#it would be wicked rude to dip

[toyourliking]

wh. why wouldn’t you send out confirmation emails

[m-ayo-o]

he wants your hands…

18+ explicit sex // oral // edging everybody 21+ female reader x bleach men

on his abs

Ichigo wants your hands all over his chiseled abs– he’s worked damn hard to get so ripped and you’re gonna show him how much you love his body! Working between those tight muscles and over his toned waist makes him sigh contentedly, feeling your hands going lower.

Your fingers trace over his waistband as your lips attach to his stomach, kissing and licking the hot, hard muscles.

You get his shorts off and continue kissing down, making him let out a surprised moan as you swallow his tip, enjoying feeling him get harder in your mouth.

“y/n!! fuck–” the blood rushes to his cock, some spared for his reddening cheeks, as you take him down.

You suck him, your hands never leaving the sides of his perfectly formed six pack.

bound

Kisuke loves pinning your wrists down or tying you to the bed frame, keeping your hands off him so he can let that pretty mouth of yours stroke his ego instead. He’ll tease and edge you for his amusement, like you’re some kind of toy, not stopping until you let out those beautiful whimpers of his name.

“You know what I need to hear, girl,” he utters, leaning over you as the vibrator attached to your clit buzzes relentlessly, while he slides in a dildo that’s just a little too small for your wet hole.

“Kisuke!!! I– I can’t– can't fucking cum anymoore, nnhhh–” you let out a long, needy moan.

His lips quirk up into a devious smile.

“pleeeeaase Kisukeee—” you squeeze your eyes shut and draw out his name till you’re interrupted by his hard length replacing the dildo, he swears you almost purr with satisfaction.

“all better now, hm?”

massaging him

Byakuya loves feeling your hands on his shoulders and back, preferably in the bath, with oils and lotions. He’s used to being pampered, and you enjoy giving him this luxury. You do it out of love, a selfless act, finding his relaxed and peaceful expression enough of a reward. However, whether you’re expecting it or not, he always returns your kind favours.

“Thank you, petal,” he pats himself dry then takes your hand, guiding you to the bed, “now lay down.” You feel the drip of massage oil over your back, his slender fingers massaging down your spine.

But his hands start to dip further, pushing between your legs, eagerly digging into your wet folds. He fingers you till you’re all wet and gushing, ready for his cock, then slowly slides in, taking you as you lay on your stomach, leaning right over and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he spreads you open.

in his hair

Renji hates to admit how much he loves your hands in his hair– but when you’re riding him you can tell he wants it. You take his hair down, bouncing on his lap as he sits up, making him sigh with relief. Your fingers rake through his fiery strands, gently at first. Until he starts rutting his hips up, letting you feel him harder, encouraging you to pull and tug, making him let out the hottest groans.

“Harder, y/n–” he moans out, making a wicked smile cross your face.

“Want me to ride you harder?” you ask, feigning confusion.

He grits his teeth, his eyes narrowing. You feel his hand gripping over yours to give his hair another tug.

“words, Abarai.” you mutter with a smirk, your hips grinding up and down.

He releases your hand, his grip returning to your waist, admitting defeat with a hiss.

“pull my fucking hair,” he glares back at you, “‘n say my first name.”

“so rude, baby,” you let out a little tsk, shaking your head, slowing your motions.

He would put up more of a fight, but he’s just getting so close and needy to feel exactly what he wants when he reaches his release.

“fuck, y/n!!” he lets out a shout, his cheeks flushing up nice and rosy, adding to your satisfaction, “please”

Your eyebrow arches.

“pull my hair…” he lets his head fall back, unable to maintain eye contact, “please– fuck–!!” he yells.

Needless to say, you give him what he wants, giving his locks a final teasing stroke before pulling hard, making him shoot his load.

serving him

Shunsui is another man who loves when you take care of him. In his opinion, your hands are best placed around a bottle of sake, serving up and handing him his next drink. He’ll pass you a cup too, so make sure you’ve got a steady hand when you’re pouring.

He’s likely to get handsy once he’s had a few– but you don’t mind. 

Even when he’s bending you over the table and giving your ass a little squeeze while he finishes his drink, you allow him.

He just loves good girls like you. So subservient, taking his cock from behind without batting an eyelid.

[masterlist]

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated!

[dynoguard]

"And we're back." Linda DuPree smiled into the camera, doing her best to appear natural. "With LaBrea... Uh... Is that your first or last name?"

The camera panned over to Linda's "guest." At first glance she appeared human, though the illusion broke down quickly. The size was the immediate tip-off: nine feet tall, with chalk-white skin and half-feline features.

From her short muzzle a pair of dagger like fangs dipped to just under her jaw. She "wore" an evening gown and opera gloves made of viscous liquid tar, the same material that formed an impossible mane upon her head.

The liquid moved and shifted with a life of its own, and a tendril of her floor-length "tresses" was presently dancing behind Linda like an agitated cobra, dripping rivulets of shimmering black oil that flowed along the ground back into her dress.

"Just LaBrea." Her voice carried an odd mix of valley girl inflection and a Hollywood Count Dracula accent, somehow unimpeded by her tusk-like fangs. "Thank you for asking. And Linda, can I just say that I am so thankful that you had little old me on your show, to get to know all the good people at home?"

"Thank, yes, I would like to-" Linda paused, and gathered herself. "I'd like to thank you, very much, LaBrea, for allowing the paramedics to give Sarah and Pauline transfusions."

"They were deliciously boring, dahling." She smiled. "Not like you. So. What do you want to ask me?"

"Well, what are you?" Linda winced. "Was that rude? I-"

"No, Dahling, you're just timid, frightened, like a little mouse. I like you." LaBrea tapped her chin, the slick mass of tar on her head shifted into a raised secretarial bun, a pair of glasses frames forming on her face, evoking a 'thoughtful' look by way of a fashion photo shoot.

"I'm a sabertooth tigress by death, a vampire professionally, an actress by calling and a Fossil Ghoul in general."

"Lets talk about that last one."

"Oh, acting! I don't have representation yet, but you have seen me on the news! And now here! On the hostage episode of The Squadt with Linda, Sarah, Pauline, and the husk formerly known as Darla!" She made an old fashioned 'call me' gesture into the camera with her tar-dripping claws.

"She'll be fine. I mean... not psychologically, but in a few categories I'm sure."

"I meant lets talk about the Fossil Ghouls. What does that mean?"

"Okay, so, like, I'm sure you've heard all kinds of things from the DynoGuard and their little juicebox pals, no offense."

"None taken."

"Wasn't a request. Like I was saying. You've heard that we're some kind of alien species that feeds on fear that's come here to bring an age of suffering and ultimately extinction upon you all. And I just want to let everyone know that couldn't be further from the truth."

"I, for one am glad to hear tha-"

"Yeah, species implies we reproduce and create life like mortals, which is downright offensive. Also, we feed on all forms of evil that you both commit and suffer, not just fear."

"So what are you then?"

"I'm the bones of a sabertooth cat, a whole lot of tar, a mass of your species superstitions, fears, and desires brought to life with a dark heart."

"A Dark Heart... is that metaphorical-?"

LaBrea plunged a hand into the tar at her hip, digging around in it as it were a pocket, before withdrawing a pulsing crystal the size of a cantaloupe. It was shaped like a human heart, carved crudely out of a sickly amber-yellow crystal. Inside, Linda could see a shadow moving around like a bug in a jar.

"This is a dark heart. Made form the ichor of Apothis herself, and holding a poor little soul that was too wicked to get fully digested after the master's last stop." LaBrea turned to the heart and its tiny shadow. "Who wasn't digested? You weren't, you weren't digested were you? You little atrocity you!"

Linda flinched as the shadow slammed itself against the wall of the heart nearest to her. She couldn't remember what it looked like, only that it had many teeth and claws it ought not to have, and was scrabbling furiously at the crystal in a futile attempt at escape. The camera did not pick up the finer details.

"You need a lot of evil, a lot of entroplasm, to make a little monster like this big and strong enough to be a real Fossil Ghoul." LaBrea said. "So you see, by letting us run roughshod over your world, you're actually helping us thrive. Isn't that fun?"

"You mentioned Apothis... That's the meteor that killed the dinosaurs?"

"Oh sweet little mouse! Apothis comes for everyone eventually. As a civilization gets big, and gets smart, its capacity to both inflict and experience evil swells. And when you're ripe, the monster meteor herself comes to feast, leaving a mass extinction in her wake. Before moving to the next star to do it, and the next, coming back around when your world has a new set of annoying talking matter that knows how to scream and mean it."

LaBrea shook herself from her ravings and regained her perky, if uncanny, posture. "Annoying talking matter and you, Linda. We're besties. Obviously!"

"How, how many times has Apothis done this?"

"To Earth? More than a couple by a few, dahling." LaBrea. "The lizards were the only ones to do something about it, and we'll have them dealt with soon."

"Why are you telling us this?" Linda asked.

"Because, dahling, it won't help. Not knowing, not begging, not even worshiping me." She tilted her head and smiled. Both the tilt and smile went farther than they ought. "Not that you shouldn't do all three anyway. They're fun!"

Linda blinked, unsure of how to respond.

"I mean fun for me." LaBrea grinned into the camera, then took a long, low inhale through her nose. As she did, Linda saw tendrils of smoke roiling from the cameras, the audience, and even herself, rushing into the creature's oddly petite nostrils. The smoke was an impossibly dark and deep purple and it smelled of burning decay.

