, hitting every sensitive spot. His hands were everywhere, skimming my curves. I got lost in the heat of his mouth, in the strength of his body, in the little noises he made as I slide up and down on his shaft. My pussy clinched around his thick cock and I knew it would only take a few more thrusts before I came apart in his arms again.

He gripped the back of my head in one hand and pulled my mouth from his. He kissed my jaw, the line of my neck, my collar bone, anywhere his lips could reach. My skin burned from where his lips made contact.

I moved my own hand down my belly and over my mound to my clit. One brush of my finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves was enough to push me over the edge. I came in a rush, crying out his name into the stillness of the room.

“Jon…”

Bracing my hands on the bedsheets beneath him, I rode him with every ounce of energy I still possessed, feeling him stiffen inside me. A male moa of satisfaction ripped from his lips as he climaxed deep inside me.

I collapsed against his chest, our breathing heavy and mingling with the sound of the rain against the window, a sheen of sweat coated both our bodies.

A few minutes ticked by and I was content to remain draped over him, I knew I should get up, grab my clothes, and hit the road but something held me fast to his side. He dropped a kiss on my head and shifted our bodies until we lay side by side, his chest to my back, his palm resting on my hip.

“Thank god for that tube grate,” his words were so soft I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. Despite every thought racing in my head.

“Yes, thank for my klutziness and her majesty’s subway system.”

Time slowed, and I knew he was finally asleep, that hand now loosely resting on my belly.

With absolute care, I extracted myself from his grip. This time I wasn’t taking any chances. I scooped up my clothes and shimmied into my dress in record time. With a final glance at his sleeping form on the bed, I headed out into the living room. I looked around for my purse, finding it on the coffee table where I’d thrown in before he lifted me over his shoulder and hauled me to bed.

Rummaging inside I pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. Taking a deep breath, taking a risk, I scribbled him a quick goodbye adding my phone number on the bottom. I dropped it on the kitchen counter and headed out of the apartment, thinking of the words I’d written on that old receipt above my phone number.

Just in case. Sansa

[banshee-cheekbones]

Kiss prompts: 6 + 14 + any combination of Malia/Kira/Lydia, all or just two, and maybe in a hotel? Whatever your fancy 😊

6 = collarbone kiss and 14 = inner thigh kiss.

I ended up going with Malia/Lydia, and this does indeed take place in a hotel! here’s some established relationship, set sometime in the future. 

rated M for non-explicit sexual content under the cut.

 ~1700 words. on ao3 here.

Arches

By the time the absurdly slow elevator finally comes to a stop on the tenth floor of the hotel, Lydia is seriously thinking about simply yanking off her heels and going barefoot for the rest of the day, professionalism be damned.

The shoes weren’t cheap, nor were the gel insoles she slipped inside them earlier in the day, but being on her feet for seven hours straight has apparently won out over price. As the elevator creaks open, she curls her toes tightly in an attempt to work through some of the tension and ache that’s set into her arches.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much to help.

Their room is three doors down the hall, and she pulls her key card out as she walks, heels sinking an inch into the neutrally patterned carpet. Once the door unlocks with a click, she pushes it open, and she’s out of her shoes before the door settles back against the frame. She sighs contently as her feet sink into the thick carpet.

She has to put her shoes back in two hours, when it’s time for her to return to the hotel’s conference room and present her latest research findings to a room full of people who are nominally her colleagues, but she’s going to enjoy every minute that she doesn’t have them on.

The curtains covering the balcony doors have been pulled aside, bathing the room in crystal-clear, late afternoon sunlight, and there’s a gentle breeze stirring the sheets hanging over the edge of the bed. Malia is stretched out sideways on the mattress, one arm cushioned under her head, the other dangling freely over the edge. There’s three towels underneath her, keeping the bed dry. She’s in her swimsuit, long tanned legs protruding from gaudily colored board shorts, the ties of her halter top a little crooked, and Lydia can smell the chlorine on her. Surprisingly, it’s a comforting smell, particularly when contrasted against the too-strong coffee and permanent markers she’s spent most of the day wrinkling her nose against.

