#jeff goldblum fanfic

[little-wicked10]

Let Me Make You Juno (Ian Malcolm Smut)

Summary: When Ian returns from Jurassic Park, he has a new perspective on some decisions he’s been contemplating. Like the need to lock down the love of his life. (Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s song Juno)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY!!! Breeding kink, Ian being the silver tongued devil he is😏, cursing

Notes: Yes, I’m aware that the movie Juno came out several years after the original Jurassic Park BUT this is inspired by a song that was inspired by a movie (most likely I’m just assuming).

//

She was there the moment the helicopter touched down.

She was there as they gurnied him into the hospital to be treated.

She was there to take care of him every step of the way.

From his Costa Rican hospital bed, Ian would watch her sleeping form slumped in a chair in the corner. He observed her as he was lost in his thoughts. Almost dying had a way of making you reassess your life and decisions you’ve been dancing around. Like the one sitting in a velvet box back at his apartment.

Ian bought the ring before he’d made up his mind. There was a lot he was considering before asking her to marry him. He often joked he was always on the look out for the “future ex-Mrs. Malcolm”, but he was hesitant to add her to that list. She had changed his life. She had encouraged him to start carving out more time for his children, albeit a slow process since he had to become civil with their mothers. No one had pushed him to better himself quite like her.

Staring death in the face with all its sharp and bloody teeth was when he made his decision. Ian prayed (for the first time in who knows how long) he’d make it off that island so he could finally ask her that all important question. She WAS the future and last Mrs. Malcolm. No matter what, he’d be with her until his heart stopped beating.

//

“What?”

Ian smiled at her shocked expression, “Will you marry me, my wonderful and beautiful goddess?”

Her eyes stared at the ring in the box he held out to her. The diamond shined in the candlelight of their romantic dinner. “You’re…are you serious?” her heartbeat a million miles a minute.

“Of course I am, my darling. You’ve changed my life in such an…exponential way. You’ve made me uh…a better man, a better father to not just my current kids but for our future kids,” Ian pulled the ring from the box and held it between his fingers, “So…what do ya say?”

“You want…with me? Yes, Ian! Yes!” happy tears fogged her eyes as she grasped his face between her hands and kissed him.

Ian almost dropped the ring as he wrapped his arms around her, her tears wetting his cheeks. The restaurant goers that had been watching erupted in joyous clapping. She pulled away from their kiss and held out her left hand. Ian gently took her hand in his, carefully slipping the ring onto her finger. Their joy was infectious. He knew in his heart this was meant to be, he’d made the right decision.

//

Light flooded their apartment as the door swung open. Ian’s large hands held her close to his body tightly, clutching her silk dress and walking her backwards. Her fingers were woven into his curls as their tongues fought with one another. A swift kick shut the apartment door before he released her body to shrug off his leather jacket. Gently clutching her wrists, he pulled them from his hair as he delicately pushed the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her hands worked on unbuttoning his already halfway unbuttoned black shirt.

The silk pooled at her feet as it finally cascaded down her body leaving her in her panties and heels. Ian was in awe of her, a lustful look in his eyes as he threw off his shirt to swagger towards his prey. The moonlight shining in from the windows made her look ethereal.

“You are a goddess,” his eyes slowly took her in, “And I must…no, need to worship at your alter.”

“Ian,” she whispered, her face flushed.

The man stopped before her and fell to his knees, large hands running up her legs as he kissed the top of her panty line. Her body shivered as his lips ran across the sensitive skin. Her fingers threaded into his hair once more as he squeezed her thighs, dark eyes staring up into hers.

“I want your touch for life, darling. Love you right until you bless me even more with something beautiful. I want to put my child right…here,” he kissed her stomach gently.

Ian’s eyes watched her breasts heave as she began to pant, “I’m so fucking horny, Ian.”

“I know,” dexterous fingers wrapped around her waist band, pulling her panties down her legs.

He aided her in stepping out of the garment before he stood up, picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. They smashed their lips together as he carried her to the bedroom in long strides. He moaned into her mouth as she ran her nails across his shoulder blades. They fell on to the bed, Ian being careful not to land on her too hard. An animalistic groan vibrated in his chest as he felt her hips roll against his.

Her needy whimper made him feral. His lips trailed down to her jaw line and neck, exploring her body with the drag of his lips and scrape of his teeth. He sucked on the swell of each of her breasts before running his tongue down her stomach. Ian could only imagine what she’d look like once their child grew inside her. Growling at the thought of her round belly and swollen breasts made his stomach twist in anticipation to make her his in every way possible. Ian suddenly sat up to gently remove her heels.

“I adore you, Mrs. Malcolm,” he kissed her left calf before reaching down to strum his thumb over her clit, “I adore every part of you…, Mrs. Malcolm.”

The way the title rolled off his tongue and his fingers slipped inside to begin massaging her sweet spot caused her to arch her back. When she reached out to him with a desperate whine, Ian leaned over her to look deep into her eyes. His hand moved faster when she reached up and bit his lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. Her body writhed desperately, toes curling as she felt electricity began to burn from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes. “Please, Ian!” the way she begged may have been pathetic, but she didn’t care, “I want you inside me! Put a baby in me!”

Ian’s chuckle was dark, “I will, darling, but uh…you have to cum first.”

The fire in her belly burned even hotter when she heard his words. He had such a way of speaking, it flowed from his lips like honey and heightened the pleasure. The hot coil snapped and she came on his frantically moving hand. Ian showered the side of her face and neck with loving kisses as he helped her ride out her orgasm. Her arms lazily wrapped around his neck to press their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Removing his fingers, Ian pulled away from the kiss to suck his fingers, “Mm. Your taste is divine. I could explore you all night.”

“That won’t make a baby, my love” she smirked as he began to pull at his belt.

He chuckled and stuttered over his words at how quick she with his belt and pants, “You…uh…Darling, you’re…uh, uh…insatiable.”

“You bring it out in me, Dr. Malcolm,” small hands pushed down his slacks.

The curly haired man stood up off the bed and chucked off his slacks and boxers. Crawling on to the bed, he watched with predatory eyes as she moved up to lay at the head of the bed. They wrapped up into each other’s arms and legs. His large hands roamed her body as he thrust his hips against hers, teasing them both. A hand slipped behind her onto her lower back. He made her arch her back and angle her hips up. There was no warning when he slipped his long dick inside her. Her moans were music to his ears as she dug her nails into his back. “Oh my god,” Ian groaned as he picked up his pace, “Fuck this feels so right!”

Up until that point, they had always used condoms. The feeling of him being inside of her with no barrier, just raw, brought out something feral in her. There’s no way she could go back to rubbers after this. Her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, urging him to keep going with her heels against his ass. His arm wrapped around her hips helped him continuously spear her over and over again, free hand gripping the sheets next to her head. He suddenly switched their position, pulling out to flip her onto her stomach with her hips angled up.

Ian was back inside her once again as he pressed his chest to her back; his hands traveling up her sides before one tangled into her hair and the other slipped under her hips to her clit. His thrusts were deep and deliberate. Holding her head back enough for him to leave open mouth kisses along the side of her face and neck, whispering in her ear. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she desperately tried to move her hips to meet his thrusts.

“I feel you clenching around me, my love. I can hardly pull out. Not that I’m going to,” his smirk was pressed to her ear.

A desperate sound slipped from her throat as she felt pleasure building from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes.

“One of you is cute…it’s wonderful, infact, but two?” Ian growled and thrust roughly and bit her earlobe.

“Fuck, baby! Mark your territory!” she pushed her hips toward him more, if it was possible.

