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macabr3-barbi3 · 5 months

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DoubleTrouble No 1 🖤❤️

Myself and the delightful and talented @fraugwinska have been working on something tasty and present to you: a DoubleTrouble fic!

A single prompt from my Ao3, shared between two writers, one POV each ❤️

I tackled the reader's perspective, and you can find one from Alastor's POV right here! So many thanks for FrauGwinska for being an absolute superstar and working with me through this new and exciting experience <3

We hope you enjoy!

Tags: period sex, cunnilingus, mentions of blood (obviously), rough sex <3

Minors DNI🔞

The Blood is Rare 🩸

The fact that you still had a period in Hell was bullshit, but you suppose they needed to give people something to be miserable about. That was probably why people ended up in the situation you were in now, seated across from Alastor with a deal on the tip of your tongue; sheer desperation, because somehow the cramps were even worse than they had been on Earth and the only thing that helped was a good old fashioned orgasm. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t even consider asking- a lot of demons, except the really-weird-even-for-Hell ones, were still squeamish about blood being involved with any kind of orgasm.

If you were right though. Alastor would relish the opportunity you were about to present to him.

Fresh to the hotel just a few days after your last Hellish period, Alastor had startled you in the kitchen with a knife in your hand. The resulting jump had caused the blade to slip, gash in your thumb bleeding steadily over the apples that you had planned to fry up. Rather than allowing you to fetch a bandage, Alastor had chuckled, said “no need, dear,” and popped your thumb into his mouth. It was probably some ploy of his- strike fear into the hearts of new residents, give them a reminder that he was a cannibal and that he wouldn’t hesitate to eat them if they stepped out of line or caused any issues.

It backfired on him. At the taste of your blood his eyes grew black, staggering away from you with the shock of it, antlers extending so quickly they smashed the glass front of a nearby cabinet and he ended up trapped between the wooden dividers.

“More,” he had snarled, but his antlers stuck in the cabinet had been enough of a delay for you to make an escape.

He apologized, of course, a couple days later, explained his nature as a cannibal, a predator, had reacted before his mind, and that such a thing would not happen again. He had ended the awkward conversation with a statement of, “should you feel the desire to spare some of that tasty treat in your veins, do be a dear and let me know!”

And, well. Here you were. Letting him know. Ready to make a deal with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell to get a little relief from the torture chamber that was your body in ovulation, even when there was nothing to fucking ovulate.

Alastor was tense when he phased into the hotel conference room to meet you as you had asked. His spine is stiff when he settles into the chair across from you, not having been alone in a space since that time in the kitchen. “What is it that I can help you with, my dear?”

“I want to clarify something- do you want to like, eat me?”

“Oh!” Alastor’s eyes widen with his smile. “I wouldn’t have been so blunt about it, darling, but if you’re asking- yes. That little taste that I had a few weeks ago was… inadequate, to say the least. But naturally staying here at the Hotel, Charlie would have been terribly upset had I consumed you.” He flicks his gaze over your form. “Why do you ask? Surely you don’t mean to let me indulge.”

A deep breath as you brace yourself. “Hah, not exactly. But uh, I do have a proposition of sorts for you. In regards to that. Kind of.”

He fades out of sight, rematerializing a couple seats closer to you. “Color me intrigued! What do you have in mind?”

You almost call the whole thing off- then a monster bolt of pain rips through your abdomen, nearly forcing you to double over the table with the ache of it. Any thought of embarrassment or hesitation flies from your head. Alastor is the only one that would be willing to help you in this way, you’re sure of it.

The groan of pain escapes you before you can stop it, and his eyebrows raise. “I have a deal to offer you that would allow you to- um. Sample my blood, if you’re amenable. Once a month.”

His head cocks to the side before his expression clears and he understands what you’re implying. “You’re referring to menstruation?” You nod, face red. “I see. Please provide me with more details of what this proposal would entail on my end then.” His claws are digging into the table, wood splintering beneath them and betraying his interest before even hearing what he would have to do.

“Right. I don’t know if you’re aware or not but periods can be crazy painful. Just on Earth too, but down here they’re basically unbearable when the cramps get bad. One thing that can help is having an orgasm.” You’re trying to resist the urge to hide in some way. You know this is what needs to be done. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course- just, you know. Uh, collecting on your benefit would probably do the trick.”

His eyes narrow. “I see. That is the… service I’m to provide, then?” A nod, flushed face dropped into your hands. “Well, I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to do my best! I’m never one to turn down a challenge- certainly not when the payoff is so enticing.” His eyes go dark, not quite black yet but the air between you changes, antlers going long and jagged. “I’m open to your proposal.”

“I need terms,” you breathe out, pleased that he’s still willing to help with the sexual nature of your request. “I need- just, something confirming that you won’t actually eat me for real. The blood is all that I’m willing to part with- no flesh.”

He sighs, eyes rolling. “Less exciting,” he says with a wave of his hand, “but not a dealbreaker. Anything else?”

“Only once a month- during this time. You can’t just be making me bleed whenever you want.”

“Done.” He’s in the chair next to you then, eyes black, grin so wide it threatens to split his face open, clawed hand held in your direction. “Do we have a deal?”

You take his hand in yours, green light filling the space between you and a screeching feedback sound assaulting your ears. When it fades Alastor is watching with hooded eyes. “Would you like to begin now?”

“Oh God. Uh, if now is a good time for you I guess. If you want to do it now.”

He laughs low and dangerous, his tall frame rising from the chair to tower over you. “Darling, I’ve wanted some semblance of what you’ve proposed for weeks. I’m not a man that makes a habit of denying himself a treat when it’s offered to him so sweetly.”

Your hand is still in his, and there’s a strange pull behind your navel as Alastor yanks you into the shadows with him, rematerializing in his bedroom. “Feel free to sit on the bed,” he offers, gesturing to the mattress and manifesting a large dark towel. “Or lie back- however will be more comfortable for you.”

He releases your hand once you’ve sat, and you stay upright as Alastor sinks to his knees in front of you, fingers coming to the top of your skirt and pulling everything down in one fell swoop, his expression darkening at the scent of you exposed before him before ducking his head. You can’t see what he sees with how close he has already come to your skin, his enlarged antlers blocking your vision, the muscles of his back flexing with the force of his inhale as he breathes you in. A jolt of pain hits you again, deep in your core, and your whimper at the feeling has him bringing his eyes back to your face.

His eyes are hooded and dangerous, feral smile on his face while your fingers dig into the bedsheets. “Feel free to hold on, dear,” he says with a gesture to his antlers, before dipping his head to your bare cunt and slicking his tongue between your folds, angling his head just so to slip into your heat.

You can almost forget that Alastor is only doing this to satisfy some carnal desire of his with the fervent way that he pushes his mouth against you, slick muscle delving deep into you and brushing his nose against the firm nub of your clit. There’s a reverberating rumble as he moans at the taste, clawed fingers coming up to grip at your thighs, spreading them wider so he can get even closer to the source of his obsession. You can feel where he flicks his tongue inside you, brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves with every strong push and pull. The pleasure curls in your gut, keeping the worst of the cramps at bay while your body tenses and releases in rhythm with the demon’s ministrations. Every so often he pulls out, brings what he’s collected back into the haven of his mouth and savors it, eyes closed and his throat rumbling with a satisfied groan.

“You’ve no idea,” he growls, “how I’ve thought of tasting you. Consuming you.” The sharp points of his teeth brush against your clit and your body jolts, hands finally flying up from the bed to clutch at his antlers, grip tight on the tines of them as he looks up at you.

The look on his face is nearly your undoing- more animal than man, and his claws dig into your flesh, tiny pinpricks of pain dragging you forcibly back to the moment. Your orgasm is just out of reach, not enough focus where you need him but you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you ask him for more.

“Fucking divine,” he whispers against you, and when his tongue brushes your sensitive clit with the words you shudder, the motion drawing his gaze to your face, flushed and hot. He smiles wide, expression smug as he leans in and does it purposely this time, licking up your folds and finally focusing where you need him to be. He circles it with purpose, pressure so sweet and sadistic, a light suck making you cry out his name and fist your hands on his antlers.

“Fuck! Alastor, yes, there- oh god, please, more…” He tenses under your hands and you worry for a moment that you’ve done something wrong. Then he’d sliding his hands under your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice sending heat flooding through you, overriding the painful ache of a cramp that tries to make itself known.

“Alastor,” you moan, and his tongue resumes its residence in the tight grip of your cunt, a hand coming up to brush a clawed finger over your clit. He works you quickly, his efforts paying off as your body tenses, invisible string inside you drawing tight and snapping with a force you’ve never felt before. “Alastor- A-” You try to say his name again, hear it come out as as a choked off whimper and a near scream as you reach orgasm, legs tightening on his shoulders and pulling him as closer, your walls clenching down on the length of his tongue before be pulls back and licks you through the remainder of it.

You release your grip on his antlers and fall back against the mattress, eyes closed while Alastor removes his face from between your legs, licking along the tiny pinpricks of blood from his claws before you shoot him a halfhearted glare.

Your abdomen is blissfully absent of any clenching of your internal organs seeking revenge. Sated, you sit up from the mattress to see Alastor still knelt before you, faint lines of dried blood- your dried blood, your brain supplies- around his mouth. He looks like a predator fresh from his kill of the night, antlers jagged and long, eyes still dark and frantic as he looks at you.

“Was that sufficient, darling?”

“God, yes, it was perfect. I- I really appreciate your help.”

“Hmm. Of course. Though I must admit, only part of my… appetite for you has been appeased.” He rises from the floor, knees perched on either side of your thighs now and leaning in. You can smell something metallic on him as he approaches, know that it's your own blood as he stares down into your eyes hovered over you.

“Oh?” You become aware of a hard length pressing into your thigh. “Oh! I didn’t think that was something you would be interested in.”

He shrugs, rolling his hips and hissing at the friction. “Nor did I, dear. That does seem to be a theme with you, though- having a taste and finding that I crave more against my better judgment, against all reason.” He places a hand on your hip and runs his claws along the bare skin. “Would you allow me to help ease your pain once more?”

“God, yes,” you breathe out, “please, Alastor.” He takes a moment to undress, trousers removed along with his boxers before he climbs back over you and presses against the still slick folds of your cunt. He pushes in, hot and hard length opening you up and settling deep inside of you with a harsh exhale of breath against your neck. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

Alastor growls, the sound reverberating through his chest as he thrusts into you. A pulse of arousal shoots through you, the thought of bringing such a well spoken man to his baser instincts, so thoroughly invested in you that he can do little more than snarl like an animal into your skin, pushing you ever closer to the edge again. You’re already soft and sensitive from your first release, the cresting wave of a second hustling towards you.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at the tendon he finds there and moaning. “I could devour you,” he whispers, and you feel yourself clench down on him at the broken crack in his voice. He drags his tongue up the length of your neck, hesitates like he’s trying to savor it. “I could feast on you for centuries and never tire of the taste of your flesh, whether coated in blood or sweat.”

A whimper escapes you as he sucks on the skin of your shoulder, leaving a trail of harsh bruises along the path he takes. A hand comes up to twist into his hair, something to ground yourself, to draw this out as long as possible. Your other hand digs into the flesh of his arm pinning you to the mattress. “Fuck, more, please,” you beg him, and he pulls back from your neck to watch your face twist and contort in pleasure while he slams against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Say my name,” he demands, fingers on your hip digging bruises into the soft skin, his other hand tangled in the bedsheets, tearing them to shreds to avoid sinking his claws into you. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Oh God, Alastor-” You angle your hips, the movement bringing him even deeper into your body, the length of him so sweet and sinfully delicious that a whine escapes your throat before you can think to stop it. “I need- I don’t know, Al, I can’t-”

“You must,” he commands, and he lets go of your hip to slip his hand between your bodies, fingers pressing against the taut skin of your opening where your bodies are joined. The stimulation is foreign and new and has your walls tensing and releasing rhythmically around him, release so close now that you were seeing stars behind your clenched eyes.