“You look comfortable,” she says, confirming that the mattress is dry before she sits down on the edge. Malia hums in agreement and slowly blinks her eyes open, pushes a few strands of honey-blonde hair, crunchy from the chlorine, away from her face.

“I was gonna nap by the pool, but there were too many kids there.” Her nose wrinkles up, and Lydia laughs a little as she reaches out to absently run her fingers along Malia’s stomach. Malia hums again and reaches down to tangle their fingers together. “How’s the conference going?”

“Exactly as I expected. There’s some great research happening, but most of it is getting ignored in favor of the flashy stuff. Style over substance. Also, my feet really hurt, and I have to present in two hours.”

Malia raises an eyebrow and sits up. One of the towels remains stuck to her back and leaves creases behind in her skin when she swats it to the floor. “Want a massage?”

“Honestly, that sounds amazing,” Lydia replies. She almost flops back onto the mattress, but she catches herself on her elbows before her back can hit the damp towels. Malia slides off the edge of the bed and frowns down at it for a few moments before she sweeps all the towels to the floor and pulls the blanket up to the disheveled pillows.

“I’ll get new sheets after,” Malia answers with a wave of her hand before Lydia can even bring the topic up. With a nod, Lydia gratefully collapses the rest of the way down, feet hanging over the edge of the mattress, and sighs contently. After spending so much of the day standing up, being horizontal, even if it’s ultimately only for a little while, feels absolutely amazing.

“Do you want a pillow?” she asks, raising her head and glancing down at where Malia has dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed. Malia shakes her head and takes one of Lydia’s feet in her hands.

“I’m fine.” She presses both of her thumbs firmly into Lydia’s arch, and Lydia groans as she drops her head back.

Aside from the sounds from poolside drifting through the open balcony door and the occasional content sighs Lydia doesn’t bother trying to hold back, the room falls quiet for quite some time. Malia works thoroughly and carefully, doesn’t push too hard in the sensitive spots or skimp out on the areas that need the extra pressure. When she’s finished with one foot, she gently pulls Lydia a little closer, and Lydia lets her foot dangle over Malia’s shoulder, carefully brushes her heel back and forth over the bare skin of Malia’s back.

“Thank you,” Lydia says when Malia starts to wind down with her second foot. Malia makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement before she gently pulls Lydia’s other foot over her shoulder and slides her hands up the backs of Lydia’s calves.

“How much longer until you have to go downstairs?” she asks, turning her head to press a kiss to the inside of Lydia’s knee. Lydia cranes her head to look back at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed.

“About an hour.” She slides forward a little further, until the insides of her knees are resting firmly on Malia’s shoulders, and her heels are brushing against the middle of Malia’s back. She props herself up on her elbows so that she can see the glint in Malia’s eyes, a glint she knows all too well. “You look like you have an idea.”

Malia shrugs and curls her fingers into the hem of Lydia’s pencil skirt. “Maybe. Will you have enough time to get ready again?”

Lydia laughs and slides her legs apart as far as the restrictive fabric of her skirt will permit. “I think you greatly underestimate how good you are at certain things.”

Malia grins up at her, all sharp teeth (the human kind, thankfully), and when the sun catches her eyes, they flash bright electric blue. In one swift movement, she pushes Lydia’s skirt up to her waist. She isn’t rough with it, but it’s definitely going to be rumpled enough that Lydia might have to get creative when it comes to putting herself back together.

But that’s an issue to be dealt with in the near future.

Malia starts pressing a trail of kisses along the inside of her thigh, alternates between firm and gentle, feather-light and near-bruising. When the breeze kicks it up a notch, it brushes along the trail of saliva Malia has left behind, and Lydia shudders. She can’t quite reach Malia’s head, so she settles for anchoring her fingers into the blanket as she lets her legs fall open wider. When Malia’s tongue drags along the seam where her hip meets her thigh, she gasps and digs her heels into Malia’s back.

