#((AND i'm delighted to have sprung that on you out of the blue! i had it in my notes about august being a teacher))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"I felt like I had sworn in front of a princess!" Randall admitted with a shy laugh, the rest of his family laughing along as he rubbed the back of his neck: Though he would freely admit he could cuss a blue streak with the best of 'em, he tried to keep his mouth clean in public, and certainly keep it extra-clean in the presence of an upper-class young woman like Emily. Needless to say, his failing to do so absolutely mortified him in the moment, though he could certainly laugh about it now.

"I, uh...I didn't want to sound like I had no manners," he continued sheepishly, adding, "It, uh...it did take a while for her to convince me that she wasn't offended by my cursing-I felt awful, I really did, in the moment, though, I felt like it made it seem like I was born in a barn..."

"Awww, reminds me of when August and I first started getting to know each other," Josephine giggled amusedly, seeing a lot of similarities between her husband and grandson in the moment as she went on to explain just how nervous her future spouse was in the early days, very flustered being around such a confident, forward, and scantily clad woman (which quite flattered her, honestly).

"I used to have him over for coffee after performances, and bless his heart, he was so nervous-the only thing louder than his racing heartbeat was the way his cup used to clatter against his saucer! Well, one day, he got so wound up that he dropped his cup and spilled coffee all over the rug (which didn't bother me much; if anything, the coffee stain made that cheap ol' thing look better), and between his very rapid-fire apologies, I could hear him cursing under his breath, and that only made him apologize even more!"

"I'm not usually one for vulgarity," August admitted bashfully. "But I was just so frustrated and embarrassed by my inability to sit still that it just...slipped out, and I felt awful, just awful, swearing in the presence of a lady!"

Most people wouldn't bat an eye at swearing around someone in her profession, but he was a consummate gentleman to everyone he met, and so he didn't think twice about apologizing to her (even though, as she told him, she'd heard worse).

[hmserebusadjacent]

Playing with his hair

The moment I made my post about Emmrich's hair in the new trailer, I just knew I had to write a story where Rook plays with Emmrich's hair. And here we are.

Emmrich x Trans Male Rook (Established relationship, musings on a shared life together, a self promise of a future love confession).

Word count: 1,481

AO3

It had all started with an accidental brush of Rook’s fingers. He had been innocently enough trying to even out a crease at the collar of Emmrich’s shirt when his fingers had brushed the short hairs at the back of the mage's neck.

Emmrich might have been embarrassed by the noise of delight he let out if all of his nerves weren’t tingling at once.

“Darling?”, Rook questioned, not concern in his voice but curiosity instead as he abandoned his pursuit and came to stand in front of his lover instead. Emmrich knew his smile must have looked triumphant and perhaps a little manic because Rook’s answering smile was extremely fond.

They knew each other very well at this stage, even with only knowing each other for a few months. In that time Rook had tried to get know Emmrich more than some of his colleagues had in ten plus years. It was a truly special relationship they had. With every moment, Rook proved that Emmrich’s very being, his very spirit even, had never scared him and never would.

His beauty had truly never scared the rogue, and it never would.

“I'm alright, my sweet. It's just…”

The mage paused for a moment to compose his words and Rook just waited patiently, taking hold of one of his lover’s hands as something to do more than anything else.

“You touching my hair was…electrifying. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Rook’s smile turned truly soft, and he took a step forward into Emmrich’s space.

“When was the last time someone played with your hair?”

Hmmm. The truth was, Emmrich couldn't remember the last time someone had played with his hair. Maybe his mother or his sisters had done it, but those days were long ago now.

Not being intimate with anyone before Rook hadn’t given Emmrich the opportunity to ask for or to receive such an intimate experience.

“I don't know.”

Then Emmrich decided to be brave, his own smile feeling shy as he felt his cheeks blush.

“Would you play with my hair?”

Rook’s grin was instant and delightful, making the mage feel so, so safe all over again. His lover had always been kind and gentle, and he knew he would be now too.

He adored him too much for anything else, and that was wondrous. To see Rook’s adoration always plain to see in his gaze, always present in every touch and every word.

Emmrich Volkarin had never felt more treasured in his entire life.

“Of course I can, Emmie. I always want to make you feel good.”

“You always do”, Emmrich assured, walking over to the chair that Rook motioned for him to sit in as Rook followed along behind. The very prospect of having his hair played with was now making his fingers itch to play with Rook's hair too. To sink his hands into autumn curls, to feel the way his lover's hair sprung and twined around his fingers. To release that heavenly scent of lavender and chamomile soap.

As the pair of them passed the floor length mirror that Rook seemed to be using more and more nowadays, Emmrich paused, mind swirling with an idea.

Then he grinned at Rook, holding up a hand, asking him to wait.

Shuffling a chair over took little time at all, and watching his lover's brain catch up with Emmrich's idea via his blue gaze brightening was brilliant.

“That's a nice idea”, Rook commented as Emmrich settled himself in the chair, crossing his legs at the knee.

“I always want to see you.”

Then Emmrich looked up and saw Rook in the reflection, saw himself in the reflection, and his very soul cried out with joy at how right they looked together.

Elf and human. Young and old. Grizzled but kind and optimistic and kind.

Emmrich didn't really believe in fate, but Rook made him want to believe that fate had destined to bring them together. Like the Hero of Ferelden and his former assassin. Like the Champion of Kirkwall and his beloved. Like the Inquisitor and his most treasured magister.

Would the history books talk of him and Rook with such romance, he wondered. More specifically, would Varric talk about them so romantically?

The necromancer really hoped so. More than that, he hoped they all lived to see the book published.

“Emmie? You've gone into your own mind again, haven't you?”, Rook prompted, gently squeezing his lover's shoulders and bringing Emmrich back into the present. He adored that Rook let him have those moments where he just got stuck looking at Rook himself, lost in his adoration for him.

“Sorry, I uhm…”

Being honest was always best.

Raising his hands to put them over his lover's hands, Emmrich smiled at Rook's reflection.

“I was thinking that if fate does exist, I'm glad that it brought us together. Like something out of a fairytale.”

Rook's smile properly crinkled, his eyes closing a little and revealing his laughter lines. Spirits, he was beautiful.

“The best fairytale of them all, my darling. Finding you was one of my greatest treasures of them all.”

Coming from a man who had seen so much, seen so many beautiful places but had shared his very first relationship with Emmrich, those words meant the absolute world.

“I adore you, Rook”, Emmrich whispered, turning his head to press a kiss to his lover's left hand.

“I adore you, Emmie”, Rook whispered back, leaning further round the necromancer to steal his lips for a very tender kiss. One that spoke of soft mornings, and passionate evenings. One that spoke of many years to come in their relationship and so many joys along the way.

A kiss that spoke of love too.

Emmrich would have to tell Rook that he loved him soon. There would be no hiding it soon enough.

But for now, Emmrich Volkarin was content.

Very, very content.

When the kiss ended, things could only get better from there.

Indeed, the first gentle pass of Rook's fingers through his hair, from the base of his neck to the crown of his head, was so soothing that it had Emmrich bowing his head and sighing happily.

Rook may as well have been a mage for the sheer amount of tingles he managed to produce across the necromancer's scalp. His touch was so soft, so light, brushing aside salt peppered hair easily and deftly. Emmrich tried to keep his eyes open, to keep a watchful eye on their reflections but the sensations were enough to have him slumping slightly in the chair.

“It's alright, Emmie. Just relax”, Rook encouraged, and that was all it took for the mage to close his eyes and enjoy the sensations.

Clever fingers smoothed through his hair in different directions with each swipe, making a mess of his usually neat hair but Emmrich didn't care in the slightest. He adored that Rook didn't just focus on the longer hairs near his crown, but also ran his thumbs through his sideburns and the short hairs at his nape. Feeling the pads of his fingers run round his hairline was also wonderful, Rook tracing the signs of age that he wasn't present to witness. Rook was almost tracing through time with his actions, running through events that had shaped Emmrich and how time had shaped him too.

It humbled Emmrich in the moment to think that he would be with Rook when Rook himself started to go grey. There were a few grey hairs now on his lover’s head that Emmrich thought were very distinguished looking, but the prospect of seeing Rook go fully grey was the best kind of promise. Of years to come and shared experiences, of both of them taking care of each other through thick and thin.

Emmrich Volkarin once thought he would spend the rest of his life alone. But now, knowing that he would be with Rook for a good long time to come, Emmrich couldn’t imagine ever feeling lonely again.

And that thought was what had Emmrich blearily opening his eyes and smiling dopily at his lover’s reflection, taking in all of his glory.

“If you play anymore, I fear I may actually fall asleep”, Emmrich admitted sheepishly, watching as Rook smiled and nodded, his final act being to sweep the mage’s hair back into place.

“Thank you, my sweet. You make this old man feel very treasured, safe and content.”

There was that glorious crinkly smile again, one that Emmrich hoped mirrored the love that he stored inside of him for Rook.

“I’m glad.”

For a moment Rook seemed to consider something, his gaze lingering on Emmrich’s hands. Then he was grinning, his eyes bright and shining.

“Could you play with my hair?”

As Emmrich nodded and beamed a smile at his lover, he knew that his future had never looked brighter and more full of love.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 5 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 2110

----------------------------------

Act I, Chapter 5 - The Visitors

The new campsite was a small peninsula, with a waterfall feeding the stream that curved around the site. A small bridge of rocks led to a ruined building, the stones worn by time and covered with moss. There were rocks and boulders surrounding the area that would be a great defense in case of danger. Wyll had mentioned that at least one of them would be staying with you at all times to patrol the campgrounds, so you felt safe. 

However, your companions had warned you against wandering too far from camp without one of them coming with you, as there could be goblins roaming around. 

Setting up the tents with Wyll and Karlach was actually a fun experience. The two of them, despite you telling them to rest, went ahead and built their own tents. You had an inkling that they just wanted to pick out a good spot at the campsite. When you found them helping with each other’s tents, you smiled to yourself and left them alone. 

As you finished setting up everything else, you had an epiphany. Going back to Karlach's tent, you found her laying on her bedroll outside, dozing. She opened one eye as you approached. 

"Could I test something on your tent?"

"Sure." Then both her eyes sprung open and she sat up excitedly. "Are you going to make it cooler?!" 

You winked at her before walking inside. Within the dim confines, you reversed your warmth cantrip. Stepping backwards carefully, you sang the spell softly, moving your hands, weaving the coldness into the air. Light blue lines appeared, threads of magic coming from your fingers, until you finished the cantrip and clapped twice. Snowflakes burst from your hands, and you felt the air cool immediately. 

Sticking your head out from the tent, you waved her in. By now Wyll had joined her, and together they stepped inside. 

"Oh my days," Karlach squealed with delight. "It's lovely in here, just perfect!" 

Wyll grinned, looking happy for her. "A bit too cold for me, but I'm glad you're enjoying it." He looked over at you. "Thank you. You're very thoughtful."

You smiled. "Just trying to keep you all comfortable," you replied. "Oh, but if something goes wrong, please let me know so I can fix it," you added as you left them to enjoy the results of your test. 

***

When the others returned, you were not at all surprised to see a man coming with them. He introduced himself as Volo, claiming to be some kind of bard.

Is he…? He couldn’t be…?

“Are you the Volo of ‘Volo’s Guide to Waterdeep’?” you asked.

The man’s eyes lit up and his smile could not be broader. “Why yes, I am that Volo!” He came up to you, grabbed your hand with both of his, and shook it vigorously. You were glad you were still wearing your gloves; you had the feeling that you would have been overwhelmed by his excitement at meeting someone who knew his work.

“Tell me, did you enjoy the guide? Which version did you read? What was your favorite part?”

Overwhelmed by his rapid fire questions, you pulled your hand out of his and held it up to stop him. “I found it, erm, entertaining,” you said neutrally. It was full of shit, but it was amusing to read. “I read the second edition when it came out. My employer had one in his library.”

You saw Gale glance over at you. Shit. Now he knew you spent time in Waterdeep as well. Dammit, he’s probably going to ask me about it later. I might as well just give away my entire life’s story while I’m at it.

After hearing Volo’s self-aggrandizing tales for a minute too long, you eventually got out of the conversation by using your chores as a way to flee. 

Guess we have another mouth to feed. Better send someone to hunt something big.

***

One by one, more visitors came. In the early evening as supper was winding down, a white dog came by. It sniffed the adventurers, wagging its tail and lolling its tongue happily as everyone took turns scratching his head and patting his side.

Then the dog looked at you. He tilted his head.

You took a mostly eaten rib from the boar that Karlach had brought for you to roast, and knelt down, holding it out to him.

He came up warily, sniffed the bone, then took it from your hand and started gnawing away.

“Have you all decided on a name?” you asked the group.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

“You can name him,” Karlach said. “He’ll probably be staying with you most of the time, after all.”

Oh, thanks for the added responsibility. But you weren’t actually annoyed; he was a charming dog. Wondering what to name him, you idly reached out to pet his head.

Scratch.

You blinked. You weren’t sure who said that, as the voice was faint and unfamiliar. As you looked back at the dog, he was staring up at you.

Scratch.

“Scratch?”

He barked and wagged his tail.

“I guess that’s his name now,” Shadowheart said.

You got up, but kept your eyes on the dog, who was gnawing the bone again.

Curious.

***

The next visitor triggered your tripwire late at night. The bell chimed softly until you awoke, pushing yourself up.

Your heart stopped.

A creature came crawling out of the brush. You couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as it came closer to the campfire embers, you saw the feathers, the beak, the round body…

What the hell is an owlbear cub doing here? Where is its mother? Oh gods, what do I do?

You stayed stock still, watching it slowly approach you. Then it paused. And turned back towards the path out of the camp. Your eyes followed, and you saw Astarion returning from his night hunt.

The owlbear cub went towards him instead.

No, little cub! He’ll drink you!

You moved to stop the cub, but you stopped when you saw Astarion kneel down and speak softly to it. Then he led it towards the camp rations, pulled out a piece of dried meat, and tossed it at the cub, who ate it ravenously.

The soft look on Astarion’s face gave you pause. Is this a shapeshifter? Who is this man?

Unable to stop your curiosity, you got up and quietly tiptoed over to them. Though you tried to be careful, the owlbear saw you approach and suddenly fled back into the darkness.

“What was that?”

“Hm? Oh, we rescued him from some goblins. Karlach convinced everyone to let it sniff our hands so it could find its way here.”

“But what about its mother?”

“It’s dead.”

He didn’t elaborate on how or why, and quite frankly, you were too damn tired to ask. You just shook your head and went back to your bedroll.

How many more visitors will we have?

***

“Want to come to the druids’ grove with us?”

You had just finished the morning chores, so it was perfect timing. You readily agreed to Wyll’s suggestion. Although some of the party didn’t seem too keen on you getting closer to possible danger, especially with some of the druids acting uncharacteristically hostile, Wyll convinced them that overall, the grove was safe.

So he, Astarion, Karlach, and Gale took you to the grove so you could trade for supplies and get out of camp for a little while.

As they continued to comb the area for information, you talked with the vendors and bartered for supplies. You even took a turn at cooking, even if it only turned out to be just barely edible. You could only do so much with whatever the lady had put together. You weren’t a miracle worker, after all.

As you explored the grove, you heard singing off in the distance. Following the sound, you came out of the caves and into a sunlit cove by the water. A small boy was walking towards the song, seemingly entranced.

You quickly realized that he was entranced. 

Sprinting towards the water, you reached out for him. “Wait, come back—”

A shadow flew overhead, and a figure landed before the boy on the shoreline.

Harpies.

You furrowed your brow. You could turn back, get help.

But then the boy would be alone.

Dammit.

You only had a dagger you didn’t know how to use and a few herbs in your bag.

The harpy on the shoreline looked at you and grinned. Then she opened her mouth and sang.

You covered your ears, but it didn’t cancel the effect. It was a beautiful song, so much so that you nearly succumbed. But you resisted, even as your nose bled with the effort.

Suddenly four bodies flew past you. The party had arrived just in time, firing arrows and spells at the harpy in front of the boy, distracting her long enough so that you could run up to the boy and pull him out of harm’s way. As you ran back towards the cave with him, tugging on his hand whenever he started to stray, you could hear spells being thrown, splashing and fighting. And through it all, one of the harpies kept singing. Your nose kept bleeding, even as you got further away.

When you finally got the boy back inside the cave and out of range of the harpy’s song, you rushed back, despite knowing how dangerous it was. Wiping the blood off your face with your sleeve, you analyzed how the song worked. There was power in song, magic in melody. You didn’t have the skill to fight.

But you could sing.

When you returned, you could see that the others were beginning to fall to the harpy’s harmful harmonies. You hoped that you had figured out enough. Furrowing your brow, you took a deep breath.

And you sang the song in counterpoint.

The others shook their heads as the mental hold on them came undone. They looked back at you in shock for a moment, surprised by your return. Then they realized that they could think clearly again, and charged the last two harpies, taking them down with a vengeance.

With victory came looting, and with looting, came a gift. Gale came up to you with a small bag of gold.

“Thank you for your help. Here’s your share of the spoils,” he said, handing it to you. Then he put his hands on his hips and frowned at you, looking very much like a stern disciplinarian. “Although it was very foolhardy and you should never get close to danger again.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t that close.”