His fingers circling her clit and his animalistic pounding was enough for the coil to snap. She screamed as she clenched down on his thrusting cock and came. Her orgasm washed over her like a brutal wave and only lasted longer as her fiancé continued to fuck her into their mattress. Just as the high from her first orgasm subsided another quickly built and crashed over her. Ian admired the way her body writhed underneath him, unable to decide if she wanted more or less of his ministrations.

“D-don’t stop! Don’t stop! Cum inside me, baby!” she begged in her delirious state.

Ian’s brow creased in concentration and he bit down on his lip as his hips began to falter. The most wonderful cry left her lips as he thrust himself as deep as he could inside her to spill his seed. The feeling of him filling her to the brim would be burned into her body’s memory forever. A hand reached behind her and tangled into his hair, whimpering as she felt him rutting his hips into hers until he was fully spent. The only thing heard in the room was their ragged breaths.

He kissed along the side of her face and neck down to her shoulders, all the while whispering to her how good and beautiful she is. She whimpered as he slowly pulled out, feeling both their orgasms leak out of her. Ian laid on his side beside her before pulling her towards him. She gently turned over to face him and snuggled into his embrace. “You ok?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m perfect,” she lovingly kissed his neck, “Planning a wedding and a baby? You’re truly a chaos magnet, Dr. Malcolm.”

“Chaos is unpredictable, my love. It might take one, two, or multiple tries to get you pregnant. Either way, I’m-uh more than happy to keep trying,” he smirked down at her.

Her felt her stomach jump in anticipation, and she gave a playful nip to his jaw line, “Then I guess we have a lot of work to do.”

[lovelyfantasia]

Exceeded My Expectations

A dreaded blind date turns into something unexpected for you- and for him.

A/n: Hello and welcome! I must warn you that this is my first fanfic/imagine in years, so I’m a bit rusty. There will be more to come and I’m always open to suggestions. Enjoy!

NOTED: age gap, mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3,801

•••

Los Angeles, California circa October 1992…

“One date is not going to kill you.”

“Yes, but it can kill my dignity that I have to go on a blind date in the first place.”

You would think being the youngest oscar winning screenwriter would’ve flooded you with certain perks, but no. Being only 24 with that gold statuette on your mantle in your small apartment has given you fame you never could have imagined. Yet, it has made your love life a living hell. 

“Laura, please spare me the personal embarrassment of trusting any of my friends to hook me up with a random guy on the chance of him potentially liking me for me.”

“I won’t mention anything about your accomplishments. I’ll just tell him that you’re a screenwriter, you’ve done theater, stuff like that. I know the guy, he’s a tad quirky, but you like the slightly strange ones!” you stop dead in your tracks to turn and face her with an annoyed look. The look of “I hate that you’re right.”

You walk away to the kitchen without saying anything else, pushing away the ounce of consideration for this to even happen. Laura’s footsteps follow behind you and you’re well aware this woman is going to put up a fight for you to go out with her friend. This supposedly handsome man apparently fits your type. As much as you hate to admit it, looks do matter to an extent with your lovers, so a blind date sounds like your worst nightmare. 

The smell of coffee hangs in the air as you pour two cups for each of you. Laura sighs with exhaustion of trying to convince you, one of the most stubborn women in the state of California, to say yes to this proposition. 

“Okay…how do you even know the guy?”

“I worked with him on the set of Jurassic Park when we were in Hawaii for it.” Jesus Christ, it could be a producer, set designer, writer, camera or mic guy, or - the worst of all - an actor. 

“Would we even have anything in common?”

“Yes! Both of you like jazz, he doesn’t drink that much nor party like you, really big into movies- well you would have guessed that one. Oh! He’s a classically trained pianist, quite funny actually-”

“Men aren’t funny. They think they are because they laugh at their own jokes.”

“Y/n, for the love of God, don’t let your bitterness of how you’re being treated at the moment by these crappy men stray you away from good ones. Besides, don’t writers need to live a little to get the juices flowing for ideas?”

“I guess I just got lucky with a vivid imagination and using my yearnings as my juice. I didn’t get that award for having a fruitful life to spare a scene here and there, Laura.”

“What is it going to take for you to meet him?”

Now that’s the question you were waiting for. Her last attempt, her plan z, the desperation finally coming out.

“I would say money, but no, that seems too shitty to ask such a thing. Okay, if this does not go well at all, you do not get to set me up with anyone else. No asking, no teetering with the ideas near me, please.”

“Deal!” and you two shook on it. 

====

In the name of the game, Laura was really keeping this blind for you and for him. You had no clue what he did for a living, where he lives, how old he is, nothing. You couldn’t even get the color of his eyes out of her when you were rapid fire asking Laura questions over the phone on the night of the date.

“Could you at least give me his height so I can get an idea of who I’m expecting at the lounge?”

“Let’s just say he’s over 6 '2,” you were ready to fall off your vanity chair just from that alone. Tall men, what a weakness for you. 

Laura set up a reservation for you two in a small round corner booth at the cocktail jazz lounge Take Five in none other than Los Angeles. You were a familiar face there with the owner always coming up to you to greet you and start you off with a free cocktail for the night. 

Perfect of her to keep the location in town in case you have to make a run for it if the date goes sour. 

“I have to run. I’m taking out my last roller now, then I need to speed down there to make it on time.”

“How lovely, you’re potentially going to be late for a first date. Fantastic first impression, truly y/n.”

“Goodbye, Laura,” you hang up and proceed to struggle getting the pink velcro roller out of the crown of your head. “The shit I do to look good.”

After almost slightly ripping your black halter dress while trying to get it on and managing to hurt yourself in the process of getting on your sling-back kitten heels, you were out the door in no time. 

Sunset cascades over the hills you’ve become friends with over these past few years. It’s a view that can never get old to you, no matter how many times you drive past it. Many legends in the industry you work in have felt the same way and here you are, already following in their footsteps in numerous ways. Loving the California sunsets and reaching for greatness that’s bigger than you. 

Miraculously, street parking outside of Take Five was available. Coming from New York, you had to have expert level parallel parking skills in your early days of driving. 

Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra softly plays overhead as you make your way to your fateful corner booth, table 7. Of course Laura made sure it was table 7, manifesting nothing but good luck for the two of you. 

6:55 p.m. your watch reads. 

The anxiety starts hitting you that you’re actually going to be on a date - a first date, nonetheless. It’s been awhile since you’ve been on one. No one was asking you nor were you showing interest in asking to see someone in your free time. He’s going to be here any minute and you wish you had half a bottle of whiskey in your system to chill your nerves out. Oh God, what if he ends up later or worse stands you up- 

“You must be y/n,” the 6’ 4 man holds out his hand for you to take. “I’m Jeff Goldblum.”

You could’ve died right then and there. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Same to you,” you shake hands with the eye contact on each other being razor sharp. 

All you can think at this moment is that you saw The Fly multiple times just to see a near naked Jeff Goldblum when you were a teenager. Don’t even get started on the scene where he wakes in the middle of the night and starts doing calisthenics.  

It’s now just hitting you that Laura paired her up with the Jeff Goldblum, her co-star who’s a two-time divorcee. And he’s about to turn 40, making him 16 years older than you. 

You don't know whether to yell out in happiness or cancel the date right there. 

Jeff sits across from you and signals for a waitress to come to their table for your guys’ order. You can’t even look him in the eye, but thankful that you’re going to get a drink in the next five minutes to loosen up. 

You can tell the waitress is trying to keep her cool knowing that an A-list actor is right in front of her. You can’t blame her- it’s Jeff Goldblum. If you’re into guys with curly dark hair and a good size nose with a big smile, he was your guy. 