She could taste the wisps flowing out of her mouth. They tasted like her divorce, her broken leg, her father's funeral-

"Don't turn that dial." LaBrea said in a mocking parody of Darla's voice. "Some of us will be right back after a message from these sponsors."

[writingfromabox]

Alone on Thanksgiving? (adamsapple)

Working on a fic using this ad as a prompt because all I can think of is Adam making this post:

Not done yet but I think if I manage to finish it, I’ll put it on AO3. What I have written under the cut:

Adam had placed the ad out of sheer perverse humor, absolutely certain that no one would bother to call him on it. For a short while, he achieved some internet fame as people passed it around on social media, obviously getting a kick out of the idea. He’d joked around with the girls at the bar and tattoo parlor he worked at, saying his Thanksgiving plans were all wrapped up and this was the way he’d be swimming in pussy by the end of the month.

Obviously, the whole thing was meant as a fucking joke. So, when he got the email from a Charlotte Morningstar, he’d been tempted to send her back something rude about her reading comprehension. Like, was it not clear that this was comedy? The fuck. 

He showed it to Lute, who was in the middle of sketching out something for a client: a lion, holding a dagger in its mouth. Her skilled fingers easily traced out the minute details of the animal’s mane, her mouth set into a frown in concentration. The frown slipped into a wicked smirk as she read the email, her eyes lighting up slightly. 

“What’s the problem?” she asked, setting her pencil down and giving him an expression that attempted innocent curiosity. Lute’s face wasn’t made for that, and her sharp amusement made her look like a cat waiting on a mouse to walk into a trap. “I thought this was your big holiday plan. I thought you were looking forward to all the ladies with daddy issues and the ‘fuck you dad’ sex.”

Going to Lute for sympathy for his bad decisions never turned out right, but for some reason he kept trying it. He just grumbled and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Anyway, why not do it?” Lute asked, turning back to her sketch. “It’s free dinner. Your ass doesn’t have family to go to on Thanksgiving. I’m too busy this year to do our usual ‘neither of us can cook’ dinner. You’re extremely good at being an annoying asshole, why not turn it into a fun way to get free turkey?”

Adam folded his arms and tried to be more insulted about that accusation, but the wheels in his head were already turning. Unfortunately. It wasn’t even as though this would be the worst decision he’d made on a holiday, really. That would have been the time one of his biker friends convinced him to dress like the grinch and steal their ex-girlfriend’s Christmas tree. 

The night had ended in mayhem, with the tree sparking a minor electrical fire and Adam ending up tossing it into the outdoor pool. And then ripping off chunks of flaming grinch suit, screaming, as his accomplice hosed him down. 

Apparently, the ex-girlfriend’s kid still had nightmares from watching it out his bedroom window. 

Compared to that shitshow, this would only be a minor sort of shenanigan. Probably something he wouldn’t walk away with a property damage felony with. It wasn’t technically illegal to pick fights by antagonizing someone’s probably elderly, decrepit dad. Unless he, like, actually punched him. And Adam had some amount of self control as long as he didn’t dip into the recreational beverages. 

“Well? Figured out what you’re doing yet?” Lute asked, looking up at him from her spread out stack of sketches. Someone seemed to have ordered one of a goth bear holding a chainsaw. The holidays always brought out the weird shit.

He shrugged, mulling it over. The girl had a whole screed laid out, with a father who was being a dick about her attempts to house and reform former criminals. She’d gone on some rant about the program itself and he zoned out every time he tried to read it, the whole thing seemed like she was some kind of charity ball debutante getting pissy about her dad giving her some hard truths.

Not like it mattered either way to him, in the end, as long as he got a dinner. Adam would be lying if he said it didn’t sound like fun to fuck with someone and get rewarded for it. 

And so it came to pass that Adam decided to agree to be the fake dinner date of this do-gooder princess for Thanksgiving, with about the same amount of logical thought that went into his usual decision making. Which was to say, absolutely none. 

[lopstopdropitlikeitislukewarm]

Fun at the Library — now its own post

I realized later that it might have been rude to post this as a reblog on someone's post. Here's the post that inspired it, though!

It's closing time at the Liberty Bell Library, you're just locking up. You've checked out the stragglers, and you just want to make sure that no last minute perusers venture in. Usually you wouldn't mind and would happily let them 'take a quick look' for what they were looking for. But your boyfriend, okay, the guy you like and have been on a handful of dates with, came to get you and is waiting for you to close up so you can go out.

He said he had something planned for tonight. That he wanted to do something with you. He wouldn't elaborate, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face when you caught his eye. Couldn't help himself from glancing at your lips before looking you in the eyes. A slight flush rising on his face.

He'd greeted you with a kiss at the counter. And then slipped into the stacks while he waited, now though, you're ready to go, and he's nowhere in sight. Huffing in fond annoyance, you head towards the back rows of books.

"Babe, I'm ready to go, babe?"

That's when you spot him. A book in hand, one that he's looking at so intently, he's wearing his nice 'date shirt' but the tight jeans he'd been wearing before are pooled on the floor. He's kicked them off and is standing there bare-assed. You take a moment to wonder where his coat is gone before shaking your head, clearing your throat and saying.

"Need a hand with anything, sir?"

He glances up from the book, face red with embarrassment, but he says in a steady voice. "Well, I was looking for some specific information," he pauses as you draw closer, he swallows, and you watch his Adam's Apple bob in his throat. And your thoughts go to places as you imagine him gulping down on something else.

You slip up alongside him and pluck the book from his hand, 'Treasure Island' you notice. Without taking your eyes off his, you put it back on the shelf. You hold yourself steady, you want to reach out and touch, to run your fingers over a flushed cheek. To reach down and grip the slowly hardening cock peaking out from under the untucked shirt. You want to reach around and take the globes of this man's fine ass into your palms and squeeze. Drawing him closer to you, against you, you want to crash your mouths together and plunder it like one of those pirates in the book he was not actually reading, would plunder treasure.

But you both haven't done more than some heavy petting on the last few dates you've had. And though you had thought that this might be where this was going tonight. You still wait a moment. To make sure. You smile, and you do draw a little closer, your voice pitched low as you say. "Specific information on what?"

"What feels good, what would make you feel good, I really like you and I thought, well." He shrugged helplessly and looks around, you both. "God this is weird, I'm being weird, you're weirded out by this, right?"

You chuckle and move to wrap him up in your arms. Giving into one of your desires. You do reach down and palm his perfect ass. He goes willingly and is pressed up against you, staring up into your face. Still flushed, but his worried smile is replaced with a wicked smirk. A smirk that you're quick to kiss away.

"Oh, oh yes," he moans against your lips, he breaks the kiss, and you lean your foreheads together, both breathing heavily. He pants. "Yes, I've wanted, god-damn I've wanted you so badly, since I first saw you in here, I can't believe we're doing this."

One of your fingers dip into the cleft of his ass, and you feel a wetness. He's come prepared for the night, and maybe it's wrong to do this here. Maybe you worry that you are taking too many liberties, but he's here, and he isn't pushing away. He's pressing his face into your shoulder and, and you slip one finger in. One, then two, you slowly scissor the man open, and he's moaning into your shoulder. Turning to press his face into your neck. His lips brushing agianst your skin, open-mouthed kisses, he sucks a little, and you worry at a hickey for a moment, but that thought is quickly pushed aside when he says.

"Fuck me, oh fuck me baby, please? I'm ready for you, made myself good and ready. I read up on it here in the library. What to do for you, to make this good for both of us. Oh please, please, please, I want it." He whimpers against your neck. His hands move down to scrabble at your pats, undoing them. "I'm ready, I'm so ready, please, I need you. I'm ready, I'm so ready for your cock."

You've both danced around it, this, the fact that the guy you're seeing hasn't actually done anything with a man before. In passing, he's thought about it. But he's never really wanted to take the next step. Not until he met you, that is. You with your wits and charm that had him coming back again and again. With the most random questions for help. Excuses to talk, to see you, to ask you out. You've never pushed him about this, and you had assumed that it would be you taking him the first time, at least.

But he's full of surprises, this man, who isn't exactly your boyfriend, but by the time you both stumble out of the library to get to your date. You probably will be able to call him that. And he'll be able to call you so much more. His first, his first boyfriend, the first man to touch him like this. The first person to spread him open and take what he's welling to give. But only what he's welling to offer up.

"Are you sure?" You ask, slipping a third finger in. It might seem odd, finger fucking the man in your arms, but asking him if he's sure he wants more. But that's just proper, really. You check in, and you make sure they want to keep going, that they want more. "You can say no, and we can go get dinner, no worries, no judgment."

He's grinning when he pulls back to stare you in the eyes. "Come on, I want to see if this big 'book' of yours can fit in my 'shelf.'" He says, and he looks, so god-damn proud of himself for that terrible, terrible joke.

"Okay, nope, library is closed, I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir." You say, your eyes close, and you fake a look of pain at those words. You don't take your fingers out of him, though. You speed up a little and crack open one eye to watch the look of surprise and pleasure spread on his face. "You do not deserve the good time I'm about to show you."

He swallows again, blinking unfocused eyes, you feel him wrap long strong fingers around your hardness. "No more puns? Are you sure?"

______________________

and TBC — maybe. First time I tried my hand at a little smutty short story. Let's see if more inspiration strikes! Cause damn, but this pic had the wheels turning.

And new fantasy unlocked. I wonder if I can invite a guy over to fuck against the bookshelves in my living room? Unless I can find a welling librarian? Guess there's always a chance!