Karlach joined Gale. “Close enough. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

You turned to Wyll, who just nodded in agreement. You fumed at being treated like a child, but part of you knew they were right. After all, you really didn’t know how to fight.

“Alright,” you said glumly.

Wyll and Gale patted your arm as they walked past you, back into the cave. Karlach just gave you a thumbs up and a grin.

Suddenly you felt a warm body behind you.

“You fool,” Astarion breathed into your ear.

You turned to him, anger firing through your veins. “I came back to help!”

“You’re no help if you’re dead,” he countered. “Besides, you’ll make everyone else sad if you get hurt.”

You gritted your teeth. You knew he was right, and you also knew he was using your emotions against you to do what he wanted.

For a moment, you hated him for it. 

You finally let out a defeated sigh. “I got it. I won’t put myself in danger again.”

“Good.” He glanced at the blood on your sleeve where you had wiped at your bloody nose. “I can’t have my sweet snack losing any of her precious blood, after all.”

You glared.

He smiled airily as he stepped back, gesturing for you to follow the others. As you turned and stomped away, back into the Hollow, he fell in step beside you. At first, you thought he was keeping an eye on you.

“You don’t have to stand so close,” you bristled.

Astarion shrugged. “Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything foolish.”

He didn’t leave your side for the rest of the trip, all the way back to camp. As the rest of the day went on, you noticed that his attention wasn’t on you, but around you. Almost as though he was looking out for danger.

Was he… protecting me? No, that can’t be right.

Can it?

-------------------------------

Chapter End Notes: Oh hai, this campsite is the one from the game, the wilderness one that you mostly see in Act I. Also, let me know in the comments if you’re okay with longer chapters. I’ve been breaking these up into about 2,000-ish word chunks, but I have some chapters later that will be closer to 3,000.

[liminalpebble]

Hi, lovely! 💕 I’d like to request a drabble featuring Magnus. Perhaps a smutty one? I’ll leave all the details up to you.

(You cannot convince me that boy isn’t a freak! He’s likely got some tricks that would make even Blanche Devereaux herself blush.)

Hello my love! Thank you for being a friend!

By sheer luck I did a raunchy as fuck Magnus fic not too long ago based on a brilliant prompt from @muddyorbs.

Her request was to put Magnus and OFC on a mission together and he finds a little vibe in her suitcase and things get spicy. It's a very hostile fucky situation and I imagine our girl as a Lisbeth Salander type because my queer little heart is in love with her too. Anyway, I hope this pleases your inner Blanche as you reach for the cheesecake.

Much love, '

Peb

Magnus Martinsson fanfic, Magnus Martinsson x OFC, smut!, one shot, enemies to lovers (well...fuckers?), hostile but very consensual fucking, Minors DNI

Word count: about 3000 (sorry...bit of a honker. Worth it. I promise).

--

Bullets

Mara rolled her black-lined eyes when the call from Wallander came in. “Mara, are you still freelancing? We really need a tech wizard on this one.”

“Cute euphemism, Kurt...points for flattery. You need a hacker who will do the dirty work so your little lapdog techie can keep his hands clean while micromanaging me.”

Wallander sighed, and quipped sarcastically, “Why, yes, Mara, I'm doing very well, thanks. How are you today? Still your charming self, I see. By the way, you're on speaker. ” He looked across the conference table to where Martinsson (said lapdog techie) was glaring at his superior for putting him in this situation yet again.

Mara's eyes scanned around her tiny apartment full of computer equipment and old band tee shirts piled in an ever-increasing mound of black cotton. In her own mind, she'd named it Mount Doom. “Oh you know, Kurt, living that rich girl high life,” she replied in a prickly tone, toking on the remains of a joint from the night before. “And whose fault is it that I'm on speaker, hm? Really. You should know better by now.” She blew smoke out in a resigned exhale, “Alright Wallander, tell that minion of yours I'm in. I'm sure he'll be delighted.”

Kurt raised his voice. “His name is Magnus, or Detective Martinsson and I'd appreciate it if you stop calling him 'lapdog' or 'minion' especially to his face as you seem rather fond of doing...”

“Alright Kurt, see you tomorrow,” she said interrupting his lecture to end the conversation.

“Charming,” Magnus groaned.

--------

“The same room?” Mara said, with an air of annoyance, hauling her bags up the hill to the rundown Motorlodge.

Martinsson sighed and said with an edge of frustration, “Yes Mara, the same room. We can't work together from different rooms.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, minion! I know that, but I thought that at least when we're taking shifts we'd have our own space to rest. It could be days! It would have been nice if the police department had sprung at least for adjoining rooms. I'd even tolerate sharing a bathroom with you if...”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, putting a hand up so she nearly stumbled directly into him. “Can you please, please not do this? I'm just here to do my job, just like you are. Can we try not to be at each other's throats?” As he said it she couldn't help looking at his throat, that pretty pale neck and sharp jawline she'd love to suck on and bite and make him moan while...

“Mara!” he barked, snapping her out of her lurid daydream.

“Okay...fucking hell. Okay,” she said, shouldering past him to enter the little 70's time capsule of a room. He fortified himself with a deep breath, stepping into her wake.

-----

“Well,” she said, between sips from the paper cup, “At least the Bates Motel has a pretty decent coffee machine.”

They both laughed and smiled to each other, faces bathed in the blue glow of computer screens; a rare truce. They had set up efficiently, both very good at their jobs and surprisingly good at working together despite the personality clashes.

“See?”

“See what?” Mara asked, sitting forward to scan the screen.

Magnus put a finger on her chin to turn her face towards him instead. “See how nice it can be when we actually just have a pleasant cup of coffee together and work?”, he elaborated. It was adorable, she had to admit...those big innocent blue eyes and golden curls making him look like a particularly naive, hopeful and, possibly stupid, angel. But from his work and credentials, she knew he was far from idiotic; just sweet, gullible, optimistic. And as he was staring at her with that sweet dumb incredibly handsome face, it just made her inexplicably angry, like his kindness was some kind of trick.

She shrugged, and took a sip to avoid looking at him, then stated, “Their hard drives will take hours to clone. It's a waiting game for now.” She yawned and cracked her knuckles, stretching up from the uncomfortable chair to flop onto the tacky paisley comforter. A sliver of orange glow from the setting sun slid between the heavy curtains, illuminating her body, and Magnus couldn't help but notice that like that, in this wash of golden hour light, she really was very pretty. Yet, for some inexplicable reason Mara seemed almost determined not to be, with her prickly personality and tent-like clothes hiding her rather nice curves. What a shame he thought.

Magnus took the opportunity to move too, rising to his feet and stretching his long arms over his head. Mara peeked at him with one surreptitiously open eye to drink in the sharp dips and muscle of his lower belly and hips as his shirt raised, ever so slightly, to show skin. Why does he have to have the body of a fucking Greek god? Jesus Christ. Eyes wondering south, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rather generous outline in his pants, she saw where his service revolver was strapped to him in a shocking interruption of black metal and leather. It didn't suit such a soft, posh, pretty boy to be toting around a gun like some cowboy. Having come from a wealthy suburb, Martinsson could never understand the grip of fear firearms held on poor neighborhoods like hers. She didn't like guns, and she didn't like the criminals or the cops who didn't seem to mind using them liberally in her childhood neighborhood while everyone else was caught in the crossfire.

“Do you have to wear that thing?” Mara asked, gesturing to the holster. “It's only me. I'm like a foot shorter than you and you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you wanted. Are there bullets in it now?”

Magnus turned to her, eyes soft and considerate. “Well, yes. It's part of the job. We have to wear them at all times on the clock and they have to be loaded. And it's not you I'm afraid of, Mara,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed, looking at his hands. “It's you I need to be ready to protect if things go south.”

Mara turned to perch on her elbow and look up at him, genuinely swooning for a second before she recovered hastily, coating it with sarcasm. “Awww...my hero. This is why they call you The Prince Charming of Ystad? And I know damn well you're afraid of me.”

“Not afraid...annoyed. Are you allergic to having a single genuine moment of humanity between us? What have I ever done to you?” he huffed sounding wounded, and standing up again to pace.

She groaned, standing up to face him, admitting to herself that she had been especially hard on him, and she couldn't even be entirely sure why (or at least, she wouldn't admit why, not even to herself). “Look, Magnus, I'm sorry, really.”

“Really?” he said cautiously, distrustful and surprised.

“Yeah..yeah, really. I've been such a bitch to you.”

As Magnus spotted the unprecedented chink in her armor, it set off the explosion of a tirade. It finally released itself from his mouth after brewing for months and he was powerless to stop it. “Listen. I don't know why you're like this, Mara, really I don't. I haven't done a bloody thing to deserve this, neither has Kurt.”

Mara felt a little fizzle of fear at the mounting growl in his voice, and she felt a little ashamed, but also aroused. It was deeply confusing.

“I wasn't socialized enough as a puppy. Why the fuck do you think, pretty boy? You're cops. I don't like cops. I don't like what you stand for...your mindless conformity...”

Magnus' voice rose, “Did it occur to you that some of them, Kurt and I for example, chose this life to protect people? Because we care about people, even people like you who hate us. And I'm not saying you don't have a good reason to hate the police, but you don't have to hate us. We're on your bloody side. And...and you think you're so clever and rebellious with your bitch act and your black hair dye....and and...your edgy jewelry,” he continued, reaching down to her open bag where there was an unusual silver necklace, with a heavy bullet for a pendant. He lifted it saying, “Oh so you don't like guns and bullets, but you'll wear them to look oh so cool and fashionable? What a fucking hypocrite...”

Mara was thunderstruck (and frankly excited) by his anger but the end of his little speech made her want to laugh hysterically. He had no idea that what he was holding was a state-of-the-art vibrator, beautifully designed to multitask as a piece of jewelry styled after an actual bullet. She thwarted her chuckle to say simply, “Please put that back. It was expensive.”

Magnus blinked in confusion, as if slapped by her unexpected response. As he moved to put it back, one of his long fingers fumbled around it, accidentally pressing a hidden button. As he dropped it back on top of her bag of toiletries, it began to buzz. The detective narrowed his eyes, mouth agape as the gears turned in his lovely head. “Is...is your necklace...vibrating. Holy shit...is that a...”. His broad Cheshire cat smile unfurled across his face, as he began to chuckled in long breathy laughs.

Now it was her turn to be angry...not to mention mortified. She darted her hand out to switch it off, crossed her arms, and stormed to the other side of the room. “Oh this is rich,” he purred out in his deep delicious voice. “Why did you bring that? And when on earth did you expect to have the time and privacy to use it?”

She yelled, “That's none of your business! And I thought we'd have separate rooms.”

He moved closer, now standing directly in front of her. She felt that looking into his bright eyes might sear her like a laser, so she settled for looking forward at his chest. Then his long soft fingers, tucked themselves under her chin, raising her eyes to his, as he asked in a deep intimidating voice, “Mara, why did you really bring that with you?”

Fuck. She could see why he was so good at interrogations. This is the kind of man it was no use lying to. She sputtered, “Be...because I know it might be a few days and...”

“And?” he prompted, taking a step closer.

She fumbled nervously, “And...and...because I knew I'd be trapped with you strutting around with your perfect fucking body and your pretty fucking face and your sweet fucking disposition, and I'd have to take care of myself if I wanted to think straight...okay?”

His smile dropped even as the heat of excitement coursed through his body. Magnus could see she was flustered, defenses down, nearly to the point of tears. Finally it occurred to him; so this is why she was so mean, so prickly and defensive towards him... because she liked him so much. She was harboring a hopeless school girl crush and assumed all of his kindness towards her...his goodness...was some kind of joke to mock her. She ignored the reality that he paid attention to her because he liked her too. She excited and intrigued him, but that all turned to bitter frustration that she would never let him near her. He just kept encountering all that barbed wire around her and finally quit trying to breach it...until now.

“Mara,” he said her name reverently like a prayer, in a low gentle whisper, full of empathy and kindness. He moved his hand from where it still was propped under her chin, to cradle her face. Neither of them could say who moved first as they crashed together, but before they knew it they were latched onto each other's hot mouths, kissing, licking, biting, barely able to breathe and neither of them minded.

He moved to her neck, sucking it hungrily then growled into her ear, “You think that little gadget could hold a fucking candle to me?”. She moaned in response, sliding her shaking fingers to begin unbuttoning his shirt while he worked at his pants and his holster. He was peeled out in moments, looking absolutely mouthwatering in nothing but his underwear. Mara tore her shirt and bra off over her head, then pressed the swell of her breasts against his firm torso, while her lips rejoined his. Her leg swung around his waist as she licked up his throat, bit his earlobe playfully and said, “Pull my hair. Call me a bitch again...”

He was panting as he said, “I...didn't call you a bitch...I said it was a 'bitch act'...”.

She gathered his curls between her fingers and tugged while she bit at his lovely throat, drawing a nearly-pornographic moan from the young cop. “I said, call me a bitch, you pedant.”

It was adorable, how he struggled to get the word out. He was the type of well-bred man who had trouble calling a woman anything other than “Miss”, which made it even hotter when his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted as he growled out, “You delicious bitch” and wrapped his big hand around her ponytail, yanking sharply. She was grinding against he thick erection, teasing him, desperate for him, until he stopped her with a bruising grip on her hips and met her eyes. “You called me a lapdog, huh? Well, there's only one lap I'm interested in being in,” he said in a velvety purr as he tugged her pants and panties off of her, pushing her onto the bed completely naked, as he snaked between her legs, biting and sucking ravenously at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, breath ghosting against her soaked pussy. She wove her fingers into his hair with surprising gentleness as she sighed and writhed while he kissed his way up.

When he licked the first firm line up her slit she arched her back and gasped out, “Holy fuck,” while he chuckled against her skin and she could feel his smile.

“Mmmm...you're even more delicious than I imagined,” he confessed, and the idea of him jacking off, thinking about this only aroused her more.

He began to suck delicately on her clit and swirl his tongue, bringing her close to the brink in mere moments. She lifted his head gently and said, “Wait...wait.”

His big, bright eyes met hers, solicitous and concerned as he panted out, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...yeah amazing,” she said, smiling, “I just want to come on your cock. I want to feel you inside.”

“Oh darling...” he purred as he crawled farther up the bed to kiss her, sharing her own taste with her. He stood up for a moment to slide his boxers off, revealing his cock (which was just as gorgeous as the rest of him), stroking it lightly in one big hand. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped when she saw it, big and flushed with a tantalizing drip of precum. She crawled over to him and taking it into her mouth hastily, dying to savor it. He groaned in ecstatic surprise at the feeling of her hot mouth around him, her clever tongue caressing the hard length. He combed his hand through her hair, chuckling softly, teasing, “eager, are we darling?”

“Shut up and fuck me you cocky little shit,” she barked out playfully, making them both smile. “Prove to me that that little trinket will never satisfy me again, detective.”

He pinned her on her back, caging her between his strong arms, “Cocky, yes....little...well, my dear, I think we both know that's just a bit inaccurate.” His tone changed as he settled between her legs, and his hand stroked her cheek gently. He asked, “You're okay? This is okay?”

“Yes...please...just go in slowly?”

He nodded.

Magnus eased in gently, as they both gasped at the decadent feeling of his cock inside her slick, warm walls, adjusting to each other. “Mmmm. God...yes,” she purred, stroking his sharp cheekbone with her soft little hand. Meeting his eyes she said, “Magnus?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Now, please, fuck me like a whore.”

It rough and relentless as Magnus drove into her again and again while her legs clamped tight around him, calves bouncing on the muscular curve of his ass as he moved. The wave of both of their orgasms crashed quickly and simultaneously as they rode it out, making a mess of the old duvet, and collapsing naked against each other, spent and smiling. Mara massaged Mangus' head as he rested it against her breasts. He trailed little pecks along the soft skin, sighing contentedly. She peeked over his lovely golden fleece to see where the blue-glowing monitors were still reporting their downloads in progress with lots of time to go. Idly she said, “Looks like this is going to take longer than we thought.”

“Oh no, whatever shall we do in the meantime,” Magnus chimed in from where he had begun lapping his tongue over her tits, as they both laughed in an all encompassing high of relief.

@smolvenger @goblingirlsarah I can't think who else might like this one, but feel free to share!

[chartreuseian]

For the three sentence prompt! Your tag said challenge, so....how about Helen and John (romantic or platonic, your choice) and neighbors AU?

Thank you!! This was certainly a fun challenge - I always feel out of my depth with AUs so it was good practice (even if I'm not nearly as clever as you so have no idea how to extend it into anything half readable).❤️

-----

She hadn’t meant for her greeting to her new neighbour to be quite so breathless, but he was tall and rather handsome and there was no doubting the way his eyes had lingered on the exposed length of her legs (venturing into the hallway in her pyjamas was a known risky move, but she’d figured she could make it to the rubbish chute without detection) which made her feel all sorts of ways at the end of such a long and exhausting day.

“John Druitt,” he offered as his lips curled into a smile, clearly fighting to keep his (so bright, so blue) eyes on her face as he shifted a bundle of groceries from one arm to the other; it did not, however, escape her notice how easily he seemed to carry the parcel against broad, broad shoulders and then she was fighting the urge to lick her lips as images of climbing him like a jungle gym sprung into her mind ( suddenly she wasn't quite so tired any more).

“Helen Magnus,” she replied, her voice sticking in her throat as a thrum of something delightful spread and warmed her (far too) exposed skin against the chill of the evening, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you, John.”