“Look at me.” Your lids fly open to meet the sight of Alastor above you, his face contorted in something like pain. “You must,” he says again, fucking into you with vigor now, sweat beading on his forehead. “I need it around me, I have to feel it. Please, darling, give it to me-”

Fuck. How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly? Not that you had any control over it- your body breaks beneath him, cunt wrapped around him like the softest of silk and tightening its grip. Your limbs seem to go numb for a moment, pleasure warping your reality for a few blissful moments, your vision focusing in a tunnel on Alastor’s face before it vanishes, burying once again in the space between your shoulder and neck.

With a final cry of his name he sinks his teeth into you, not tearing back as one might expect but content to simply let them rest there as he spills into you with a broken moan, hips bucking hard and fierce and then easing into something softer as your walls pull and push, wringing every drop from him.

A breath of silence as you both catch your breath, interrupted by a hiss of faint pain as Alastor pulls his teeth from you and licks at the wound he’s created like a satisfied cat. “You promised you wouldn’t try to eat me for real,” you mutter, voice soft from the strength of your cries.

Alastor hums against you, tongue still moving against you. “Hardly my fault.” He’s mouthing greedily at your skin, claws traipsing on the flesh of your hips and roaming wherever he can reach. “You’re delicious,” he groans, taking one final taste of your blood before pulling back and collapsing next to you, “a delicacy. How am I meant to live without this at every moment of the day? I think I shall starve.”

You huff out a laugh, stretching your muscles as well as you can without really moving. “Don’t be dramatic. You get it once a month, at least.” You roll onto your side, ignore the feeling of something slick and wet between your thighs and focus on the fact that your body is limp and pliant and not seeking revenge on you.

“You raise a valid point, my dear.” He throws you a sideways look, his antlers now having returned to their normal size and his ears relaxed against his skull. “Though I’m not at all opposed to repeating this aspect of the experience outside of your… monthly allowance to me. Deals always have room for negotiation, do they not?”

“Let’s get through this one first and then we’ll talk.” You yawn and try to rise from the bed, but an arm from the demon beside you is thrown haphazardly over your waist, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he says, his eyes lidded and peeking at you. “There’s more to come yet, right? May as well stay where we can easily access one another for the duration.” His crimson eyes close the rest of the way and you settle back into the mattress, allowing your body to relax and slip into a peaceful sleep beside him.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #bloodlust <3 #title by Hozier

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soiwj · 3 months

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hiii! i rlly love your arle/reader baker au,,,,it’s so cute ueueue & i had a thought, what if arle got jealous of someone that’s suddenly rlly close & flirts w reader while she’s visiting reader’s bakery or smtg? that’d be a sight to see >:)

but again, thank u for writing such a great fic!

Omg wtf? That is such an amazing prompt i love you literally kiss me?

Jealousy's Delight

jealous!arlecchino x baker!fem!reader

Synopsis: Someone's starting to get a little too fond of our lovely baker, and Arlecchino seems to have a problem with that.

You just woke up, and your hair's a mess as you saunter downstairs to your bakery. It's times like these where you really appreciate living right above it. As you finish prepping all the boxes for Arle to carry, you set up your kitchen like normal, preparing for another day of sitting idly behind your store counter waiting for clients to order.

Although your customer frequencies and ratings have increased since closing a contract with the house of the hearth, it's a blessing and a curse. Not many people want to get involved with the fatui, but some people get curious and actually end up liking the sweets.

Normally, Arle tends to be a bit early when picking up the boxes, leaving right when your bakery opens, but today, it seems she's a bit delayed. Nevertheless, you set the baby pink boxes aside as you flip the open hanging on your glass door towards the open world.

After half an hour, the bakery is scarcely filled with a few people. Margret, sitting in the corner enjoying her croissant with a cup of tea and a surprisingly hard crossword puzzle. Judonte, another local, sitting in one of the couches enjoying his coff-

"..hello?" You hear an energetic voice tear you out of your thoughts.

"O-oh hello! Sorry, it's still morning, haha. What can I get ya?" You quickly recover from your slacking. Wouldn't want the new customer to be on your ass for not working hard enough. Weirdly enough, you don't recognize this one. His dark blue hair falls slightly over his forhead as his bright green eyes stare straight into your soul. "Wait, I haven't seen you before. Are you new in town?"

He looks confused yet pleased at your question. "Yes actually, I just moved here from Liyue. It's quite a contrast between here and there." He grins at you before looking behind you at the menu.

"Hmm, let me see, you have quite a lot of options. Are you the only one working today?" You look at him, slightly confused. "Oh no, I'm the only one that works here. I'm the bakeries owner." His face is painted with a surprised look as he slips back into his ever-confident demeanor.

"Wow, you set this place up all by yourself? You must be quite the talented lady." He smirks as he takes a swift look at the show-pasteries before turning back to you. "I must say, this croissant looks really delicious, but that's not the only sweet treat in here." He winks as he delivers his line almost theatrically, straight out of romeo and juliette.

"Well yeah its a bakery, we have more than just a singular tasty snack, haha." That pick-up line flew right past your head straight into his ego, oh my.

"Haha, I guess you're right. Maybe we could get coffee sometime?-"

"I'm afraid she won't have the time." The white and black haired woman says while gripping the mans shoulder. Tightly.

"And who are you to decide that for her?" The man looks into her eyes, defiantly. Not knowing that he just signed his death sentence. Everyone present is looking at him now.

Yet you are as oblivious as ever.

"Oh good morning, Arle! Let me get the boxes. Hold on." You excuse yourself as you leave them for a couple of minutes. When you come back, however, the previously defiant young man has turned into a scared shell of himself with the social potency of a wet napkin. You don't know what Arle said to him. And maybe you don't want to find out.

He quickly fumbles out apologies to you and Arle as he runs off.

"Huh, why'd he leave? I thought he was gonna order?" She looks at you with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Some people are just a bit eccentric."

Arle doesn't mind a little competition, but ones as pathetic as this one shouldn't even get the chance.

But Arlecchino is also a fair woman. So, for driving away a customer, she's given you a hefty tip for today's delivery. It's not like she wasn't planning on doing that already.

Its kind of short so im sorry about that but i really liked writing this one! Again thank you so much for the request!

#x reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin #i love arlecchino #arlecchino #genshin #genshin impact #baker #fem!reader #fem reader #female reader #i love women (maybe a bit too much)

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sydsaint · 7 months

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Protective Solo owns my heart <3

Summary: the reader is Nick's assistant who finds herself in Logan Paul's line of sight. Much to her dismay. Lucky for her, Solo Sikoa seems to have a soft spot for her.

Smackdown is well into its program on a usual Friday night. You've been tentatively seeing to all GM Nick Aldis' needs as his assistant.

"YN!" Aldis catches your attention with a shout as he's looking down at his phone.

"Yes, sir?" You answer his prompt with enthusiasm.

Nick glances up from his phone and nods out toward the locker room area. "Could you please go and fetch Paul Heyman for me?" He asks you. "And Solo as well."

"Sure." You nod. "Can I ask what for? Just in case they ask?" You ask him.

"Just a meeting," Nick replies vaguely.

You nod and take off for Roman's spacious locker room. You come up on the door with 'The Bloodline' scrawled across the door. You knock briskly on the wood and wait for an answer.

A few seconds later, Jimmy Uso cracks the door open and peers down at you. "What do you want, shortie?" Jimmy wastes no time in confronting you.

"Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain. "May I come in?" You ask him politely.

Jimmy narrows his eyes at you and glances around the empty space behind you cautiously. He glances back down at you one more time before he begrudgingly steps back from the door and lets you inside.

"Thank you." You nod at Jimmy and step through the door. "Excuse me, sorry to bother you, Roman." You turn your attention to Roman lounging in his chair. "Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain.

"What for?" Roman quirks a brow at you.

You bite the inside of your lip, wishing that Nick had just explained what his intentions were with Solo and Paul. "I'm sorry, he just said it was for a meeting." You explain sheepishly.

Roman's jaw twitches and you watch him beckon Paul over to his side with the subtle flick of his wrist. You remain by the door and watch Paul and Roman whisper to one another for a moment before they both turn back to you.

"Take Solo with you." Roman turns to Solo and nods in your direction. "Paul will join you in a few minutes."

"Oh, okay." You nod and glance at Solo standing stoicly on the other side of the room.

Without a word, Solo stalks over to you and waits for you to leave. You offer Roman a small smile and turn around back to the door.

Solo reaches over you and pulls open the door. You nod at him in thanks and step out into the hall. Solo follows and shuts the locker room door behind him. You wait for the door to shut before starting your journey down the hall silently.

You've been working for Nick for a few months now as his assistant. Roman and The Bloodline have been a nuisance for Nick since he took the job, and you as well. But there's just something about Solo that draws you to him. Despite his stoic nature.

"Sorry to take you away from Roman so randomly." You attempt to make small talk while you walk.

"Don't worry about it." Solo replies dryly.

You nod and continue on the journey back to Nick's office. You get to the door and Solo once again steps ahead of you and grabs the door for you. "Thank you, Solo." You offer him a thankful smile.

Solo nods and you head inside the office. "I have Solo here, Mr. Aldis. Paul will be joining us shortly." You inform Aldis before stepping back over to your desk.

Nick beckons Solo over to his desk and you busy yourself with work while the pair chat. Paul shows up a few minutes later and comes over to your desk.

"Miss LN." Paul greets you. "Sorry for the delay." He offers you an apology.

"No problem, Paul." You reply. "Mister Aldis will see you now. He's with Solo chatting at his desk." You nod toward the boss's desk.

Paul heads over to Nick's desk and you once again get back to your work. A few minutes later Paul and Solo whisper to one another for a moment before Paul points over to you subtly. Solo nods and walks over to your desk.

"Is there something you need, Solo?" You look up from your work at Sikoa.

"Nah." Solo shakes his head.

You nod and Solo remains posted up by the side of your desk. Paul and Nick remain at Nick's desk chatting about something or other.

A few minutes later, the office door swings open and Logan Paul comes sauntering in with a self-entitled smile plastered on his face. "YN!" Logan walks over to you, making a note to ignore Solo. "How's it going beautiful?" He asks you.

"Logan." You reply dryly. "Mister Aldis is busy at the moment." You warn him.

"Fine with me." Logan leans over to your desk. "I came by to talk with you." He winks at you.

Your jaw twitches in annoyance at Logan's advances. Solo catches the subtle gesture and eyes Logan out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm a little busy, Logan. Sorry." You attempt to politely get him away from you.

"No trouble, babe." Logan shrugs. "I can wait." He continues to lean against your desk.

You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your palm. Next to your desk, Solo matches your sigh. You watch from the corner of your eye as he uncrosses his arms and steps up to Logan.

"You can go ahead and leave." Solo sizes up Logan. "Now." He stares at Paul with a no-nonsense look.

Logan laughs and turns to Solo but second-guesses himself when he sees the look on Solo's face. Logan backs off and glances at you one more time before he scoffs and exits the office.

"Thanks for that." You turn to Solo after Logan slams the office door.