[shiroi---kumo]

@theyoungprinceling has been having a rough time || [ x ]

⋯✧・♪♫♪・✧⋯ Where - he watches as he sees a body of black and yellow leave with a sword at his back. It's that boy that Pilvi - he hasn't taken the time to introduce himself or even interact with the boy - he was a human wasn't he? He thinks he remembers Pilvi saying he was a human. A human, friends with that blond kid with the metal arm that refuses to use his name and insists on calling him 'creamsicle'. What the hell even was a creamsicle? He supposes that isn't important...

The child is leaving alone and he can't say he likes that. He was out in that hell for seventeen years and twelve of them were alone. So he's quiet as he lurks behind the child keeping him in a citrine gaze as he watches the world around them. It's been a while since the Silencer went out to do much of anything but he could make an exception today.

Even with his horns he can hear the boy asking around about something. Some of it is coming out at a threat and there's the sound of a scuffle going on after he watches the child disappear from the streets. Hood up, mask on - people don't need to ask him for a name to know who he is. He's become a tall tale of these parts and just about everyone knows better than to cross his path.

There's a fight filling up his eyes as soon as he enters the bar, gaze shifting over to the owner - a tall man with a bull like face taking in the full sight of the citrine daggers fixed on him as his pupils fall to blade like silts. The owner is moving out from behind the bar to slam him hand down on it, as he starts yelling for this rough housing to stop and that it 'won't be taking place in my bar. GET OUT.'

All parties involves scatter before the once musician can follow, but it's not like the child will get far in that condition and if he's foolhardy enough to threaten in Wonderland, perhaps he learned his lesson from this little adventure.

He can follow after in a minute. Instead he leans himself up against the bar, with his back pressed against it as he lets his body relax a little.

"So what was that?" He asks but the barkeep just returns to his post and goes back to cleaning glasses.

"None of your business." Comes back a low snarl.

"Oh don't be like that, Tamato. Just tell me what happened, and I'll leave without a fuss."

"Are you threatening me?"

"It doesn't have to be one unless you want it to be. I just want information. What was the boy after and how did the fight start?"

"Get out. It's none of your business, human."

There's a deep sigh as his shoulders dip low and his mask slips off without ever turning his head around.

"Ahhh there's your mistake. I really hate being called human, Tamato." A stream of bright orange mist is blown into the air as he continues to lean against the bar.

Another man, from the fight before - tall and green with a lizard like build comes dragging himself back into the bar only to approach him and to reach for collar.

"He said get ou-" The man falls silent as that stream of orange is blown directly in his face leaving the ruffian to grip at his throat as he starts to panic. He keeps trying to make any sounds he can only to fail each and every time.

"I don't think I will." A blade of sparkling blue crystal appears in his hand as its spun in a circle in his grip before it's buried deep in the bar with emphasis as he turns to face the owner of the establishment. Mask still off, he lets citrine fall from his lips as he flashes the man a wicked looking grin.

"I asked the gentleman a question and it would be rude if he didn't answer it."

"You. You're the Silencer."

"Oh? So you've heard of me then. Good. Now, answer my questions and I'll leave."

"Anything - Anything you want. I don't want any trouble."

A flood of information falls out of the man in question explaining everything he saw and heard before the fight started and what the boy said. So apparently he's looking for someone and to that he can relate. Being worried about your loved ones. So now he just needs to track the boy and hopefully if he was smart, he'll have gone home.

Well the close as any of them could call to home anyway.

He finds the boy collapsed against a tree, reaction time lagging as he jumps up to face him.

"Who did this to you?" The elder sounds, looking him over - worse for wear compared to what the barkeep has told him. Maybe they dug their claws into this human worse than he was lead to believe.

He sighs as a sword is held out, and pointed in his direction. Hands raise where the child can see them as he reaches for his hood to put it down, revealing a flood of orange hair and four small ruby red horns.

"This isn't the place to be leading with threats, lapsi. Pilvi will be upset if you don't come home and so will your friend. That blond kid. The human. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to make sure you come home. You really sure learn a better way of asking people for information. It tends to require a bit more finesse. You really shouldn't be running around Wonderland on your own. It's too dangerous, so I followed you and good thing I did. You're never going to accomplish anything like that. Breathe, boy."

[acapelladitty]

prompt: someone (preferably Bruce) is under Harvey's desk while he deals with some business

Gosh I wish that was me 😫😫😫

Tucked neatly away beneath the hard wood of Harvey's work desk, the warmth from Bruce's cramped, flushed body paired with the heat radiating from Harvey's thick legs to make for a uniquely uncomfortable hiding place.

His vision limited, Bruce could only just peek out to see the open scowl which lay on Harvey's features as he stared down the pair of goons who had knocked on his door; a scowl constructed of such open malice that Bruce doubted either of them would dare to interrupt again.

One of the men spoke, his thick accent and nasal voice carrying across the room with ease.

"Boss! Gerry phoned, says that Sionis' men have been spotted setting up around the fishery down by the western dock."

Bruce's ears perked up at the information even as a wicked idea alit within his mind as his gaze once more flicked ahead to Harvey's painfully-hard cock - the length still slickened by his mouth despite the timely interruption which had forced him into hiding.

"Good. Now I know where the slimy bastard is hiding out."

The hoarseness of Harvey's voice amused Bruce no end and his fingers danced across the strained fabric of the split suit which covered Harvey's knees, slowing travelling up his thick thighs.

"Hey, where's Matches? Did he split?"

The second goon voice entered the fray, his much deeper and brassy.

Smirking, Bruce relished in the tickle of the faux-moustache which remained loyally stuck to his upper lip even through all of the agitation it had endured.

"When it's your damn business, I'll let you know."

Despite the aggression in the tone, the subtle amusement did not go unnoticed as Bruce traced his fingers across the soft, velvety skin of Harvey's exposed cock, enjoying the way that it twitched towards his fingers, begging for more.

Well, it would be rude not to.

Bruce dipped his head forward, wetting a sordid line up Harvey's cock with his tongue, and it was only Bruce's iron-grip on the clothed knees that prevent them from jerking up and striking against the hard wood table.

A strangled cough from above was quickly smothered by a soft noise, almost like a suited forearm pressing itself to lips.

"My plans for Sionis will wait until I've met with Cobblepot." Harvey stated, regaining some composure even as his hips rocked dangerously against Bruce's lips. "Do not move until I've given the signal."

Bruce dropped his lips to the weeping tip of Harvey's cock, tasting the pre-cum there as he teased and took advantage of the unfortunate predicament.

"Fuck." Harvey hissed, slamming a hand against the desk; the force causing the wood to vibrate around Bruce almost as a unspoken threat.

"You okay, boss?" The nasal goon asked.

"Fuck off out of my office." Harvey hissed, "And don't come back until I call you."

[honeyynymphh]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @sucharide years ago

this is from a new story (one of many) that is very nearly finished. having so much trouble finishing things lately so I’m hoping by posting this into the void I shall be motivated to complete it!

it’s just the beginning so there are no real warnings but it is a little nsfw

Cardinal Copia x FemReader

summary: you’re an abbey maid that has the unfortunate pleasure of having to clean the most infuriating cardinal’s office and personal chambers.

You stare at the books in front of you and sigh, the wooden ladder you stand on groaning a little with the movement. Fuck, how you hated having to clean this damn shelf—well, shelf didn’t really cover it, it was an entire wall full of books and a few odd curiosities. Honestly, cleaning this entire office was exhausting. It took up most of your day, and then you had to move on to the inhabitants’ personal chambers. No wonder nobody else wanted to do it.

All those months ago when Sister Imperator had given out the timetables you’d been ecstatic to see you had fewer rooms to clean than the previous roster. The other maids had given you pitying looks but nobody had offered to swap with you, which you had dismissed as odd. How bad could one person be? You understood why now. It was because this room had to be cleaned thoroughly or you ended up back here, dusting and wiping while the owner of the room sneered out unhelpful and downright rude commentary on your methods.

But you were not going to be cowed by that uptight ass. You didn’t care if Cardinal Copia was nearly as high up as Sister Imperator or the Papas. If the man wanted his study and chambers to be cleaned, he would, at the very least, give you some respect. You were the only one who didn’t find him weirdly offputting—though he very much was that—but cleaning his office and chambers was much more pleasant than having to clean up the Great Hall after one of their decadent feasts or having to clean the rooms of the Papas. You never knew what would be in store for you whenever you entered a space that Papa Terzo had just vacated. And once you were done, it meant you had more free time. It was worth it, especially now that you’d grown used to the Cardinal and his acerbic tongue.

Cardinal Copia was exacting and his manners were non-existent but at least he was predictable. And he rarely made any mess—he certainly didn’t leave cream splattered on the ceiling. At least, you think it had been cream…Papa Terzo had mentioned something about cream pies.

Your eyes focus back on the books in front of you, most are all leather bound and organised neatly. Some have titles in golden lettering along the spines but so few of them are in English. You are nearly finished tidying them back up after having dusted and your eyes scan over them. The Cardinal had such a strange collection of books, and while many you could never read, some had intriguing diagrams and little illustrations in them. As someone not part of the church, just a maid, it was fascinating perusing through the strange old texts. You were sure the one you had leafed through last week had been about summoning actual demons.