[justmanic03]

Amethyst - Chapter two

(Whoo-pee-doo! You finally get to have your first battle in this scene!)

"Danny!" I greeted my friend. "Meet Gladillum!" My Pokemon squeaked in delight as Danny's Pikachu jumped out of its Pokeball.

"Pika! Pika!"

"Gla! Glaaaaaaa!"

Danny and I both chuckled in unison. "Well looks like they're getting along just fine. Pikachu has been running me ragged already!" Danny bent over and flopped his hands out in a hilarious, exaggerated manner whilst fake panting.

"Haha, you're such a jammy so-in-so, Dan. Managing to get Pikachu before I could even leave the house!"

"Not my fault you're slower than a Slowking, pal! Anyway, you know what they say about when trainer's eyes meet!"

My heart began racing. This was it... after all these years... the moment had finally arrived!

You are challenged by Pokemon Trainer Danny!

Danny sent out Pikachu!

"Get ready to get smashed into oblivion, Y/N!"

"Go! Gladillum!" I swung my entire body around and tossed my Pokeball onto the ground as hard as I could, yet I stumbled a little.

"Haha, you're such a klutz, Y/N. Don't you realise everything in the anime is exaggerated?" Danny rolled his eyes, throwing out his Pokeball. Pikachu and Gladillum stood in front of each other, a daring twinkle in each of their eyes. The two Pokemon were both Level 5, to my relief.

"Gladillum! Use tackle!" Gladillum squeaked, before charging towards Danny's Pikachu, causing him to slightly wobble, but not enough to make him lose his balance. This attack took around 20% of Pikachu's HP. My breath hitched in my throat as I braced myself. I hoped that Danny hadn't taught his Pikachu any electric attacks yet. Then I'd be screwed.

"Pikachu! Quick attack!" Danny exclaimed. Pikachu positioned itself on all fours, then lunged at Gladillum. She flailed her little vine arms slightly, but the momentum wasn't enough to topple her. Pikachu let out a surprised squeal, as his HP slightly diminished. He had impacted with the red thorns on Gladillum's head and pricked himself.

Gladillum lost about a third of her HP from this attack. Danny clearly had the advantage here. I mentally cursed at him for always being one step ahead of me no matter what I did. "Gladillum, use Tangle!" Her arms suddenly began to get longer and longer, extending out towards Pikachu. They weaved around his ears and squished them. I couldn't help but laugh at the grumpy look on his adorable yellow face. Although this attack didn't do damage, it lowered Pikachu's special defence stat.

"I feel kinda bad for what I'm about to do. Gladillum's pretty cute. But this town is only big enough for one winner! Pikachu, use Thunder Wave!" Pikachu's cheeks began to glow, and a zap sound rung in my ears. Gladillum became paralysed. A victorious smirk glazed Danny's features as he crossed his arms. "How do you like that, huh? I feel like a billion electrons are coursing through my body right now!"

"Yeah, I feel the energy! Gladillum, use Quick Attack!" Channelling all of her power, Gladillum sprung forward, and bounced off Pikachu at an insane velocity. Even Danny's dark blue eyes widened at the power the attack had pulled. Pikachu's HP was now down to only one quarter.

"Whoa, where did you learn to pack punches like that, Y/N?! That's hardly fair! Pikachu, use tackle!"

Gladillum avoided the attack!

"Damn you're insane!" Danny yelled in disbelief.

"That's what you get for always putting me down! Gladillum, use Quick Attack!"

SLAM!!! Danny's Pikachu's HP was now down in the red zone! Just a little more!

"Crap, I gotta fix this up with a potion!" He began frantically rummaging around in his rucksack, and while he was distracted, Gladillum and I exchanged a knowing look, giving one final tackle to finish off Pikachu. By the time Danny had retrieved his potion from his rucksack, Pikachu had already fainted and gone back into his Pokeball.

I broke out in a cheesy grin. Gladillum looked up at my face and copied me. We both began jumping for joy! We had won!

You defeated Pokemon Trainer Danny!

"Did anyone see that?" Danny asked quietly. With his pride shattered, he slowly backed away from me, not knowing what else to say. He was completely stumped. It was priceless! He reached his hand into his pockets, and pulled out some money. He quickly grabbed my hand and shoved the money into my hand. "If anyone asks, you're the one that gave me the prize money. Got it?"

"I suppose it's a fair deal." I chuckled. "Now anyway, Arrowell is further down Route 1, yes?"

Danny pulled out his map, and nodded. "Yeah, that's where the first gym is. The grass gym."

A fun idea suddenly popped into my head. "Hey Dan, let's make a bet! Whoever is last to get the eight gym badges has to buy the other a luxury sized burger down at Pollux!"

Danny looked rather confused. "No, that's not how this works." He shook his head.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"There aren't even eight gyms. There are only seven. Don't you read?"

"Ummm, no, I'm pretty sure there are eight gyms? The final gym being the psychic one in Opaquia, right?"

"Pft. Nobody's set foot in the Opaquia gym for years. And the last people who did never came back out again. Don't you remember? It was all over the tabloids!"

"Wait... so there are only seven gyms?"

"Well, technically, there are still eight, but the last one has been abandoned since the leader passed away."

"I don't understand... if the gym leader died, surely the Elite Four would find someone to replace them?"

Danny shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." His smirk suddenly returned. "Actually, that idea about the Pollux luxury burgers ain't so bad after all. But just know I'll be the one winning, not you."

"We'll see about that. Anyway, I'm off to route 1 so I can get to Arrowell. Are you coming?"

"Nah, I'm gonna see if I can find more people to battle. Later, Slowpoke!" Danny rushed off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with my own thoughts. I thought I might as well take this opportunity to assemble a team. If I was going to challenge Blade, the grass gym leader, I needed to assemble Pokemon of different types. Yet I couldn't focus properly. My mind just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that there were only seven gyms in Taldourse, not eight.

It just didn't add up. And the fact that nobody had successfully completed the gym challenge in years... what was the reasoning behind that? I couldn't shake these thoughts. And also, why didn't the Professor say anything about that? Why did he seem to be in such a hurry to get the whole enrolment process over as quickly as he could? And who were Team Moon? Did they have anything to do with this? So many questions...

"Glaa!" I looked down to my right to see Gladillum tapping me on the ankle, snapping me out of my thoughts. She seemed to have picked up on the fact I was lost in thought.

"Come on then, Gladillum, let's go find some friends for you!" She squeaked happily into response.

After a few hours of searching bushes, paths, secluded corners, caves, and under rocks, I had finally constructed myself a starter team. They included Pidgey, Ekans, Eevee, Pawmi and Blipbug. I made the choice to switch up my leader depending on who I would encounter in battle. There was a small stall a few yards down from where Route 1 started, and I took this opportunity to purchase some useful items, including potions, Pokeballs, paralyse heals, burn heals and the kind man even gave me two premier balls on the house. As I continued my way down Route 1, I noticed a shiny gold plate that had been hammered into the cliff wall. As I got closer, I realised that there were two named etched into the gold plate in fancy italics.

K. Castor

F. Castor

I immediately recognised these as the names of the two champions of the Taldourse region - Kossi Castor and his wife, Flossi Castor. The Elite Four had been in power for seven years at this point, and during this time, the Castors were the only two who were strong enough to defeat all four of them, thus securing their places as Taldourse's first Champions, and the beautiful Amethyst and Sapphire crowns that came along with the championship. The beautiful Champion's Crown was one of my favourite staples of Taldoursian culture, as it meant everyone who defeated the Champion's Trial would receive one. Female Champions would receive an Amethyst Crown, and Males would receive a Sapphire Crown. I smiled, envisioning the day where my name and initial were engraved in the same gold plate below the Castor champions, yet my smile quickly faded when I remembered the sad death of Kossi Castor two years prior. He had been only one of two Champions to exist in Taldourse, and now he was gone, at the tender age of 25. My heart broke for both him and Flossi, whose whereabouts had remained unknown since the tragic incident. The whole affair was shrouded in mystery. All we knew was that Kossi had died of fatal injury during a Pokemon battle, and his wife hadn't been seen since. Yet now I was thinking about all these questions, and wondered if this mysterious Team Moon had anything to do with it? Ah well, I had plenty of time to do my own pondering after I became Champion Y/N of Taldourse. I was determined that it would be me, not Danny or anyone else.

Me.

[magicpony45]

So where I left off, I had just finished bleaching my old jacket to a nice white that I was absolutely delighted by, given the color of the original denim. I did notice that it was still a little blue at the seams, and that the thread had not bleached at all, but this didn't bother me and I was kind of hoping it would have an interesting effect on the finished garment

Next is where things get fun. By this point, out of all my ideas, I had decided I was going to dye this beast pink, because I love pink and I need more obnoxiously pink clothes in my life. This was my first attempt at dying fabric myself, so I went online and got a nice sized bottle of fabric dye in a color called petal pink for like four bucks and decided I'd figure it out as I went.

From reading the instructions on the back of the bottle, I had learned two things: one was that I would need about three gallons of water for this jacket, and two was that the water needed to be hot, so I went to fish through the junk in my basement, and pulled out a stock pot my roommate has apparently had for years that I didn't even know I had access to

I was absolutely ecstatic about this because I've always wanted to make my own homemade chicken stock, but alas my hopes were quickly dashed, because my pot sprung a leak 😔

As you can see in that photo, the solution my roommate and I came up with was to shove a cookie sheet under the pot to catch the slow leakage, except the cookie sheet was too narrow for the pot to fit in, so it was leaning at a very safe, very stable, not at all hazardous angle on the edge of the sheet. To make matters worse, there was already plenty of water that had leaked onto the burner and been trapped under the cookie sheet, which made a variety of terrifying hissing and popping noises for me to be terrified over

As you can imagine, this significantly reduced the pot's contact with the burner, so the rise in temperature was very slow. Thankfully, my tap water gets to about 120°F, and the dye bath only needed to be about 140, so I didn't have to wait too long.

So I spent thirty minutes after that hanging out in my kitchen making jacket soup. In hindsight I might have liked to take it out a little sooner for a lighter color, but I'm still satisfied with how it came out.

After washing and drying the now pink jacket, I replaced the buttons with some my roommate had in her massive collection of decades old craft supplies. These new buttons are too big to fit in the holes but I don't care much about that anyway, they look great. I also added a lace trim I found at Walmart to the collar cause I thought it was cute. That brings us to the final product, of which I am very proud

I'd like to kindly thank you for reading this far, and also thank you preemptively for not commenting on my pajamas that are clearly visible in just about every photo.

So I just spent the last several days working on an art project, and I've decided I'll inflict it on all of you, mutuals and random strangers on the internet.

My project began with this very old LL Bean denim jacket I got from a family friend, who claimed she never wore it, and gave it to me after I found it while helping her clean her closet. The original looked like this:

It was quite a bit too big for me, so my first step was to take it in so it wouldn't be so baggy when I wore it. I was kinda winging it on taking my measurements and applying them to the jacket, I kinda just measured what I thought was important and marked it out with a tailors pen on the inside, my marks are barely visible on the photo here

I was playing it pretty fast and loose with how I thought those measurements ought to fall on the garment itself, and ended up just laying on top of it and kinda eyeballing where I thought the bust and waist should be marked.

I took this picture here to show the difference between the before and after of my rough and tumble tailoring job, which I think easily demonstrates probably the only part of this that I considered a serious mistake, and that was using a waist measurement at all. In my mind, a denim jacket shouldn't be form fitting, so what I should have done was measure at the largest part of my chest and let that be the width of the whole body of the jacket so that it would hang loose off my chest in the way I picture in my mind, but I didn't really consider that at the time

I think it was cropping the bottom and leaving it unhemmed the way I did that saved my amateur tailoring abilities, because no matter how strangely it's shaped, a denim jacket with an angled crop will always look cool

At this part of the project, I wasn't totally certain what I wanted to do with it past this point, but I knew that for all the potential ideas I had floating around, it would need to be bleached, so that was what I did next

I bleached this jacket with a 3:1 water/chlorine bleach solution, which I at first thought wouldn't work because the bleach poured straight out of the bottle looked pretty fucked up, it had weird white chunks that concerned me and made me think it was expired

In the end this first mix did remove a significant amount of color, and you can see in this next picture where I was rinsing it in my sink

I found at this stage that it did look nicely acid washed, but it wasn't the crisp white that I wanted. I had only taken it out at this point because my soaking solution had turned a gross orange that I really didn't want to stain the jacket, so I got rid of the first bleach mix, washed the jacket, washed the bucket, and started all over again

This time I used some rocks from my backyard to weigh the whole thing down because it kept floating to the top, which made the lightening very uneven on the parts that were above the water level

In total I'd say the total removal of color probably took about eight hours spread across two days, and at the end it looked like this

I'll be continuing this in a reblog because I appear to have hit the image limit

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Downfall - Jayce x Reader (Explicit)

***

After a massive explosion at the Academy leaves Piltover in disarray, Jayce orders the capture of known Zaunite activists to try and locate Jinx. But when he arrests you, he might get a lot more than what he bargained for...

***

"Let me go!"  

You screamed, you hit, you bit, but they held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your skin as they dragged you down the stairs. The two men all but threw you into the underground cell like a dog, and you immediately sprung on your legs to claw at the metal bars. They watched you with vague disgust, and you snarled. If they wanted an animal, they'd get one.  

"Fucking sewer rats…" the first one said, wiping the hand that had held your arm like it was infected. "They all smell like shit." The other one watched you with a more careful eye, his blue gaze slightly fearful. "I just want the councilor to get here so we can leave… I don't trust her."  

As if on cue, heavy steps echoed from outside the dimly lit room. A large man opened the door, bending his head to get through the doorway before going down the wooden stairs. The golden accents of his posh suit glistened off the lights on the wall, his tan skin rosy, his ebony hair slicked back to perfection. You could have laughed; he couldn't look more pompous if he tried.   

"Sir!"   

The large man glanced at the guards, dismissing them with a wave of his broad hand.  

"At ease, please."  

His eyes landed on you, and he examined you unsurely, like he wasn't sure if you would bite if he got too close. You maintained his stare defiantly, holding your head proud.  

"I'm sorry for the harsh welcome," he said with the soft but firm voice of a politician, getting a little closer to your cage with careful steps. "We just want to know where Jinx is."  

You looked into his deep green eyes as he approached, and behind his composed facade, you saw fear and hate look back at you. As soon as he got within reach, you spat on his shoes.  

Immediately one of the guards jumped at you, hitting your fingers on the metal railing with his baton as you yelped in pain: "How fucking dare-"  

"It's fine," the tall man cut, holding him back with a stiff grip. "Stand down."  

The soldier grumbled under his breath, staring daggers at you before rejoining his partner's side at the back of the room, who had seemed horrified at the whole ordeal. The large man stared at his stained shoe silently, his determination to stay amiable clearly crumbling.   

"We'll let you go as soon as you tell us where she is," he said, tone significantly lower. "That's all we want."  

You watched him, eyeing the golden keys dangling from his pocket, looking at his body for some sort of weakness. His chest seemed sculpted out of rock, the muscles barely contained by his dress shirt. His legs were thick and powerful, his neck almost broader than your entire head. He would not be an easy one to defeat. Then, something hit you: you had seen that man before. You had seen him in streets and vendor stalls, on walls and posters, his handsome smile plastered all throughout the city.   

"I know you," you purred, feeling a smile creep up your lips as he flinched. "You're the man of progress. You're the golden boy !"  

He looked sick. He took a step back, his eyes darting to the floor in something akin to guilt; you had found a weak spot.  

"Weren't you supposed to make the world better for us, golden boy? Weren't you supposed to save us all with your hextech? Is this all you do behind closed doors, kidnapping defenseless little girls to put in your dungeon ?"  

His face hardened, and he stared at you coldly, hands balling to his side.  

"You're nothing remotely close to a defenseless little girl. You almost killed one of my men when they tried to bring you here. He may never see again."  

You hummed, delighted in how his fists almost shook in frustration at your nonchalance. "I did him a favor. The world is ugly, golden boy. And before last week, you were all already blind to it anyway."   

He was clearly trying very hard to stay neutral, but his whole body was an open book, and you could see he was fuming.  

"Before last week, Piltover had leaders it could count on. They had their faults, but they were people striving for the betterment of both our nations. Jinx murdered them all in cold blood."  

You picked at your nails in disinterest: "And yet you're still standing here. Jinx didn't do a great job."  

He moved, and for a second you thought he was going to lunge at you through the bars before a metallic sound echoed throughout the room. He froze. He looked in panic at the top of the stairs as the sound got closer, before someone knocked indignantly at the door, clearly ready to break it down if no one answered. "Jayce !" a heavily accented voice shouted outside. "I need to speak to you right now !"   

The man, Jayce, let out a heavy sigh, large shoulders hunching in defeat. He threw one last look at you before giving his attention to the two guards, who were looking at him in confusion; the man upstairs was clearly not supposed to be aware of your presence. "You're dismissed," he mumbled to the two men, and the three of them headed up the stairs, the guards disappearing out of your view. You caught a glimpse of a cane and two pale, thin legs, before Jayce closed the door shut behind them.  

"Is that what we are doing now? Taking prisoners? Have we sunk so low?" the other man hissed in anger.  