“And for you, miss?”

“Can I please get a Manhattan with Jameson? Thank you.” The waitress nods and your eyes turn to Jeff’s, whose eyebrows are raised with surprise. 

“What?”

“I know Laura said you were a writer and your drink order most certainly lived up to that job title,” for the first time that day, you cracked a genuine smile and a small laugh. 

“Says the one who ordered water.”

“Oh, I feel that my hard liquor days are behind me- well not fully. I used to be a tequila guy and that treated me well when I was…”

“My age?”

Jeff sheepishly smiles, knowing his Freudian slip was caught with you finishing his sentence. “Precisely.”

“Alright, if you don’t mind, shall we address the elephant in the room or do you want to pretend it’s not the one thing that we’re both thinking about right now?”

“Laura also mentioned your quick wit and spice of the way you talk.” You bit your tongue on what you could’ve said, but you were not going to mess this up. If it was anyone else, the first thing out of your mouth would’ve been “Oh, you haven’t heard the half of it.” 

You were expecting the waitress to come back with your drinks, but it was the familiar face that treated you with the highest regard. It was also the same person who was about to expose who you really are to Jeff because from your understanding, he’s got no clue that you’re one of the most sought after screenwriters in this industry right now. 

“Y/n! Here are your drinks. How are you, darling?” you stand up and let the owner of the joint take your hand for a kiss on the back of it. George and you share a hug, then he holds onto the sides of your arms gently, taking a look at you. He’s the only man in your life who can do this in the least creepy way and it has brought you much comfort. “Well look at you! Gorgeous as ever, no surprise there.”

“George, you’re too kind,” you say and when you look over at Jeff he’s staring back in utter confusion at the interaction happening. “Where are my manners! Jeff, this is George, the owner of this fine establishment. George, this is-“

“Jeff Goldblum, it’s great to meet you! You were fantastic in Deep Cover,” they shake hands as Jeff’s cracks a smile for the older gentleman’s compliment. 

“Thank you so much. May I ask, how have you become so acquainted with y/n?”

“She’s a regular!” Here comes that anxiety again, thinking that Jeff is going to get the impression that you’re a party girl, possibly even an alcoholic. It is hereditary for you, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. “Miss L/N is a lover of jazz and of a good whiskey, so I must treat her like how a loyal regular should be treated.” 

Okay, so far so good. All he has to do now is excuse himself and go back to what he was doing-

“This woman wrote much of her screenplay in this very lounge! The one that got you that well deserved Oscar. Oy, I’ll never forget when you ran in here in your gown, statue in hand, and jumped in my arms. We even have a photo of her with it on our wall!” George points over behind the bar to the black and white photo of Y/N indeed posing with her award, his gold and black onyx ring shining in the light. 

All you wanted to do was curl up and die right then and there. You notice the smirk on Jeff’s face when seeing his attention on the photo of you. Forget all that, now you just wanted to perish on the spot. 

“Alright, George, that’s enough,” you half chuckle and pat his shoulder. 

“I can’t help myself! You’re talented as hell and a genuine person with a heart in an unkind industry. You, my dear, are a rarity. And with that, I bid you a good night and enjoy yourselves,” he saunters off and you sit back down, taking a fat gulp of your now semi-watered down Manhattan. 

Jeff stares at you with a soft smile, looking amused at the events that just rolled out. He knew you played some part in the industry, that’s for sure. Once Laura said you were a writer, he guessed what kind you were, especially since you had the connection to her. But this takes the cake for him. 

“So now we have two elephants to address in this room. Any more we should be aware of before continuing this date?” Jeff says. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being snarkily sarcastic or just trying to be funny,” he lets out a huff-laugh and sighs. “But yes, let’s address them: you’re in fact 16 years older than me and I’m not just a writer, I’m a screenwriter for films. One of those things is a great talking point for a date and the other can make a grand scandal on the cover of tabloids.”

A comfort silence fills the space between you two for a moment. All that’s there is the songs switching, now playing Dean Martin and two pairs of eyes staring at each other, not knowing where this night is headed. 

“May I ask one thing from you?” Jeff says quietly.

“The floor is yours.”

“Why did you not want me to know about that? That’s quite the accomplishment, one that I have yet to reach and I’ve been in this game since I was 21.”

“Well if you must know it is because ever since getting to win that, one of my dreams in the palm of my hand, love interests haven’t looked at me the same. I could just tell they were looking for some kind of gain,” you pick up your drink, about to take a sip. “I won the trophy and then I became the trophy.” 

Jeff looks at you with notable sadden eyes with a mix of sympathy. What you don’t know is that Jeff has been and is going through the same predicament with finding love. Maybe Laura knew exactly what she was doing with putting you two in the same room, the same table together. As someone that came from nepotism within Hollywood, Laura has seen it all before and she’s only 25. 

“I understand completely. Trust me when I tell you that people don’t care if you have a wedding band on your finger. They want what they want and will go for it.” This time you signal the waitress to come back over and order another Manhattan and an order of truffle fries. This time Jeff orders a paloma with Fresca as his chosen grapefruit soda. 

“Ah, so the tequila is making a comeback for the night, huh?” you both chuckle and the mood is instantly shifted back to smiles and light. “Now, where were we…how heavy was the makeup in The Fly?”

“You can’t even imagine it.”

===

9:55 p.m. your watch reads. The lounge is in full swing with the jazz band performing live, playing the classics. Benny Goodman and Glen Miller, the two kings of the big band sound of the 1940’s. Of course the music led Jeff and you into conversation about music and now you’re discussing the beloved: films. 

Your glass is sitting empty once again and the temptation to get another is crawling through your mind. The tipsiness has settled in and one more will certainly make you drunk. 

No worries about embarrassing yourself to any capacity because Jeff is tipsy too. For a man who rarely drinks he sure can drink his body weight. 

“So you’re telling me she made the right decision to get on that plane at the end of Casablanca? Your opinion on this matter is very telling of how you perceive love, young lady.”

“First of all, don’t hit me with the ‘young lady’ shit, alright?” Your New York accent is fully out, the alcohol helping that and Jeff gives you a hearty laugh and covers his mouth to stifle it. Even though it's quite loud in the lounge, he still worries about being obnoxiously loud. “Secondly, I think it’s the more logical thing to do, especially when caught up in a position like that. Now don’t start with that When Harry Met Sally shit when he tells her that she obviously never had great sex before when she felt the same way as me.”

In that moment you hadn’t realized the spark you ignited. Jeff certainly did.

“So have you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you had great sex?”

Another drink, it is for you.

“Jeffrey, not only is this a first date, but a blind date. And that’s what you’re going to ask me?”

“I can’t tell if you’re genuinely upset with me or just trying to be flirty.” You slowly start to smirk, not breaking eye contact with his hazel eyes. Entrancing as hell and if you could you would stare at them all night. Preferably in bed. 

“I’ll leave that one up to you to figure out,” You slyly slide out of your seat and stand to get another drink at the bar. Your hand finds its way to Jeff’s shoulder, his head snapping up to meet your’s. “What another one?”

“Yes, please.” he grabs your hand gently and places a light, but longing kiss on the back of it. And he never cut that eye contact. You were ready to melt to the floor, but itch for another drink (and for him) needed to be scratched. 