Malia doesn’t leave her waiting for long. She presses a single kiss to Lydia’s clit through the satin of her underwear before she hooks her fingers into the waistband and momentarily shifts Lydia’s legs off her shoulders so that she can tug them off. Once they’re on the floor, she cages herself in with Lydia’s legs again, pulls her hips down nearly to the edge of the mattress and glances up, eyes as blue as a chip of ice.

“Okay?” Technically, it’s an unnecessary question; if Lydia was anything other than one hundred percent sure, Malia would be able to smell it on her, would be able to hear the off-kilter rhythm of her heart. But she still asks, every single time, and every single time makes Lydia love her just that much more.

“Yes,” Lydia answers, dropping her head back against the mattress and moaning when Malia’s warm breath brushes over where she’s aching for some contact. “Please.”

With that, Malia leans in and flicks the point of her tongue against Lydia’s clit, and Lydia’s back arches off the bed as she twists her fingers in the blanket.

Malia doesn’t rush, doesn’t go too fast or add her fingers into the mix too early, but it’s still only a matter of a few minutes before Lydia’s thighs are quivering, before her breath is coming fast from her lungs. She’s so close that she can practically taste it on her tongue, but she just needs a little more to push her over the edge.

Moments later, like Malia has read her mind (or, more realistically, like she somehow noticed a change in Lydia’s scent and extrapolated from there), she circles her tongue a little faster and slides the tip of her ring finger in beside her index and middle, and Lydia comes with a bitten-off moan, hips pressing up against Malia’s mouth.

Malia gently works her through the aftershocks, licks against her until Lydia is too sensitive for even that light touch. When Malia withdraws her fingers, she carefully licks them clean before she slides Lydia’s legs off her shoulders. They feel boneless, and Lydia lets them thump back against the mattress while she tries to catch her breath.

Once her mind has cleared a little, she tilts her head back and glances at the clock. It might be cutting it a bit close, but she wants to return the favor, once she’s sufficiently recovered.

Before she can bring up the idea, Malia presses a kiss to the inside of her knee and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about me.” She slides up onto the mattress and cranes over to press a kiss to Lydia’s collarbone. “I can wait.”

“Okay.” Lydia drops her hand to the base of Malia’s spine and smooths her thumb over the warm skin there. Her chest still feels a little tight, and it’s going to take a few moments for her legs to be able to support her weight, so she doesn’t make any effort to move. Instead, she asks, “Do you want to go present my research for me so I can stay here and nap?”

Malia snorts. “Not unless you want to lose tenure.” She cranes down and presses a kiss to Lydia’s cheek before she brushes some of Lydia’s hair away from her face. “But if you let me know what you want for dinner, I can make sure room service is here when you get back.”

Lydia grins and leans up for a lingering kiss, one she can taste herself on.

“Sounds like a deal.”

[antifadoll]

last night i met this silicon valley tech bro ai developer (who looked JUST LIKE that actor i had a fat crush on, that plays nick on new girl, even had the same voice from living in new jersey, shit was uncanny) and his friend at the new york casino and they took me and my mom on a date to a fancy bar, he was drinking top shelf bourbon, straight.

we hung out for like 3 hours then the friend and mom went back to their respective rooms

and we wandered the hotel smoking inside and talking intimately about our lives, in the kind of no-holds-barred way you can when you both leave vegas in 2 days

and we walked down the strip and kissed in front of a giant fan blowing mist around us like some kinda movie

we went to the cosmopolitan at 2:30am and the bar had 3 stories of glittering crystals hung in sheets draped all over

and while he was at the bar getting our drinks, some ruggedly handsome, huge, middle aged guy comes up and puts both his hands on my shoulders and tells me i’m too beautiful to look so sad and why don’t i come over to his table with his buddies and make his night? he grabbed my hands and looked me in the eyes with conviction and told me his name was john at least 4 times while leaning over my stylishly low chair, hulking, blocking my line of sight completely

and my tech bro comes around from behind him and puts my drink in front of me

and the old guy says “oh, i guess i’m not the only one” but doesn’t let go of my hand