"Viktor, you don't get it," Jayce answered in a hushed voice. "We have to-"  

Their voices got lower, their heated debate muffled by the rock walls. You leaned in as far as you could, only catching the last of their argument  

"- that is fine. But do not expect my support with this," the thinner man seethed. "You have changed, Jayce." You heard him leave in fury, metal cane angrily hitting the floor.

For a moment, you heard nothing, and you wondered if Jayce was going to go after him. But the door to the cellar creaked open, and he walked back inside with a blank stare, like someone had just dropped the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You felt no sadness for him.  

"What happened? Your daddy didn't know you kept girls locked up down here ?"  

He looked at you with pure, unadulterated disgust. "I'll come back to see you later. I hope for both our sakes you'll be ready to talk then."

---

It felt like hours had passed before Jayce came back, but when he did, you were ready, a small rock nestled in the palm of your hand. It was not as sharp as you wished, and you had bloodied your fingers trying to dislodge it out of the wall, but it was the best you had, and it would have to do.  

You couldn't help but feel a slight excitement as you heard his heavy footsteps upstairs, imagining the despair on his poster-boy face as he bled out on the floor, left to die by a street girl half his size. It was all he deserved. It was all any of them deserved for what they had put your people through.  

You rolled into a tight ball against the wall as you heard him go down the stairs, hiding your face inside your arms and holding on tightly to your weapon.  

"I've brought water, and food," Jayce said in a much calmer voice than earlier, and you heard the sound of a platter being set down on the floor. Then, he seemed to notice how you were placed. "Are you ok ?"  

You stayed still.  

"Hey," he said, rattling the cell's bars, a hint of concern in his tone. "Hey!"  

But you didn't move an inch.  

He cursed under his breath and you heard the jingle of keys before the cage's door creaked open. You felt him approach you, and his large hand touched your shoulder so gently you almost felt bad for what you were about to do. "Are you alright ?" he breathed out worriedly.  

You turned quickly, rock in hand, aiming for his jugular with all your strength. But he was bigger, faster, and not as gullible as you had assumed him to be. He quickly grabbed your arms and pinned them to the wall, the tiny rock barely cutting his cheek as you yelped in surprise.  

"Fuck," he breathed out angrily. "Why would you do that ?!"  

You trashed around, trying to escape, but his grip was like metal, your arms moving uselessly against it.  

"You don't get it. You never will," you hissed, trying to dig your nails into his tan skin. "I'll die here before I tell you anything, and trust me, I won't come at you with just a rock next time."  

He looked at you with pity, and you felt like ripping off every inch of his perfect face.  

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, and his breath smelled like the expensive dark coffee nobles would throw at begging children at the outskirts of the city. "Please. I don't want any this."  

You spat in his face.  

His hands reflexively let your arms, and you used the momentum to kick his stomach with your knee. He doubled over, whimpering in pain, and you fell to your knees next to him, desperately clawing at his pants for the keys. But they weren't there. They weren't there.  

A strong hand grabbed your ankle, dragging your face down to the floor, and you yelped in pain. He turned you around like you weighed nothing more than a few grains of sand, trapping you underneath his body, his face contorted in anger. "Ok, that fucking hurt !"   

You swallowed with difficulty, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you struggled to regain your breathing.   

"You're…" you started, voice raspy. "You're smarter than you look. You took the keys from your pocket when I wasn't looking."  

His thick eyebrows were frowned in annoyance, but you didn't miss the hint of a cocky smile drawing itself on his lips: "Out of all the things I thought you'd to say, a compliment wasn't one of them."  

You panted silently, eyes never leaving his. It was eerily quiet, almost peaceful, his body warm against yours, and for a moment you let yourself imagine if it would be so bad to stay in this cell if it was with him.  

"I," you started, breaking the silence, "think you broke my ankle."  

He didn't move. With how close he was laying, you fully took in the details of his face, noticing the sharpness of his jaw and the fullness of his lips, tiny scars peppering the copper skin. The posters truly didn't do him justice. He smelled like expensive cologne and fancy shampoo, with a faded scent of fire and metal.  

"I'm sorry about the ankle, but I can't let you move right now," he answered calmly, warm breath tickling your face. "You haven't given me many reasons to trust you."  

You hummed, feeling your body throb in exertion at his weight on top of yours. Had the circumstances been different, you wouldn't have minded being in this position with him. Maybe, if the way his eyes had darted to your cleavage as he had pinned you down, he wouldn't have either.  

"I promise I'll let you go if you just tell me where Jinx is," he said gently, and you felt a pang of annoyance in your chest. "Is that the only thing you know about Zaun? Jinx? Do you think she represents all of us ? Do I look like Jinx ?"  

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn't let him, smashing your lips against his decidedly. He went rigid, eyes wide in surprise, but he didn't move, still holding you down with the same force. When you pulled away, he was flushed, and very, thoroughly confused.  

"You…kissed me."  

"I did," you answered.  

"You kissed me," he repeated in bewilderment, "after you just tried to cut my neck open with a rock."  

"You were talking too much about her. It pissed me off," you explained simply as you licked your lips, noticing the way his eyes followed the motion.

"Zaunites take what they want, when they want it. And if you want me to tell you anything, golden boy," you said, pointedly rocking your hips against his, "you're going to have to make me."  

You could read every thought and emotion going through in him as he studied you unsurely. You rolled your hips against him again, and he made a small strangled sound, biting his bottom lip. He let out a final shaky breath before looking into your eyes, decided: "If you do anything that makes me think you're trying to escape," he said, tightening the grip on your wrists, "this ends immediately. Do we understand each other ?"  

"I believe we do," you purred, and your lips met his again. This time he replied in fervor, his tongue meeting yours hungrily. You bit his lip harshly and his eyes glistened in challenge, his teeth clashing against yours defiantly. You fought sloppily for control, drool running down your chin before you had to pull away for air.  

"You really taste like rich people's coffee," you hummed, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.  

"And you-" he started with a smirk, whatever smart talk he had got stuck in his throat when you bent to kiss his neck, "you…"  

You nipped at the skin, quickly finding his pulse and sucking onto it. His hips ground onto yours, and you felt his length dig into your thighs. When you pulled away, his cheeks were red, and he was panting.  

"You…" he mumbled, trying to remember what he was going to say. "You're wearing too much clothing."  

You nodded pointedly at his hands pinning you down: "You could always let my hands go so I can take some of it off."  

He laughed, and the sound was deep and gentle against your ear.  

"I'm an inventor. I'll find another way."  

He lowered himself slightly to put his mouth to your stomach, bitting a fistful of the fabric with his teeth before pulling in one swift motion, ripping the seams with the strength of his jaw. He let the ruined fabric fall out of his mouth with a cocky smile.  

"See? Didn't even need to use hands."  

It would be a cold day in hell before you told him that had made you clench.  

"Did it occur to you I might like this top ?". But his attention was already on your chest, warm mouth working your tits readily. You didn't want to admit it, but he was good. What he lacked in technique he made up in eagerness, his lips going from one nipple to the other, swirling them with his tongue as your toes curled.  

"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, "they're so fucking soft…"  

You moaned appreciatively, your fingers uselessly grasping at nothing as you wished you could fist them into his hair.  

"See ?" you exhaled, "We have nice things down in Zaun too."  

He stopped at that, looking up at you from under your breasts. "I don't- I don't hate Zaun. I just-" he interrupted himself, looking away hesitantly, "I just don't think it's possible for our people to simply get along anymore."  

"We've never gotten along," you answered curtly. "The upper city has just ignored us until someone was brave enough to make us heard."  

His gaze hardened, and he brought himself up slightly, holding his forehead against yours to look into your eyes.  

"And is that someone Jinx ?"  

Your eyes narrowed coldly.  

"You talk about her too fucking much."  

Your lips crashed against his, mean, rough, and when you bit it was to draw blood. He answered in the same way and you felt dizzy as a metallic taste filled your mouth, the sensation overwhelming. You gasped for air when he pulled away, feeling like you had forgotten how to breathe.  

"You're jealous of her," he stated matter of factly, lips tinted red, like his tongue hadn't been deep inside your throat seconds earlier. "Why ?"  

You scoffed, spitting bloody saliva to your side. "I'm not jealous, I'm mad. You pilties all think she's some sort of criminal mastermind with a grandiose plan to bring you down. She isn't," you grunted. "She's just fucking insane."  

You moved your hips against him, rubbing your thighs against his length as his breath hitched. "Now, can we go back to the part where you fuck me ?"  

His voice tightened when he replied: "We sure can."

To your surprise, he let go of your wrists, hands settling against your waist instead. "Don't make me regret this," he mumbled.  

Then, in an instant, he had you in his arms, pinning you against the wall a few feet off the ground. Your legs automatically snaked around him for safety, and he smirked in that horribly perfect way of his. One of his hands left your waist to pull down your pants, letting them fall loudly onto the floor as he almost ripped off your underwear. His thick fingers quickly found your warmth, teasing your clit. "Have you been this wet all along?"  

You opened your mouth to snap back an answer, but he shoved two digits inside your heat without warning, and your mouth open in frozen surprise. You whined as he started moving them, their size already filling. The confident smile on his face grew, and he glanced at you amusedly. "Is this how you do all your negotiations, or am I just a lucky guy?"  

You bit down your lips painfully, the fragile skin bruised and bloody, to prevent a moan from coming out when his fingers curled.  

"Y-you're one to talk, golden boy," you snarled with as much irony as you could. "That man that came earlier, you let him fuck you, don't you? You were shivering like a little bitch when he yelled at you."  

His eyebrows furrowed, his gaze burning into yours, and his fingers picked up in speed, fucking you against the rock wall.  

"Don't," he said in warning, voice low, "talk about him like that."  

You glared back at him, meeting his angry stare.  

"Make me."  

His fingers left your insides swiftly, and you felt your cheeks redden when you unwillingly let out a whine of complaint. He unzipped his fly, bringing his cock out to lay it against your lower stomach, and you swallowed hard. He was long, yes, but he was thick, the head impossibly bulbous, easily the size of your fist. He hummed in satisfaction at your lack of answer, coating your skin with beads of precum: "Now that shuts you up. You like that, baby girl ?"  

You wanted him. You wanted him to shut his stupid mouth and pound into you with all that stupid strength of his until you could do nothing but lay there and take him.

"I expected bigger," you mumbled, looking away, "but with the size of your ego it was clear you were compensating for something."  

His lips straightened into a thin line. He let go of his cock to line it up against your entrance, his now free hand going to your face and firmly holding it against the wall.  

"You really should learn to shut up," he muttered, and you barely had the time to say wait before he pushed into you, his head barely making it through the resistance of your walls. You let out a silent scream, mouth agape, eyes rolling back into your skull. You saw white as he bottomed out, feeling your thighs shake against him.  

"Sorry, did you ask me to wait? I don't think I heard you very well. Speak up, baby girl." At your lack of answer, his bravado fell, and his free hand gently caressed your cheek in worry. "Are you ok? I should have gone slower, it's a lot all at once-" You kissed him savagely, regaining your senses, the feeling of him in you overwhelming perfect. "Don't stop."  

That was all it took to convince him. His eyes close shut and he pounded into you, once, twice, thrice, rythm impossibly fast and rough, and you felt like a cotton ragdoll in his arms.  

"Fuck, fuck you're so tight-" he mumbled incoherently against your ear. Your brain felt like it had become mush, thoughts jumbled, your nails desperately scratching his back. His right hand left your cheek to go tease your clit, and you felt tears pry at the corner of your eyes. "Tell me," he panted, still thrusting inside you with the same determination, "tell me about Jinx."  

You could have punched him.  

"You never stop, don't you ?" you snarled, seeing stars when the tip of his cock hit your cervix. "You-you'll have to fuck me harder than that, golden boy." The next thrust almost made you black out, his body against yours the only thing keeping you upright. "T-tell me, did the -ah- did the rest of the council peg your tight little ass? Is that why you-you're so upset they're dead ?"  

His eyes burnt into yours passionately, and you felt heat pool into your lower stomach.  

"Big words coming from someone with a cock in her."  

The fingers on your clit pinched down punishingly, and you felt a finger prod at your entrance alongside his cock. You could do nothing but scream as you came all over his cock and the tip of his index, screaming.  

"Shh, good girl, good job baby, shh…"  

He kissed your face gently and it took you a few seconds to realize it was wet with tears. He pulled out of you, growling as he gave his cock a few last pumps before he came all over your legs. He brought you slowly to the floor, and you collapsed against him, too tired to move on your own.   

"You didn't cum in me," you mumbled against his skin, and he looked down at you in confusion. "Were you… that scared you'd be stuck with a zaunite kid ?"  

You had meant it as a small jab, but something in what you said cut him much deeper than you expected. There was something horrified in his eyes, like you had learned his deepest secret and spat it back into his face.   

"You're wrong," he let out in a small, strangled voice. "I value zaunite children just as much as any other kids. I would never hurt a child, I never meant to-"  

He cut himself off, looking away for you not to see his face. The room was silent, and for a moment, you thought he might have been crying. You slowly got up, gathering the ripped pieces of your clothing around the cell and putting them back on as best as you could.  

"I dont know where Jinx is," you said finally, looking at his crouched form on the floor. He had seemed so big a few minutes ago, so powerful and enormous, that it was almost hard to believe you stood in front of the same man. "No one does. She doesn't get found, she finds you. And if she does, you're as good as dead."  

He let out a small defeated sound, still looking away, expression obscured.  

"You weren't going to tell me anything else from the start, were you ?"  

You didn't answer. Worldlessly, he reached inside his shirt, pulling out the small set of keys. He threw them without turning around, and you caught them with one hand.  

"If you take a left at the end of the corridor, you'll find a window big enough to crawl through. I'm guessing you'll be able to find your way after that."  

You hummed, opening the door to the cell before throwing a look back at him.  

"Won't they wonder why you just let me go ?"  

He laughed, bitter, empty gaze lost on the rock floor.  

"'They'? Who ?" he let out sourly. "I'm the only councilor left."  

You watched him silently; you had never felt pity for someone from Piltover. Maybe you had both learned something tonight.  

"You're much less impressive when you're crying, golden boy," you said softly. "You've worked under the assumption that you could find Jinx. You can't. But what you can do is make her come to you."  

He looked up at you in surprise, green eyes suddenly a little brighter.  

"…thank you."  

"Don't thank me. This was a business deal, nothing more," you threw back at him as you went up the creaky stairs, only stopping at the door to give him a final warning.

"Just hope you're ready when she comes, Jayce."

[irisofpurple]

Good Girl

Summary: What happens when Lana comes home to Ethan, fashionably late after a girls night?

Book: Open Heart Book 3 (post ending)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey×f!MC (Lana Stevens)

Word Count: 2k.

Warnings/Rating: Smut, Swearing, NSFW; Explicit.

A/N: This is pure filth and nothing but filth. A self indulgent produce of my very Scorpio brain and the smuttiest fic I've ever written. I'm not exactly sorry but you've been warned jskssjjkkhhssk. It follows up after New Look, which was my first ever Pictagram edit. I suppose you can still read this if you missed that though. Hope you enjoy reading!

This work is NSFW and meant for 18+ readers only. Please use discretion.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

A rush of giddy excitement hit her as she turned the keys to his apartment, making her stumble slightly at the doorstep as she entered.

Alcohol from the countless shots Jackie made them do was still hot and pumping through her veins. In her drunken haze, Sienna had actually convinced her to keep the wig on.

She adjusted it slightly before she realised she'd stepped into pin drop silence, the moonlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows the only source of light cutting through the darkness.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was 2:30 AM. Way past Ethan's bedtime.

Her stomach dropped. The girls night had went on longer than she'd anticipated. They'd gotten a bit carried away between gossiping and drinking to new beginnings. It had been a while since they'd had a relaxing night as this after all.

As fun as that was, what Lana was really looking forward to tonight was seeing Ethan. All that teasing had made her as hot as she'd hoped to have made him. She wanted to leave right then but it wouldn't have been fair to her friends.

Her shoulders slumped. It was no use now.

She turned head into the bedroom, the knowledge that she'd find him peacefully asleep making her heart sink a little.

"You're late."

The familiar rumble of his voice echoed through the room, making her gasp in surprise and turn back around.

There he was. Sitting at the bar with a glass of scotch nestled in his hand.

Her heart jumped in her throat, a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through her, renewing her excitement even more than before.

The contrasting shadows and moonlight highlighted his already sharp jawline, making him look more beautiful than ever.

Slowly, he rose from his seat, drawing nearer to her, his dark predatory gaze never leaving her. She wasn't able to look away either, her belly clenching with anticipation with every step he took.

She shivered as he ran his fingers though the red hair, his blue eyes going the deepest shade of sapphire possible.

"You're still wearing it, I see." he muttered darkly, a dangerous edge to his voice.

A slow smirk spread across her face. She knew no joy like seeing Ethan Ramsey tethering on the edge in a struggle for control.

And she'd make sure he fell over tonight.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep." she said, feigning nonchalance, pointedly ignoring his observation.

In a sudden movement, he pulled her hand by the wrist to the front of his pants, making her feel his hardness though the fabric.

"Do you know how hard it is to sleep like this?" He said through gritted teeth.

Lana was unfazed. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she stared right back into those celestial blues.

"I can only imagine." She murmured huskily as her fingers caressed him ever so slightly, confidence oozing through her as he twitched violently at her touch.