"He come by often?" Solo leans back next to your desk and crosses his arms over his chest again.

You nod, recalling all the times you've had to put up with Logan meandering around the office when you're trying to work. "Only when he's bored." You answer Solo. "Which just happens to be almost always." You snark.

Paul and Nick finish up their conversation so you don't catch the flare in Solo's nostrils. Paul walks over to your desk and collects Solo before both of them head out.

Nick walks over to your desk after the pair have gone with papers in his hand and questions ready to fire at you. "Did I hear Logan Paul in here a minute ago?" He asks you.

"Mhm." You hold your hands out to receive Nick's papers. "Sikoa scared him off." You muse. "What are those for?"

"Just some copies I need to be made up," Nick replies. "I really should have a talk with our United States champion about his manners." He sighs to himself.

You nod and take the papers. Nick walks off back to his desk and you neatly put the papers into a pile before taking them over to the copier in the other room.

It takes you around 15 minutes to make all the copies that Nick needs. When you come back into the office Nick is talking in a rushed and concerned tone with a couple of the security staff.

"Is there something going on, sir?" You drop the papers at your desk and hurry over to Nick's.

"It seems that Mister Sikoa has decided to teach our US champ some manners himself." Nick turns to you. "The pair were just separated after getting into a brawl backstage." He explains.

Your eyes widen in surprise at Nick's explanation. "Oh." Is the only reply you can muster.

"I'll go have a chat with Mr. Paul," Nick adds. "I trust that you can handle speaking with Mr. Sikoa?" He asks you.

"Of course, sir." You nod. "What would you like me to tell him?" You ask.

Nick bobs his head in thought for a moment before he answers you. "Just please let Mr. Sikoa know that he cannot go around assaulting people backstage. Especially champions." He informs you.

You nod and head off to the trainer's room that they've got Solo waiting in. You nod to the security officers at the door and they let you in.

Inside the trainer's room, Solo is being treated for a minor cut to the eyebrow from the fight. You walk over to him and dismiss the trainer cleaning up his cut.

"That cut looks like it stings." You comment.

"It's fine," Solo replies.

You nod and bounce on your feet, unsure of what to say. "Can I ask who started the fight?" You ask him.

"I started it," Solo replies plainly. "And ended it." He adds.

"Right." You nod. "And can I ask why?"

Solo looks at you through the blood trickling down his face. But he doesn't have to say anything to answer your question. "Yeah...I know why." You bite the inside of your lip. "But you didn't need to. I don't need any help in dealing with Logan Paul." You insist.

"Kind of seems like you did," Solo replies, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I-" You take notice of the smile he's trying to hide. "Okay!" You stifle a laugh but not the amused smile on your face. "Thank you, again, Solo." You thank him in a whisper. "Clean him up and then he's free to go." You turn back to the trainers. "Don't let it happen again, Mister Sikoa!" You glance at him and raise your voice.

Solo nods at your raised tone. "Yes, ma'am."

You exit the trainer room and head back to the office with an amused smile on your face. When you get back Nick is already back from his chest with Logan.

"I presume that your conversation with Mister Sikoa went well?" Nick asks you.

"It did." You nod and sit back down at your desk. "I don't think that this will be happening again." You assure him.

Nick nods and sits back down at his desk ad well. "Yes, I don't think so as well." He agrees with a knowing smile.

#wrestling #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fic #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fic #wwe x reader #solo sikoa #solo sikoa x reader #the bloodline x reader #syd's wrestling fics

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changbinsboiledegg · 11 months

Note

Hi!! I love your writing and I was wondering if you could do skz reactions to another member walking in on them and their gf doing the dirty? 😅

lmao sure anon. Digital footprint go brrr (thank you for the request ily 🫶)

Fem! Reader X SKZ. MDNI. MDNI. MDNI.

Warnings: Smut, ofc. Kinda explicit?, Unprotected or protected seggs, I didn't specify, swearing, implied vaginal, edging, cum mentions???, Overstimulation, teasing. Am I forgetting any?

Note: I'm not very good with smut BUT this is just a reaction post. I can do better probably. Also, I included some humorous shit because I got nervous. lol. Hope y'all enjoy :)

MDNI!!! Also if smut makes you uncomfy, pls skip (obviously).

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Chan

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle it anymore, baby girl?” Chan teased, pinning you down against the bed as he snapped his hips into yours, eliciting a loud moan that became muffled when he moved a hand over your mouth.

You were almost on the ledge of release and he as well.

You almost didn’t notice the door opening in the midst of all of the pleasure between you two.

“Oh my god!”

You and Chan both ceased any form of intimacy and quickly scrambled to cover yourselves as Jeongin covered his eyes and turned around.

“Jesus, Jeongin! What do you want?!” Chan sounded frustrated at being interrupted.

“I heard a cry, I thought something was wrong!” Jeongin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Chan glanced at you, then back at Jeongin.

“Please, just… get out for a while…”

With that, Jeongin left without a second prompt.

Lee Know

Minho was teasing the entire time as you begged for him to just insert himself inside of you.

And he did. Slowly guiding himself into your wetness, thrusting once, and then pulling out. You whined, beginning to get frustrated. Minho smirked at this, rubbing the tip against your aching clit.

“Fucking hell! Just please—“

“Hey, Minho! Do you still have my—“ Jisung stopped, immediately going wide eyed and dropping his phone.

“I’m so sorry! I just— I didn’t see anything! Promise!” Jisung frantically apologized, leaving the room.

You exchanged an embarrassed glance with Minho, frozen in place before Jisung came in again, his hand over his eyes as he fumbled for his phone.

“Saw nothing! Just getting my phone!”

Changbin

You already came— twice. But Changbin had no mercy. He loved seeing you cum.

And he wanted to make you cum again.

“You can do it. I know you can.” Changbin gently spread your clenched thighs open again as they shook from your previous orgasm.

“Fuck, Changbin—“ You squirmed, gripping the bed sheets as he positioned himself over your entrance.

“Say the safe word and I will stop.” Changbin cooed, waiting for a response.

However, you didn’t say anything. You wanted to cum again. Right as he slid himself inside of you again, the door swung open.

“Oh.” It took Seungmin a few seconds to process what was going on. Seeing you quivering was enough to make him instantly leave the room, forgetting to shut the door in his embarrassment.

You looked at Changbin and said the safe word.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was gentle every step of the way from the moment you started. He made sure not to grip your hips too tight or thrust too fast or hard unless you asked.

But you hadn’t asked, wanting it to be just as special as he did.

“You’re so pretty like this.” Hyunjin breathlessly complimented you, meaning every word he said. You stifled back a moan, knowing you needed to be quiet during this, especially since the other members were still there, lingering.

You squeezed your eyes shut, on the brink of orgasm but it was delayed and stopped when Hyunjin frantically got off and covered both of you up.

You almost took the blanket off before realizing Felix was standing in the doorway, hand covering his mouth.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, a bit irritated.

“You act like you’ve never seen two people have—“

“I’m leaving! I am leaving!” Felix cut him off, shutting the door behind him but accidentally slamming it in the process.

“Sorry!” His faint voice called back through the door.

Han

It was your first time with him, although it was a little awkward at first, the more you explored each others bodies, the more comfortable you got with each other.

“I love you.” Jisung whispered in your ear, guiding your hips as you rode him on the edge of the bed. You bit your lip to muffle the moans that left your mouth, feeling your legs shaking the longer you rode.

“I love you too.” You managed to gasp out. Jisung smiled breathlessly before pressing his lips against your neck, softly sucking on the skin between his lips.

You quietly whimpered and gasped, feeling yourself letting go.

“Seriously? Now? Come on!” Minho’s voice halted you to a stop as you widened your eyes, not wanting to look back at him.

“Privacy please!” Jisung stammered out, grabbing a pillow and attempted to cover your backside with it. Minho was already on his way out, pausing at the door.

“You better be using protection!” Then he left. You and Jisung were horrified for a few seconds before laughing off the embarrassment.

Felix

“I am all yours tonight.” Felix leaned back, watching you as you undressed yourself. You walked over to him, straddling him with a smirk.

“And I, am all yours.” You gently pushed him to where he was flat on his back. You leaned down to kiss him, slow at first, then each kiss after progressively became more and more desperate as you helped him undress as well.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Felix mumbled, taking in a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to see you be the one to take control. You kissed his jaw and down to his neck as he worked his fingers around the clasp of your bra.

You helped him, momentarily pausing and tossing it to the floor beside the bed. Felix’ hands roamed your body, grasping and rubbing any part he could reach before rolling you on your back and spreading your legs apart.

You turned your head, seeing Hyunjin walking in. He didn’t seem to notice you and Felix until his eyes landed on your bra.

“Hyunjin?” You muttered, feeling the panic set in. Felix didn’t see him yet, being more focused on you.

“Hyunjin? What does he—”

Hyunjin gasped loudly and quickly rushed outside of the room, causing Felix’ head to snap in his direction.

“Oh my god!”

Seungmin

His hands roamed your chest, trailing down to your stomach and stopping on your thighs, rubbing his hands against them as his lips were pressed to your neck. Seungmin’s hands inched up towards the top of your thighs before maneuvering a hand between your legs, feeling the damp cloth.

“Already?” Seungmin teased, his breath was warm against your neck as you softly moaned, slightly bucking your hips against his hand.

Seungmin pulled his face back, glancing down, then into your eyes. “Wet and needy. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

You whined, throwing your head back. “I am needy! I need you now!”

You didn’t say anything in specific, but he knew what you meant. Seungmin smirked, pulling the cloth down your thighs, taking them off and exposing to him just how wet you were.

On instinct, you parted your legs and leaned back on your elbows as Seungmin placed his hand back where it was, only this time there wasn’t a barrier.

“More?”

“Seung—”

A scream erupted, coming from the doorway where a shocked Changbin stood. His scream was so loud that you scream as well, startled as you closed your legs together. Seungmin got up to block you, still dressed, unlike you.

“Changbin, what the hell?”

Changbin quickly turned around, mumbling to himself as he shut the door behind him.

I.N

Jeongin hovered over you, both of you still dressed, but just as needy for each other as you made out on the couch. Your lips messily clashed with his as his hand made it’s way up your shirt and towards your the hem of your bra.

Your hand moved down his chest and stopping on his stomach while your other hand gripped the back of his shoulder. He began to grind his hips against yours when you wrapped your legs around his waist.

The other members were outside and weren’t expected to be back inside for another hour. Jeongin wasn’t particularly worried about getting caught as long as he— and you, were quiet and quick.

You lifted his shirt to remove it. Jeongin removed his lips from yours momentarily and sat up, helping you remove it. He then did the same to you, removing your shirt and leaving you in your bra.

Right as he was about to press his lips against yours again, the sound of collective chattering interrupted you both and soon the whole group entered. No one was prepared for what they just saw.

You and Jeongin scrambled for your shirts, slipping them back on.

“Oh my god! That’s what the rooms are for!” Chan’s eyes were glued to the floor. In fact, none of the other members were actually looking at you and Jeongin.

They were as flushed as you were, only slightly less.

“On the couch too?” Minho sighed as Jeongin ran to his room, pulling you with him.

Before the door closed, you heard Hyunjin say, “Guess we have to get the couch cleaned again.”

Note 2: Does nobody know how to lock a door???? be so fucking fr now. LMAO

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids reactions #skz x reader #skz reactions #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios

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fuckyeahlabynight · 5 months

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Fang Fest 2024

EDIT: Apologies! The first image I made for this had the date wrong. it's fixed now, so please reblog this version. Thank you!