One book catches your eye, it’s bound in deep red leather and the spine is decorated in gold embellishments. Your fingers run along the bumps and dips of the spine before you slip it out from the shelf and flip it open at random, your hip pressing against the top of the ladder as you balance yourself. Your eyes widen as you take in the illustration before you. It is…obscene! A woman on her knees in prayer, yet she is naked and bound. And her open mouth is not waiting for the communion wafer but for the cock of the priest standing before her, the rest of the congregation looking on without a care.

You flip to another page. This time, a woman stands upon a small plinth—a rope hangs from the ceiling and suspends her tied hands high above her head. A man stands next to her, ready to strike her bare ass with a wicked-looking birch rod. But there is also another man, on his knees before the other, his mouth clearly wrapped around the other’s cock—his own hard and leaking.

“Intrigued, Signorina?”

[st4rfvckerr]

"Nice try, maze boy."

@mazerunner-rarepairs one out of three done !!

at this point im just picking out random characters and making them hold hands but pre-slash Brenda/Alby in the scorch is real to me !!

prompt: they never meet in canon

~

The sun begins to dip behind the dunes of the scorch and Brenda is dozing off, her head resting over the pile of documents placed onto Jorge’s old wobbly desk. She takes in the semi-rest gratefully, eyes stinging from a lack of sleep she had accumulated over the passing days, drowning in work and effort and responsibilities, that burden only heavier due to the new arrivals. Brenda knows what she has to do and isn't afraid, but the amount of work she now has on her shoulders is tremendously absorbing and exhausting.

Her breath evens out as she rests her forehead inside the crook of her elbow, only for a second. Closing her eyes feels luxurious and she revels in it, the tension headache that had formed around the crown of her head so many days ago finally relieving. The reminder of the pile of work and the camp she has to take care of pulls her attention away from the well earned rest, a constant reminder that she cannot allow herself to take longer breaks.

She's about to get back to work when a sharp knock makes her jump, the loud sound of knuckles rasping against the wooden door pulling her out of her half-asleep state, her back snapping straight. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes and attempts to fix her hair, running her fingers through her limp strands.

“Come in,” she finally mutters, mentally cursing whoever has come to disturb her and bring more tasks for her to complete.

The door squeaks open and a head appears through the opening, a somewhat formal smile painted on a face Brenda takes a few moments to recognize as he leans casually against the doorframe.

Brenda lets out a sigh at the view of what she figures is the last person she would ever want to see.

“Piss off, Albert,” she rudely dismisses him, letting her attention draw back to her work.

Alby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, clearly taken aback by the fact that Brenda had remembered his name from meeting him earlier, let alone his full name, one he barely used anywhere other than his official records. Brenda smiles to herself, pleased to see she’s still a step ahead.

Alby doesn't budge, much to Brenda’s annoyance, scratching the thinning paint off the door absentmindedly. Brenda attempts to ignore him, eyes skimming over letters she still has to answer. The amount of work she still has exasperates her, her responsibilities seemingly piling up to no end. Letters dance before her eyes, twirling on the page, and Brenda feels dizzy.

Alby clears his throat, and Brenda is seconds away from shouting at him and pushing him out of the door, unceremoniously.

Her resolve breaks. “What do you want ?”

He glares at her, gesturing to the concering sheets spread out on her desk, and Brenda really wants to strangle him. “You should sleep.”

“Nice try, maze boy.”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can think about them and Alby’s eyes widen. He barks out a laugh, crooked teeth peeking out from under his top lip, and Brenda isn't sure why she's staring so intensely. She considers grabbing something from the desk space and aiming it at Alby's chest. She isn't sure why she's having such violent thoughts, either.

Well, maybe she does.

Just when she had thought she couldn't get overwhelmed by any more work, a batch of starving WICKED refugees had practically showed up to her front door, begging for help after spending multiple days out in the scorch. Even that, she could deal with, having handled way worse than a dozen hungry boys, no matter how much they got on Jorge's nerves. They could be useful, anyway. But now one of those boys had the guts to show up in her space and tell her she should sleep when there is still so much work to do, most of which he had single handedly brought onto Brenda ? Somehow, she isn't sure if she wants to punch him, shove her papers down his throat, or have a nervous breakdown in his arms. None of those options really sound that great.

“You really should take a nap,” Alby insists, a scowl forming on his face.

Brenda wonders how someone can inquire about her well-being and yet look like an absolute asshole.

“You really should mind your own business and go look somewhere else to find any fucks I may give,” Brenda growls, her tone a warning.

Sleep deprivation catches up to her and makes her unnecessarily agressive, grumpy and quick to react to the tiniest of taunts. Alby seems to notice this, scratching his chin as he looks around the room thoughtfully. Brenda runs her fingers over the wooden desk, her nails catching into splinters and making her wince. She fiercely holds Alby’s gaze, standing her ground.

“Fine,” Alby finally concedes.

Brenda feels a wave of disappointment washing over her, and isn't sure what to make of it. Was she enjoying their disagreement ?

She attempts to maintain a straight face. “What ?”

“You have a lot of work, I get it.” Alby smiles, the full bastard grin of someone who knows very well what they are doing. “I don't. I'll keep you company.”

“Okay,” she answers dumbly. “Sure.”

As a proof of his intentions, he slides down against the doorway and extends his long legs in front of him, crossing his arms with a smirk, sitting against the wall and clearly not about to move any time soon. Brenda’s mouth opens as she attempts to come up with argument, than closes as she finds nothing. Alby's eyebrows raise in amusement and Brenda’s cheeks feel a little warm. It's been so long since anyone other than Jorge has cared for her, and she isn't sure what to do about it. It feels foreign but nice, a gentle feeling of comfort working itself into her heart.

~

two more to go 💪

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan reaps what she has sowed.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 1,891. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 18: Lady Trevelyan's Folly

It was about a half-hour after luncheon that Dagna requested Trevelyan take something to the Commander’s office. Perfect.

Up to the Great Hall she went, straight through the library—good afternoon, Dorian!—and into the great outdoors. The Commander’s tower was merely a stone’s throw away, but her brief excursion was pleasant all the same. The sun was bright and shining, as if it wished to match her mood. A fellow mage passed her by, exchanging a cheery smile. Everything was quite perfect!

She tapped a little melody upon the Commander’s door. A second later, came his invitation:

“Enter.”

Trevelyan did exactly that, and was delighted by what she saw.

He stood behind his desk, his eyes upon the report he held—in one hand. The other brandished a spoon, which he casually dipped into a little baking dish, and pulled from it a sweet bite of apple crumble. Trevelyan smiled as he ate it, and noted happily that half the dish was already empty.

“Good afternoon, Commander.”

His head sprung up, to look in her direction. He desperately tried to finish his mouthful, so that he might say: “Lady—!”

But some crumble must have lingered, as his speech turned to a choke. He coughed and spluttered crumb over his desk, urgently trying to turn away.

“Maker, are you all right?” Trevelyan asked. “Have you a drink?”

But the Commander’s coughs already slowed. The back of his hand pressed firm against his mouth, in an effort to abate them.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, turning to catch sight of his desk. “Maker’s breath.”

There was a nearby rag he snatched up, wiping away flecks of crumb and spittle from his documents. Trevelyan concealed the laughter that dared sneak into her mouth. The poor man was embarrassed enough.

“Good crumble?” she asked.

“Ah—yes, it is”—he glanced to it, then her—“would you… like some?”

Trevelyan smiled. “No, thank you. It is yours. And you seem to be... enjoying it.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make such a fool of myself.”

“Not at all. Besides, I made quite the fool of myself yesterday,” she said, recalling the prior morning with the Baroness. “I am sorry for running off. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

The Commander stopped, to look at her. Maker, those honey eyes of his, they bore so much solemnity. “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’m… sorry, if I overstepped. I hope I did not cause you any trouble.”

At least he was somewhat self-aware, if only after the fact. “Don’t worry. It has all been levelled out.”

“Good.” He took to cleaning again. “Do the other Ladies speak to you like that often?”

“Goodness, no! The Baroness made a mistake, that’s all. She has since apologised, quite sincerely. She is a good woman; they all are.”

“Ah, I see. Then, forgive me for misinterpreting.”

Oh. What an interesting angle to consider this from. Not only did the Commander think he was protecting her from Touledy, but he thought he was defending her against the Ladies as a whole? Well, at least correcting him on the matter had provided Trevelyan another opportunity to talk them up.

“Forgiven,” she said, watching him continue his cleaning work. His rag ran over the cover of a book, that was perched right at the edge of his desk.

Trevelyan could have sworn she recognised the title from one Lady Erridge had described. ‘His Lady’s Promise’. Sequel to ‘His Lady’s Word’. Apparently, not as good.

“Do you read romances, Commander?”

“Yes—ah, no!” The Commander opened a drawer, and shoved the book inside. Not before Trevelyan had noticed a slip of paper marking a page partway through, however. “Or—well, yes. It was… recommended by a friend.”

His sheepishness pointed to a certain meaning. Perhaps he was looking for advice, amongst those pages? Perhaps Trevelyan’s scheming had worked. Perhaps he cared for one of the Ladies!

Hiding her excitement, Trevelyan asked, “Do you like it?”

“I have… only just started it.”

“Oh? Do you read much?”

He shrugged. “When I have the time.”

“Oh!” Trevelyan laughed to herself. “So, never?”

“Well, I,” he stammered, “sometimes, before bed, I may read.”

“Just reports, or—?”

He laughed. Maker, it was such a terrible laugh. She could not help but find it lovely.

“No,” he said.