After ordering your drinks and water, head on your hand, you start to review how the night has been going. You hate to admit it, but Laura was completely right. Admitting when someone is right isn’t your most favorite thing- more so vexes you to no end. This time it isn’t so bad. For many obvious reasons. One of those reasons is sitting at your table, dressed in all black, shirt unbuttoned a tad and his hands decorated with a few rings. God, his hands-

“Here you go!” somehow you managed to grab all the drinks and bring them back to your table without any spills. You go straight for the water to help bring you back down to earth a bit from the alcohol and after the flirtatiousness between the two of you. 

Okay, remember, he is 16 years older than you, this is just the first date-

“You never answered my question?

“Refresh me, if you will.” You knew damn well what he asked earlier. You just wanted to play the hard-to-get card. 

“Have you or have you not had great sex?”

“Pick your fate: do you want my rehearsed answer or do you want my brutally honest answer?” 

Jeff takes a swig of his paloma, the tequila bringing out a side of him that he hides away. He knows how to play the game with women, but chooses not to. His parents didn’t raise him that way, but the guidelines of what it means to be a gentleman are slowly disappearing for the night. 

“My fate shall be in the hands of the brutally honest.”

“Well then…would you like to find out?” 

It was as if the room went blurry, the music muffled out, and the moment was yours’ forever. You let her out, that side of you. The sly vixen that could kill a man with just your eyes. Right now, Jeff was in range to drop dead. 

Afterall, the fate of tonight was in Jeff’s hands and you let him have it that way. He thought this was going to be a no-brainer decision. You, naked in his bed, hair sexily a mess, marks scattered across your body from his lips. But that young 20-something in him came out in his head with the question of “what if this is all that’s left of us? What if it’s just this one night and no more of her because we slept together?”

But rationality wasn’t on the table all that well and you were giving him a stare that could bring him to his knees shamelessly. 

“Mine or yours?”

“What size is your bed?”

“King.”

“‘Guess we’re going to yours then,” and you finish off your Manhattan with a solid chug. Jeff got the message, chugged his as well, and got up to go use the phone booth near the entrance. You grabbed your things and went up to George, explaining that you can’t drive home whatsoever. Your car keys go into his possession until tomorrow and he gives you a hug goodnight. 

“Please, darling, be safe. Is he treating you alright? If he’s not you know we can easily throw his ass out. Sal is right outside, he can come in and-”

“George, everything is fine. We’re leaving together, actually. He’s been nothing but great to me tonight and exceeded all my expectations.” 

“Then I hope to see more of the two of you together here in the upcoming weeks. Goodnight, darling.” 

You walk up to Jeff, who's laughing on the phone. You’re puzzled and hoping to God he didn’t just call one of his boys to brag that he’s about to sleep with you. 

“Ah, there you are. I have a special someone on the phone who wants to speak with you and who is also going to be our ride to my home.” The black phone gets handed to you and with speculation you put it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“You can thank me in the morning.” a cackle comes out of you, the first one of the night. 

“Oh, Laura, you got no idea,” in a whispered tone to where Jeff can’t even hear you, “So if all goes well and I end up marrying this guy, do you want my first born or something?” Now Laura’s the one cackling on the other end. So loudly to the point where it catches Jeff’s attention. 

“One, you’re definitely drunk. Two, I’m on my way. Sit tight and please for the love of God drink some water.”

“No promises,” and with that, you hang up the phone. 

Jeff and you make your way out of the lounge, the music muffling behind you as the door closes. The cool October air hits you and instead of making you realize how tired you are after a long night, a second wind of energy courses through you. What perfect timing. 

10 minutes later, Laura’s black BMW pulls up on the side of the road. Jeff walks ahead of you and opens the back door for you to get in. 

“Our chariot awaits, m’lady.” 

This is going to be the best, longest night of your life. 

===

A/N: Part 2 is on its way :)

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery (thank u for the idea!), @eclecticwildflowers

warnings: mention of menstruation, swearing

Ian and I walked into the convention center arm in arm. I was looking at the itinerary for the lectures while Ian looked over where everything was.

“thank god it’s only one day we have to be here.” Ian pointed out when I showed him that he would have to attend at least four lectures before his lecture even took place. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand before taking off his sunglasses. “Next time I’m just going to agree to my own lecture and we can sneak away before we get roped into anything else.” Ian pulled me close and playfully bit my ear.

”Ian.” I laughed. “For fucks sake! We’re in public.” Ian pulled away and pulled me into a searing kiss.

“screw public.” He teased. “Anyway what are these lectures on anyway?” His head fell against mine as he looked over the paper in my hands.

“Well there is one lecture you won’t get out of.” I pointed out. Ian frowned as I pointed it out. “Led by one Dr. Ellie satler?” Ian sighed and nodded.

“right. The one I agreed to come to months ago and have always found an excuse to miss.” He pouted. “She finally managed to tie me down.” I playfully shoved him.

“shut up Ian. It won’t have anything to do with jurassic park as far as I know. Just something to do with her research on…something.” I laughed. I felt Ian lean some of his weight against me as he sagged in relief. “Now come on. Someone is giving a lecture on chaos theory and you need to be there for that.” I pulled him in the direction of the auditorium and grabbed some seats as far back as we dared.

Ian sat with his hand on my thigh, fingers playing with the hem of my pants. I had to grab his hand a few times to stop him from inching closer to my crotch. I shifted uncomfortably a few times and Ian looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. I waved him off each time and breathed a sigh of relief as I stood up at the end of the lecture.

“god that was long.” I said as I stretched.

“uh (Y/N)?” Ian said softly. I looked over my shoulder at him. Ian’s gaze was fixed on my ass and I almost smacked him until I turned fully to look. “Do you have a change of clothes?” His eyes jumped up to mine and I shook my head.

“I mean technically. But all I packed this weekend was light clothes.” I said, surprised by how calm I was with this. “Figured with the amount of people, and the natural light in this place, it’d be cooler.” Ian nodded.

“I have a change of clothes in the car. It’ll be big on you but it’s black and no matter what happens at least it will cover it up.” Ian stood up and wrapped his jacket around my waist, making it look like he was hugging me from behind so no one else noticed I had bled through the back of my pants. “I’ve got some pads packed too.” I nodded as I leaned back against him.

“you always think ahead.” I murmured as we followed the crowd that was exiting the auditorium. “Why do you have pads in your car?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him again.

“in case of times like this.” He whispered before kissing my cheek. “Wait here. I’ll run out and grab it.” Ian left me by the bathroom and ran out to the car. He came back with a bag and ushered me into the bathroom. When I came back, I handed him the bag back. “Better?” I nodded. “Ok. Go to the next lecture and I’ll run these to the hotel to soak so they don’t stain.” I nodded and pulled Ian into a kiss. “What was that for?” He asked, eyeing me slightly as I pushed him away.

“for being the best partner ever.” I said with a smile. Ian smiled back and walked backwards out of the convention hall while I watched. Once he was gone, I headed to the next lecture to wait for him to come back.

[weirdworldofwinnie]

All Tied Up

The Wizard/Oscar Diggs x female reader (NSFW 18+ only)

Summary: You've been The Wizard's pet 'plaything' more or less for a while now after ending up in the land of Oz by accident. One night he decides to try a new trick in the bedroom.

Warnings: unprotected sex, age gap (much older man/younger woman), power imbalance dynamic, slight daddy kink, nonconsensual mildish bondage, mentions of kidnapping and imprisonment, drinking, drugging

Word Count: ~6,471

A/N: Ever since watching Wicked when it debuted in theaters, I cannot get over Jeff Goldblum as the absolute sexiest Wizard of Oz and so this was born out of a little self-indulgence that I'm happy to share with others who are also down horrendously bad for this man. Takes place before the main climatic events of part one of the movie and obviously not entirely accurate to canon. Reader is AFAB for this (I might write another fic that is more gender neutral) and no use of Y/N in dialogue. Also, this is my first Oz fanfic, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, so forgive me if it's a bit rusty!