Hello Tumblr Vamily! first of all, thank you to those who participated in the Fang Fest poll(s) I posted. I read all your tags and comments and I decided to go ahead with this year's Vampire the Masquerade Fang Fest!

This year’s theme is “Tarot.” These prompts are intended to inspire fanart, fanfic, and other pieces of fanwork. Anything you wish to create and share with the vamily is very greatly appreciated!

The Fang Fest will run from June 1 - 22, 2024.

Each day, starting with The Fool on June 1 and finishing with The World on June 22, post whatever fan work you've made inspired by the Tarot card prompt (eg. art, fic, gifs, poetry, music playlists, mood boards, whatever). Please include the hashtag #vtmfangfest24 so they can all be collected here. I know there are a lot of prompts this year compared to past years, and if you can't think of anything for a particular prompt, or are otherwise unable to finish, it's perfectly fine to skip it.

Those who are not taking part in making fan work are encouraged to like, comment on, give kudos, and share their favourites! Collaboration is also encouraged, so reach out to your fellow Kindred and see what you can come up with!

Another list of the prompts and their general meanings will be available under the cut. See y'all in June!

The Fool Innocence, spontaneity, free spirits, new beginnings, (reversed) recklessness, taking foolish risks, being held back.

The Magician Being resourceful, inspiration, manifesting plans, (reversed) poor planning, manipulation.

The High Priestess Intuition, divine femininity, sacred knowledge, (reversed) keeping secrets, withdrawing, being silent when your voice should be heard.

The Empress Femininity, beauty, abundance, (reversed) over-reliance on others, suffering creative block.

The Emperor Authority, father figures, structure, (reversed) domination, excessive control, lack of discipline.

The Hierophant Spiritual wisdom and beliefs, traditions, established institutions, (reversed) freedom and challenging the status quo.

The Lovers Love, harmony, relationships (romantic or otherwise, but usually romantic), your values aligning with others', (reversed) disharmony, arguments, hatred.

The Chariot Taking action, success, willpower, being in control, (reversed) lack of direction, opposition.

Strength Courage, compassion, persuasion, (reversed) self-doubt, low energy.

The Hermit Soul-searching, introspection, being alone in a positive way, (reversed) unwanted isolation, withdrawing, loneliness.

Wheel of Fortune Karma, good luck, destiny, a turning point in your life, (reversed) bad luck, resistance to change, cycles breaking.

Justice Fairness, truth, cause and effect, (reversed) unfairness, not taking accountability, dishonesty.

The Hanged Man Surrendering, letting go, considering new perspectives, (reversed) stalling, delays, indecision.

Death Endings, unstoppable change, transformation, (reversed) resistance to change, unwanted purging.

Temperance Balance, moderation, patience, (reversed) imbalance, excess, needing self-care.

The Devil Addiction, who you are when no-one is watching, sexuality, (reversed) releasing limiting beliefs, exploring your dark side safely.

The Tower Sudden change, chaos, upheaval, (reversed) personal transformation, averting disaster.

The Star Hope, faith, purpose, renewal, (reversed) despair, losing faith, disconnection.

The Moon Illusions, anxiety, intuition, (reversed) letting go of fears and repressed emotions, inner confusion.

The Sun Positivity, fun, warmth, success, (reversed) disappointment, toxic positivity, overly optimistic.

Judgement Rebirth, retribution, (reversed) self-doubts, ignoring opportunities.

The World Completion, accomplishments, travel, (reversed) short-cuts, delays, not yet finding closure.

#la by night #ny by night #vtmfangfest24 #vampire the masquerade #tarot

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one-piece-aus · 1 month

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Hi there! I’m glad you’re still doing Whumptober, so I’m here again to get my annual dose. (hope you’re doing good too!)

May I ask for Day 23 & Trafalgar Law? I’ll leave it up to you if you’d prefer to write it yandere or not. Thanks in advance and may you have a lot of fun with this year’s prompts! 💙🌹

Of course! My apologies for the delay Michelle, and I do hope you enjoy the story ^-^

Whumptober Day 23

Yandere Trafalgar Law x Reader

"Father's a fool if he thinks I'm going to marry," you mutter under your breath as you tread carefully through the woods. Holding up the lantern, your path can be seen even in the dark of the night. "Hopefully I can get far enough so they can't find me when they notice I'm missing in the morning."

"So who can't find you?"

"AH!" You jump, startled by the male voice. You wave your lantern, trying to find the source. "Who's there?"

Blast, here you were fleeing through the woods in the middle of the night, escaping the arranged marriage your family set up for you, and someone already discovered you. Dread weighed your thoughts of being dragged back home. Frustration clenched your jaw.

"Show yourself!" If you were going to be taken back, you'd at least like to know who to resent.

"I'm right here, [Y/n]-ya." The male's voice purrs right in your ear.

You flinch, turning around and raising the lantern, highlighting the ravenet man. Silver and gold eyes shine as they peer down at you. Stepping back to properly gander at the tall man, you notice the strange circular golden earrings and the carefully trimmed & small beard (goatee).

"Wait... you're the doctor by the outskirts of the town."

"Dr. Trafalgar." He bowed in greeting. "Though I've been your family's doctor for a long time now, you may call me Law."

"Law... right," you said averting your eyes and moving the lantern away from your face so he doesn't see the blush forming around your cheeks. Oh, how you wish your heart didn't flutter so much when looking at his face.

"What are you doing out here at night?"

"I- I was just about to ask you the same," you said, unsure if he was here because of your family.

"Me? I'm just out here collecting a few herbs. A few... patients of mine have gotten sick. I need to cure them from everything."

"O-oh... I see." You wanted to question further, like 'Why would he collect herbs at night?' Alas, you held in your tongue in hopes he would do the same. "I'm- I'm running away. I need to get far enough or else it's gonna get me by the end of the night."

Law hummed in a tone that sounded pleased, perhaps your ears are playing tricks on you. He places a hand on your shoulder, smiling down at you. "If you need a place to stay, [Y/n]-ya, I have a place suited to your needs."

"...You won't tell my family will you?"

"Not to worry, [Y/n]-ya. It'll be doctor-patient confidentiality."

And just like that, you're in his arms, thanking him. He places the herbs he collected into his bag and begins escorting you away to his place. You're not aware the herbs he was collecting were nightshade, unaware of the plague doctor mask he has at his hip, and unaware you made his job of taking you all too easy.

His darling won't have to worry about being found, by tomorrow, there will be no one looking for his darling.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon

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bumblebyweek-blog · 7 months

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On this day we're happy to present…

Bumbleby Week 2024's prompt list!

Day 1, March 25th: Bumblebaby Day 2, March 26th: Jock & Nerd AU Day 3, March 27th: Soulmates/ Reincarnation Day 4, March 28th: Nomad Blake & Farm Girl Yang Day 5, March 29th: Evil Yang/ Blake (or both) Day 6, March 30th: Comfort Day 7, March 31th: AU Day Day 8, April 1st: Bonus/ VA Appreciation Day

Thank you to everyone who submitted their prompt suggestions and voted!

The official tags for this year will be #bumblebyweek and #bumblebyweek2024 ! We'll be making another post concerning the tags once the date nears, but for now know that those will be the main tags that we'll be using during the event in order to reblog and share what's made!

If there are any questions feel free to read our Q&A or send us an ask! We apologize for the delayed announcement and thank y'all for all of your support and participation! We can't see what you'll make this year!

See y'all then!

#bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumblebyweek #bumblebyweek2024 #bumbleby week #bumbleby week 2024 #bmblbweek #bmblb week #announcement #prompts

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doumadono · 1 year

Note

omg congrats on 3k!! I’ve been stalking you since 1k LOL. Here is my request meheheheh

Prompts 19 (pulling on their hair) and “you taste like Heaven”

Sub F!reader x dom obanai and switch Mitsuri

A short fic would be preferred💜💜

I’ve always loved the read x Mitsuri x obanai trope it’s legit my fav. and YK receiving oral always makes me giddy when I read about it heheh. You can do more than just that as well, I know you are super creative so feel free to have fun with it 💜

Warnings: f!reader, cunnilingus, blowjob, hair pulling, smut w/o plot, rough p in v, threesome Synopsis: Obanai and Kanroji share the intimate time with you A/N: Thank you for your congratulations, and I apologize for the delay in fulfilling your request. This one was quite challenging, being my first attempt at writing a F/F/M threesome. I'm uncertain about the outcome, but I hope you'll still enjoy this story! ♥

MASTERLIST

Smack! Smack! Smack! The spanks came fast.

You were already aware of your own arousal by its distinct scent filling the air. Following Iguro's cessation of swatting your ass, a wave of sensation surged through your core. Your cunt responded with subtle tingles, a subtle yet electrifying reminder of the previous touch. In a sudden motion, a duo of fingers delved inside you, sending a shockwave of surprise coursing through you. The moistness that had gathered around them emitted a soft squelching sound as they withdrew.

Caught in a gasp of astonishment, Mitsuri momentarily froze, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity as she observed Obanai's action of displaying your arousal on his extended fingers. "You express the desire to engage in intimate activity with my apprentice, yet your knowledge of how to truly satisfy her remains incomplete," Iguro's words carried a hint of reproach as he addressed Kanroji. "For some of us, finding pleasure in being dominated or embracing a submissive role under someone's authority is an intrinsic aspect, isn't that right, Y/N?"

You opened your mouth to speak but your insistent jitters and humiliation fastened your throat. A rush coursed through you when Iguro spanked you. Soon, he ordered you up.

Rising to your feet, Iguro took charge, guiding your cotton white panties down until they were completely removed. With unquestioning obedience, you gracefully stepped out of them. Your gaze descended to the smooth wooden floor beneath you, your hands exhibiting a telltale sheen of perspiration as they clenched together, all the while your anticipation was palpable, giving rise to tremors that coursed through you.

In a tone that brooked no argument, the raven-haired man issued his command, "Recline onto your back."

You collapsed to the bed, scooted back, and rested on a pillow. Its softness like a cloud quelled your tattered spirits temporarily and the satin massaged your sore behind. You kept your legs closed. You couldn't look at Mitsuri after being punished in front of her. All you did was sniffle and wallow in your petrification.

As he lowered his pants, his white briefs came into view, showcasing a semi-hard erection. With deliberate movements, his hands glided along his chiseled thighs before coming to rest on his engorged state. The sensation was palpable as he firmly pressed against himself through the fabric of his briefs, a display of anticipation and desire painted on his face.

"Step closer, Mitsuri," he enticed with encouragement. "And you, Y/N, part your legs for us. Is that perfectly clear?"

Without hesitation, you promptly obeyed his directive, promptly aligning your actions with his desires.

He lowered his underwear to release his manhood and the lack of restriction caused it to spring upright, a pearl of precum already formet on the reddened tip.

After disrobing, Mitsuri gracefully joined them on the bed, her attire now discarded, revealing her generously proportioned and plush bosom. With a deliberate touch, she wrapped her fingers around the base of Iguro's shaft, her grasp both tender and deliberate as she began a gradual upward motion. Her progress was unhurried, moving in tandem with the rhythm of anticipation that hung in the air. As her hand traveled back toward his curly black pubic hair, a sharp inhalation escaped Iguro's lips, his reaction reflecting the intensity of the sensation. Her ministrations then shifted to his swollen bell-shaped head, her fingers working in a massage that elicited a subdued grunt from the man.