Trevelyan raised an eyebrow, for he was, at that moment, glancing down at something on his desk. She crept closer, and snuck a peek. Some Duke sending recruits to the Orlesian frontlines after ceasefire, how intriguing. Almost seemed like… a report?

“And what is this you’re reading?” she asked. He startled to see how close she’d gotten.

“It’s, ah—” he sighed. “Sorry, I… it caught my eye.”

Trevelyan smiled, and noted to herself how full of apology he was. That had to be his fourth this conversation. If he knew what she’d heard him say at the gala… would he be sorry? She couldn’t help but think he might.

“One would hope a man like you would have better focus,” she jested.

The Commander smiled. “Did you come to tease me, Lady Trevelyan, or have you a report yourself?”

Trevelyan giggled. “Why not both?” She produced the envelope given to her by Dagna. “Here. The Arcanist wishes to request usage of the Inquisition’s red lyrium sample. We are almost ready to perform our first tests on the substance itself. We require your approval first.”

The request was more formally, and more verbosely, laid out in the letter which the Commander now read. He straightened, and nodded.

“You have my approval. I’ll have the keys to its chamber sent.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

Trevelyan blinked. The Commander began to stutter.

“I—I didn’t mean, forgive me, it was, it’s a habit, I…”

Trevelyan laughed. Like the Templars at the Circle would, she stood to attention. “Yes, Commander!” She crossed an arm over her chest, and did a little bow. “I’ll see to it, Commander! Right away, Commander!”

He smiled, though it did not clear his shame. “I am determined to humiliate myself in front of you,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Trevelyan chuckled. “Don’t worry, Commander. It’s endearing.”

He managed to look in her direction, but struggled to find his words. “I, ah…”

“I shall leave you to it, before another incident occurs,” said Trevelyan. “Enjoy your apple crumble, Commander.”

“I shan’t say another word, just in case,” he muttered, before adding: “Farewell.”

Trevelyan curtsied, and turned for the door. As soon as it closed behind her, she heard a grumbling from inside.

It made her smile. There was a little flutter in her chest, which she could not quite explain. Her heart beat as if she’d had some death-defying experience in there, when all it had been was a conversation with the Commander.

Or perhaps it was knowing the success of the apple crumble. Oh, she had to report to Lady Erridge right away! Dagna could wait a few more minutes—she was rather lax about Trevelyan’s attendance anyway, given how easily she had waved off this morning’s absence. Then again, Trevelyan had worked every single day since taking up the role. She was technically owed some break.

So Trevelyan hurried away, into the keep of Skyhold, to locate Lady Erridge. The search was rather easy—Erridge had taken to her room after luncheon, and was, coincidentally, reading romances.

“Come in, come in!” she said excitedly, when Trevelyan appeared at the door.

Her room was much like Trevelyan’s in style, except there were vases of flowers on every available surface, in every available colour. And also, Erridge had a teddy bear sat beside her pillow. Trevelyan assumed the name would be saccharine enough to turn even soured milk sweet.

“Have you seen the Commander?” Erridge asked, as they sat upon her sofa.

“I have,” Trevelyan told her, “and you will be pleased to hear that, when I walked in, he was eating the crumble!”

Lady Erridge gasped. “Truly!?”

“Yes! He said he liked it, and was very much enjoying it. He even offered for me to try some!”

Erridge applauded. Her face was bright and beaming, her cheeks the rosiest they’d ever been. “Oh, how wonderful! I am ever so glad to hear it. Our efforts have been well-rewarded—though I do wish you’d taken some of the credit.”

“No, no!” Trevelyan waved a hand. “It was your idea! And it is better for him to think it was a solitary endeavour.”

“Yes, but—it does sort of feel like lying, and I do dislike lying.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “A white lie, perhaps. But it does no harm to anyone but me, really, and I am fine with it.”

Erridge sighed. “Well, if you are, and if you think he is not deceived, then… all right.” She perked again. “Maker, how much had he eaten?”

“Nearly half!” said Trevelyan. “I do think he might finish it all in one day, he likes it so much!”

“I should find that recipe again, and copy it down for when we are married—for if what you say is true, then it is almost a certainty!”

Trevelyan smiled, but struggled to nod. She could not imagine the Commander marrying Erridge. No, Lady Erridge would be better off with Lady Orroat. The Commander could… marry someone else.

“Will you ask him about it again, Lady Trevelyan?” Erridge begged. “I must know if he finishes it!”

Trevelyan giggled. “Well, if you wish me to, I shall happily find an excuse, and pay him another visit. A few hours should do the trick!”

If she could wait. Trevelyan was quite eager to see the Commander again. But the visit was supposed to be for their scheme’s sake, and so there was little purpose in seeing him right away.

Even if she, for some reason, wanted to.

***

The hours passed by excruciatingly. But finally, the sun began to dip, and Trevelyan took that as her signal. She’d had plenty of time to think of an excuse. She would tell him that she needed more details of the approval he was speaking of, in regards to the red lyrium sample. Easy.

And while there, she could see if there were any crumble left. It was not such a big dish, and he might well have eaten it all. Lady Erridge would be so pleased if that were the case.

Trevelyan made her excuses to Dagna, and slipped away to the Commander’s office once more. The sky had turned cloudy, but it could not dim her mood. There was no-one to greet her on the way, but she smiled to herself all the same.

She knocked melodiously upon the door. And waited.

It took a few seconds longer, this time; she had almost raised her hand to knock again. But then, the call came:

“Yes?”

Trevelyan pushed open the door, and entered. Her face fell.

The Commander sat at his desk, head slumped in his hands. The baking dish was empty, sure, but he—he was pale. Sweating. Something was wrong.

“Commander?”

He lifted his head, slow. His eyelids drooped half-closed. His eyes were glassy, ghostly. He looked to her with even more sadness than before.

And to her call, her answered: “Greagoir isn’t here right now.”

[muraenide]

Tries to touch his dangling earring. It's so mesmerizing...

He dodges the grey face's hand, heterochromatic eyes flashing something close to a warning. "Careful," a single word, though it carried more grace than he would have liked. "It would be rude to touch something without permission."

Given the same situation in the Coral Sea, losing a limb might have been part of his initial plan rather than a warning. The importance of the item in question also played a role, of course. Sturgeon scales were not incredibly expensive accessories to be had, but if Jade ever loses the one he has right now he's unsure if he'd ever find a replacement to match the one remaining on Floyd. More than just earrings they were trophies obtained from a certain victory in his youth. It's an item he considers quite dear to him, and he feels a searing possessiveness over it.

Jade leans up, straightening his back after dipping. He adjusts the fedora on his head and looks over his shoulders, sending a wicked and knowing smile toward the grey face, gaze frigid. Seconds pass, Jade lets out a hum and he says nothing as he turns and resumes his walk down the hallway.

[renegadetulisrp]

She should be feeling guilt – baiting her friend’s boyfriend in his own car, succumbing to her own desire to watch bridges burn. Aria didn’t particularly care deeply for Emily, not after she had found out what that bitch did behind her back years ago. So much for being a vanilla thirst trap - Aria knew she’d get her revenge finally. It had nothing to do with Leo, this was way before Leo Morgan entered their lives. How… unfair it seems. She was stuck with a feeble man who can’t even seem to last 10 minutes in the sack and Emily dearest seemed to capture the attention of a celebrated street racer. The gods seemed to favour the wicked and perhaps she had to be one to be favoured too. She couldn’t miss the defensive tone that he took – his attempts to justify the claims she had taunted him with, his movements edged with an eagerness to prove her wrong. And Aria just had to sit back and watch Leo’s calm (albeit tense) composure crumble like a sandcastle with each carefully curated word she chose.

She lifted her head from the headrest when he responded with his own taunting dispute to hers. Her features remained stoic although her eyes glimmered with a desire to see him prove himself right. She hummed, shrugging with one shoulder as if his words were worthless, nothing to be taken seriously. It’s a dangerous game she was playing and the cards she was dealt with were scorching hot. Yet, Aria scoffed at his invitation to see him at his races, fingers lifting to tuck in a strand of her hair behind her ear. Push her too far huh? Doesn’t he realise that she was the one leading and cornering him right to the edge? “You’re so… eager to prove me wrong,” she spoke softly, intentional provocation lacing her tone. Aria shook her head slightly. Her next words would hit him the hardest. “It’s almost like you’re… begging me.”  Aria’s right pointer finger pressed against her lips as she tittered, feigning an apologetic look. “Whoops. How rude of me to assume that. You did say you don’t beg anyone… for anything…” She held out her hands as if to surrender. “My bad, Mr Morgan.”

A dangerous swell of pride sprouted in the middle of her chest, as soon as the heat of his fingers made contact with her skin. With tension running thick as this, it was almost inevitable not to feel the incalescence of her own core pooling into the apex of her thighs. His breaths against her skin were measured and modulated. Aria sighed, wondering what they actually sound like when they’re laboured and gasping with each sharp intake. Tell me to stop. Another snicker tumbled out of her lips. "No." Aria breathed, controlling the hitch in her throat. "I won't." A muscle in her jaw twitched as soon as Leo’s wet tongue traced her ear. Fuck. Her own lips parted, letting out an audible moan as soon as he hit that sensitive spot, head tilting away to give him more access to her flesh. You drive me fucking crazy. Her heart skipped a beat and stilled as soon as his growled words sunk into her skin. A languid smirk had taken over and she snickered in response. “And you’re such a fucking tease,” she whispered against his ear, hands pushing on his chest to make him face her. Aria’s own blue gaze held his, “You’ll pay for making me wait all this while,” she murmured huskily against his lips before moving forward to snag his lower tier, pulling it between her teeth. She bit down lightly, not enough to draw blood but enough to make him feel the nip. Shifting in her seat, her thighs had parted further, a silent invitation for his fingers to hike up even further. Her lips parted against his, tongue darting out to explore his mouth, finally tasting him. Her right hand had already dipped down, trailing against the fabric covering his form, feeling the hard ridges of his chest, down to his stomach and further down, against the denim covering his length.