Oscar Diggs.

That isn't his full name of course; all he ever told you was that it was embarrassingly long and unnecessary. Here in the Emerald City though, he is just known as a godlike figurehead deemed The Wizard. The Great and Powerful Oz. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Oz the Great and Terrible. His Supreme Ozness. All that jazz.

You know now he is a farce, a carny drifted the wrong way west, a two-bit con man that you have no business screwing with. But you do not know the extent of his wickedness and besides, he is just too damn good at wooing and making your heart stutter triple its normal rate for you to dig deeper beyond your feelings. He has an inflated ego, sure, but he's fairly quite kind, at least to you.

You first remembered him when you were a small child visiting the traveling carnival at the state fair in Kansas. His warm olive complexion was complimented with a clean-shaven face and a head full of dark hair and he was so, so tall. He still is, but you have a different perspective now. Back then at your low vantage point, he was so up towards the sky that he might as well have been wearing stilts.

He'd crouched down to your level and displayed out a standard deck of playing cards, and exclaimed: "Pick a card, any card!"

You randomly (or thought so) plucked out the Jack of Hearts and he took it back and shuffled the deck with a flurry of motion, then fanned them back out. You didn't see your Jack among them, and you puckered, lower lip jutted out. His eyes went wide at that, and he feigned concern.

"Ohhh, no, where is it? Is it in here?" He dug frantically into the flap of his jacket to no avail, then the bottoms of his tap shoes.

"Hmm, I don't suppose it could've..." He yanked off his top hat to reveal the same card hidden under there.

You'd gasped, equal parts confused and delighted, and he looked relieved at the successful reaction.

"Here, keep it. I have a dozen of these decks. It's something to remember me by and show all your friends." He pressed the colorful illustrated card into your palm with a grin and your eyes had sparkled with wonder and enchantment.

Thinking back on it, you knew he'd probably done that trick with twenty other kids that day, it was just a ploy to make you feel special, like sure he'd picked you out of the crowd to gift that Jack of Hearts to. But that didn't stop you from hanging onto it as a prized keepsake and keeping that card tucked safely in your jewelry box.

Years passed and you grew up, temporarily forgetting about the nice funny carnival man and shoving it to the back of your mind to solely focus on your simple and hardworking life helping your folks manage the acres of farmland and homestead. One late spring day you were out feeding the flock of chickens when you noticed that off in the distance to the west, dark clouds had gathered into an angry mob, a swirling mass of foreboding. You squinted, dropping the sack of feed. That sure didn't look nothing like an ordinary twister...

A vicious wind blew up and you struggled to walk towards the house, your skirt whipping around like a flag in the pummeling gusts. Ma and Pa were in town with the farmhand picking up supplies, so you were all alone and having never been caught out in the middle of a storm that seemed out of the ordinary, you were terrified.

The tornado spun across the fields, churning up the pastures and few buildings and wooden fences in its wicked wake, until it was no more than a football field's length away. There was no time get to the safety of the cellar, there no time to save anything, and with a scream, you bolted into the barn because it was nearest and covered your head as you flattened to the floor. It occurred to you too late that you should've tied or hitched yourself to a post or something...

Within ten frantic beats of your heart, the monster twister was directly overhead, the roaring and gnashing of its raw power nightmarish. Before you knew it, the barn walls around you started to rip and shudder and then the twister had violently sucked you and what was left of the barn straight up into the air and you promptly blacked out, certain this was it.

********

To your immense surprise, when you regained consciousness some time later, you crawled out of the remaining rubble of the barn to have ended up in a strange colorful place where there were joyously curious multitudes of strangers - people that called themselves citizens of Munchkinland. You were certain you had hit your head on the way down and went bonkers, but somehow it was all very real.

After you had recovered from shock and explained your situation, they advised you to head to the imperial capital, named Emerald City, to plead your case to the ruler who resided there, referred to as The Wizard. A kindly older Munchkin couple lent you their horse and a basket of bread with a canteen of water for the journey. For miles you rode through the farmland and north through mountainous regions to what the Munchkins said was Gillikin Country, home to the Great Gillikin Railway. The train station was gleaming and shiny, and the judgmental and disgusted looks from boarding passengers and workers made you feel like a filthy stray dog. You tried your best to ignore them and strode straight up to the conductor taking tickets.

"Excuse me, sir? I need to get to the Emerald City."

He wrinkled his nose and held out a white gloved palm expectantly.

"Oh, but I haven't any money for a ticket; I lost everything from the freak storm that brought me here."

His thick bushy brows had furried together and he sniffed once.

"A storm, you say?"

"Yes, I ain't got a cent. I was told by the Munchkins to go see The Wizard for my troubles."

His eyebrows shot straight up into his high forehead, and he scoffed loudly. You started to turn away, dejected.

"Well, why didn't you say so? It's your lucky day, miss! Come aboard!" the conductor suddenly exclaimed joyfully, ushering you on.

"Only this once though. You'll go straight to Emerald City where our wonderful Wizard can sort you out."

You boarded and found a private seat by the window, instantly falling asleep as soon as the train sped off. You missed out on the wonderous views of rugged thick moody forests and bright fields of crimson poppies and only awoke when the train jolted to a halt. Once let off at the station, you took to exploring the overwhelming oasis that was the Emerald City. You'd never seen a big city before and certainly not one like this...

It wasn't hard to figure out signs of this mysterious Wizard and the most obvious was a huge statue planted in the center of the town square. With a loud gasp, you recognized the figure as the very carnival man you had met as a little girl all those years ago.

After getting directions to the palace from a couple of citizens on the street, you went hurriedly to the entrance, only to run up against the stationed uniformed guards.

"I need to see the Wizard, please," you begged of them.

They'd been extremely skeptical, but after much desperate explaining and exasperation, you were begrudgingly allowed in and warned that if you were told to leave by him, you must obey and that nothing could be done about it.

The stretched-out hallway that was the walk down to where you were supposed to meet this Wizard was ominous and your boots had clacked loudly across the shiny tiled flooring, each step echoing tenfold.

The room itself was enormous and intimidating with bursts of fire and noise almost as bad as the tornado. Somehow, you'd mustered up some gumption to tell off the ghoulish moving mechanical head mouthpiece that you weren't scared off by its overdramatic display and that you weren't going to leave until you saw the voice behind it.

"I know who you are, Mr. Deck of Trick Cards!" you yelled at it and with a great whirring of the machine shutting off, it then clunked silent.

He'd come out from behind the hanging ropey curtain of thick twisted fibers, purely flabbergasted more than angry, and declared in humbled bemusement that no one had ever told him that before. Seeing him in the vivid flesh instead of a dim memory had made you falter. He had aged, yes, but he was actually rather handsome and so well dressed, radiating off quirky charm and charisma. You properly introduced yourself and recounted how you'd recognized him from your memory of that distant festival day.

"I see, but I'm afraid I don't remember you, sorry?" He coughed into his fist while his right shoe tapped restlessly.

Your heart sunk even though it was perfectly logical, and you didn't even know why you expected any remembrance when he never even knew your name, for Pete's sake! You had been just another cute face in the crowd, a country bumpkin kid to play card tricks with at the fair for a minute of his day. He had no reason to selectively recall you at all.