A fleeting instinct prompted you to avert your gaze, yet Mitsuri's decisive pull redirected your attention. "I want you to watch," Kanroji's voice held a tone of command as she insisted, her intent clear.

In this charged moment, Mitsuri's actions compelled you to look on, despite any initial reluctance.

"Yes, ma'am…" disbelief tinged your words as you grappled with the surreal reality unfolding before you. The desire to be the first to pleasure Obanai in that particular manner had been an explicit topic of discussion. As you directed your attention toward Kanroji, who was on the verge of enacting that desire, a complex blend of emotions surged within you – a mixture of curiosity and an unexpected sense of unease.

With a mix of emotions, you observed as Mitsuri took command of his arousal. Steadying his length at the base, she poised herself above it, her determination palpable. As she gradually descended, her mouth enveloped him, swallowing the majority of his impressive size. Her lips molded around the erection, her movements deliberate as she ascended to the sensitive ridge. Her technique was an intricate dance of flicking and swirling, all the while her lips maintained a fervent connection with his hardness. A daring dip brought her closer to his testicles. Repeating the motion, she traced her lips along his length, only to descend once more.

You shifted your gaze toward your sensei, a shy but knowing smile gracing your features. His physical reactions were unmistakable: eyes fluttering closed, lips parting in sheer pleasure. The grasp of his hand in Kanroji's hair, guiding her rhythm, underscored his appreciation for how adeptly she accommodated him. The intensity of the moment was undeniable as he praised her through wordless actions, his hips moving in tandem with the sensations that consumed him.

Mitsuri skillfully coated him with a delicate drizzle of saliva, her intent evident as she seamlessly integrated it into her motions, her hand moving rhythmically along his length in a jacking motion. As Obanai's desire surged, his fingers found purchase on one of your calves, his touch a testament to his unspoken appreciation. The sensation elicited a soft, unrestrained moan from him, the sound an embodiment of the pleasure that enveloped him.

Undeterred, Mitsuri embraced him once more, her actions punctuated by the occasional gag as his tip brushed against the depths of her throat. The intensity of her approach was undeniable as she sucked with increased vigor, her movements embodying both urgency and a desire to fulfill his every need. Her lips gleamed with a sheen of glistening saliva. With a measured shift, she directed her focus toward his lower regions, her face nestling between his thighs. A sweeping motion across his sac followed, her touch deliberate and thorough. And then, a daring yet calculated move: she focused her attention on his testicles, drawing them into her mouth through the fleshy barrier.

Obanai cursed loudly under his breath. "Fuck you, Kanroji, you're doing a good job."

After a while, Obanai gently withdrew Mitsuri from his rock-hard cock, his focus now shifting towards you. Leaning in, he bestowed a series of tender nibbles upon your skin, each touch igniting a trail of sensation. His attention then centered on your nipple. With a skillful swirl of his tongue, he traced intricate patterns around the textured peach-hued areola, a deliberate touch that set your senses ablaze. As he drew nearer to the peak, his bite was both calculated and bold, a mingling of pressure and pleasure that elicited an involuntary reaction from you. The intensity of the sensation was undeniable – your toes instinctively curled, and a sudden, unrestrained shriek escaped your lips in response to the electrifying mixture of pleasure and surprise.

Simultaneously, Mitsuri's touch continued to envelop you. Her hand tenderly cupped the other breast. Your reaction was immediate – a subtle freeze that soon gave way to a sensation that sent shivers down your spine. With a delicate nibble upon your nipple, she invoked a soft response from you. "Ooowww, yeah," you murmured.

Her tongue, a vessel of gentle yet deliberate exploration, began to work its magic. Each repeated dart of her tongue against your nipple carried a touch that was both comforting and arousing. The rhythmic pattern of her ministrations coaxed a quiet sigh from your lips, a sound that bore the weight of both relief and an escalating sense of desire.

Both Kanroji and Obanai continued to please you.

Obanai's hand ventured downward, navigating your body with a deliberate touch. His fingers seamlessly found their way between your slightly parted legs, where your heightened state had already caused your clitoris to swell with anticipation. With a gentle yet purposeful touch, he began to toy with your sensitive bud, each stroke sending a cascade of electrifying sensations throughout your being, leaving you moaning.

"You need to eat her out now. She's already wet and you need to give it to her really well," Obanai commanded, looking at Mitsuri who gave a brief nod.

Mitsuri positioned herself between your legs, her focus intent on the task at hand. With a deft movement, she swiped across your folds, your arousal evident in the cream-like spots that adorned your skin. A sudden and unrestrained squeal escaped your lips as the unexpected touch sent a jolt of sensation through you. Mitsuri's touch, however, was not invasive but rather intricate. She dabbed at your delicate pussy lips, her strokes a blend of tenderness and purpose. Like savoring the last remnants of flavor from the bottom of a bowl of ramen, Mitsuri's attention became all-consuming, a sensation that caused your chest to rise and fall in rapid succession. The intensity of the experience prompted you to move, your body thrashing as the waves of pleasure coursed through you. Mitsuri's slow, deliberate licks graced your pussy, a soft hum escaping her lips as she relished the exquisite taste of your juices coating her tongue.

Simultaneously, Obanai closed the distance, his hand entwining in your hair as he guided your lips onto his dick. His firm grasp directed your movements, and he slipped his shaft into the tightness of your throat. He kneaded one of your breasts and pinched a nipple.

In short order, Obanai instructed Mitsuri to recline with her legs parted, and then turned his attention to you, directing you to pleasure her.

Following his command, you situated yourself between her legs, settling comfortably on your stomach.

Obanai's strong arm slid beneath your lower abdomen, gently lifting your hips upwards. Positioned behind you, he held his manhood in hand, effortlessly guiding himself into your velvet core. The connection was established with ease, and a prolonged cry of pleasure escaped your lips as the sensation enveloped you. "Oh my Gosh!"

He pushed forward, entering your yearning pussy until his entire cock was nestled within. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight for me, little one," Iguro praised. His pace intensified, the force of his movements sending ripples through the bed, teetering on the edge of collapse. Beads of sweat fell onto your jiggling ass, his glistening skin illuminated by the faint light seeping through the curtains. As you glanced over your shoulder, you witnessed Iguro consumed by primal desire, an animalistic fury doing everything he could to make sure you couldn't walk straight for days.

Amidst fervent moans, your lips embraced Mitsuri's delicate folds, your mouth expertly caressing her slit with tender suction and nimble strokes. Your unwavering gaze remained locked on her flushed face, capturing every expression of pleasure that danced across her features.

Her fingers entangled in your hair, occasionally tugging it as her head rolled back. "Fuck, yes!" She cried. Simultaneously, her lips gave voice to your name and Iguro's, each utterance a mingling of satisfaction and longing, a sonic testament to the pleasure coursing through her.

Abruptly, Obanai seized a handful of your hair, tugging your head away from Mitsuri with a forceful pull.

"W-what?"Your discontent manifested as a low groan at being removed from her sweet clit.

However, he swiftly shifted your focus, capturing your chin between his fingers. With insistent determination, he compelled you to face him once more. Yet again, your hair was the instrument of his control as he yanked it back, causing your head to tilt, exposing the inviting column of your neck. His teeth found purchase on your pulse point, followed by the trace of his tongue against your skin. "You taste like heaven," he murmured, his words a blend of reverence and desire. His intentions then took a tactile turn as he rewarded you with a spank on your ass, a sharp sensation that mingled pleasure and the thrill of submission.

Iguro guided you back onto Mitsuri, his firm grip seizing your hips as he thrust into you with a forceful and rapid rhythm, the resounding slaps of skin against skin echoing through the room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, lick her pussy, fuck! That's so hot."

Your attention to Mitsuri had transformed, driven by raw desire. Any remnants of shyness had dissipated, replaced by a primal hunger. Your actions were unreserved as two of your fingers ventured into her dripping cunt.

Obanai's thrusts grew erratic as his climax neared. "I'm gonna fucking cum," he gritted out, his warning a testament to his impending release. Swiftly, he withdrew from your dripping core. "Get on your knees, both of you," he commanded, his voice strained as he vigorously worked his shaft.

You and Mitsuri obeyed, assuming positions on the bed, your arms intertwined.

Mitsuri took the lead, tilting your head and initiating a deliberate and heated kiss. The connection was languid and passionate, your tongues entwining in a sensual dance of desire.

He vigorously stroked himself, his hand moving with purpose, occasionally grazing his flushed tip with his thumb.

You and Mitsuri gazed up at him, your tongues extending provocatively.

In short order, his climax arrived, thick streams of warm cum splattering across your lips, cheeks, and chins. His release was accompanied by a primal growl that echoed through the room. "Fuuuck!"

Mitsuri's soft chuckle filled the air as you collected a portion of his cum on your index finger and brought it to your mouth. A hum of approval escaped your lips as you savored the taste with evident appreciation.

Mitsuri's cleaned your face with a sensual licks, reciprocated by you in kind.

Obanai observed the intimate exchange, his heavy breathing betraying the intensity of the moment. "Fuck, girls, you both are so fucking hot."

Mitsuri's passionate kiss graced your lips before she cast a glance toward Obanai. "You see, Iguro, girls just like to have fun," she remarked with a playful glint in her eyes. "And trust me, it was just a small dose of what we both are capable of."

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syneilesis · 8 months

Text

[fic] Pampertime

Pampertime

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 6.7k words | ao3 link

Butler Rule No. 1: From the moment you accept the role, be prepared to obey your lady’s every command. The bunny butler outfit makes a grand return. In bed.

Content tags: Established Relationship, PWP, Roleplay, Bunny Butler Xavier, Dom/sub elements, Sub!Xavier, Strip Tease, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Cowgirl Position, Riding, PIV sex, Creampie

A/N: My contribution to the bunny butler Xavier train. Only gave a cursory edit once, so any mistakes still my fault. I'm just glad I'm done, whatever. Divider by @/saradika

One bright and sunny afternoon, Xavier texts you: Emergency can U come up here to help me?

You're in the middle of cleaning your living room, after weeks of neglecting your household responsibilities due to the sudden influx of Wanderers in the neighboring city. The Hunters Association had been scrambling to send out their hunters due to the sudden invasion of Wanderers that resembled bafflingly like corgis—which was both a blessing and a curse, if one were to be asked. Blessing because, well, they were a breed that incited cute aggression and fluffiness, and civilian evacuation had resulted in minimal problems, if one ignores the influx of people into doglike Wanderers. A curse, because—well, they did look like corgis—fluffy like a bread with a cute butt, the kind that you would expect to see in the plushie line sold at Twinkle Toys Store. They're irresistible to drag your hand across their soft coat. A not-inconsiderable number of hunters realized the error of their ways in overlooking the fact that these floof of creatures were still Wanderers, and as a consequence, Linkon hospitals suddenly found themselves busier for a week or two.

Regardless, the corgi Wanderers were easy to take care of, once you saw past their clever ruse. The difficulty lay in the numbers. Like a relentless tsunami flooding the city, they undulate in droves, shaking their butts and bouncing around and generally making an oxymoronically cute menace of themselves.

As one of the hunters dispatched to the area, you valiantly resisted the siren cute-call and eliminated as many as you could. It took you and your team more than a week, and it would have been shorter than that, had Xavier been in the fray. But he had been sent in another region the week before, and was unable to join you in your fluff-filled resistance.

But now it seems that he's back and is in need of your assistance. Flashback to that time when his oven exploded due to his attempt at baking tarts, and you drop everything you're doing and fly outside, towards the elevator, fueled by fear and sheer panic.