Leo's feelings surged in a chaotic mix of adrenaline, confusion, and raw temptation. Her words struck him like tiny sparks igniting a flame he was barely containing. Beneath the haze of the pill, there was an amplified recklessness, a hunger that edged toward dangerous territory. Every taunt she threw at him gnawed at his pride, twisting his emotions into something volatile and undeniable. He felt the weight of her gaze, the deliberate way it traced over him, and it made his chest tighten with both irritation and undeniable intrigue. A cocktail of desire and frustration churned inside him, the lines between anger and attraction blurring as her provocations pressed against his already frayed self-control. Her laugh, low and teasing, sent a ripple of heat through him, feeding an almost primal need to prove her wrong. There was guilt too, a fleeting shadow buried under the heightened senses the pill brought on. It was faint, drowned out by the pulse of his heart and the electric charge of her presence, but it lingered, a reminder of boundaries he was on the verge of breaking. His throat felt dry, his skin too hot, as though the tension in the car was suffocating him. Yet he didn’t want to escape it. Instead, he wanted to lean into it, to confront the challenge she was presenting head-on. His pride wrestled with his self-restraint, the former winning out as her words echoed in his mind. Leo let out a low chuckle, the sound more strained than amused, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Aria. His fingers drummed on the console, a subconscious tell of his restlessness, while he leaned back slightly, giving the illusion of calm. The faint smirk on his lips was forced, not quite reaching his eyes, which flickered with a mix of doubt and desire. “Vanilla isn’t always bad, you know,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying a faint edge of defensiveness. He tried to keep it light, casual, as if the accusation didn’t burrow under his skin. “It’s… steady. Dependable. Sometimes, that’s what people need.” The words hung in the air for a moment, and Leo immediately hated how hollow they sounded. His own voice betrayed him, lacking the conviction to sell the lie. Vanilla wasn’t him, and it sure as hell wasn’t something he admired—not in himself, not in anyone else. His jaw tightened slightly, the tension creeping into his posture as the flicker of insecurity gnawed at the edges of his pride. He glanced at her, catching the faint smirk on her lips, and it only fueled the restless energy coiled inside him. “It’s not about being boring,” he added quickly, as though scrambling to salvage some ground. His tone carried a faint defensiveness now, as if he needed her to believe it—even though he didn’t. “It’s about… knowing what works, I guess.”

Leo's eyes narrowed at her, a playful glint sparking in his sharp blue gaze as a crooked grin tugged at his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he reached over and poked her thigh deliberately with his finger, the gesture teasing, but firm enough to draw her attention. “You’re trying to see if I’ll run scared, huh? If I’ll fold when things get a little… demanding.” The words rolled off his tongue slowly, deliberately, and he let them linger in the air, a subtle dare woven into every syllable. “But I hate to break it to you, Aria—I don’t scare easy.” The pill in his system added an unfiltered edge to his usual bravado, making the moment feel sharper, riskier. His hand lingered close to where he’d poked her, fingers curling against the edge of the seat as he leaned just a fraction closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “You wanna talk about dangerous?” he asked, his tone softening but gaining a weight that made it impossible to brush off. “Come with me to one of my races sometime. See just how far I’ll go.” His lips curved into a mischievous grin, his confidence undeniable as he leaned back slightly, giving her space but still keeping the tension between them taut. “I’ll show you what real danger looks like,” he added, his voice a husky promise. “If you’re up for it, that is. I wouldn’t want to push you too far, now would I?”

Leo's smirk faltered for just a moment, giving way to something darker, more intense, as he leaned forward, his movements slow but deliberate. The playful glint in his eyes had deepened into something far more dangerous, a quiet hunger that matched the tension thickening the air between them. “There’s one good thing I’m sure I don’t want to let go to waste,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel under the wheels of one of his roaring engines. The words hung between them, heavy with meaning, as he let his gaze drop—first to her lips, then lower, before snapping back to her eyes. As if drawn by an invisible force, his hand moved, resting on her inner thigh, his touch firm and unapologetic. The heat of his palm against her skin was electrifying, and his fingers pressed hard, a silent declaration of intent. His breath hitched slightly as his hand began to move, fingertips crawling higher, testing boundaries with each inch they dared to cross. His pulse pounded in his ears, the pill muddling the faint voice of caution trying to surface, drowning it in a cocktail of reckless desire and adrenaline. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just near her ear as he exhaled softly, his voice a low growl. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, though the way his hand tightened against her thigh betrayed how much he didn’t want her to. His tongue parted his lips and traced along the sensitive edge of her ear. He groaned softly, the sound low and primal, as he tasted her skin, his breath uneven as it mingled with hers. His tongue dipped further, teasing the shell of her ear as his hand pressed harder against her thigh, his fingers curling possessively. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper but dripping with unrestrained desire. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, tasting every inch as though savoring the moment, while his lips followed, brushing soft but hungry kisses against her ear.

Leo’s body was betraying every shred of restraint he had left. The heat of the moment, the electric tension between them, and the reckless haze clouding his mind had him on edge, his arousal undeniable. His jeans felt tight, almost unbearable, as he shifted slightly in his seat, the evidence of his desire pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. His hardness throbbed with every subtle movement, the pulse of his need so strong it sent a ripple of heat through his entire body. Each teasing word, each forbidden glance from her, only made it worse—made him ache for release, for her. It wasn’t just physical; it was the way her presence ignited something primal in him, pushing him past the brink of caution.

[seekingdandelions]

The Spirit Loft - Short Story

Caelum lit the last candle in the circle and sat back, crossing his legs. The smell of salt drifted through the loft, making the boy’s nose crinkle. He shook his head, as though that might banish the scent. When that didn’t work, he rubbed at his nose, decided to ignore it,  and picked up the stack of paper by his knee. His notes had seen better days. Caelum had roughly torn the pages from his school notebook, blanketed them in scribbles and stamped it with a few coffee stains for good measure. However, the boy seemed undeterred by their condition, as he flipped through the disorganised pages.

Halfway down the first page, blue ink switched to black, and then briefly to red. As he read, Caelum could feel the whispers growing in ferocity, desperate to pull him away from the dusty loft. Caelum pushed them aside, raising his voice.

‘“Circle of salt, thirteen candles, runes of my choosing, clear intentions”… Everything seems in order, wouldn’t you guys agree?’ he called into the empty room. 

Caelum wasn’t sure who he was addressing. The constant murmuring never stopped, but it was rarely clear. It was like being in a city centre on Christmas Eve, trying to hone in on a dozen different conversations.  A single voice, scratchy and teetering on the edge of coherence, rose above the static in Caelum’s ears. ‘Stop,’ it hissed.

Pressing his lips together, the boy folded up his notes and set them on the floor, ignoring the ghost’s plea. His shadow swayed across the slanted wall, projected by the candlelight. Caelum’s mum would be home soon. He wasn’t sure how she would react to his setup. He could imagine that her signature eye twitch would be involved, but it was a complete mystery from there.

Probably best to get on with it.

After clearing his throat, he recited; ‘With this offering of fire and salt, I invite you to my land, providing you abide by my command.’ The individual flames perked up, as though they were listening intently. Caelum noticed, allowing a hint of confidence to seep into his voice. ‘Do not leave this circle of binding salt. Provide me with the knowledge and protection I seek, and in return, I will provide you with compensation. With my intentions set, I summon you, demon.’

The spirits fell silent. Caelum’s grey eyes drifted through the loft. Empty. No demon. He frowned, reaching for his notes. 

Has something gone wrong? Maybe he should have written the incantation himself. The online one had felt a little juvenile...

Without warning, thirteen candles flared with white-hot intensity. Rogue flames consumed the wicks with a crackle, leaving behind thirteen piles of molten red wax. Just as suddenly as they had swelled, the fire faltered and flatlined. Caelum bolted up, disoriented by the sudden eclipse. His notes plummeted to the floor.

Caelum took a shaky step back, eyes twitching through the loft. The boy was hardly an expert in the paranormal, but the goosebumps grabbing at his flesh weren’t a good sign. The sudden presence he could feel wasn’t filling him with hope either. It forced him further back, continuing to overwhelm him once his back was pressed to the slanted wall.

Caelum heard a deep, unravelling sigh, followed by a bang. ‘Ow! Curse these mortals and their low ceilings…’  Something had definitely gone wrong.

The spirits remained silent. Something deep within his gut twisted, sending bile to burn his throat. ‘S-Show yourself!’ he demanded weakly.

A bright blue light sparked in front of him. Caelum shrank back against it, shielding his eyes with a quivering hand. He could feel the floorboards dip as the demon moved closer.

Caelum prised his eyes open, catching a glimpse of the figure. The light had sparked from the demon’s palm, illuminating its features. However, Caelum didn’t know where to look. Should he focus on the skeletal mask or the brash raven wings? Would it be rude to stare at the demon’s long eagle-like legs and talons? The human head and torso were rather odd, but a welcome sight nonetheless. His hair was dark, similar to Caelum’s, but his eyes were hidden. He was tall too, towering over Caelum with ease.