"I figured as much, it's my fault. I guess I'll get going though I haven't a clue on how to get home. But darn it, you know I didn't ask to be swept up by a tornado and plopped into this freakish land! I didn't mean to travel all this way through hot fields and cold mountains and the long railway just to get turned away by a silly man who runs a giant talking head!" You hadn't meant to sound rude and whiny, but you were so tired, hungry (the bread you were given depleted hours ago), dirty, and utterly exhausted. And the hope you had pinned on this one man was extinguished.

The Wizard crossed his arms tight to his chest and his eyes casually roamed up and down your body, perhaps surveying the pathetic condition you were in. If he was offended by your statements, he didn't show it.

"You know, it's funny, I had something somewhat similar happen to me back in Omaha and that's how I ended up here... I made the most of it, though. You came from the great state of Kansas, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

He had smiled at that, perhaps enjoying the way that respectful reply just automatically slipped out from your lips, and then he had waved a hand uselessly behind him.

"I don't know how to send you home. Well, I have a hot air balloon for travel, but it's more strictly emergency purposes and I don't think it would be wise to cause a ruckus and panic the people, so... You know what? How about you, uh, stay the night? You must be so worn out and clearly need a bath."

You winced, knowing you were caked in the unappealing smell of dust, muck, and sweat, but nodded eagerly.

"There's no sense traveling now anyhow, it'll be too dark soon. How about you stay with me for a while, and we'll figure things out, alright?"

You were near tears, yet very grateful, and accepted.

You almost wished you hadn't.

Guards, which were a mix of both normal humans and (bizarrely) blue faced monkeys with wings had come in and dragged you off to a secluded room of the palace where you were scrubbed down and dressed in green pajamas by a small team of maids before being put in a bedroom.

You were stopped at every turn you attempted to leave your room to find an exit and finally they deadbolted it. You spent two nights in confinement with delivered meals before The Wizard had entered and gently explained it was too dangerous to let you leave, that you were safer with him and better off staying with him. At first, you were upset because surely your folks were worried about how you had presumably fallen off the face of an earthly existence, but then you remembered you were definitely an old enough adult to live on your own now and maybe there was nothing left of the homestead anyway if that nasty storm had its way. You didn't miss your work on the farm, nor the pressure your family had been applying to find a young man to marry. You never admitted it out loud, but you had bigger sights than being a simple country girl who let some drunken boyish hick boss you around.

This palace was just so grand compared to anything you'd ever seen in your life, and it was complete with a man you were increasingly infatuated with. It took several weeks of being locked up to come to terms with the realization that you had a raging crush on the man who was playing captor, and you wanted him very badly, but his interactions were limited, and you wondered why the heck he kept you around and alive if all he cared about was hiding his identity.

One night though, he broke down the invisible barrier: as you were knelt down in your room removing your slippers for bed, he grabbed your chin to tip upward and within a matter of two seconds, he kissed you right on the lips before you could make a peep. After a second, you kissed back hungrily without restraint, letting desire overrule fear.

"I'm sorry," you and him both said at the same time when he pulled away.

After that, you shyly admitted your blooming feelings for him and by a stroke of splendid luck, The Wizard reciprocated. He invited you to his private room and you slept with him for the first time. Afterward, he told you a bit about himself, how he really started out just a simple man named Oscar who had become a magician and one day the man in charge because people happened to be so gullible. He was intelligent, inventive, and intoxicating with a dash of cunning.

Of course, you weren't sure if the "love" that he extended was out of pure benevolent generosity or you were merely just a glorified whore, but either way you were happy because you loved him, albeit stupidly. He must genuinely love you back though; what else could all the flowers left on the nightstand and weekly gifts of expensive jewels tucked into tiny ornate boxes with trailing lime green silk ribbons mean? He even gifted you an entire handpicked wardrobe of fine clothing from pressed skirts and beautiful dresses to day-to-day blouses to pajamas and revealing lounge wear, many of which match the colors of Emerald City.

The only downside to this whole odd arrangement was that due to the fact that you already knew too much about him, he'd grounded you to the palace indefinitely. From day one you were not allowed to step even a toe outside the palace walls, you weren't let out to leave the premises even accompanied by guards, and you had to keep to yourself in the designated permitted rooms, of which he had many for a single man. When you asked why he needed the excess of rooms, he chuckled.

"They're for my inventions and all the things I collect. I'm rather sentimental, you see."

"Am I now one of your 'things'?" you asked, to which he had smiled almost impishly.

"You could be, if you want."

********

So it is without resistance that now, many months later, at eight o'clock in the evening (he insists on an earlier bedtime, strictly nine o'clock at the latest) in his grand bedroom, you splay fully naked on your back across the rich emerald green satin sheets like a starfish waiting to be swept away by the power of the tidal force he thinks he is (maybe sometimes he's more of a lukewarm swell but no matter).

The Wizard, or Oscar as he prefers only in private, is a surprisingly fit man for his age with a decent sex drive in bed when he's in the mood, which is at least once a week, but there are dry spells when he's too busy or unhappy. While you spend time reading in the library, he spends hours off somewhere building things and tinkering with models which you've never touched. You sleep in separate bedrooms, but on such nights he's ready for passion however, you're expected to be there and stay the night with him. Enjoying his company isn't hard to do - you've fallen head over heels for the man.

Presently, he's removed his long coat to hang up and is in the process of undressing further, the bits and bobs and chains clinking softly from his vest, when he pauses significantly, humming to himself in the depths of the spacious walk-in closet off to the side.

"What is it?" you ask, perplexed and a smidge annoyed at his distraction. He'd promised - no, ordered - an intimate evening after a long while of leaving too much alone. He's been swamped with work and meetings with other influential folk and plotting and planning that he always keeps quiet and stuffed away from you.

"Do you want a drink, my beauty?" he asks abruptly, turning around and holding a tiny green bottle of his famed elixir that he procured from somewhere.

"What kind of game are you playing at, sir?" you wonder suspiciously, watching candlelight glint playfully off the glass.

"It'll loosen you up, just a sip or two."

"It's just alcohol, isn't it?" You can hear the uncertainty reverberate through your tone and the guilty twitch of his eyebrows doesn't deny anything.

"My very own special blend. Take some," he insists, coming over and pressing the cool bottle into your tender hands.

"Why?"

"It's, uh, for a surprise. I promise it's not poison, by golly."

"Not funny." You narrow your eyes but pop the cork and bring it to your lips to take a quick swig. It goes down smooth like syrup, just not as sweet.

"That's my girl," he praises, and you shiver in delight as he climbs up on the bed, holding his hand out expectantly for the elixir, but you aren't done with it. You drink more, feeling the inexplicable urge to quench your thirst. You finally press the nearly empty bottle back to his hands, swallowing before lying back with a flump onto the plush pillows.

Within two minutes, you feel entirely airy and floaty, like your mind has taken an extension cord out of your body to stick somewhere up on the ceiling.

"This'll 'ad better be gooood..." you slur out.

"I guarantee it will, at least for me." He watches in satisfaction as you doze off to dreamland in a daze, a heavy weight of comfortable numb blackness settling over your bones. The room is bathed in a cozy glow from the candles, and it smells deliciously heady.

********

Not too long later, you stir awake from your short-lived nap and when you roll over to your side, you find you can't. Your back is flush against the satin sheets, arms raised up above your head and pinned to the headboard.

"W-Why am I... all tied up?" you ask groggily, looking down at your spread apart legs and ankles, which are stuck in place to the bedposts by a sturdy soft green rope snaked expertly and securely.

"I thought, uh, we'd try something new here..." Oscar says, seeming hesitant now, as if he's two inches away from regretting playing out this fantasy. Or maybe he's not guilty at all and only perceiving the act of being so (you could never tell with a sleazy con man after all).