When you burst into his apartment, using the spare key he left you, you cry out, “Xavier! Sitrep!”

A cursory survey of the area indicate neither fire nor flood, and his apartment seems undamaged. Fear subsiding, you finally take stock of the situation.

Perhaps it's not a kitchen emergency after all? There’s no smell of something burning, thank heavens for that. You do not want to apologize to his neighbors in his place again.

You call once more, “Xavier?”

“In here.”

His voice is coming from the bedroom, and that makes you waver. Why is he still in his bedroom? Maybe he's stuck in bed? Did he sleep for three days and wake up in an unusual position and in need of assistance to set back his limbs again? Weirder and weirder thoughts spiral in your head, and your lack of response prompts him to speak once more.

“You can go in, if that's what stops you.”

“Why can't you just go out?”

“I ... can't.”

The hesitation captures your attention. Xavier is probably entangled in the bed. You may as well help him.

“All right, I'm coming in then.”

When you open the door, you're expecting some sort of layers and layers of blankets, a sea of them, not just on the bed but also on the floor and other furniture. Xavier might be underneath in any of those blankets, and it's your duty to locate him and fish him out. You're ready to swim against these blankets, fight your way into it. Do your utmost duty as a combat partner.

Except.

Except it's not a sea of blankets that welcome you once you enter the room. It's—different.

So different.

So utterly different that you drop your phone. It clatters muffled against the carpeted floor, where it slightly nudges a gift-wrapped box. And that gift-wrapped box sits next to another gift-wrapped box, and another. And another. Until you lift your widening gaze to see that Xavier's bedroom is littered with a lot of them. And Xavier—

He's on the bed, all right. But he's—

He grins lightly, leaning back from his sprawled position. The pillows behind him sink under his weight.

“Kjalfjdsj?” you say, eloquently.

“I'm glad you came ...” A pregnant pause, before he drops the bomb. “My lady.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Xavier is sprawled on the bed, bunny ears on his head, waistcoat and tie, and—you just know, you can feel it in your bones—bunny tail on behind. It's exactly what he wore when you had your couple's photos back then. The fact that he's wearing it and, judging by the sudden change of interior design of his room, that he's replicated the decoration of the studio—actually, you don't know what you can glean from those points, because you're too busy picking up the remains of your brain matter to form a coherent thought.

He drops another bomb: “Why are you just standing there, my lady?” he says, and going by the quirk of his lips he knows the effect he has on you. Compared with the first time it happened, the shy reluctance is no longer present. “This bunny butler is ready to serve, just say the word.”

Your brain melts.

“Wha—I mean—um, guh—” You studiously reacquaint yourself with the concept of words. “I just—what is going on?”

Xavier blinks, and the bunny ears on top of his head twitch as if they are truly connected to his head. Your fingers twitch themselves in response, that urge to touch and feel them again.

“I just thought,” he begins, slowly at first as if testing the waters, “that you need to relax and get pampered after that difficult mission you've just had.”

The words percolate in your mind and you scrabble for an appropriate reply to that. To be fair to the man, Xavier is sweet thinking of your well-being like that. Or maybe he's guilty that he wasn't there to help during that corgipocalypse of a week. Regardless of his intent, you have to ask:

“You thought I need to relax and your solution is to dress up as a bunny butler?”

He has the gall to think about it at length. “Yes, my lady.”

You don't miss the way he spreads his legs a little wider at that.

And really—you're only human, with wants and needs and desires. It just so happens that the common denominator of those three aspects point to the ridiculous man before you, in that ridiculous bunny butler getup that you secretly love and hope to see again. Which—yeah, it's definitely the perfect solution.

Stomping your hesitation and pride, you stride towards the bed, and Xavier, watching your every step, reclines further, giving you space for you to place your knee on the soft mattress, between his legs.

The bedfoam dips, and he shifts to avoid sinking down the indent your knee makes. Your other knee follows, and you move towards him until the heat of his inner thighs touch the outer sides of yours.

At the proximity between the two of you, Xavier tips forward, and in spite of your positions he doesn't need to tilt his head much upward to meet your deliberating gaze. An anticipatory sharpness falls on his expression and, oh, you realize, he must've wanted this too.

Which is all that you need to fall into this completely.

And it's a transformation: a reshifting of limbs and the straightening of spine, something like a lock unlatching.

“Mr. Bunny Butler,” you begin, low and relishing and shy of being predatory, “bow your head.”

Xavier's nostrils flare at that. After a couple of seconds he complies, and seeing the sliver of his exposed nape opens something within you.

Against your shoulder the bunny ears snag, their length not allowing to fall along Xavier's pose. You bring one hand up to trace an invisible line across an ear, the fur short and soft. Xavier's quiet beneath you, but you can feel him stiffening at your every move. Braced a little behind his sides, his hands clench tightly.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, pinching the colored tip of the ear, pushing it back to observe its make. It's well-made, and you wonder if this one costs more than you'd expect.

Xavier shakes his head. You want to hear him, however, so you tap the back of his head in warning. He exhales loudly; breathes out, “No ...” and then tacking on: “Master.”

Your eyes narrow in pleasure, the flesh of your cheeks bunching from how wide your smile is. “That's my good bunny,” you praise him, caressing the curve of his head. He shivers—whether from the praise or the touch or both, you don't know.

To see him like this—a formidable hunter with centuries of experience, the force of stars pulsing underneath his skin, ready to rupture at his command—head bent low before you, hands closed in restrained fists, the lines of his body intersecting into a show of surrender. Yielding. It heats the core of your belly and your blood, and you can't help but bite your lip as you savor the image.

Leaning back and sitting on your calves, you catch Xavier's downcast stare. His brows furrowed as if concentrating, and when he notices you trained on him, his eyes do something that reminds you of the existence of the concept of puppy dog eyes.

Every time he does that, you think, you want to gobble him up.

Closing in on his face, you raise your left hand and cradle his jaw, tipping it up, gazes never leaving each other. Then you draw nearer, and nearer, until your lips almost brush against his. The sharp sound of his inhale is deafening in this lack of distance. Your eyes never leave his, but his drop down, nearly crossing, as he's distracted by your lips. His breaths are hot on your skin, and finally you aim at the corner of his mouth, and open your own to say:

“Don't move.”

And then you descend, trailing butterfly kisses along the edge of his lips, his cheek, his temple. Xavier goes spine-rigid at the first contact, forgetting to breathe for a second, before slowly exhaling, as if trying to hold himself together. His brows knit again and his eyes flutter closed, the line of his lips sloping downward.

He's controlling himself. And that delights you so much that you shift to kiss his earlobe and tug it once, then whispering directly to his ear, “That's my obedient bunny. Keep this up and I'll reward you.”

You stop to wait, and when nothing happens, you tug his jaw and take a bite at the shell of his ear—he gasps—and continue:

“What do you say?”

Xavier's shoulders lurch. He breathes once, twice, before answering.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good boy.”

The first reward: a kiss on the lips. A quick, initial press before you pry him open with tongue, and he welcomes you eagerly from the way he surges to meet you. The hand on his face holds him back, but his own hands fly to your hips and plant themselves there.

You slap them away, he resists. You break the kiss, and he makes a disappointed sound, chasing you, and then realizes what he's done.

“I'm sorry—my lady,” he stumbles, putting his hands back in their previous position. He looks so properly chastised, you love it.

Outwardly, you sigh in disappointment, and he whips his head up, stricken. “After I said that you're obedient, you do this. What shall we do, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

“What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do, my lady?”

In all the times you've tried to fluster him, Xavier doesn't really redden. At best his skin produces a soft sheen of pink across his cheeks that linger over his ears. Never tomato-red though.

But now, his face glows bright pink that gradiates to a noticeable crimson, ending at the tips of his ears. This is good development, you decide, something that you want more of. So you push further.

“Are you truly sorry, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

He nods meekly.

“Then”—a finger pokes at the center of his forehead and pushes, his head docilely tilting back, exposing his slender, beautiful neck—“don't move this time.”

You slip two fingers under his tie and pull it loose. The unobstructed slide of the silken fabric echoes around the room, punctuated by the hitch of his breath. The bunny ears jerk. To his credit, he's still as a statue, and the giddiness that you've been feeling for a while now mounts to a dull yet insistent ache that pools between your legs.

Then you unbutton his collar, which reveals more of that pretty neck. An alarmed sound forms in his throat, and you call his name in warning. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever he's about to say.

And that Adam's apple becomes your next target: your mouth molds around it, sucking, and Xavier gives a full-body shudder. A groan bursts out of him. He's trembling, his hands—leather-gloved and creaking at the strain of his fists—his thighs, his shoulders. You can see how he wants to turn his head, to retreat from your hot mouth, but thinks himself the better of it.

You place your left hand under his head and kiss him under the angle of his left jaw.

“Ah—”

With your free hand, you trace down the outline of his neck to shoulder. His breath catches, he jolts away, his eyes shoot you a betrayed look.

“My lady—”

You plant another kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?” you ask against his moist skin.

He releases a shuttered exhale. Behind you, his legs move in a way that comes across as avoidant, as if he's hiding something from you. You glance down and realize the reason for his discomfort.

Saliva pools in your mouth.

But you swallow the surging desire ignited by the image of his arousal. It isn't time yet; you want to draw this out as long as you can.

Head still tipped back, Xavier doesn't see your discovery of his want, his eyes half-mast and his focus directed on reining himself in. If you remove yourself from the scene and study him from head to toe, you'd find Xavier the perfect picture of temptation, restrained, controlled on the surface but a collapsing star underneath, gravity pulling you to him and there's no way to escape.

Not that you'd like to escape in the first place.

You repeat your question, this time against his Adam's apple: “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?”

“My la—” He chokes. Tries again. “Whatever my lady wants.”

Ah. Such a good bunny.

Your hands drift down to the next closed button. His tie is loosened enough that you can remove it in one hard tug. And isn't that a nice thought: one strong pull and he's dragged along by the force, his lips inevitably landing on your lips, a welcome collision.

But you don't follow that path; instead, your hands drop lower, to the last button of his waistcoat. The sides of your hands brush against the seam of his pants, dangerously close to his already obvious bulge, and it dawns on Xavier that you're already aware of his worldly response, if the widening of his eyes is an indication. He whips his head to shoot you a meaningful look, as if begging you to ignore his lapse of control—as if that is an unwelcome development.

Sometimes, you think, Xavier wants to show you a side of him that only exudes assurance, a sharp blade and sturdy shield that envelop you in sidereal protection. Be it from outside forces and his own—and even yours. Physical dangers, most especially, but curiously enough: information. Knowledge. The matters of the past. The matters of the heart. The both of you may have confessed that day, the words of your promises embedded in your heart like an oath under the stars, but there are times when a shadow passes through Xavier's expression, and he seems so far away. Light-years away.

But right now, that thought isn't at the forefront of your mind: it is the way the redness climbs up his neck, his face, his cheeks, painting him a beautiful hue that reminds you of a recently blossomed rose. He truly is gorgeous this way.

One of his hands encloses around yours, stopping your ministrations. Minute tremors hum under his callused palm.

“I'm—” A quick breath. “I'm supposed to serve you, my lady.”

Ah. Truly such a good bunny.

You capitulate, hands retreating from the button of his pants, but not before caressing his trembling hand and squeezing it once. An indulgent smile unfurls in the line of your lips, and you make a snap decision.

The second reward: freedom. Xavier has expressed his desire to serve, to please, and you'll give him the freedom to choose how to enact it—

Under a specific instruction, of course.