More importantly, he had breezed past his summoning circle.

‘So…’ Caelum muttered. He could feel the flesh around his neck tingling, on edge. ‘I take it the summoning circle was a bust?’

‘Mhm,’ the demon responded. ‘Let me guess: you bought the salt from a supermarket? Cheaped out on the off-brand stuff?’ 

Caelum nodded a little too quickly, eyes trained on the floor. If he focused on it long enough, maybe he would fall through it. ‘The candles were rather pricey, y’see, and one pound seemed too expensive for salt. And there was always the chance that this wouldn’t work, and I don’t add salt to my meals, so I would have half a tub of salt leftover, and-’

‘Stop talking,’ the demon cut in, reaching behind the mask to rub his temples. His voice seemed familiar to Caelum. Was it similar to a celebrity’s voice? Maybe it the demon moonlighted as a celebrity. Or daylighted, perhaps. ‘Listen, kid, I don’t have all day. Some wise guy wrote an article about demon summoning, it got a lot of traction, now we’re working overtime. It’s a real mess. So, if you’ll excuse me…’

The light dimmed in the demon’s palm. His vast wings followed behind him as he turned around. Caelum couldn’t help but stare. Had things gone according to plan? No, the plan was in shambles, there was a mask-wearing bird demon in his loft.

He snapped back to the moment, remembering what he had set out to do. ‘Hey, wait, I didn’t mean to ramble about salt! I had a reason for summoning you. A legitimate reason, I mean.’

The demon turned back to face him, the light highlighting the hollows in his skull mask. ‘Oh?’

‘I had a dream a few weeks ago. In that dream, I saw myself laying out this summoning circle. The visuals were foggy, but… I remember what I felt. I felt like this was my only option. That this,’ he gestured around the loft, ‘was my last chance.’

‘That’s nice. I dreamt I was a whale one time. You don’t see me diving in the ocean! Not with a body like this, anyways. Quit while you’re ahead, kid.’ Caelum was taken aback by how… casual the demon was acting. It was like watching a rottweiler do a tap-dancing routine.  

Still, Caelum was determined to argue his case, even if it ended in an infernal lecture. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to hear… strange things.  Screaming, laughing, whispering…’ Distantly, a humming was starting up again. The silence had been nice while it lasted.

Caelum continued, ‘At first, I thought I was going mad. But then I realised it was something else.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I know it’s ghosts. Figured that much, at least.’

‘Alright, you have some weird psychic stuff going on. And you decided you needed a demon because..?’ 

Desperation took over for a split second, blooming into an outburst. ‘Because I want you to get rid of it! Demons make pacts, right? Fix me. Please.’ 

The demon groaned. ‘Do I look like a priest to you? Making pacts with demons is dangerous. Trust me. It’ll cost you.’

‘Years off my life, right?’ The demon nodded in response and scratched at his wing. One of his feathers fell, landing in one of the wax puddles. They would be annoying to clean, but that was a problem for later. ‘That doesn’t bother me. I’m going to live ‘til I’m eighty-two. I have years to spare.’

The demon stopped mid-scratch. ‘What did you just say?’

‘That I’ll live until I’m eighty-two. I’ll die from a heart attack, I think. Though, I’m not too sure about that. Medical crises are kind of… murky,’ Caelum responded indifferently. ‘I can usually get a sense for that sort of thing. My uncle died a few years ago. I told him not to get on that plane, but he didn’t listen.’ 

A handful of salt leapt forward as the demon rushed back to Caelum. A hand closed around his wrist. Caelum went rigid.

The demon’s voice lost all humour, growing harsh; ‘Seeing death… That’s a demon’s ability, boy.’ His grip tightened, drawing a wince from Caelum. ‘What’s your name?’

‘It’s Caelum.’

‘Caelum Weaver?’

Caelum nodded. 

The demon let go of his arm, took a step back, and wheezed a laugh. Caelum let out a shaky sigh, cradling his wrist. The boy watched with wide eyes as the skull mask was torn from the demon’s face. The blue light hovered to the side of the room, observing the situation. 

The discarded skull mask clattered against the floor. Caelum saw the demon’s features and tried not to choke. ‘Dad?!’

His father, whose face looked exactly the same as it had ten years prior, stretched into an awkward smile. ‘The, uh… the line at the cigarette counter was really long. You’ve certainly grown up, Caelum.’

Caelum blinked. Before he could think up a response, the loft shook violently as the front door opened. His father shot him a quizzical glance.

‘I’m home!’ Caelum’s mother yelled, slamming the door behind her. The loft shuddered once more. Even under blue light, Caelum could see the colour drain from the demon’s face. ​ Caelum mumbled a curse as the onlooking spirits broke into a chorus of tittering laughter.

(Originally posted on https://seekingdandelions.weebly.com/)

[clarklovescarole]

March 1937: Clarcarole

March 1, 1937 – Harrisburg Telegraph

Fred Perry and Ellsworth Vines have the spotlight on them and don’t have it all at the same time. That’s not a tough one to figure out. Here’s the answer – Clark Gable and Carole Lombard catch the spectators’ eyes while they watch the two tennis stars dash in a dither around the court.

March 5, 1937 – Harrisburg Telegraph

The other evening at the tennis matches Carole Lombard sallied in with Clark Gable while everyone blinked and looked again at the cartwheel proportions of the brim on Carole’s shining brown straw hat. It dipped just a bit in front, but was unadorned except for a band since it topped off a tailored spectator’s costume. Her suit of brown wool was made with a semi-fitted three-quarters length coat and her slim skirt must have been close to fourteen inches from the floor.

March 2-9, 1937: Clark’s cougar

March 5, 1937: Dayton Daily News

Clark Gable brings back cougar kitten 

Clark “Bring ‘Em Back Alive” Gable, film star, brought this snarling cougar kitten back from a 10-day hunting trip in Kaibab forest in northern Arizona. He said his chief ideas was to get photographs and not to kill, and that the kitten was captured after films were made of its mother. The animal is now a member of the studio zoo.

March 2, 1937 – The Courier

That 3-month-old cougar Clark Gable brought back from Arizona is so mean he even snapped at Carole Lombard.

March 4, 1937 – Des Moines Tribune

Clark Gable, leading a 60-pound cougar cub around the film lot on a leash Thursday, offered a strip of movie film and the testimony of eye-witness Dr. Franklyn Thorpe, Mary Astor’s former husband, to support “bring ’em back alive” story of the the wild Kaibab forest in Arizona.

The screen star, ardent huntsman, related: “We found a huge female cat with two kittens on Saddle mountain. I got within 15 feet of her and filmed some swell shots. We tried to rope her but she picked up one kitten and ran. Our dogs treed the other cub and roped it. “Our cub broke its chain that night and got loose. Next day we followed the mother’s tracks and lassoed the other kitten – and here it is.” 

Offered the cub as a house cat, Carole Lombard refused with thanks. 

March 9, 1937 – Salt Lake Telegram

Clark Gable’s career as a “bring ’em back alive” hunter suffered a rude setback today. Finding out that the baby mountain lion captured by the star wields a wicked claw and is a lot tougher than was at first supposed, the MGM studio has given Gable 10 days to get rid of it. Pending a permanent disposal, they have impounded the animal in a cage on the lot. 

What alarmed movie executives most was the news that Gable had brought the lion back to Hollywood in the rumble seat of his car and that he carried it to Carole Lombard’s house and to other places in the same manner. Now they have instructed him not to even go near it. So if anyone wants a baby mountain lion that was captured by Clark Gable, just apply to the MGM studio.

March 14, 1937 – Detroit Free Press

Carole Lombard either will have to be amused by somebody else or amuse herself while Clark Gable goes off on a hunting trip. Perhaps she can take an extra vocal lesson a day. She is astonishing everybody by singing gloriously in “Swing High, Swing Low,” her latest picture.

March 19, 1937 – Pittsburgh Sun Telegraph

Carole Lombard now has a fan letter she prizes highly, since it came from Addis Ababa, from the Count Eduardo Bassi Di Allanno, a lieutenant in the One Hundred and Tenth Regiment of the Imperial Guard there. I believe it is a proposal, since he doesn’t seem to have heard that Mr. Gable is head man in those quarters.

March 19, 1937 – Dayton Daily News

Sweetie-Trading Latest of the Hollywood Fads 

If psychologists ever decided to select a Utopian center for the well-balanced mind, Hollywood would never be seriously considered in the voting. To all appearances Hollywood is crazy, as most of the world will agree, but a thorough look behind the cogs of it, its gigantic exploitation machine might disclose that it is only crazy like the fox. 

Almost every move Hollywood makes is carefully planned in advance.  Occasionally someone will go out on a shooting tangent, others will forget starving relatives and still others will keep diaries, but those remote occurrences are never countenanced by the publicity machine. This machine attempts to censor as it operates, but it thrives on eccentricities. … 

But the latest bit of idiosyncrasy to be fed into the machine is more difficult than most to fit into classification. It concerns the growing tendency on the part of name players, particularly the feminine stars, to lend their boy friends to rivals. … 

Only recently Barbara Stanwyck, whose romance with Robert Taylor has been aired in the public prints for more than a year, consented to Bob’s accompanying Jean Harlow to the President’s Ball at Washington. Of course, that was a studio order for a publicity coup, and Barbara got Bob back…. 