You tug uselessly at the bindings, which aren't that uncomfortable; the mossy green rope coils around your wrists and ankles snugly, leaving a bit of room for circulation. The only part that truly bothers you is the restricted mobility and lack of control.

Oscar approaches slowly, as if gauging your reaction and his self-preservation if you should decide to fight back... How exactly, you don't know. Yell at him, cuss him out? Bite him like a lowly animal? Scream until a guard comes in to see if you are being murdered?

You writhe slowly, testing the limitations as he settles down at the foot of the bed, a patient parental expression painting his face, coloring with concern yet intrigue. In the time while you were asleep, he's removed his button down and trousers, leaving just a white undershirt and green boxers that pronounce his male package quite well.

He runs a slow hand up along the length of your left thigh and then alternates to the right, his fingers tracing lines of pleasure into your veins. You automatically whimper and he rigs a sly smile up to one side of his cheek.

"Do you like this?"

"I don't know..." you murmur truthfully. It's not exactly unpleasant, but the loss of control is unsettling.

"Well, I happen to like it. You know, the sight of you like this." He gestures a wide sweeping path across the whole of your body, and you grin sheepishly, chest rising and falling with anticipated breaths.

"You can't squirm from me as much."

"I don't squirm," you protest, raising eyebrows.

"Oh yes, you do. I know you don't mean to."

Before you can react to that, he lunges forward and his hands go to your sides, stroking up around to your breasts, fondling them like priceless treasures. You moan, arousal heating your core even more than before, and he rubs a thumb over the hard buds of your nipples while speaking lowly.

"I thank my lucky stars that you were blown in from that storm, it sure was a lonely handful of years before you stumbled into this place. And to have someone so obedient to all my whims..." he trails off, a hungry glint in his eyes.

He bends down to lick and smooch along your throat, inching upward until he nuzzles the nape of your neck with his nose. His close cropped and trimmed mustache/goatee tickles and scratches at your skin as he leans so close, cupping the opposite side of your face with a firm hand. You whimper as he latches onto your mouth possessively, his tongue hot and heavy in your mouth. He tastes faintly like Oz's finest toothpaste and his aftershave should be sold as a candle. Maybe you can suggest to him to market his own line of merchandise; the people of Emerald City will buy anything with their great ruler's handsome face on it even if the product is utter shit.

You feel your hips trying to buck up, needing more contact than of the oral kind, but he's teasing tonight.

"Just keep making those pretty noises, darling..." he whispers, sucking numerous hickeys.

"Please, Oz..."

He moves his head, hot breath on your earlobe as he mutters the words.

"What is it that you desire?"

You struggle to speak, all senses haywire, and he waits patiently as you breathe erratically.

"You-I, please, I need... Oscar, please! Touch."

"Oh, you want me to touch you there? Now we're getting somewhere, darling."

He backs off to run a hand down the length of your body and two of his solid warm fingers slip down into your entrance and out, a give and take motion he does for a bit just to get you hot and bothered. His fingers toy expertly with your moist clit like one does with levers to machines, pressing up and down, rubbing a swiping warm thumb over the knob... When he curls them internally, you cry out cataclysmically, stomach undulating in peaking waves of pleasure as you squirt on his fingers. He chuckles, keeping his grip on your hips, and without the ropes keeping your limbs in place, you'd be thrashing. It's torture, but in the very best way.

When you calm down enough to gaze at him heavy lidded with blown pupils, he focuses on removing his undergarments, taking the white undershirt off first and throwing it to the floor for a maid to pick up later. Then he gets to the main event, the showstopper. You don't focus long on his erect cock because his fingers get in between your legs again. He dips one in, two, then three to stretch you out and your warm slick folds welcome him back in with relief. He holds his free hand down on your stomach and you orgasm once more, yanking in frustration at the bindings that dig into your skin.

"Easy, easy," he says as if trying to tame a wild mare.

"I want... to touch you!" You've fondled his balls and cock before, but even just throwing your arms around his neck would be better than this look-but-don't-touch load of hooey.

"I know, I know. Hey, I'm doing the work here alright? Just enjoy the ride and you'll thank me later."

He looms over before settling down over you and it's strange not being able to grab him in return, to claw at his back, to wind your legs around his waist and claim him as your own for the evening. This power play dynamic is right up his alley, to make you feel utterly vulnerable and pliable underneath him, and it's only fitting for a man who loves to pull the strings of everything and everyone around him. He prefers being on top in bed, but you're definitely known to ride him cowgirl style a time or two (this is your favorite position).

The head of his cock pushes in at a tasteful pace to bottom out and burrow inside that it feels like up in your stomach - and it's taken practice to get to this point; the first time (and a few times after that) hurt and he couldn't get too far mostly because he was just so big. You wonder dimly if taking elixir and being in a relaxed state of mind affects your ability to take his girth. Either way, he never gets angry on nights he can't go all the way; he finds his climax just as well outside. Tonight, though, he's persistent and when he glances at your face which is not screwed up and wincing, he gradually nods in approval to continue.

Oscar moves slowly in rocking rhythm, gentle and deliberate at first, then faster and rougher, nearly growling in pursuit of his own pleasure. His silver hair falls out of its careful coifed style to hang over his forehead, and he keeps his melted milk chocolate-colored eyes dead set on yours as he fucks, a predator to his prey. He has you right where he wants, you can't move away, and you moan as your walls clench tight around his cock. He holds his stare steady, but his frame is shuddering and it's clear he's close to his pinnacle, the one he's been aiming for since you entered this bedroom.

He has made it no secret he has cravings to be a father, even though you're sure he'd be a somewhat inept, possibly even lousy one due to his measurable amount of selfishness. Not to mention the detail that he's old enough to be your own daddy and you oddly don't have a problem with that... But he knows he mustn't intentionally knock you up (a scandal that would cause if word got out) and it was you who had to sadly school him on this fact of life, having been around enough farm animals all your life to know how babies are easily made and knowing friends who had become mothers at the ripe age of 18 back in high school, and you do not want to be that careless. It's lucky there hasn't been any "mistakes" so far in your bedding with Oscar, but you know he almost can't resist spilling inside.

Instead, he pulls out with difficulty at the very last minute, and hot ropes of gooey cum splatter your stomach and splash against your chest. He groans in ecstasy before heaving, out of breath.

"You okay?" you whisper as his lightly sweating chest rises and falls with exertion. He cracks a lopsided smile, steadying himself by using his arms to brace against the headboard above you.

"Are... Are you kidding? I've never been better. Just - just give a man a minute, will you?" He retracts an arm back and holds up a single finger with a dangerous glance.

"And don't you dare make a joke about my age. I'm as fit as a fiddle, just like when I was thirty."

You nod absently, thinking of him as a younger man. The portraits and statues scattered around are decent, but could never do him justice. He's aged like the finest high-quality wine and the silver hair and sprinkling of wrinkles only enhances his austerity.

"You're incredible, your Ozness."

"Flattery always works best, my dear." He ducks his head down and sloppily kisses you softly on the cheek.

"And you deserve to be untied, don't you?" His hands wind around behind your head and with one quick motion, both your wrists are untied. He does your ankles next in a flash and flimsily bundles the short ropes up to toss onto the bedside table.

He climbs off and helps you up ease up to a seated position. You feel suddenly dizzy and droop forward, your brain rushing with slush, and blood flushes into your cheeks.

"Woah, it's okay." He sucks in a breath, catching you against his chest.

"Spinning," you gasp out and he keeps his arms securely around you for a minute before you wiggle, antsy, and he props you up.

"Still on the Tilt-A-Whirl?" he asks, lines deeply creasing his face.