and tech bro gives him a ‘friendly’ whack on the back and walks back to close out

we stayed out until 4 or so, he kept trying to convince me to let him get a room at the fancy ass hotel we were at for just a few hours- he had a 7am meeting, he and his partner were here for some conference

i somehow held my ground and he got us a taxi back to my hotel, walked me all the way up to my room on the 16th floor and i sent him back to his hotel across the strip with lipstick on his neck and his suit a lil rumpled from the elevator ride

my mom was waiting up for me anxiously and i watched the sun slowly tint the sky burnt orange above the glitter-lit sky rises on the strip and it was magic

[sincerelybluevase]

Fanfic Friday: Twin Rooms, Chapter 1

Based on an anonymous ask: Trixie and Christopher and Shelagh and Patrick go on a weekend away together and stay in adjoining rooms, and let’s just say... the walls are pretty thin... Can I give you a few prompts based on this?? ‘Trixie smirked at Shelagh, entered the bedroom, and smiled suggestively at Christopher.’ ‘My god... can you hear that Shelagh? Is that Trixie and Christopher?’ ‘How did you sleep then you two? That is if you got any...’ I know they are dirty but I think it would be hilarious.

A/N 3 chapters, one for every line anon has given me! Those lines are underlined.Thanks to @purple-roses-words-and-love for betaing.

Trixie and Christopher were the last people Shelagh had expected to encounter on a weekend away with Patrick. In fact, she’d not expected to meet anyone familiar, since the hotel was miles and miles away from London, and quite isolated.

Yet here they are, Shelagh thought, placing her suitcase at her feet. It was a soft pink, and more expensive than she’d have liked, but Trixie had assured her it would last years. “I have the same one, sweetie,” she’d said, and pushed Shelagh to the counter so she could purchase it.

“Well,” Patrick said, shaking Christopher’s hand and smiling, “I didn’t know you two were going on a little holiday!”

Trixie blushed and smoothed a fold out of her azure dress. She wore diamond earrings that glistened like water in the soft hallway light. “We hoped that a weekend in a hotel would make us forget about work,” she said, looking at Christopher from the corner of her eyes. “It seems we always get interrupted when we want to spend time together.”

I know that feeling, Shelagh thought. She adored her children, but with a baby, a toddler, a teenager and two demanding jobs, she and Patrick hadn’t been intimate in what felt like eons. As if reading her mind, Patrick slung an arm around her, his fingertips travelling over the small of her back before his hand reached her shoulder. She supressed a shiver. Naughty man.

“Fancy meeting you here, though,” Christopher said.

“And adjoining rooms, too, “ Patrick said, nodding to room 205 and 207.

“At least we won’t have to be embarrassed when we have to go and tell our neighbours to keep it down. I overheard a guest saying that the walls are quite thin,” Shelagh said.

“Oh, they are. We could hear everything our neighbours did yesterday.” Trixie paused. “Maybe that’ll make it more embarrassing,” she continued, cocking an eyebrow, a smile playing around her perfectly painted lips.

Shelagh blushed, but didn’t break eye contact. “I’m sure that what happens in this hotel can stay between these walls,” she said.

Patrick leaned in to kiss her. “Or between the sheets,” he whispered.

More blood shot to her cheeks, colouring them crimson. How he loves to tease me. She’d pay him back in full later, between those very sheets he was using against her now.

“I’m sure of it, Doctor Turner,” Trixie said. She smirked at Shelagh, entered the bedroom, and smiled suggestively at Christopher.

Shelagh turned away, doing her best to forget that little smirk. She picked her suitcase from the floor and placed her hand on Patrick’s arm as he fumbled with the lock on their room. It seemed to take forever before he managed to get the door open.

The room was spacious but cold. Shelagh turned on the lamps on the bedside tables, and placed her suitcase on the bed. The corners of the blankets weren’t entirely straight. She supressed the urge to smooth them; the sheets would be rumpled in an hour or so, anyway.

She could hear Christopher and Trixie speak in the room next door, but their voices were muffled, and sounded only vaguely like them.