He pulled her hand away and onto his chest, having realized that his move had backfired.

"You made me wait." He accused, his rebellious gaze dropping to her lips.

"I think I know exactly how to make up for it." Lana said with coquettish smirk.

She captured his lips soon after, not letting him a chance to say anything more. Her hands travelled down to palm his bulge once more, making him groan against her lips. Tongues tangled in a desperate battle for dominance, their need for each other assuming more importance than air for a few breathless moments.

Lana pushed him onto the couch, looking down at him with a devilish smile as she pulled off her wig, shaking free her natural blonde curls. They fell around her shoulders gracefully as Ethan watched her with an awestruck look on his face, all traces of resistance gone. She took off her top next, taking delight in his sharp intake of breath as her breasts spilled free before his reverent eyes, following to straddle his lap and continue kissing him with abandon.

Her lips trailed down the corded muscles of his neck, sucking and biting as she goes. Ethan's hands meanwhile were firmly gripping her waist, another one inching underneath her skirt, closer and closer to her soaked core.

But she wouldn't let him get there. Not yet.

His shirt flew across the living room in a matter of seconds and then she on her knees before him, her lips having left a wet trail of kisses all over his chest and abs.

She unbuckled his belt with deft fingers, pulling down the redundant material of his trousers. His cock sprung free, jutting out in all it's glory, demanding immediate attention.

Her delicate fingers gripped him firmly, pumping him a few times torturously.

"Lana.." Ethan groaned helplessly.

She gave him a smile that she knew he found devastating.

"Feel free to pull my hair." she said as she moved to give a long luscious lick along his length.

Her blood red lips were wrapped around his cock the next second, causing Ethan's hips to buck up involuntarily. His fingers tangled in her hair, making her hum around him in satisfaction.

She was on her knees but the one surrendering was Ethan, completely at her mercy. That knowledge was as beholding as it was empowering.

She sank down the length of him, hollowing out her cheeks, relishing every grunt and moan that escaped his throat as she took him deeper into her own.

She repeated the motion, working him up, not letting the involuntary gags or tears brimming in her eyes stop her from taking him where she wanted.

Keeping eye contact, she realised him with a dizzying pop only to suck on his heavy balls till they were as wet as his now glistening cock.

The look of sheer adoration mixed with lust and frustration on his face had to the hottest thing she'd ever witnessed. It made her own folds drip with arousal.

Her tongue flicked across the slit of his tip, before her warm mouth engulfed him once more to bob down his steely length with determination, taking him all the way in.

"Sweetheart, you're going to make me.. FUCKK!"

His grip on her hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. It only served to excite her more. She didn't let up till he emptied himself down her throat, cursing as he shook and came like never before.

She licked him clean, not leaving a single drop.

She felt breathless and a little punch drunk as he pulled her up and into his arms, kissing her tenderly, softly caressing her cheek and wiping away the tears.

He pulled back to look at her, concern etching his handsome face. "Are you okay?"

She laughed. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He seemed satisfied with her answer because the look of worry gave way to a roguish smirk.

"Just needed to be sure cause I'm not done with you yet."

"Wha-"

"Shhh." He silenced her with his fingers. "You had your way with me, didn't you? Now it's my turn."

"But.." her query died in a moan as Ethan's fingers found her dripping core.

"Damn." He hissed. "How are you already so wet?"

Lana was in no shape to answer because his thumb was working her clit in maddening circles, excruciating pleasure rippling through her as two fingers curled into her slick passage.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his skillful fingers moved over her with precision and expertise, over and over again. Just when she was about to reach her peak however, he ceased all movements.

Lana cried out in disappointment from the sudden loss of sensations.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him in frustration.

Ethan only smiled. "You didn't think I'd let you get away with all that teasing so fast, did you?"

"What do you-"

"Hush, my darling. I said it was my turn. You made me wait for you all evening. Now close your eyes."

"But-"

"No arguments." He said firmly.

Lana hesitantly shut her eyes, the ache between her legs getting unbearable with each passing second.

"Good girl." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't move an inch and keep your eyes shut. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" she cried. "You can't leave me like this."

"Don't you trust me, my love?" He chastened.

Lana gulped. "I do but.."

"No buts then. I promise I'll make it worth your while but no cheating or this ends here."

"No!" Lana shook her head. "I'll do as you say."

"That's my girl."

She heard his footsteps fade away as she struggled to stay still. She was tempted to take a peek and more anything else, touch herself and soothe the throb between her legs. She could get off so easily right now.

But she didn't dare disobey. The wait and build up made her wetter and more turned on than she'd ever been.

Her breath came in shallow pants as she waited and by the time he was back, she felt like one touch would be enough to make her explode.

He secured a silky fabric across her eyes and she heard a low click of glass on the surface of the table.

What the hell was that?

Her heart pounded in her chest and her sex clenched in anticipation.

"Hands above your head and don't move. Or I'll have to tie you up."

She nodded eagerly, following his instructions. "Please Ethan."

He chuckled. "Patience, my love. If there's anything I learnt tonight, it's that waiting makes everything better."

She gasped as she felt his lips on her inner thighs, his beard deliciously scraping her skin as he kissed her everywhere but where she needed him most. It was too much but not enough.

His fingers hooked around the lace of her panties. "As pretty as these are, they have to go."

A loud rip followed, tearing through the room and informing her that her panties were definitely in shreds.

"That was.." she choked out, almost in alarm, unable to finish her sentence. But Ethan seemed to understand her concern.

"I'll buy you more." He grunted.

She felt warm liquid slosh onto her chest, flowing down slowly between the valley of her breasts and down her belly, making her entire body tingle.

Her back arched as the flow inched closer to her pulsing core. She moaned out loud as it finally reached it's destination, suddenly cooling her hot sex.

Ethan's mouth closed on her clit before she could process what was going on.

"Ethannn" She cried out.

She didn't recognize the feline noises escaping her, gasping and moaning for her life as she climbed higher and higher with each masterful stroke of his tongue.

"God. I thought scotch was best had neat. I was wrong. So wrong." He muttered against her sex.

The low rumble vibrated through her body and as soon as his fingers joined the ministrations of his mouth, Lana catapulted over the edge, fireworks exploding behind her eyes and blinding her with hot white pleasure as she came all over his face harder than ever. He didn't stop till all the aftershocks rocking her subsided, letting her ride out her orgasm.

He removed her blindfold and pulled her into his arms, gently kissing the top of her head as she hugged him feebly.

As she caught her breath, her eyes landed on the expensive half empty bottle of scotch and she laughed. "Scotch and sex? Who would've thought?"

Ethan chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. "Me apparently. How did it feel?"

She buried her face in his chest, feeling her face heat. "You know how I felt. I was pretty vocal about it."

Low masculine laughter rumbled through his chest making her heart squeeze and sex clench, like she didn't just have the best orgasm of her life.

She wasn't embarrassed though because she could feel his rock hard errection against her thigh.

She looked up at him mischievously. "Are we ready for a round two?"

She yelped as he lifted her, her thighs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bedroom.

"Always."

Whew! I hope you enjoyed reading that. As usual, I'd love to know what you think. Please forgive the mistakes if there are any. I couldn't proofread due to shortage of time.

Tags: @lem-20 @pixie88 @aleynareads @maurine07 @whimsicallywayward15 @lovingramsey @coffeeheartaddict @txemrn @shewillreadyou @aussieez @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @schnitzelbutterfingers @imaneditorthankyouverymuch @mercury84choices @thegreentwin @adiehardfan @custaroonie @headoverheelsforramsey @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[ta-da-the-sequel]

Saoirse: Chapter 1

The Comissioner

masterpost

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"Stay, stay." Savaira put her hands up mid-way, backing off from the dog looming before her. The golden beast stared her down, bearing an open smile. And all its teeth.

The woman backed up a bit more, blanching when she hit the umbrella stand. She put her hands over her face, as the dog now sprung to life. With an almost childish delight, it bounced towards her, giving her the one massive lick it could.

The pooch moved its legs in the air. "Hey, Lucky, what did I tell you about welcoming our guests." A massive, paint-splattered hand tugged the dog away. The golden labrador whimpered a bit, before following her owner's instructions to sit.

Then, the slender giant turned to her, offering his open palm. "Heh, sorry about that. I hope you're not too soaked, are you?"

She walked onto his palm, pulling the excess saliva off her sleeves. Thank goodness her leather jacket was saliva-proof. "Well, it could be worse, I guess."

If she was handed the choice between Lucky and some of the other ishaika that roamed this forsaken city, she'd take Lucky a million times over. At least Lucky had no malice in her heart.

Suddenly, a big giant hand was waving in her face. "Hey, Savaira, you in there girl? You're daydreaming again."

"I am not. I'm just... thinking."

"Thinking about what?" He slid onto one of the kitchen chairs, and cast her stumbling onto the wooden table. She could feel the dreamy gaze of his green eyes on her, trying to examine her lost soul. Straight ahead, something caught her eye.

"You know, thinking about things."

"You lost me there."

A piece of artwork laid flat on the table. From what part she could comprehend of the massive sheet, it awed her. The blend of watercolour hues coming together, the blues, the greens, the faint splattering of lilac. All of that, highlighting a figure in white, a goddess Savaira had long abandoned.

"Wow, you have it done. Oh Eniko, you seem to keep outdoing yourself." For once, she let a smile creep up her face.

Eniko placed his finger below her chin, gently forcing her gaze upward. With his free hand, he held the painting up for her to see it in its full glory.

"As flattered as I am, it's not quite done yet."

She raised an eyebrow. She could see where this was going. "Is that so? How come you haven't it done yet?"

He pointed to the border, which had a faint outline of ancient-style border patterns. "See this? I want this border to stand out silver, but I don't have the means to make it happen. Oh if only I had a record-making metallurgist by my side, then maybe my dream can come true."

Savaira had already started taking off her coat and rolling the non-existent sleeves of her t-shirt. "You're on, page boy."

With that, he kneeled down out of her sight, ruminating in the unit below the wooden counter. Meanwhile, she gazed around the room, laden with light wood cupboard doors and grey-blue floor tiles. Despite the kitchen's sheer size to her, it had a certain tightness to it.

A table and chairs stood to her right, with three of them showing the unearthly freshness of unuse. The walls were blank white bar the picture frames that broke the monotony. Though to her dismay, one was crooked.

Eniko's wiry form emerged from under the unit, pulling out a fully kitted workspace and a bar of silver. Immediately, she set into her rituals as if making her standard commissions. She grabbed the welding mask and apron, before warming her hands by the furnace. Such simple things set her at ease, and when she plucked the first bit of sliver, she couldn't help but remember the day Eniko revealed that workspace to her, as part of his proposal for her to move in with him. Oh if only things were different on her end.

"By the way, there's no rush on this." Eniko scratched the back of his head, blushing a bit.

"Really?" She began to morph the metal according to the border pattern, moving it as if it was clay. "How far off are you on completing that exhibition project?"

She could see him bring his hands together, grasping to contain his excitement. "That's the thing, this is the last piece. After that, I'm done."

"I'm so delighted for you." She looked at him for a second, hoping her comment didn't come off as sarcastic. Quite clearly, she was proud of him. And counting back to that first day... Gods, it's been six months already?! Shocking how time went so fast yet so slow. For her, Ocera felt like purgatory, and it reminded her of that folk tale about the man who wandered around, looking for work, and even in death he walked around seeking bodies to slit and burn.

His calming voice stirred her out of those thoughts."Thanks, I appreciate that. But, there is one thing I'd like to ask you."

"Is that so?" She walked back into her workspace, solidifying the next part of the pattern. Even by her standards, she was going quite quickly with it.

He leaned in a bit closer, to where she could see his eye in the window. "How would you like to present that exhibition with me?"

"Are you serious? That's a nice offer, but I honestly don't know." Her heart seized at the thought. Art exhibitions were only attended by other artists and rich people. Rich people with connections, might she add.

"Ah come on, I think it's only fair. You've helped me so much, not just with this, but with ideas and everything. You should come."

Her cheeks now had a rosy tint to them. The sharp blue glow of her eyes helped highlight that. "I'll think about it."

He smiled at her, in a way that was reminiscent of Lucky, almost. "Good, I hope you will, if for nothing else, but because you're my friend."

The metal melted in her hands, and it took her a second to realise it. She dashed to the tap and placed the metal on the counter, before washing her hands and drying them. She warmed her hands again and set about remolding the piece.

She could hear him laughing behind her. "Come on, you know I was distracted."

He was still laughing. "Yeah, you could say it smelted."

When she came out again, she gave him a look. "You should really consider going into comedy."

"I know right." He started mimicking the accent of an affluent Seldaikan, polished, formal and with that slight touch of another country's accent. "That was a very fine joke if I do say so myself."

She couldn't help but laugh at his imitation, though she supposed it helped that he knew the language whose classy, musical sound was hinted in the affluent accent.

With all those jokes that they cracked over the course of the next few hours, it was a miracle that Savaira managed to get any work done.

She stepped back, marveling at her work. Somehow, three-quarters of the pattern was done. From here she could see the awe in his eyes, twinkling like stars.

"Thank you, I really do owe you for this. I'll send you your payment in a couple days, if that suits?"

She waved her hands sideways. "Honestly, there's no need to pay me, don't worry about that."

"Are you sure, it's the least I can do."

She nodded. She really just wanted to get back to the Avenue before nightfall. "I'm sure. Anyway, see you later, Eniko."

With that, she departed. Through the little door carved in beside the main one, she emerged onto the thin, shadowy street.

Buildings like Eniko's populated this very street, dark, dusty and aged. Some places had a multitude of gaps in the walls, others were losing their paint. Thin wires went from one roof to another, and Savaira couldn't tell if it was humans or giants that put them there.

Shutters covered windows which saw no light. In the darkest places there were eyes in the depths; they were in the guttered cans and boxes used as temporary refuge, in the sewers, the windows, the walls. But the eyes she feared most, were the eyes she couldn't see.

She continued on down the road, keeping her gaze peeled on the surroundings. To her left, a couple people sat in the alcove between two buildings, lighting a fire. Even from here she could smell the smoke, it was thick and musty.

For a moment, their stares interlocked with hers. She could see it in them, the fear, the hopelessness, the lack of purpose. Their shoulders hunched, their backs curled over. That look in their eyes, gazing upon the fine clothes that she could easily afford.

As she went down that merry lane, she could hear the heavy fluttering of wings. Gray-ish feathers dotted the place, along with white, acidic splatters. The place reverberated with coos and coughs.

Her hands drifted to the dagger by her side, resting upon its hilt. She increased her pace. From here, the light was in sight. Slowly but surely, the smell of spiced food filled her nostrils.

Just then, something darker than night flew over her head, and a white thing fell from it. She put her hands over her head, waiting for that splatter of stickiness.

Moments later, she could feel something slide off her arm. It fell to the ground before she could reach it, but then she looked down.

"What is this?" She picked up the plain envelope, and tore it open with her dagger. Her heart stopped at the sight of the handwriting.

You have two weeks. Head to the bank and give us your savings. All of them.

In exchange, your grievances will be forgiven.

There is no other choice in the matter.

"Maelaira." She growled, stuffing the note into the envelope and into her pocket. Seeing the note felt like a slap in the face. Just when she thought she could get away from the Wraiths, they decide to haunt her to her grave.

No doubt there was going to be a catch to this. That alone made her hesistant. She shook her head.

There is no other choice in the matter. If Maelaira and Sarena wanted a piece of her, fine. She had no qualms about giving them their own medicine.

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Dress You Up In My Love (Darren Treacy x Jeanie Turner)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: angst, smut, language, cross dressing kink

A/N: Darren needs just one night to hide after pulling a hit on Dublin's biggest drug lord. He turns to secondary family where he finds out something surprising about himself and unfinished business from his cousin's wedding. (Takes place in series two between episodes 5 and 6. There ARE spoilers for series two of Love/Hate.)

A frantic knocking sprung Jeanie out of sleep that she didn't remember falling into. She hurriedly pulled on the hotel bathrobe and shouted at the door she was coming. A glance at the clock told her it was 8pm. Still plenty of time for him to come by.

Jeanie opened the door and gasped. “Dazz?! What's going on?”

“Is Gordo here?” The man shifted from foot to foot outside the doorway. He had a motorcycle helmet in his hands and a wild look behind bright green eyes.

“No. He's been up at Trinity in that fucking lab all day. I've not seen him.”

“I need a place t’crash for a few days,” he half-begged, half informed Jeanie as he pushed past into the suite. “Crikey this is posh. If I knew Gordo was gonna grow up t’have this kinda cash, I wouldn't have poked fun at the specs n shite.”

“Darren is there something I can help you with? As we've not seen you in four years?” Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest.

“I.. Did something. Just need a place t’lay low. Figured my cousin was th’last place anyone would look.” There was a shrug in his voice.

“Why not Rosie?”

Darren started to shed his jacket then ran a hand through his shaggy hair, “Best not involve her either. Not exactly talking these days.” He held his jacket out to Jeanie.

“Fuck off with that!” she swatted the jacket away.

“Oi! Just hold it while I take off the rest.”

“Rest of what? Your clothes? Hi Darren. Haven't seen you since the wedding. You've grown up. Sorry about Robbie and your mum. Thank you, Jeanie. How have you been? How's Scotland? Just lovely. Don't see Gordon for days and he's had TWO affairs.”