About the only going-together stars in Hollywood who haven’t consented to one of these temporary trading propositions are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard. In the first place, both are important enough to draw plenty of publicity without resorting to that sort of thing; secondly, they seem too fond of each other’s company to chance even a brief change of companionship. 

March 20, 1937 – Salt Lake Telegram

Romantic couples in real life are being given their chances as companions in reel life, a survey shows. It has been discovered, film producers say, that motion picture audiences are anxious to watch screen performances of a couple who are known to be in love off the screen as well as on. 

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, whose romance in real life is at present a favorite subject among film fans, are to be brought together in a film soon, if plans materialize. 

March 21, 1937 – Harrisburg Sunday Courier

Clark Gable will not only star in “Saratoga” but be property man as well. First, he loaded his race horse, Beverly Hills, for the picture. Then the horse trailer Carole Lombard gave him for a birthday present. For good measure, Clark added several horse blankets two saddles, a bridle and other racing equipment. 

“It’s a pleasure, Clark grinned. “At last Beverly Hills is going to win a race. Says so right in the script.” 

March 21, 1937 – Hartford Courant

If Clark Gable and Carole Lombard were at the race track the other day, they doubtless bet on Clarcarole, named after them… 

March 21, 1937: Victoria Advocate

Carole Lombard’s intimates don’t know whether to credit Clark Gable, her boy friend, or Mitchell Leisen, her director, but they all agree that Carole has shown more development as an actress in the last year than any other star in Hollywood. 

March 22, 1937 – The Atlanta Constitution

Clark Gable has been spending his free evenings at the Garden of Allah hotel. There’s a certain lady living there of whom he is quite fond. And her name is not Carole Lombard… 

March 30, 1937 – Pittsburgh Sun Telegraph

Life is just about complete for Carole Lombard… She now has a three-picture-a-year contract and Clark Gable. 

March 31, 1937 – The Sacramento Bee

It is a shame to spoil Clark Gable’s fun, but Carole Lombard is a friend of mine too and I think she should be warned that Clark has just purchased that two-wheeled carriage they used in Parnell. Whenever Gable purchases one of the gags for his personal use it usually turns up in Carole’s swanky front yard with a goat tied to it or something. In fact, I hear Clark is dickering for an old thin nanny right now. 

March 31, 1937 – The St. Louis Star and Times

The Brown Derby was packed. … Clark Gable was whispering in one of Carole Lombard’s pretty ears.

[sarahscribbles]

Kinktober Day Fifteen || Ball Gag

Word count: 1.4k

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Main Loki Masterlist

Please REBLOG if you read

It made you ache in the most enticingly satisfying way.

From the second that Loki had dangled it from the tips of his elegant fingers, you knew it was bigger than any in your current collection. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that your jaw felt wonderfully stretched the minute the soft ball had been placed between your eager lips. This one was the deepest shade of emerald green - of course it was emerald green - and Loki had fastened the straps behind your head tighter than usual, guaranteeing that there was no way for you to push it from between your teeth.

There would be no relief until he granted it. 

“Oh, you do look lovely, my pet,” Loki purred, tracing the side of his index finger slowly down your cheek. “Do you like your new toy?” His eyes blazed as they held yours, inky black pupils blown wide and swirling with palpable desire at your helplessness. 

All you could do was nod mutely, feeling the drool that had already collected behind the gag begin to drip down your chin. Green eyes watched its journey to form a shallow pool in the dip of your collarbone but flicked quickly back to yours when he collected some on his finger to rub teasingly over a peaked nipple. It elicited a stuttered inhale on your part, one that made your chest bounce and the small pool of wetness drip down between your breasts. 

“Then why don’t you thank me?” he continued, a wicked smirk lighting up his face. The sound you made was a garbled, incoherent mess of words, sounding nothing like the “thank you” that you were trying to express. Loki gave a small tut of disappointment. “You’re being rude, pet. I’ll have to spank you for that later.”

A whine sounded from the back of your throat, shrill and desperate, and you yanked against the restraints he had attached to the wall. Again you attempted to speak, attempted a stream of frantic thank yous, but the attempt was futile. With the gag secured tightly between your lips, any effort to speak coherently was doomed to fail, the large, emerald green ball turning your words into nothing but a tangled mess of sounds.

“Those little noises are exquisite, darling, but they don’t change anything,” he taunted, curling a finger beneath your chin. “I expect thanks, at the very least, when I give you a new toy.” He collected more drool that continued to trickle down your chin, only this time smeared it over your lips until your entire mouth was soaked. 

His name left your mouth as nothing but a single, long indecipherable syllable. Your goal had been to plead with him, or maybe it had been to call him an ass, but all you succeeded in doing was covering your chin and chest in a fresh coating of drool. You settled for a sharp, pissed off breath through your nose. 

“Perhaps a spanking will teach you some manners,” Loki continued, pinching a nipple so tightly between his fingers that your eyes squeezed shut. 

The sting of pain lasted barely the space of a heartbeat, and when his touch vanished and you opened your eyes again, he was already half way across the bedroom to the small drawer that contained your toys. Curiosity piqued, you attempted to strain your neck to see past his broad back and get a sense of what he was searching for, but it took less than a minute for him to turn back to face you with the wand held loosely in his right hand. 

Your entire body went still in the restraints. 

“One of your favourites, is it not?” Loki asked, cocking an eyebrow at your silent stare.

Your eyes flicked between the white plastic in his hand and the glint of mischief shining in his eyes trying to discern how the combination of ball gag, restraints, and wand was going to play out for you. With Loki at the helm controlling your pleasure, controlling you, it likely wasn’t going to play out in your favour. 

“Medium or high, pet?” he continued, lazily crossing the room to stand before you again. 

The delicate gold chains that shackled you to the wall tinkled and clinked quietly when you shifted position, besieged by the memory of the delicious torture that Loki had subjected you to the last time he had used the want. You shivered lightly at the thought of the pleasure that divide was capable of, of how it was nearly too much…

You attempted to answer “medium,” but, as expected, all that came out was a garbled mess of noise, something that had the smirk on Loki’s face somehow appear more menacing. 

“High? Oh, good girl,” he praised you, switching the wand on to its highest setting. “I was so hoping you would say that.” The heady combination of his praise and the pleasure that awaited you in his hands had your objection dying on your tongue, and instead, your hips titled towards the noise followed by a deep, desperate groan leaving your lips. 

How badly you ached for him to place the plastic head between your thighs. 

He stopped directly in front of you, glittering eyes running appreciatively over your bound and naked body and making pride bloom in your chest. “Spread your legs,” he said quietly and you easily obeyed. “Can you click your fingers?” he asked, and again you obeyed by clicking them - your safe word when you were gagged. “Good girl.” He pressed a single chaste kiss to your cheek. 

He held the wand half an inch away from your soaked cunt and you tensed waiting to feel the pleasure shoot through you like warm flames on a winter's night.  When they didn’t immediately come, you whined pitifully behind the gag and rocked your hips to where Loki’s hand was still hovering teasingly. His laugh was deep and dripping with amusement. 

“Needy as ever, aren’t you?” he teased, lightly running the fingers of his left hand along your outer thigh. You made some small noise of agreement - you would have done anything for some friction between your thighs - but it seemed to placate him as he pressed the wand firmly against your clit. Instantly, you balked and cried out a fresh jumble of startled sounds at how blindingly intense the vibrations were. It was so much, but it was so good.

“Enjoying yourself, pet?” Loki asked teasingly, pressing the wand firmly against your cunt when you began to grind down on it. A gurgle of agreement bubbled in your throat, your mind already half gone to the pleasure that was rapidly building inside you, the gentle rippling waves quickly turning into an impending tsunami of pleasure. “Would you like to come?”

You nodded eagerly, the frantic action sending a string of drool from the gag to your chest. By now, your stomach was coated in your own saliva, but in the pursuit of your pleasure you barely even noticed. The tsunami was ready to drown you and, for once, Loki was going to allow it to without any games. 

Or so you thought. 

His eyes danced mischievously as they watched you, and his hand titled the wand a small fraction that made your eyes roll in your head. “Then all you have to do is ask me.”

Your eyes shot open, swirling with betrayal when they found his. The size of the gag made speech impossible, something he was very aware of, yet it was the one thing he was making you do to be granted release. 

The predicament he had you in suddenly became very clear. 

Frantically, desperately, you tried to speak around the gag, tried to make even a small portion of “please can I come?” coherent enough for him to show you mercy, but the wicked grin still on his face told you that he had no intention of being merciful. 

“Oh, darling, I’m making it easy for you tonight and you still can’t do as I ask,” he taunted, pulling the vibe away at the very last second before you toppled over into bliss. You whined and pulled against the restraints, tears of frustration already beginning to form in the backs of your eyes. “All you have to do is ask for my permission and I’ll give it.” 

You pleaded with him silently, turning desperate eyes to his in a weak attempt to make him feel sorry for you. It was pointless of course, something that was only confirmed when the glimmer in his eyes only seemed to grow more intense. 

“Perhaps a few edges will encourage you, hmm?” he taunted, switching the wand back on and placing it back between your slick thighs. Despite knowing exactly what was coming, you still jumped when the vibrations hit your cunt. “Because, darling, unless you ask my permission, you won’t be coming tonight.”

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art  @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @amethyst-dow @sailorholly @hyperfixating-on-loki   @vickie5446 @el-zef @all-envy-suyu @123forgottherest

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.