How quiet we must be if we don’t want to disturb them.

Shelagh walked to the window and fingered the thick, velvety curtains. They were no match against the cold, which could easily slip into the room because of the thin glass and warped windowsills. as Shelagh closed the curtains a dead moth fell from between the red folds. She touched the fuzzy body with a fingertip, then shuddered.

“Cold, my love?” Patrick whispered. He stepped beside her and nuzzled her neck.

“Yes. This room is awfully draughty.”

“It’s because this side of the building faces the sea. Can you hear it?” They were both silent, listening to the faint murmur of waves falling over each other and breaking upon shingled coast. The wind roared around the hotel, throwing occasional droplets of rain against the windows like handfuls of pebbles.

“Sea wind. No wonder it’s cold,” Shelagh agreed.

“You didn’t look cold in the hallway, though,” Patrick said, kissing the pulse point underneath her ear.

“You’re a beast. You know that, don’t you?” She turned around so she could look at him.

He grinned, and draped his arms around her. “I do like to devour a pretty woman every now and again.”

“I bet you do. That’ll have to wait, though. We have to put our luggage away, and I’d like to take a bath. Besides…”

He placed a sloppy kiss on the corner of her mouth. One of his hands snaked underneath her skirt, stroking the strip of skin between her knickers and her stockings. “Are you sure, my love? I think you might have mixed up the order of things. I think you’ll need a bath after I’m done with you,” he whispered, hot breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

She shivered against him. In retaliation, she took his face between her hands and kissed him hard, tilting her hips against him.

“If I’m a beast, then you’re a temptress,” he moaned between two kisses.

She pushed him on the bed. As she placed the bags on the ground, Patrick made short work of his clothes.

Shelagh put her glasses on the nightstand, took her hairclip out and shook her head, hair floating around her face.

“I don’t tell you enough,” Patrick said, voice thick.

“What?”

“That you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled, and pulled her dress over her head. “It’s never too late to begin.” He helped her undress further. Gooseflesh rippled over her arms and legs and breasts. Her nipples pebbled in the freezing air. She shivered, though from cold or want or both, she could not say.

Patrick rubbed her arms and grinned. “It really is cold here,” he said.

She nodded, and buried herself under the blankets, then drew him on top of her. She could hardly imagine that he was cold; his skin burned with desire, as did his eyes.

He kissed her as he slid a hand between her legs.

She moaned, and curved her spine.

“You must be quiet if you don’t want Trixie and Christopher to know what we’re doing,” Patrick whispered in her ear, fingers working their magic.

“They won’t. The wind…”

“Do you think a little winter storm can drown out your lovely voice? No, if you don’t want our neighbours to hear us, you must be quiet, darling.”

“You’re making it very hard,” Shelagh confessed.

“Am I?” he smirked, twisting his fingers in a way that always drove her a little mad with need.

She pressed her mouth against his shoulder to still the moans he drew from her.

“I do love it when you blush,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Patrick, please. I want you,” she whimpered. She spread her legs and folded them around him.

Never one to deny her anything, he obliged. They both groaned with pleasure, then stilled and waited, listening for sounds from the other room.

Trixie said something, causing Christopher to laugh. Their voices continued in soft murmurs, lulling like the sea.

Maybe they were already talking. God knows I wasn’t paying attention.

“Do you think they heard us?” Patrick whispered, kissing the tip of Shelagh’s nose.

“I don’t know,” she said, and rocked her hips. She forgot to listen after that.

They made love slowly, languorously. They took delight in the time they had for the other now. It stretched and stretched in front of them as if it would not end. There were no children that needed them, no patients to tend to. There was only this, and this was bliss.

So much time for Patrick, so much time for myself, feels almost decadent.

Shelagh had to place a hand over Patrick’s mouth to muffle his cry as he came undone, just as she had to place her mouth against his shoulder to still her own sounds.

He rolled them on their sides, and kissed her face. “I can’t remember the last time we did it like this,” he murmured. “It seems as if we must always make love quickly.”