“Fair point, darlin,” Darren stepped out of his boots and unzipped his sweatshirt. “The Treacy side ain't exactly one t’write home about. Are we, yeah? ‘Cept Mary.”

Jeanie took the leather jacket and pinched her nose. Eyes closed. Something sticky about it made her recoil. Eyes popped open. She held her hand up; it was speckled brownish red.

“Dazz is this blood?!”

“Best you don't know. Can I shower?”

“I don't know, can- JESUS DARREN PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON” Jeanie covered her eyes.

“I'M IN UNDERWEAR!” he shouted back, laughter in his voice. “Alright, Ginge. Haven't ye ever seen a grown man in his underwear? You just need to get rid of those anyway ye can. Please?”

“Well you certainly aren't 16 anymore.”

“I was 18 when ye’s got married. Don’t ye remember?” his eyebrow arched suggestively.

“I would say I tried to forget, but when I'm stuck alone at night, or in a hotel for days at a time, I don't feel bad. It really was foreshadowing for the rest of our marriage.”

“Gordo’s cousin trying t’shag his new wife th’night he got married? Almost got that tossover. Pride myself on that.”

“I was hammered and you have very hypnotic eyes. Like Kaa in the Jungle Book”

Darren frowned, his brows knit together in confusion. His lower lip turned out as he struggled to comprehend that as compliment or insult.

Jeanie couldn't help but stare now. A proper look. Darren's body hadn’t changed much since she last saw him. Still thin, muscles a bit more defined. Scars littered his chest and stomach as he exhaled deeply. It was labored.

“Are those from a gunshot?” Jeanie looked minorly distressed.

Darren absently ran his fingers over the old wounds. “Aye. Working on one lung and I'm a bit barmy now.” Like it was no big deal.

Jeanie sighed heavily, but stopped to gather up his clothes. “I'll take a walk, and ditch these. Against my better judgment. Clean clothes are in our bags. You're about his size I suppose.” She rummaged around in the closet by the front door for a garment bag.

“You're a fucking beauty!” Darren snatched his cousin’s wife up in his arms. He pecked her cheek awkwardly.

“Towels are in the bathroom,” Jeanie grappled with what just happened. “I'll be back in half an hour. I hope whatever you did is fucking worth it. Dazz.”

“Trust me, love. No ones gonna miss him.”

------

Jeanie sloshed out of the canal bed glad she packed her Wellingtons for the unpredictable Irish weather. Grateful too for the stones she found along the water side. She had put the hotel pub news bulletin out of her mind warning of a gangland hit on a local known drug lord. One that showed up to her wedding on the arm of Darren and Gordon’s aunt.

“I hope Darren shot you right in the fucking face, and you knew it was him.” Jeanie muttered as she watched the clothes sink after she pushed the bag under the surface.

Maybe it was hypocritical she was relieved JohnBoy was dead. Dazz wasn't the only one who tried to fuck her that night, but he was the only one she welcomed. Maybe, Jeanie owed Darren a bit of physical gratitude.

-----

Jeanie shut the door behind herself and popped her boots off in the closet. She changed quickly in the bathroom.

“You hungry or anything? I hope you found clothes that-”

Jeanie stopped in her tracks when she came around the wall that divided the suite foyer from the bedroom. Darren with his back to the full length mirror, was twisted so that he could look at himself. He seemed to be staring at his own ass.

“What are you doing?!” Jeanie was surprised, but amused more than anything.

“Oh! What kinda fookin underwear does Gordo have?” Darren's cheeks were just a hint of pink as he caught Jeanie’s eye. “T’ere’s no place for my cock when I piss, but they feel nice? Like t’ere comfortably snug?” He caressed his ass for emphasis.

“Well, those are mine. Not Gordon’s boxer briefs. So that answers the cock question. And they look snug because you have.” Jeanie's eyes strayed down over the bulge that had grown inside the boy shorts. “Well you must REALLY like them.”

Darren's eyes were wide, but he didn't seem embarrassed. Not really. His gaze followed Jeanie's downwards to his erection. “Yeah looks t’at way, doesn't it. I promise ye, I've never done t’is before.”

“Who cares if you have. Women wear boxers all the time. Back home, when I was in uh, what's it here? 1st through 4th year, all we wore was boxers as regular shorts. If you like them, Dazz, you could try some more?”

Jeanie had sat down on the bed. One knee crossed over the other with her hands clasped together. She bit her lip while her heart drummed loud in her ears. A pleasurable discomfort as she began to throb at the sight of Darren in her panties. The anticipation of him getting into a sexier pair. Letting her feel them. It had been so long.

“I mean, I'm not going anywhere t’ night. I’m not dressing in full drag though,” he insisted.

Jeanie stood and rifled through the suitcase. “I didn't think you wanted to. My regular clothes wouldn't fit you anyways.” She bit her fingernail and debated between a deep purple and cobalt blue. “I'm built like an hourglass and you,” she laid her choices on the white duvet, “are built like a baby giraffe.”

Darren rolled his eyes but joined Jeanie at the bedside. He gravitated towards the purple ones. Mostly lace with a bit of satin, they would look absolutely obscene on him. In the best possible way.

“Ye were wearing these t’at night,” Darren was full of nostalgia.

“I didn't know your side of the family could be sentimental besides Mare,” Jeanie giggled. She couldn't help it. “I definitely married the wrong cousin. Sometimes, I wish I could legally kill him,” there was an uneasy humor in her voice.

“I mean, I would do it for ye.” Darren didn't even hesitate.

“Um..” Jeanie's face matched her hair.

Darren burst into laughter, “Ease up, darlin’. I'm fuckin with ye.”

Jeanie wasn't certain about that but she played along. His smile both unnerved her and turned her on. The way he studied her and then the panties with a curiosity and delight.

“Why don't you put those on, and I put on the bra. Then.. we can make a full set.” There was innuendo in Jeanie's suggestion.

“We can't.”

“We CAN. The right sentiment is whether or not we SHOULD.”

“Should I really put these on?”

“Would you really kill someone you care about?” It was a strange reciprocation.

“If I cared about Gordo, I would not have tried t’fuck his wife the night he got married.”

Jeanie licked her lips, flames curled around her ears and cheeks. “Put them on. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Liquor?” She reached inside her shirt and produced a small bag that she swung back and forth, “Cocaine from your jeans?”

Darren reached for it but she was quicker. Stuffing it back in her bra, she swatted his hand away. “How about you.. don't do stimulating narcotics with a PTSD chaser?”

“It keeps me awake so I don't have nightmares. Just go so I can put t’ese on!”

Jeanie planted herself on the bed after taking her shirt off. She leaned back on her elbows, legs crossed. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Fine! But close your eyes, so we can both be surprised. Wait, why’d ye take your shirt off?”

“Won't this make you more comfortable?” She pushed her chest forward a bit.

Darren’s eyes darted down to Jeanie's tits where they lingered longer than she expected. “Alright, sweetheart.”

Jeanie could listen to him talk for hours. Still she squeezed her eyes shut with a dramatic flare. “Go on then. I can't bloody wait.”

There was some shuffling around as Jeanie sat without peeking. Her heart raced in anticipation as she realized Darren had tossed what he was wearing at her feet.

A few minutes went by, and she lost patience, “Can I look? You've gotta have them on by now.”

“Fine, but don't laugh! I can't seem to get my junk in these.”

Jeanie opened her eyes and her mouth, “Fuck me, Dazz. Those are..” She stood up and made her way over to him from behind as he faced the mirror. Completely unable to stop herself. “You look delicious.” A word no one has ever used to describe either of them.

Jeanie’s hands on Darren's thin hips. They ran back and down over the sheer and lace over his ass. There was a playful squeeze before changing direction and flattening her hands on his. Downwards and into the indentation of his abs. Then she stopped to trace her fingertips over the angry red scars. Jeanie ran her fingers over them as if she wanted to memorize them.

Darren’s stomach convulsed a bit under her touch. “Jaysus,” he muttered under his breath. Eyes shut as Jeanie watched him in the mirror.

“Let me take care of you. Just one night,” she kissed between his shoulder blades. “You certainly deserve it after what you did today.”

“What did I do t’day?” Darren challenged Jeanie with his question. His hands covered hers, but not to push her away. To guide them down further over his erection.

Jeanie playfully squeezed again. The man in front of her let out a sound between a gasp and a moan when she began to rub the satin barely containing his cock. Her open palm gained friction as she worked faster. Where a man might find a woman's clit between her legs under the fabric, Jeanie moved her palm over Darren's balls.

“Eradicated part of Dublin’s largest pest population,” each word punctuated by her hand moving faster. Jerking him off without ever touching more than the underwear.

“I hope..” Darren's breath hitched and grew heavy. “Someone else..” his hips started to twist. “Ro-”

“I don't think we should talk about her right now, do you?” Jeanie cut him off. She finally let herself reach inside of the panties to properly take his cock in her grip.

Her thumb played with the head, slick with precum. Fingers wrapped around the shaft and stroked the length down and back up. She wasn't used to doing it from this angle but found it even sexier. The power she felt surge being the one in control. How wet she was inside her OWN panties.

Darren's head hung back as he lost himself in the ecstasy of what his cousin’s wife was doing. He didn't care that she was married. To a man who neglected her, ignored her.

Nidge. Tommy. His own sister. His cousin. They fucked around all the time. He and Rosie, that almost got her killed and they weren't even shagging. He knew he'd be livid if he caught her cheating. not violent mind you, but pissed. Just like if Siobhan or Trish did it. Or even Gordon. Everyone was a hypocrite.

Yet here was Darren. His cousin’s wife wanking him off while he wore her knickers. And he didn't give a fuck for once. His dick hadn’t been this hard in ages. That day he and Rosie had sex felt so long ago. They didn't do it much if at all since then.

Maybe this wasn't right, but Darren couldn't care anymore. He stood three feet above a malicious drug lord reduced to a cowering pussy and killed him. It was the same feeling as Jeanie's fingers as they twisted and kneaded his cock. Euphoric.

“If we don't take this to the bed. only one of us is gonna get a happy ending.”

Darren turned quickly. Faster than Jeanie could focus on. Their mouths finally crashed together as he gripped a handful of her. He shoved his tongue in her mouth and hands in her the pockets of the jeans she still wore. He dug his fingers into the thick of her ass as they stumbled back towards the bed.

Jeanie's hands labored in an effort to unbutton and unzip her pants around Darren's body as it thrust into her. She didn't want to stop the war their tongues waged as she struggled to tug the denim over her hips, but there was air as her husband’s cousin intervened. They laughed as he yanked them down to the floor and he went with them.

Darren looked up at Jeanie, who now sat on the edge of the bed, as he knelt on the floor by her feet. He helped each ankle as she lifted them out and literally kissed the tops of her feet as she drew them up on the comforter.

“That was romantic,” her voice thick and barely above a whisper. No hint of her usual sarcasm or humor, only some embarrassment. Her cheeks were pink.

“I've wanted t’fuck ye since we met. And I want ye to remember this for a long time.”

Darren stood up and hooked his fingers in the elastic of the underwear of hers that he was wearing. Jeanie covered his hands and leaned forward to kiss his stomach and his scars. Using her tongue this time to trace over them like she had her fingers.

“Leave them on? I'll never forget it if you let me fuck you wearing those.” Her fingers tangled up in the lace. Tips of her nails just brushed his cock through it.

Darren smiled in a way Jeanie wasn't sure he was capable of doing anymore. Right now, in this moment as his eyes changed from darkness to almost emerald, she knew he let himself forget. That's all she wanted. One night for both of them to forget.

“Can't say I've ever had sex like t’is,” excitement in his voice. “I'm right curious t’see how ye manage.”

“You lay down, and I'll play it by ear. This is definitely a new one for me too.”

They switched places. Darren laid down on the bed, head on the pillows. Jeanie unhooked her bra and slipped out of her own panties. She stood naked and exposed in the lamplight. Her heart raced when she realized he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. They traveled over her breasts and stomach and further still as she crawled on the bed beside Darren and straddled him.

“Fuck me,” it was a response. And a suggestion he made simultaneously. His hands spread out over her back and caught up in her long red hair.

Jeanie raised a bit up on her knees to situate herself. She lowered her body so that the outline of Darren's cock beneath the satin and lace was between the folds of her naked sex. Her hands anchored on his chest as she started to ride him.

“Jaysus your so fucking wet already,” Darren breathed and ran his hands up and down Jeanie's body. Over her shoulders and to her ass where they settled on her hips.

“It's you in my bloody knickers,” her voice wavered as she started to rock harder back and forth.

It was like a pleasurable rug burn on her cunt, as Jeanie closed her eyes and twisted her hips just a bit. She rode the length of Darren’s hardened cock completely from bottom to top and kept gaining speed each time. His strong hands buried in her waist helped her pump over and over. Then he angled himself underneath her so that the tip could hit her clit just right as she moved down.

Jeanie rode harder and faster. The satin and her cunt on fire as Darren's cock started its familiar twitch. She clawed at him without caring if someone else saw the marks on his chest. That explosion was building deep in her walls as they throbbed and ached for him to be entirely inside of her.

Instead Darren slid a thumb into her cunt. It replaced his cock as Jeanie started to lose control. Circled and fucked as she fucking him.

She clutched his wrist, “Harder. Rub my clit harder. Like that.”

He obliged all too eagerly. Especially when moments later she cried out unexpectedly. Her body rolled into an orgasm. He never let up with his thumb or his own hips as they bucked up into Jeanie as she came.

“Let me fuck you properly,” Darren begged as her cunt constricted around his hand. His thumb, the knickers and Jeanie's body slicker than before they started.

Then Darren's mobile rang. Darren's mobile was always ringing.

Tag list: @joz-stankovich @robertsheehanownsmyass @badsext @slutforrobbiebro @badsext @sean-falco

[indomitablemegnolia]

Languishing at the bar, ruby lips caressing my glamorously green margarita; the midnight purple dress hugged my body like a sports cars paint, all road signs spoke of warning hazards; my goal, mayhem; I am tired of being this good reliable human; I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond this daily life; I am here at this lovely bar, to test the morality of a priest, I am prowling, wanting, needing desperately to have an itch scratched, and finding; and needless to say, oh Lordy he was no priest. The single flower pinning my hair slipped making the picture perfect, exquisite, glittering in the sunshine of preening laughter showing the dulling edge of my personal lack of compunction and slipping morals. I watched his dark eyes watch me in the mirror, why him, I licked my lips; I am in the mood for some Latin spice; he watched me from a distance just waiting for his opening and here it was, the song changed and my laugh was unstoppable; he pounced presenting sliding next to me; "Dos margaritas por favor" he held up two fingers; he stood there smiling that suave smile at me sliding a second glass to me, “It is too beautiful of a night to be drinking alone.”

I took it, dipping my top lip over the edge I took in a fair sized drink, “So, how is the weather in Albuquerque?”

Oh, the way he just let his full bottom lip, god that lip, so provocative, so titillating, so kissable; it was the perfect mismatch for his shaped cupids bow top lip; God though, the way his sensuous, heavy, pouty bottom lip hanging slightly ajar, showing interest and the evaluation that was being made; so enticing, seductively evocative; when his assessment was finished the muscles tensed in his cheeks pulling that mouth into the most provocative suave smile; given the deep, wildly dark abyss of his eyes that were swimming with approval and temptation; lord with those light crinkle to the corners and that smile sharp teeth and delicious dimples a belying innocence it was a dead certainty that he may well be Lucifer himself; solidifying my assumption as he spoke dropping the delicious sound-sex of his carnal voice down a full octave; letting it rumble through his chest; his simple words not seductive in and of themselves; goddamn, the concerted effort together all served to bring my pulse to life; his chuckle danced on my skin. I watched his satisfied lazy smile draw his lips as the offhand phrase that taunted like a dare. “Perhaps, we are lost in translation.” God that Latin lilt at the end of his words; oxytocin running through my veins thick; "As long as you stay, I hope that we are never found." He clinked the rim of his glass on mine.

My eyes drawn away from those lips; I watched those terrible, sexy fingers rolling deliciously, accentuating the dare; telegraphing a none too subtle promise of delicate fiddling with my vivid, hungry nerves; god, this time of year, this season, there is not much in it to make me smile; it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year; yet, there is a haunting sense of the imminent doom, like a bleak abeyance of life; it’s not stark introspective weather, gray and bleak, but none the less the blue skies, fresh green, seemed to be festering, suppurating, killing my soul, I know that time had run out; that horrible clock with the second hand ticking tightening the garrote around my neck painfully, slowly; Jesus what a sick suffocating weight; there are too many things that I wanted to feel, wanted to do and always time… that small hyphen between birth and death the ultimate cause of death… that time. The time to hesitate was through; my hand shook as I watched a delectable twinge running along that lip, like a smile still trying to hide; waiting for the trap to spring when I ask a simple single syllable question, the ubiquitous air of his words raised several; or did I miss part of the conversation? Should I ask... mmm why, or what, but no, I so not want to play his game; I double down and call the bluff, answering with a simple whispered. The trap is sprung, I really have no idea if it is he who is caught or me.