“Yes, of course,” you say, tapping his warm cheek fondly with your index finger. “Serve me, then, Mr. Bunny Butler. Strip for me. Slowly.”

He catches that finger quickly with his mouth, bites it lightly, like it's a warning—or a promise. You let him nibble and lick your finger for a couple of seconds, the wetness sending electricity down your spine, and you can't stop the shiver that echoes throughout your body. Xavier narrows his eyes in satisfaction at your response, hints of a smirk around his lips, and that's insubordination if you saw one. So you snatch your finger away from him, and punish him by dragging your wet finger along the column of his neck.

He jumps at the sensation.

“Strip, Xavier,” you repeat firmly. “Make sure it's a good show.”

It just proves how dedicated he is at this roleplay: by this point he should have already ended this little act and would have taken over, but he's holding your critical gaze as his hands settle over the topmost button of his vest.

“I'll try, my lady.” His voice drops to a low, husky murmur, one that summons pinpricks down your nape and the back of your shoulders, crawling in a slow, deliberate tease.

He does try, indeed. He moves back, affording you space to see his torso without having to change your position. One hand to brace his weight, the other deftly maneuvering each button at a comfortable pace. For every button opened, he takes a deep breath, gives you a confident smile, albeit awkward at the edges. But the rhythm of it lulls you, and you find yourself playing with his bunny ears again—a right decision, because he makes a surprised sound, which morphs into a moan.

The returned proximity grants you the ghostly brushes of his knuckles against your clothed stomach when he opens another button. Because of this, the way your stomach contracts every time he brushes you becomes known to him, and Xavier huffs a laugh, and proceeds to be more purposeful with it.

You tug at his bunny ear, hard. “Mr. Bunny Butler,” you warn.

His shrugs his vest off as his reply.

Now, only left with shirt and tie, Xavier stares down at them, thinking about what to do next. You help him by pushing yourself flush against him, making sure that your thigh grazes his cock. He judders, shoving his face on the crook of your neck and groaning. Idly, you continue playing with the furred ears.

“My lady, my lady,” he mutters, and you feel him sighing, “don't tease me.”

You hum. “Then put more effort in your show.”

He peeks up at you under those pretty yet underhanded lashes of his, and you spy hints of a smirk in that mouth.

But before you can question him about it, a hand grabs yours and guides it to his tie, wraps it around the silk fabric, and pulls. Slowly, carefully. From this angle more skin is revealed under your wandering gaze—the tease of a nipple, flashing beneath that white shirt—and you gulp at the flutter in your belly.

Once the necktie is completely off him, he takes it from your hand and, indeed like a show, re-ties it around his neck, a ribboned gift. At this point you're ready to combust—and he's not even naked.

“Do you like it, my lady?”

“Yes,” you rasp, suddenly off-kilter, “very much.”

“Then ...” He resumes undressing, the buttons of his shirt easily extricated, his movements economical, and bit by bit his bare torso opens before your anticipatory eyes.

He stops at the tucked-in part of the shirt. Glances at you, bites his lip, and goes back to pull the front off so the shirt opens just below his shoulders, presenting you such a gorgeous view.

Xavier sinks into the propped-up pillows—and you unconsciously follow—and smiles. “All yours, Master.”

He knows—that little shit—the allure of incomplete nakedness. The gap, the gape, the patches of exposed skin surrounded by fabric. Xavier's using it to his utmost advantage.

By now you could have clawed his clothes away from his body, but somehow, this tastes more delicious, the promise of a tease, the prolonged heat-pulse that thrums in your core, and you're pretty sure, if Xavier's shallow breaths are an indication, that he's into this too.

Well. May as well take advantage of this luxurious present.

One hand descends on the side of his neck, and you see him tamp down the surprised jolt. This hand, light in its touch, ghostly, virtual, traces the edges of the necktie. You can hear Xavier's bated breath, waiting for your next step.

Then down, down, down to his collarbone, the dip of it, your index finger making laps twice, end to end.

Then further: his chest. And this time, it's not only your hand that wants to participate. You brace yourself on his shoulder and bend down to kiss the center of his chest. Xavier lets out a sound, and inhales sharply.

Next: his left nipple, with an additional teasing nip. His hips buck from the sensation.

You stay where you are, lifting your gaze to ascertain his expression. His head is turned away, hiding his face, a hand covering half of it. But it's useless for him to hide, because his ear is in your direct line of vision, and it's a glaring red.

This propels you to indulge more: the hand on his shoulder slides down to pay his other nipple attention. His legs shift, restless. The sounds of his gasps and moans occupy the room. You feast on him, laying your tongue flat on him and dragging it wetly until you hear him stutter your name.

“M-My lady—I—”

You surge forward, and the force topples the stack of pillows behind him. In the midst of this, you reposition your legs so that you're finally straddling Xavier, your skirt bunching up just below your waist, and—teasingly—grind against his straining cock.

He jerks, grabbing at your hips, attempting at more friction, but you remind him who's in charge, and he eventually relents, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry about that, my lady. I'm—I'm good now.”

“That's my good bunny.” Then you continue exploring his body with your tongue.

He tastes faintly of sweat but also the scent-taste of his body wash. He's showered just before calling you up. And for some reason, that does you: you rise to kiss him again, and your free hand sneaks itself under him—and grabs his bunny tail.

Xavier yelps, scarlet, shocked at the action, gaping at you and your smug face.

You squeeze the fluffy ball of a tail in response.

“M-My lady...!” he blurts.

“Shame that I didn't get to play with this last time,” you muse, feeling up the soft thing. It twitches under your curious touch. Delighted, you shift around Xavier's torso to lift his hips and study and poke at the tail repeatedly, entranced at the bounce and fuzziness of it. “A wasted opportunity, don't you think so?”

When you check Xavier's reaction, you have to hold back your laugh. He's clearly uncomfortable, but the discomfort is brought upon by embarrassment, as evidenced by his squirming and the persistence of his blush.

Words have left him, so he just averts your leery gaze, bury his face into the nearest pillow, and groans.

Taking pity on him, you release his tail—but not without giving it one last flick; he jolts—and slide your hands around the waistband of his pants. You're fumbling for the button and then the zipper when two gloved hands hinder your actions.

Xavier's face is rearranged into an indulgent yet mischievous smile. “My lady can enjoy me as long as you like. There's no need to hurry.”

But that's the thing, isn't it? You have already enjoyed him so much and enough that at one point things are bound to snap. He as your focal point of your want, the desire that thrums alongside your veins, almost like blood.

“But Mr. Bunny Butler,” you start, adopting a light, airy voice and tilting your head up at him, “there are a lot of things to enjoy from you. I'm not sure if one evening would do.”

Before Xavier can even get a word edgewise, you tear his pants open and yank his boxers down, freeing his cock.

“My la—”

His cock is a firm, solid weight on your hand, and Xavier bucks at the first contact, a halfway gasp ripping out of him. You watch his reactions as you stroke him slowly—painfully slowly, tantalizingly slowly—as your other hand crawl up his waist, flat palm spanning his side.

You know, intellectually and objectively, that Xavier is pretty. Gunmetal-grey hair that shimmers under the starry night sky. His smooth, unlined skin that you're harboring unholy envy for, soft under your curious fingers, almost pristine, untouched all his life. The column of his neck, strong bones underneath the layer of skin and muscle, the prominence of his Adam's apple. The outline of his body—even and proportioned, balanced like a finely crafted sword. And most of all: his eyes, the most expressive part of all of him. The color of an unperturbed sky, always clear and never lost. A steady glister in the darkness.

Right now, though, he's different altogether. Almost otherworldly in the way he's unraveling under your clever fingers. A shift of pressure and he's biting down the meat of his hand in a poor attempt to muffle his groans. A fleeting trail across the slit of his cock and his eyes flutter shut, his hips jumping off the mattress. He thrashes in chase of the pressure and pleasure you're providing him in crumbs, your need to see him lose that frustrating control of his. You keep stroking him and watching him blossom before you, petal by petal, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

“My lady—” He's panting, running out of breath, his voice gaining that frenzied quality. It's music to your ears. “Master—Master, haa—”

He's coming, you can feel it. You can see it through his quickening breaths, the flush of his skin all over his body, the white-knuckled fist of his hands, the throb of his cock.

“My lady, I'm co—”

You release him, and the slow transformation of his face is such a fascinating phenomenon. From the crunch of pleasure, then crumpling into confusion. He raises his head to see you leaning back, hands away from him, his hazy eyes taking in what's happening—or its lack of. Then they widen, his mouth dropping open to release a sound of distress, round and full and cracking.

“Why did you ...”

You tug at the ends of the ribbon-necktie. He clicks his mouth shut.

“You said I can enjoy you as long as I like. There's no need to hurry.”

His gaze finally clears, and he gulps, nodding. Near your hips, Xavier's cock leaks.

“Then ...” You lay on top of him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your belly pressing against his pulsing cock (he freezes at this, and then continues to freeze), and place your arms on the sides of his head so your hands can reach the bunny ears. They still react delightfully under your roaming touch. “I'm going to enjoy these a little more. Don't move too much, okay?”

The room becomes pinched with quiet, and while you're intent on the furry ears atop Xavier's head, you can sense in your periphery his eyes on you. He's careful not to jostle you, the air he breathes catching on your skin, and you feel his arms snaking around your waist, settling on the small of your back.

“You really like the costume that much, huh.”

You hum in acknowledgment, rubbing the area where accessory meets scalp. You scratch it with your light fingernails, and Xavier sighs at the feeling.

When you leave the ears, you turn your attention to Xavier's expression next. He's still observing you, his flush now pale but enduringly distinct across his cheeks, and that entices you to meet his lips in a slow, patient kiss.

“It's nice, seeing you go through such effort to make me happy,” you answer him after you separate, punctuating the statement with a pleased, narrow-eyed smile.

A thought takes over Xavier, with the way his brows knit. Moments pass, you regard him, until he finally opens his mouth to articulate whatever has occupied him.

“My lady,” he begins, hesitant at first, but each word gains confidence, “there's something I want to do for you.”

“Speak.”

“I want you to”—and here his stare morphs into that puppy dog eyes again—“sit on my face. Please.”

You're stunned. The room continues to be quiet, and you're stunned. Xavier doesn't add anything after that; just waiting for your response. He's probably not sensing how you've finally shut down. You, felled by nine words, the last one an imperative period that brooked no refusal.

When he calls you, his face and his voice are tinted with uncertainty.

“Stars, Xavier.” You scramble up to reposition yourselves in accordance to his request. During this transitory moment, Xavier removes his gloves with his teeth. Now bare, both his hands come up to hold your thighs from behind, adjusting their spread and angle. You want to whine self-consciously, but glimpsing Xavier's eager expression as you move towards his head, you stamp that part in your mind. “Okay down there?”

He doesn't reply—instead he just goes for it.

Your hands shoot for the headboard, a surprised cry shocked out of you. Is this Xavier's way of revenge for denying his orgasm earlier? The way he confronts you is not unlike a battle, with his single-minded focus on his goal and his preciseness. He parts your folds with his tongue, pays attention to your clit first: sucks it lightly before dialing it up. You convulse, your hips digging down, and he moans, the vibration thrumming your flesh.

“Xavier,” you sob, “Xavier. Xavier.”

He laps around your clit like a thirsty man, hands kneading your thighs. He must've been thinking about this for a while now, with how methodical he's going by it, strategized to push you into becoming a complete and utter wreck. He kisses your clit then mouths it, moves his tongue in lateral glides that have you thrashing on your position. You grind against him, and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, and behind you his hips thrust helplessly in air, his stubbornly hard cock drooling with pre-come.