“That’s part of the reason why I wanted us to come away,” Shelagh confessed.

Patrick smiled, and drew circles on her arm. They listened to the wind roar for a little while. The rain fell more regularly now, every drop bursting apart against the unrelenting glass and stone of the hotel.

Shelagh propped herself up on her elbows. “I’m going to brush my teeth and change into my nightgown.”

“No bath?”

“Do you think we’re done already?”

Patrick groaned, and rubbed his eyes. “They don’t tell you this when you marry a younger wife,” he said.

“Is that a complaint?” Shelagh asked, slipping out of bed.

“Quite the opposite.” He stretched, causing his joints to pop. “Shall I go and get us a bottle of wine?”

“We’re not that decadent yet, surely?” she asked, pulling her nightgown over her head. The fabric was cool as it slithered over her skin. She shivered again.

“I do need something to eat if we’re going in for multiple rounds, and I suspect you might like some food, too.” Patrick put his shirt on.

“In that case I’ll brush my teeth later.” Shelagh sat down on the bed again, hugging Patrick from behind. He touched the hand she’d pressed over his heart, stroking her knuckles.

“Do you think the children are all right?” she whispered.

“Of course they are. We’ve left them in the capable hands of several midwives. If they can’t handle them, no one can.”

Shelagh kissed his neck, his ear. “You make them sound like little monsters.”

“They have a beast for a father…” Patrick grinned.

“Hm.” She kissed his temple, smoothed his hair, then let him go. He dressed quickly, gave her a soft kiss, then left the room.

Shelagh pulled the blankets around her, letting her head droop against the pillow. She was delightfully drowsy, but desire still coiled in her belly. She wanted Patrick next to her, touching her.

I always want him.

She flipped on her belly, and drew the novel she was reading from her purse. She pushed her glasses back on her nose. She could read a few pages before he came back. It would help her forget the dull ache of desire unsated.

She’d finished three pages when the lights flickered. Shelagh put the book away and frowned. The wind was still roaring outside, throwing rain against the hotel in furious handfuls. At a particular vicious gust, the lights flickered again, then died.

“Oh no,” she murmured. She put her book away, then tried to find her way to the door. She tripped over her suitcase and cursed very softly, pushing the pink monster out of the way, against the wall. She touched the walls with spread hands till she located the door. The handle was startlingly cold. She opened the door on a crack and peered into the hallway. All was darkness. “Patrick?” No answer.

The cold nestled in her bare feet, rippling over her skin. I’ll slip back into bed, and when I hear something, I’ll go to the door to help Patrick get back in here, she thought.

In room 205, everything was quiet. Maybe Trixie and Christopher had already fallen asleep, and hadn’t noticed that there was no electricity.  

Shelagh sighed contently when a pocket of warmth trapped by the covers enveloped her like a lover’s embrace. She put her glasses away, curled up, and stared at the door. Her eyes were slowly getting used to the darkness. A strip of moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains, flickering in and out of existence as clouds travelled in front of it.

She thought about the little corpse of the moth on the windowsill. If she asked for an empty matchbox at the reception, she could take it back home, and give it to Timothy. It was not as pretty as the dead butterfly he’d given her, but he’d be interested in it regardless. He was such a darling boy.

Almost a grown man now, she thought, a little sadly. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to recall his face when he’d still been a lanky child with a scraped arm and ill-matched clothes. How had time slipped away so fast? He was so much taller than she was nowadays, and no longer pale and sad.

Like Patrick is no longer sad, she thought, and smiled a little. She wiggled out of her nightgown, folding it neatly and placing it on the nightstand. She wanted to be ready for when he got back. How I love him.

She must’ve slept a bit, then, because when she woke, it was because Patrick got into bed next to her.

“Hm,” she said, and slung her arm around him, pressing her mouth against his. “So you’ve found your way back. I hope you brought some food, you beast,” she whispered.

Very softly, the person next to her said, “Shit.”

Shelagh grew cold and afraid.

That doesn’t sound like Patrick.