"Yes." My whisper much huskier than I had intended, my margarita wavering in my hand; his delicious thick brow shot up tilting his head slightly to the left, he let out a silent ‘what?’ I watched him in the mirror behind the bar, he hovered those dark delicious eyes staring into mine; I nodded, and again “Yes.” I smiled chewing lightly on my straw; I took joy in his face caught off guard, lazy smile pulled the edge of his lips; again, his lips waved in a silent, 'what?'

"Oh, come on, I answered your real question, the one written in your eyes and on that sensual pouty lip, the answer is yes."

He looked even more confused, "What is the question are you are answering?"

"Well, I have read promises written loosely in your fingertips, I saw previews of plans in your eyes, and lies you will tell to get there, on that lip." I stepped to him, running my thumb along that bottom lip. "Why go with pretense, so simply, I said yes."

Pressing his forehead to the back of my head, his cool fingers sweeping my hair out of the way, he kissed the back of my hair, "Then mi cariño don’t say anything." His eyes so lusciously dark and turbulent never looking away from mine in the mirror; "I want to watch you revel in the feel of my hot breath against your ear. Now I ask you;" he breathed in deeply, the cool air passing my skin into his lungs sent a shiver down my spine; the contrast in temperature mind blowing, my skin prickled into Goosebumps; "do not move." He let his breath excite yet again, the warmth had all those tiny hairs stand to attention, his lips touched feather soft, moist warm breath, my heart kicked a little each pass of his lips, then words. “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo ni de dónde. Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo: te amo de esta manera porque no conozco otra forma de amar sino esta, en la que no hay yo ni tú, tan íntimo que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano. Tan íntimo que cuando me duermo tus ojos se cierran.” I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

“Coelho?” Arching one eyebrow, I downed my margarita looking somewhat the part of the provocateur

“Si.” He looked cocky, he looked far too self-assured, so much so that I almost forgot my goal.

“Esto no es amor, es lujuria.” this is not love but lust… hmm, lust even the delectable word sounded so much more alluring en espanole.

“En este momento la lujuria functiona para mi.” in this moment lust works for me. Good lord that word in his Spanish just added a delicious wanton edge to the overdose of libidinous delight that he wrought in me, making my head literally spin. His soft cool fingers delectably caressed the other side of my throat, his tongue ran lightly along the rim of my ear; I shivered still our eyes connected in the mirror, I was putty in his hands.

His lips danced along my neck commanding my already tittillated nerves into a frenzy; nuzzling with intent, his cheek pushing my head to a delicious angle, he feasted on the left side; his lips and teeth acting in a beautiful tango so delicious that I leaned back into him reaching behind me for an anchor; he gripped my wrists in one hand, using his other to sweep my hair such as it was to the other side as his libertine lips began to such and feast on the right side, “Ser mío no es fácil. Tengo expectativas Yo hago demandas. Cuando ofrezco mi corazón espero devoción. Insisto en la pasión, cruda y completa, necesitada y fuera de control. Quiero que me duela el corazón cuando estamos separados. Quiero que mis manos sean incapaces de no tocar su piel cuando esté cerca. Quiero que nuestros cuerpos se quemen cada vez que nos besamos. No puedo y nunca aceptaré nada menos. Por eso ser mío no es fácil, pero créeme, vale la pena." Being mine is not easy. I have expectations. I make demands. When I offer my heart I expect devotion. I insist on passion, raw and all encompassing, needy and out of control. I want my heart to ache when we’re apart. I want my hands to be incapable of not touching her skin whenever she’s near. I want our bodies to burn every time we kiss. I can’t and I will never accept anything less. That’s why being mine is not easy, but believe me, it’s absolutely fucking worth it.” Needy and out of control I could do, I was on a mission for exactly that; I let myself ease into the moment, feeling as much as I possibly could devouring it like a man with his last meal enjoying the sweet and the salt and … oh gosh, my eyes flared as he kicked it up a notch his tongue sliding from just behind my ear to the spot where all nerves collide where shoulder and neck meet, my eyes fluttered; apparently to get my attention back his free hand traced across my bare flesh just above my modest neckline, dipping lightly between my breasts.

Jittery my attention came front and center back on his eyes; I raised a single eyebrow; "¿Quién dijo que era tuyo?" Who ever said I was yours? His lips moved along my neck to the place where neck meets shoulder, I became soft in his hands; his free hand caressing up to the edge of my chin, coaxing my head turning it, he kissed along my clavicle; my eyes finally rolled closed as he kissed my lips, he tasted of strong tequila, lime and dreams; I moaned softly.

“Oh, you just did, right there. No translation needed for that... Voy a probar, disfrutar del calor de su sabor embriagador. Quiero respirar tus suspiros; quiero sentirte desde adentro,” I want to breathe in your sighs. I'm going to try, to enjoy the heat of its heady taste; he kissed me deep again, "I am drawn to you, like a moth to fire," he kept his glorious mouth moving, all tongue and teeth and temptation, "I see a frantic almost panic on you;" his hand still holding mine in check, "I have you safe here," his loose hsnd pulling me to him; "I hunger for your touch after get you excited and how easy it is." Neck kissing, is honestly the most sensual, seductive things that I have ever known, but when it is done as well as this gorgeous man is... it is not just a syllogy for sex, I feel his talented tongue slide on my skin, we may as well be going at it right on the bar. "Deliciosa, caliente, con una gota de salsa picante" Delicious, hot, like a drop of hot sauce. He gripped my wrist spun me on the stool; taking off at a run.

@pedeka @writernotwaiting @keeper0fthestars @iamhisgloriouspurpose

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Little Big Things (1/4)

(@ricksanchezdwc) So like we had done not too long ago, me, @hoodoo12 @porkchop-ao3 @rickstexaschick are doing the same prompt cause we all loved the idea.

__________

Chapter 1: The Phyto Princess

Within the span of time it took for him to pull out his portal gun, and type in the coordinates, you had already imagined about a dozen places, and twice as many scenarios.

Rick made it look so easy; twisting dials, and pressing buttons in order to get from point a, to point whatever, but without the proper coordinates and code input, one could scatter their fragments all across the cosmos, without the hope of joining back together all in one piece; the thought often a source of uncalled for anxiety. True, this wasn't like star trek, with its one episode plots, or backstory to reference when you least expected it, but a valid concern that you had yet to address; you blamed it on your curiosity. Having read the notes of Zeta-7s early portal gun schematics, there was the blemish of fear that arose when you least expected it. Sometimes, it didn't feel like it mattered all that much, especially when you were in one of your moods, but more often than not, you hoped Rick would never mess up; or be two cups of coffee short. Contributing factors to your anxiety included the day to day annoyances, time, or how your hair looked that day, but in another one of his attempts to brighten your spirits, he made plans for a surprise adventure; your assumption being anywhere away from buildings or people.

You knew he was trying his best to keep you happy, but you wondered sometimes what he'd say if you told him he didn't have to. It wasn't his job, but you refrained from telling him, because if it weren't for the fact that you trusted and adored Zeta-7, then you would have refused in favor of staying local more often, especially when you weren't in the mood. Oh, but where was the fun in that? Maybe, it'd help; likely it wouldn't.

Today, there were other things the matter, like the doubt which appeared when you recalled the memories from a false dream, and you were confused about what had been the reality and what had been the dream. With thoughts of the past, also came the remembrance of old regrets; many you thought you had buried under reasoning and change, but you were terribly human. You weren't a genius, and you didn't always think about what you'd say before you said them, so you made mistakes; a lot more than you'd care to admit. Because of this, you had been a source of concern, and added to Zeta-7s stress, and this made you stressed because he already had enough on his plate, and this made you worry for his well being. Waves of dread which would wash over you at the thought of getting lost, or forgetting him, misunderstanding, even while gripping his hand as sure and tight as you could when you stepped through the portal were but impediments to your happiness; the worry you felt for scenarios that hadn't occurred, these too fed the monster of anxiety.

It would be okay, you'd say to yourself. It should've been okay, to step through the portal as you had done so dozens of times before, but then there was your heart beating a mile a minute, begging otherwise. You've watched Zeta-7 do it hundreds of times as well, coming out safe and sound, so you could do this, and would do it. Still, what reason did you have to worry or doubt?

Well, there were places no one came back from; you've heard the stories, you listened to Ricks theories, but again they were stories; cautionary tales that taught lessons. And like now, you fought that lingering fear, the tingling in your limbs, the bloom of tightness in your chest, and made sure you still felt Rick's long, thin, bony fingers laced with yours, holding on for dear life while repeating you're little mantra. On the other side he was still there, and you felt his relief, and with your other hand, you shielded your eyes from the resplendence of the sun, until they could adjust to the scene around you. “Rick,” you gasped, glancing a little at everything; your confidence building as delight overcame your anxiety. “where have you taken me?”

This must have pleased him, cause when he smiled, every wrinkle spoke of his laughter, and his electric blues were brimming with happiness.“W-why don't you look and - and see?”

Curiosity got the better of you as you let go, but reassured by his gentle smiles, you explored what was all around you; his warmth one of the best certainties. All around, the landscape stretched, it curved and there were bends a little ways ahead; you could smell hints of petrichor, and the ground fertile and verdant, with patches of silver grass which whistled when touched. You wondered if they could do more than whistle; laughing because many thoughts of yours had been but a velleity, and you almost moved on, but when the fuzzy blades of grass leaned forward to pat you on the head before returning to their place, you gasped. Were they supposed to do that? Nearby, exposed roots shimmered, and when you approached them, they pulled away from the ground, and bowed in obeisance before returning to their place. You flashed Rick that look that said you were confused, and his mouth hung open in astonishment. Still, he hadn't said a word, and watched on; his hand moving a mile a minute as he took down notes.

Above your heads, were bell like flowers that changed their tune whenever you passed them, and the walkway was littered with mushrooms that made your skin tingle pleasantly when you sat upon them; as unsettling as it was, you were feeling good, as though they absorbed all the negative feelings, and left you with the good ones. Where your feet hung above the ground, an indigo milk cap sprung up so that you could step off. At this point you began to wonder if the forces and plants around you were bending at your will. Considering Rick hadn't warned you yet, or impeded your curiosity in anyway, then he was either waiting for you to ask, or he was studying you; as he usually would. “Rick,” you wondered, as you stepped over the small stones that buzzed like worker bees. “did we shrink, or has the world gotten bigger?”

“Well,” he chuckled, eager to hold on to your hand again. “it’s - it's neither. Everything here is bigger, while w-we remained the same. Neat isn't it?”

Neat was an understatement.

“It is,” You agreed, which made him stand a little taller, and smile a bit brighter. “but I could have sworn we stepped into a Honey I shrunk the kids movie or something. I guess not, but something strange is going on. Haven't you noticed? You probably have, but I just want to check.”

“You're right, I-I-I have, and it makes me wonder what w-would happen if you wanted the flowers to walk? I-I guess that sounds silly.”

“No,” You softened. “it doesn't, but I don't think it works that way. I'm not a god or anything, and I'm pretty sure fairy dust ain't going to cut it, and make these giants move. But if you want me to, I could try.”

The only giants you had ever seen were the western sequoias. You had walked amongst those natural giants, whose respective histories were their own, and you wouldn't question how they came to be; for they existed before you, before Rick. They were the testament of endurance, withstanding centuries of rain, fire, and growth, but here….like many things he showed you was a first. Curious as to what might happen, you thought about the orange star like flowers moving, and bending down to your level. And, because it was your will, they did.“Rick,” you continued, after your initial shock passed. “I'm not imagining things am I? Did…. did that just happen?”

Reading the results from his scanners, and checking the footage from his camera, he exclaimed. “It - it did. It really did!”

“Is that good? I don't know.”

With raised brow, he chuckled to himself, and put away his scanner, and notepad. “Gosh, y-you're just full of - of surprises aren’t you?”

“Honestly, I have no point of comparison. So you're going to have to be upfront with me, and tell me if I'm going to be okay.”

“Y-you're more than o-okay, you're perfect.”

____________

The sun bathed the earth in delicious warmth, the sparkling dew feeding the thirst of the green.

The pleasant sounds of humming, and their songs had become an uplifting melody. Like kisses upon your skin, the wind made you ticklish, and you needed Ricks assistance so that you wouldn't fall over laughing. It seemed you were sensitive to the environment, which made you go through waves of pleasant emotions, but it was exhausting. Hopefully your life force wasn't being absorbed by them.

“Rick, I think I hear music. Can you tell me why? Or is it my imagination?”

“I'll ugh - I'll be able to tell y-you in a jiffy.”

Flipping through his notes, his brow was raised in confusion. “Um, t-t-to be honest, this is the first time I've seen them act this - this way. They seem t-to be imitating a song, possibly from your subconscious. Do y-you recognize it? Does it - it remind you of anything?”

You stopped in your tracks, and took a moment to earnestly listen before you answered. “It reminds me of your ukulele being played on a refreshing afternoon.”

Eyes wide, you knew he was eager to hear more, curiosity coloring his response. “Is th-that so?”

“Yeah. I love hearing you play,” Which was very true. Rick was a wonderful musician, able to play almost any instrument he picked up. Other Ricks were probably just as talented, but unless they were the legendary Steinway, you doubted anyone could play with as much emotion. You continued. “and the happy sounds that are made in between your laughs, and the strumming of strings, and the way you look at me when you play. Goodness, it warms my heart, and makes me love you even more. You…you always have a way of stirring my emotions.”

“Y-you really like it that much?”

“Like it? I adore it, and your guitar playing too. Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you practically seduced me with those serenades on the front porch, and those evenings indoors when it was raining. I have no idea what you were thinking about at the time, but hopefully it was of me.”

Sentimental words always made him pliable, and he never really knew how to answer, or what the correct words should be, but he tried, and in his earnestness, he'd lean towards you as though he were about to kiss you, but he'd stop before doing so. As though he were reigning himself, he'd close his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before he'd continue. Pressing a light kiss on your forehead, he softened. “I - I always have you on my mind, though I-I didn't - it wasn't my intention back then to….I didn't know you felt that way. I'm not in the habit t-to seduce anyone or….” He faltered, his cheeks dusted in a lovely blush.

Silly man. One of these days, maybe he'd understand when you were flirting and teasing him, and not misconstrue your delight with accusations. You cupped his cheek, encouraging him to look at you. “You're so sweet. I know you wouldn't do that. But either way, I enjoyed it all the same.”

Leaning into your touch, you saw the beginnings of a smile, but his blush was still going strong. “Gosh, now I'm not s-s-so sure, but I - maybe I - oh, I'm s-sorry.”

“Don't be sorry dear. If I didn't want you to, I would have stopped you at the point when you first asked me over for dinner. I mean, I never really thought you were trying anything either. We were just friends, having a good time, and I fell in love with you. Maybe we should thank that ukulele of yours for all the happy hours we had singing silly little songs.”

“I ugh - I should have brought it with me then, because y-you like it.”

“There's always next time. Though, it's been awhile since you played. You must miss it.”

“I-I do,” he admitted, passing a hand through his hair. “but it's because I've been b-busy. I'm sorry a-about that too. I've been away and w-we haven't had much time to ourselves.”

“Rick it's okay, I understand. You have important stuff to do”

“You - you say that, but it bothers me when I have t-t-to leave you for extended periods at a time. I don't like it, and I-I guess maybe I'm being silly. That's what happens when y-you get old. You either want t-t-to be alone or have company all the time. What am I even saying? I'm going off on a-ag….”

Pressing a finger to his mouth, you quieted him. “You already do a great job in trying to make me happy, and I'm not disappointed.”

“Y-you're not?”

“Of course not. I mean, I can't help but miss you, but you've always been a busy guy. How you manage to make time for me and still have time for your hobbies is beyond me, but that's the thing about you Rick, you're not like most people. And every moment with you is wonderful. The question you should be asking is what have I done for you? What can I do to make you feel better?”

“By p-p-putting up with me.”

Pressing a kiss on his cheek, you giggled. “If you mean by loving you, then I'm on it.”

_____________

After a series of small, quick experiments, Rick had come to realize that these plants listened mostly to you and not so much him. Oh, he had his theories, a few of them making you giggle, but for the most part, this is what he understood.“These plants here, I-I had thought they were empathic, but they must - must be trying to trigger a response. I believe they are fascinated b-by you, because I've already spent many happy hours here on - on this planet, but you haven't.”

Placing your hands on your hips, it was your turn to raise a brow. “Rick, if you put it that way, then it means I'm trending.”

“Gosh, I-I-I suppose. Is that the terminology these days? Does it mean you're popular?”

Zeta-7 really could be adorable when he wasn't trying to be, especially when he wasn't always aware of what was current. “Yes, but what are you really saying?”

“That they must r-really like you,” he smiled, jotting down a few notes, before taking out his scanner, and checking the results. “and if I'm correct, then they prosper off these pleasant emotions of - of yours. How fascinating.”

“Can they hear my thoughts?”

“N-no mi corazón,” he chuckled. “they can feel you. Plants are - are surprising organisms—without brains and central nervous systems, they are still able t-t-to sense the environment that surrounds them. They - they can perceive light, scent, touch, wind, even gravity, and are able t-to respond to sounds, too. These plants here are a-a little different, and can sense your every emotions, reflecting your feelings, which I-I guess means you're currently in a pleasant mood.”

“Of course I am, it's beautiful here, and I'm with you.”

After you had said this, a gust of wind rushed by, which rustled the golden leaves, the force of it almost knocking you over, though Rick was quick to grab you by the waist. “Are y-y-you okay?”