One hand nudges you forward and you follow, until his tongue enters inside you—you gasp and shiver at the slick intrusion—drinks you with such loudness that you wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors overhear what the two of you have been doing.

He knows how to prolong the barrage of pleasure, that heat and swell around your core, your undulating hips, sustained until you buckle and collapse from the force of it, your orgasm torrential like a storm.

When Xavier emerges between your legs, his face shines from your slick and his saliva. A fond smile slips out of you, and a finger traces the length of his lips; then your entire hand, cupping the side of his face, a tender caress. A smile of his own appears and he nuzzles your hand, kisses the center of your palm, eyes closed and sated.

“Good boy,” you praise, and he sighs happily. “So good for me. Have to reward you, don't I?”

The third reward: release. You move back to pull his pants and boxers off him completely, and Xavier just watches you with anticipation, breaths in quick bursts.

“You know the drill: don't move.” You underline this order with a tease of his cock, a line-trail from the tip to the base and then a quick squeeze of his balls.

When you align yourself above him and begin to sink down, Xavier goes rigid-stiff, daring not to breathe, careful not to move. You pause from your progress, and send him a worried look.

“Xavier?”

“I—I'm—” He bites his lip, exhales through his nose. “I'm okay, I just. I'm just trying not to react too much.”

“Why?”

He casts you a helpless gaze. “Because, my lady, I'm afraid that my control would slip, and I would have my selfish way with you.”

You falter at that. To be honest that's not such a bad idea at all, but Xavier knows that this is for you and your needs, and what you need right now—and what you want, if one were to ask—is him under you, at your mercy. Just as he is right now.

So you move lower, feeling the head of his cock open you up, slowly. And you can hear the hitching breaths unwittingly made by him, his eyes shut and his whole expression folded inward, as if he couldn't handle the pleasure descending over him.

A groan tumbles out of his lips, low at first, quick and fleeting, but as you inch lower and lower, the feel of his cock molding you inside, the wanton sounds he makes lengthens, gets louder, until he parts those glistening lips and vocalizes his satisfaction.

“My lady—you feel so—”

“Good, I hope.”

He doesn't wait until you bottom out; he bucks his hips to sheathe himself inside you completely in one smooth motion. You cry out from his action, his cock pulsing against your walls, and the feeling of him pulls you in further bliss that your eyes flutter closed and your back arches as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

“The best, my lady.”

He gasps when you clench around him, your wetness dripping between your joined bodies.

You really think the best position Xavier has ever been is here right now: underneath you, helpless to your demands, seized by pleasure that you're giving him and taking from him. The way his face doesn't know what to do in the undulating waves of pressure as you begin to move above him, your hips lifting and then slamming back down; the film of sweat coating his skin all over, moistening the sheets beneath the two of you. The severe grip of his hands, bunching up the blankets in their deathly clutch. His rapid heartbeat under your palm as you support your weight by bracing yourself on his chest. His moans, his filthy, filthy moans—his moans that you will remember until your dying day because they are so far out of his cultivated normalcy—open-mouthed, slack-jawed moans that come from the core of his abdomen, surging upwards, frantic, crazed, melodiously and sublimely wanton.

“Look at you, Xavier,” you pant, and one of Xavier's legs kicks out. “Look at my bunny butler.”

“Master—Master—”

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, shakily tracing the side of his face. When your fingers near his mouth he turns his head to place a kiss at your fingertips, then drags his tongue out to lick at their length. Your index and middle fingers press flat at his tongue, and he groans around them. His puffs of breath beat in time with the movement of your hips.

One hand crawls towards your thigh, haltingly slides upwards, up to the junction of your hips, where it disappears under the spill of your skirt. Then it reaches behind to squeeze at the meat of your ass, and you gasp, stuttering your pace.

You take out your fingers so he can answer you, but Xavier grabs your wrist with his other hand and brings it back to his lips, trails kisses on each finger, murmurs nonsensical things against your saliva-coated skin until, louder, he tells you—

“Everything you can give me, my lovely Master.”

And, oh, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? That readiness of his—be it in battle or in bed, he rolls with everything you throw at him, as though there's nothing that can taint you in his eyes, no betrayal to feel forsaken by. As though all that he's done, all that he's doing, is in service to you.

And it's because of this that you use the same hand to cup at his jaw and jerk it in your direction, bowing down to kiss him, bite his lower lip, thrust your tongue inside, lick the roof of his mouth, suck his own tongue—devour him fully and utterly.

He meets your intent with his own, just as intense, just as parched and hungry as you are for him. Every exhale is accompanied by a soft sigh, and you swallow his every sound—that lovely and soothing voice that lingers in your mind and haunts the edges of your dreams. His reaction just drives you to speed up your pace.

He's trembling all over, and tries to shift the angle from which you're riding him. Doing so affords his cock to hit something inside you, lighting up your body, starburst behind your eyelids, and you jolt, a whimper tearing out of your throat that Xavier drinks greedily. His hand on your ass traverses to your clit and plays with it, intensifying the blast of sensations on your lower body.

Obstructed by your mouth, Xavier tries: “My lady, I think—I'm close.”

“Me too, I'm—don't hold back—”

He doesn't. And he doubles his efforts in relentlessly stroking your clit and pounding up inside you, and the pleasure crests and crests and crests until you pulse and clench and come, sobbing at the white-hot crash flooding your nerves, collapsing on top of Xavier, mouths still connected.

And he doesn't stop. This time both his hands bracket your hips; grinds you down as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. You're oversensitive but you don't stop him, just clinging to him and whimpering, and he begins to assail your ear, his panting tangible and hot against your skin.

“My lady, my lady,” he chants, voice shattering like glass. “My lady—Master—”

His orgasm feels like an echo of your own release, his spend filling inside you. Xavier gives a few more thrusts before slowing down and stopping. A self-satisfied sigh ripples over his relaxed body, and his hands climb to your back, guide you to pillow your head on his chest, embracing you as you melt on top of him.

Minutes pass, and his breathing evens; you expected him to fall asleep after, but when you look up his eyes are emphatically open.

“Aren't you sleeping?”

He glances down at you. Quirks a smile. “No, not yet.”

“Oh ...”

“We're not finished, my lady.”

“Huh?”

“You've had your fill, Master.” He smirks. Then flips you over, reversing your positions so he's now on top of you. He starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Now let me have mine.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #LaD fic #love and deepspace smut #LaD smut #love and deepspace xavier #LaD x reader #love and deepspace x reader #LaD xavier #nsft #fic #my fic #shen xinghui my beloved

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tennessoui · 8 days

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For the OTP questions, could I ask for 25 with the smithsonian au?? I feel like it would be funny to see what they do when they do have something in common 😭

lmao the smithsonian au !!! thank you for sending this in from this list of prompts !

25. do they have any hobbies they share?

lmao they would not be able to handle having anything in common but they probably honestly have a lot that they agree about they just....refuse to admit it.

but ok here are two things they have in common/hobbies they share: hating on the rocks (geology) team & bike riding. anakin picked up biking because he knew obi-wan liked it and he decided he was going to be Better At It than obi-wan, as if leisurely biking were a competition. but since it's not a competition they just sort of accidentally end up going on nice bike rides around the dmv area. almost like a dat---(gunshots)

and obi-wan has always hated the rock people because he's just silly and petty like that. anakin also has always hated the rock people because obviously space rocks are cooler than earth rocks. but when obi-wan finds out that anakin hates the rock people he finds a rock person to take out on a date (to their trivia team night) just because he knows anakin will hate that The Most. unfortunately, obi-wan also finds him annoying because he's a rock person. this is a new low for him:

Anakin's bouncing his leg up and down beneath the table, something he doesn't even notice until Padmé reaches out and grasps a hold of his knee.

"I'd ask if you needed a drink, but you've already had three," she mutters, squeezing once before letting go. "Come on, don't tell me you need to be drunk to spend time with Obi-Wan these days."

Anakin scowls, half at the name and half at the words. "I'm not thinking about him at all," he snaps back, which is a lie. "It's just rude to be late. Especially to trivia. Why are we even on the same team? That's not--"

"He thought it would be nice," Padmé says, taking a sip of her own cider. "He explicitly requested that we don't talk about work. Maybe he's trying to bond with you."

Anakin's scowl turns into a softer frown. Bond with him? Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't want to bond with him. How would they even work if they weren't at each other's throats? What would they talk about? How would--

His mind flashes back to the first time they ever met, before Kenobi opened his mouth to reveal that beneath his gorgeous face, he was just a British dick.

He can feel his face heating, and he takes a sip of his beard to distract himself. Ugh. Kenobi. Kenobi.

"Apologies for the delay," Kenobi says, as if Anakin's thoughts have conjured him into existence. He drops into the chair next to Padmé and kisses her hello on the cheek.

Anakin's scowl is back. Fucking Europeans. He's not even a European. He's from an inconsequential fucking island in the middle of nowhere.

"Gregor here had to finish up a bit of work at the lab," Kenobi continues before looking across the table at Anakin. "Hello, Anakin," he says, tone noticeably cooler but there's something smug about it. About his whole face. And...everything. "Have you met Gregor? He's also a Smithsonian employee."

Anakin casts his gaze to the man still standing at the head of their table. "No," he says, then adds, lying through his teeth, "Pleasure."

"Which department?" Padmé asks sociably as Gregor sits down next to Obi-Wan, who smiles and places his hand on Gregor's arm.

"Mineral studies," Obi-Wan tells them. "I thought perhaps Gregor here would be a boon during the more technical science questions we can never get right."

"Oh, is that why you brought me along?" Gregor asks, turning to Obi-Wan with a familiar, sickening twinkle in his eyes. "And here I thought this was a date, Obi."

Obi-Wan laughs and pats his arm, but his eyes are tighter around the edges. He hates the nickname, Anakin knows. Apparently Gregor doesn't.

"Only if you win it for us, darling," he tells Gregor, and Anakin scowls.

Darling. Ugh. This is bar trivia.

"Mineral studies," he says suddenly. "What's that then?"

"Well," Gregor replies, puffing up the way anyone in DC does the moment they're given an opportunity to talk about what they do for a living. "I guess the easiest way to describe it is that I study rocks. I mean, that's really boiled down, and it's more like---"

He continues, but Anakin's stopped listening the moment Gregor said the word rocks. Rocks.

He raises his eyebrows at Obi-Wan in disbelief. He brought a rock guy to trivia. He's planning to fuck a rock guy. A rock guy. He shakes his head at the other man, who just blinks as if he doesn't understand. As if hating rock people isn't the one thing that they have in common.

This is a new low, even for Kenobi.

#asks #smithsonian au #obikin #dont ask me what obi-wan is thinking trying to make anakin jealous #he absolutely is trying to make anakin jealous #he doesn't even know why though #this is too complicated of an emotion for his lil head

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st-juliet · 2 years

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Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)

Pulse Point

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.

Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.

Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!

“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”

Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.

Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”

“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”

Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.

“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”

“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.

“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”

He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.

“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”

You simply cannot help yourself.

Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.

“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“

With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.

“—initial—initially—by seven—“

You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.

“—by seven—se—“

A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.

“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage.

You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.

“Angel—oh, my g—god…”

As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“

You raise your head up innocently.

“Shall I stop, sir?”

Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.

“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”

He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.

“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”

“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“

“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”

This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.

“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”

You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:

“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”

Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”

“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.

“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”

“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”

“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”

If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #henry cavill sherlock #henry!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #enola holmes fanfic

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