You could hear the bell flowers ring, and quietly you thanked them and the forces at work around you, which seemed to bend and curve at your will; whose comedic timing was cliché to say the least. “I am now. Thank you Rick.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he let go, and made himself busy by scanning the branches and plant debris. “L-l-like you already said it's ugh - feels like a-a land for giants. I know their size is attributed t-t-to the mineral rich soil. And I-I thought it would be nice to spend a-a day here, but you look tired. Not t-to mention the plants behavior.”

“I'm not that tired. But man, it's incredible to be able to will the elements, but I'm sorry Rick, I kind of don't know what I'm doing here or whether I have any control over it. Imagine, that kind of power in the wrong hands could be dangerous. So, I'll try not to cause too much trouble.”

“It's okay, I'm sure y-you won't. I-I do wonder if they can understand what we're saying.”

With a shrug, you replied. “It's worth a try.”

You smiled up at the canopy of leaves, admiring the way the light filtered through the spaces in between. “We appreciate the hospitality, and the lovely music, as well as your stimuli. Oh, and as much as I appreciate you playing matchmaker, you don't have to try so hard. You see, we're already together,” you winked at Zeta-7, who blushed at the gesture. “but secretly, I think Rick's enjoying it. Either way, I hope you'll be kind to us.”

When you had finished, a mushroom ran by, and dropped a gift at your feet before returning to its place. You waited for Ricks approval before peeling back the leaves that were held together by dried vines, revealing a pair of matching bracelets, that seemed to be nothing more then weaved, golden branches. “I think this is for us. See?” you pointed to the inner branch. “This one has your initials.”

Scanning them, Rick found that they were safe, and you two proceeded to try them on, and all at once, you felt warmth wash over you as you glanced at Rick. And when he glanced at you, a vine began to grow and flower, decorating his bracelet in magnificent, lapis blue blooms. “Wow, that's - I've never seen anything like it.”

You haven't either, but that was thing, you always experienced new things when you were with him. Like now, you felt all jittery, and nervous, and when he took your hand to kiss it, your bracelet bloomed, and you just had to pull away, because it felt strange; like a little piece of you was taken away. “Rick, this place is something else. Are you sure it's safe?”

You wanted to be sure, because having him near you all of a sudden was overwhelming, like a dozen butterflies fighting the wind. What was with this place?

“Mhm, I'm sure. I've done extensive research over th-the last couple of weeks t-to make sure we can relax.”

“Really? Nothing toxic or poisonous? No animals or creatures to worry about?”

Taking your hand in his again, you felt a great calm, and the bloomed flowers grew, and vines spread; everywhere they touched, made you feel cozy, and sleepy. So, so sleepy. Perhaps you should say something, but he was happy, and you didn't want that smile to fade, and you allowed him to explain. “Creatures? No, not - not yet. Maybe in a-a couple of years, but not now. This planet is still fairly new, and there's no telling when it - it will be inhabited. For now there's just us, and these w-wonderful plants.”

It was going to be fine you told yourself, and smiling up at him, you replied happily, with a voice soft with affection. “Okay, whatever you say Ricky.”

And like a deep yearning, the vines on his bracelet grew three times their size, and stretched out, just to kiss your face a dozen times; they wanted to delight you. It scared Zeta-7 a bit, but you could only giggle, cause they were just like him; earnest, eager, and sweet.

TBC

[liminalpebble]

An imagine to distract you while you're travel-stranded:

Imagine Magnus & Reader are away on an undercover mission and he finds a lil vibe in her suitcase 👀

Hi, my dear @muddyorbs!

And thank you for this prompt. It definitely kept my mind active during travel stranding and beyond. I kind of had it in my head that our OFC would be a bit of a Lisbeth Salander type and they would be at each other's throats until...well...you know. Hope you enjoy!

Magnus Martinsson fanfic, Magnus Martinsson x OFC, smut!, one shot, enemies to lovers (well...fuckers?), hostile but very consensual fucking, Minors DNI

Word count: about 3000 (sorry...bit of a honker. Worth it. I promise).

----

Bullets

Mara rolled her black-lined eyes when the call from Wallander came in. “Mara, are you still freelancing? We really need a tech wizard on this one.”

“Cute euphemism, Kurt...points for flattery. You need a hacker who will do the dirty work so your little lapdog techie can keep his hands clean while micromanaging me.”

Wallander sighed, and quipped sarcastically, “Why, yes, Mara, I'm doing very well, thanks. How are you today? Still your charming self, I see. By the way, you're on speaker. ” He looked across the conference table to where Martinsson (said lapdog techie) was glaring at his superior for putting him in this situation yet again.

Mara's eyes scanned around her tiny apartment full of computer equipment and old band tee shirts piled in an ever-increasing mound of black cotton. In her own mind, she'd named it Mount Doom. “Oh you know, Kurt, living that rich girl high life,” she replied in a prickly tone, toking on the remains of a joint from the night before. “And whose fault is it that I'm on speaker, hm? Really. You should know better by now.” She blew smoke out in a resigned exhale, “Alright Wallander, tell that minion of yours I'm in. I'm sure he'll be delighted.”

Kurt raised his voice. “His name is Magnus, or Detective Martinsson and I'd appreciate it if you stop calling him 'lapdog' or 'minion' especially to his face as you seem rather fond of doing...”

“Alright Kurt, see you tomorrow,” she said interrupting his lecture to end the conversation.

“Charming,” Magnus groaned.

--------

“The same room?” Mara said, with an air of annoyance, hauling her bags up the hill to the rundown Motorlodge.

Martinsson sighed and said with an edge of frustration, “Yes Mara, the same room. We can't work together from different rooms.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, minion! I know that, but I thought that at least when we're taking shifts we'd have our own space to rest. It could be days! It would have been nice if the police department had sprung at least for adjoining rooms. I'd even tolerate sharing a bathroom with you if...”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, putting a hand up so she nearly stumbled directly into him. “Can you please, please not do this? I'm just here to do my job, just like you are. Can we try not to be at each other's throats?” As he said it she couldn't help looking at his throat, that pretty pale neck and sharp jawline she'd love to suck on and bite and make him moan while...

“Mara!” he barked, snapping her out of her lurid daydream.

“Okay...fucking hell. Okay,” she said, shouldering past him to enter the little 70's time capsule of a room. He fortified himself with a deep breath, stepping into her wake.

-----

“Well,” she said, between sips from the paper cup, “At least the Bates Motel has a pretty decent coffee machine.”

They both laughed and smiled to each other, faces bathed in the blue glow of computer screens; a rare truce. They had set up efficiently, both very good at their jobs and surprisingly good at working together despite the personality clashes.

“See?”

“See what?” Mara asked, sitting forward to scan the screen.

Magnus put a finger on her chin to turn her face towards him instead. “See how nice it can be when we actually just have a pleasant cup of coffee together and work?”, he elaborated. It was adorable, she had to admit...those big innocent blue eyes and golden curls making him look like a particularly naïve, hopeful and, possibly stupid, angel. But from his work and credentials, she knew he was far from idiotic; just sweet, gullible, optimistic. And as he was staring at her with that sweet dumb incredibly handsome face, it just made her inexplicably angry, like his kindness was some kind of trick.

She shrugged, and took a sip to avoid looking at him, then stated, “Their hard drives will take hours to clone. It's a waiting game for now.” She yawned and cracked her knuckles, stretching up from the uncomfortable chair to flop onto the tacky paisley comforter. A sliver of orange glow from the setting sun slid between the heavy curtains, illuminating her body, and Magnus couldn't help but notice that like that, in this wash of golden hour light, she really was very pretty. Yet, for some inexplicable reason Mara seemed almost determined not to be, with her prickly personality and tent-like clothes hiding her rather nice curves. What a shame he thought.

Magnus took the opportunity to move too, rising to his feet and stretching his long arms over his head. Mara peeked at him with one surreptitiously open eye to drink in the sharp dips and muscle of his lower belly and hips as his shirt raised, ever so slightly, to show skin. Why does he have to have the body of a fucking Greek god? Jesus Christ. Eyes wondering south, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rather generous outline in his pants, she saw where his service revolver was strapped to him in a shocking interruption of black metal and leather. It didn't suit such a soft, posh, pretty boy to be toting around a gun like some cowboy. Having come from a wealthy suburb, Martinsson could never understand the grip of fear firearms held on poor neighborhoods like hers. She didn't like guns, and she didn't like the criminals or the cops who didn't seem to mind using them liberally in her childhood neighborhood while everyone else was caught in the crossfire.

“Do you have to wear that thing?” Mara asked, gesturing to the holster. “It's only me. I'm like a foot shorter than you and you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you wanted. Are there bullets in it now?”

Magnus turned to her, eyes soft and considerate. “Well, yes. It's part of the job. We have to wear them at all times on the clock and they have to be loaded. And it's not you I'm afraid of, Mara,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed, looking at his hands. “It's you I need to be ready to protect if things go south.”

Mara turned to perch on her elbow and look up at him, genuinely swooning for a second before she recovered hastily, coating it with sarcasm. “Awww...my hero. This is why they call you The Prince Charming of Ystad? And I know damn well you're afraid of me.”

“Not afraid...annoyed. Are you allergic to having a single genuine moment of humanity between us? What have I ever done to you?” he huffed sounding wounded, and standing up again to pace.

She groaned, standing up to face him, admitting to herself that she had been especially hard on him, and she couldn't even be entirely sure why (or at least, she wouldn't admit why, not even to herself). “Look, Magnus, I'm sorry, really.”

“Really?” he said cautiously, distrustful and surprised.

“Yeah..yeah, really. I've been such a bitch to you.”

As Magnus spotted the unprecedented chink in her armor, it set off the explosion of a tirade. It finally released itself from his mouth after brewing for months and he was powerless to stop it. “Listen. I don't know why you're like this, Mara, really I don't. I haven't done a bloody thing to deserve this, neither has Kurt.”

Mara felt a little fizzle of fear at the mounting growl in his voice, and she felt a little ashamed, but also aroused. It was deeply confusing.

“I wasn't socialized enough as a puppy. Why the fuck do you think, pretty boy? You're cops. I don't like cops. I don't like what you stand for...your mindless conformity...”

Magnus' voice rose, “Did it occur to you that some of them, Kurt and I for example, chose this life to protect people? Because we care about people, even people like you who hate us. And I'm not saying you don't have a good reason to hate the police, but you don't have to hate us. We're on your bloody side. And...and you think you're so clever and rebellious with your bitch act and your black hair dye....and and...your edgy jewelry,” he continued, reaching down to her open bag where there was an unusual silver necklace, with a heavy bullet for a pendant. He lifted it saying, “Oh so you don't like guns and bullets, but you'll wear them to look oh so cool and fashionable? What a fucking hypocrite...”

Mara was thunderstruck (and frankly excited) by his anger but the end of his little speech made her want to laugh hysterically. He had no idea that what he was holding was a state-of-the-art vibrator, beautifully designed to multitask as a piece of jewelry styled after an actual bullet. She thwarted her chuckle to say simply, “Please put that back. It was expensive.”

Magnus blinked in confusion, as if slapped by her unexpected response. As he moved to put it back, one of his long fingers fumbled around it, accidentally pressing a hidden button. As he dropped it back on top of her bag of toiletries, it began to buzz. The detective narrowed his eyes, mouth agape as the gears turned in his lovely head. “Is...is your necklace...vibrating. Holy shit...is that a...”. His broad Cheshire cat smile unfurled across his face, as he began to chuckled in long breathy laughs.

Now it was her turn to be angry...not to mention mortified. She darted her hand out to switch it off, crossed her arms, and stormed to the other side of the room. “Oh this is rich,” he purred out in his deep delicious voice. “Why did you bring that? And when on earth did you expect to have the time and privacy to use it?”

She yelled, “That's none of your business! And I thought we'd have separate rooms.”

He moved closer, now standing directly in front of her. She felt that looking into his bright eyes might sear her like a laser, so she settled for looking forward at his chest. Then his long soft fingers, tucked themselves under her chin, raising her eyes to his, as he asked in a deep intimidating voice, “Mara, why did you really bring that with you?”

Fuck. She could see why he was so good at interrogations. This is the kind of man it was no use lying to. She sputtered, “Be...because I know it might be a few days and...”

“And?” he prompted, taking a step closer.

She fumbled nervously, “And...and...because I knew I'd be trapped with you strutting around with your perfect fucking body and your pretty fucking face and your sweet fucking disposition, and I'd have to take care of myself if I wanted to think straight...okay?”

His smile dropped even as the heat of excitement coursed through his body. Magnus could see she was flustered, defenses down, nearly to the point of tears. Finally it occurred to him; so this is why she was so mean, so prickly and defensive towards him... because she liked him so much. She was harboring a hopeless school girl crush and assumed all of his kindness towards her...his goodness...was some kind of joke to mock her. She ignored the reality that he paid attention to her because he liked her too. She excited and intrigued him, but that all turned to bitter frustration that she would never let him near her. He just kept encountering all that barbed wire around her and finally quit trying to breach it...until now.

“Mara,” he said her name reverently like a prayer, in a low gentle whisper, full of empathy and kindness. He moved his hand from where it still was propped under her chin, to cradle her face. Neither of them could say who moved first as they crashed together, but before they knew it they were latched onto each other's hot mouths, kissing, licking, biting, barely able to breathe and neither of them minded.

He moved to her neck, sucking it hungrily then growled into her ear, “You think that little gadget could hold a fucking candle to me?”. She moaned in response, sliding her shaking fingers to begin unbuttoning his shirt while he worked at his pants and his holster. He was peeled out in moments, looking absolutely mouthwatering in nothing but his underwear. Mara tore her shirt and bra off over her head, then pressed the swell of her breasts against his firm torso, while her lips rejoined his. Her leg swung around his waist as she licked up his throat, bit his earlobe playfully and said, “Pull my hair. Call me a bitch again...”

He was panting as he said, “I...didn't call you a bitch...I said it was a 'bitch act'...”.

She gathered his curls between her fingers and tugged while she bit at his lovely throat, drawing a nearly-pornographic moan from the young cop. “I said, call me a bitch, you pedant.”

It was adorable, how he struggled to get the word out. He was the type of well-bred man who had trouble calling a woman anything other than “Miss”, which made it even hotter when his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted as he growled out, “You delicious bitch” and wrapped his big hand around her ponytail, yanking sharply. She was grinding against he thick erection, teasing him, desperate for him, until he stopped her with a bruising grip on her hips and met her eyes. “You called me a lapdog, huh? Well, there's only one lap I'm interested in being in,” he said in a velvety purr as he tugged her pants and panties off of her, pushing her onto the bed completely naked, as he snaked between her legs, biting and sucking ravenously at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, breath ghosting against her soaked pussy. She wove her fingers into his hair with surprising gentleness as she sighed and writhed while he kissed his way up.

When he licked the first firm line up her slit she arched her back and gasped out, “Holy fuck,” while he chuckled against her skin and she could feel his smile.

“Mmmm...you're even more delicious than I imagined,” he confessed, and the idea of him jacking off, thinking about this only aroused her more.

He began to suck delicately on her clit and swirl his tongue, bringing her close to the brink in mere moments. She lifted his head gently and said, “Wait...wait.”

His big, bright eyes met hers, solicitous and concerned as he panted out, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...yeah amazing,” she said, smiling, “I just want to come on your cock. I want to feel you inside.”

“Shut up and fuck me you cocky little shit,” she barked out playfully, making them both smile. “Prove to me that that little trinket will never satisfy me again, detective.”

“Oh darling...” he purred as he crawled farther up the bed to kiss her, sharing her own taste with her. He stood up for a moment to slide his boxers off, revealing his cock (which was just as gorgeous as the rest of him), stroking it lightly in one big hand.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped when she saw it, big and flushed with a tantalizing drip of precum. She crawled over to him and taking it into her mouth hastily, dying to savor it. He groaned in ecstatic surprise at the feeling of her hot mouth around him, her clever tongue caressing the hard length. He combed his hand through her hair, chuckling softly, teasing, “eager, are we darling?”

He pinned her on her back, caging her between his strong arms, “Cocky, yes....little...well, my dear, I think we both know that's just a bit inaccurate.” His tone changed as he settled between her legs, and his hand stroked her cheek gently. He asked, “You're okay? This is okay?”

“Yes...please...just go in slowly?”

He nodded.

Magnus eased in gently, as they both gasped at the decadent feeling of his cock inside her slick, warm walls, adjusting to each other. “Mmmm. God...yes,” she purred, stroking his sharp cheekbone with her soft little hand. Meeting his eyes she said, “Magnus?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Now, please, fuck me like a whore.”

It rough and relentless as Magnus drove into her again and again while her legs clamped tight around him, calves bouncing on the muscular curve of his ass as he moved. The wave of both of their orgasms crashed quickly and simultaneously as they rode it out, making a mess of the old duvet, and collapsing naked against each other, spent and smiling. Mara massaged Mangus' head as he rested it against her breasts. He trailed little pecks along the soft skin, sighing contentedly. She peeked over his lovely golden fleece to see where the blue-glowing monitors were still reporting their downloads in progress with lots of time to go. Idly she said, “Looks like this is going to take longer than we thought.”

“Oh no, whatever shall we do in the meantime,” Magnus chimed in from where he had begun lapping his tongue over her tits, as they both laughed in an all encompassing high of relief.

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