"I... It's gettin' better." You shake your head as though that will dispel the imbalance that you have a strong hunch is a side or after effect from his mystery elixir, not just the sex.

"Thank goodness. You scared me for a minute there, if this is too much..."

"No! I love you," you blurt out and he comfortingly pets your head, raking fingers through and tousling your hair.

"Alright, sweetheart. And to think in addition I was going to experiment with a blindfold and gag- uh, never mind. Maybe that's too advanced; we'll hold off on that one for the foreseeable future."

You gape at him as he gets off the bed with no further word but a grunt and reaches over for a towel on the bedside table to give to you. You take it to wipe up some of the mess while he leaves momentarily off to the nearby bathing chambers to freshen up.

He comes back five minutes later dressed only in a fresh pair of tight fitting boxers predictably of his favorite color that you have to tear your gaze away from lest you foolishly admit to wanting another go around. He clears his throat at your staring, rubbing his jaw and jerking his chin towards the door.

"You can go clean up now," he says a bit gruffly, pointing.

All of Emerald City is extravagant and even the humble washroom is no exception. The first night he'd fucked you, Oscar had given a tour of it.

"See what money and power can buy? It'd do you good to remember that," he'd said as he ran a hand across the shiny marble tiles and gilded gold faucets.

"I came from humble beginnings just like you and now look at me!" He spread his arms out wide in exaggeration and you giggled, utterly enamored.

"Just don't let it go to your head." He chuckled deeply at the ironic fitting joke.

You shuffle off now to wash and wipe down your body in there, using an dark green washcloth that has his moniker of "OZ" stitched on it, and you feel aching soreness all over your body - but it's a good kind, like a full day's work of physical labor accomplishing what you really needed to do.

********

Once you are done in the washroom, you tug on a plush robe the color of jade and return to the bedroom to go to lay back down on the king size bed next to him. He pulls you in with the crook of his arm, the other holding a different bottle than the elixir. This one smells very much like whiskey.

"I should tell you..." he begins with a pause, clearly not in any hurry as he takes a breath and then a couple sips. You can tell by his slightly unfocused gaze and relaxed body that he is getting a tad drunk.

"We're gonna have a special visitor soon from Shiz University, you know Madame Morrible?"

"Yes." You've seen her come and go around the palace, but aren't advised to get within ten feet of the powerful older woman, let alone speak to her. All you know is that she can do impressive magic (unlike him) and is a very close loyal confidant who provides important insider information.

"Well, she invited a very special student with promising magical abilities here for something I'm working on, and I'll need you get out and to stay out of our hair for a while," he explains causally, playing with the neck of the bottle in his fingers.

"You're casting me out?" you ask, disappointment surging up like a muddy river during a flood. This set-up is only too good to last, isn't it? You're so in love that you've almost forgotten all about home, not that you'd really loved your old life there much anyway. But if you truly can't get home ever again, you'll have to start looking for some kind of work in the city to make meager money and hopefully figure out how to cobble a life together if that's even possible. You'll never find another man to depend on like Oscar, that's obvious. Funny that mere months ago, you had been somewhat distraught at the notion of being held against your will in this unfamiliar palace and world. Now you just feel stupid for letting him lead you into a false sense of security and preying on when you were most desperate.

"No, no, of course not," he replies in a scandalized tone, slicing sharply through your spiraling thoughts.

"I greatly value your, uh, commitment to me and keeping my secrets. You're a very delightful girl who doesn't go snooping for trouble and you try to keep out of my business."

You don't mention that you are technically locked indefinitely in this palace, forbidden to go outside off the grounds, and hadn't really had a choice in the first place. But he appears so sad and frustrated, so you nestle and snuggle further into his side, your hand tracing lazy circles on his chest.

"Perhaps only though for your safety, if the upcoming meeting and arrangement doesn't go well, you might have to leave permanently. But, uh, in that case I'll make sure you get you set up with decent accommodations outside the city. Perhaps Munchkinland, Governor Thropp there owes me a favor..."

"Okay," you murmur quietly even though this prospect partially frightens and worries you, and you feel relief oozing from his bones.

"Thank you for always understanding my dear. You know I have such a responsibility and I need everything to go right when this special young lady comes - Morrible is counting on it and you damn know it you don't want to get on her bad side."

"This student of hers must be something else," you mutter more to yourself than him. How much does she know, anyway?

"She sure fucking is from what I've been told. She'll change everything and put me in a greater position than before if I can get her to work with me. Morrible seems cautiously confident and cheered as well by the prospect, which is a sign to be taken seriously. She can often have a stiff stick up her tight ass, huh?" He laughs, deep and throaty, and you know his guard is down when he swears openly in conversation.

"Right." You're silent for a little while, just letting him hold you and trying not to dwell on the implications of whatever this mystery meeting could hold. You could ask for more information, seeing as to how he could be looser lipped from the effects of the alcohol, but you frankly don't care. The post orgasmic state you're basking in is too all-consuming to break out of (plus you are fatigued), and so you let the less business side mood of tonight seep back into the conversation.

"Hey, I liked this tonight, what we did. I really thought the ropes were, um, creative and even though I was nervous at first, it was actually... pretty hot? Maybe we could do that again sometime, sir?"

He smiles tentatively, the gears of his diabolical mind whirring on another track, and your words clumsily snatch him back to the present.

"That's just what I like to hear, sweetheart. That's what I love best-"

"-making people happy," you finish for him, having that line down pat after overhearing him parrot it as part of his political approach.

"Atta girl," he replies with a smarmy smirk and then a contented sigh, ducking his head and resting his chin on top of your head as you lay on his bare chest, listening to the even drumming of his heartbeats.

The palace is delightfully quiet this time of night, the guards in immediate range having been dismissed for the evening so there would be no eavesdroppers. Light from the waxing moon outside the large glass windows curtained with heavy drapes parted a couple inches beams through weakly down, leaving a six inch pale strip to highlight the heavily polished floor.

Kansas and its cornfields feel like worlds away. This is almost like a dream in of itself, but I know it isn't because every day I wake up and I'm still here, you muse sleepily.

Maybe you're staying with the wrong man, and it will end badly between you two. But honestly at this moment, you are too smitten by this lavish lifestyle you stumbled into, his seemingly sincere ongoing affections, and the raw primal love you extract from his flesh on passionate nights like this to give too much of a hoot about it.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl)

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,185

Chapter 2

AO3 Link

The chill fights to work its way through me as I dress quickly. Mint blouse, forest green skirt, and olive apron are donned and tightened before the chill can catch me. I curse Esmet, the head butler for not having gotten the heating fixed by now, the cold of the winter month creeping in and savaging the servants' quarters of the Royal Palace like a fatal disease. I'd be happy as soon as I got into the Wizard's quarters, busying about with the other green bees in keeping the apartments in tip shape. There were several old hearths that had remained there through renovations that could have roaring and crackling fires set to them if needed. Until recently, they had been used solely for decorations.

I strip off the socks that I wore to bed and replace them with a new clean pair that was thick and wooly, and of course dyed green. Emily is still sleeping under the thick duvet when I shake her awake.

"Up, up, sleepy head," I say.

Emily grumbles and pulls the duvet around her tighter now that I'm not under it. She had her own bed, but the staff had taken to sharing beds to provide enough comfort to fall asleep as the sun sank the temperature in the palace with it. I can't blame her for wanting to keep warm, but it was better to rip the bandage off and go start the fire than to wallow in the misery. I cross the shared bedroom to her small little cube of a nightstand and pull her uniform out, throwing it on her sleep-wrinkled face. She flinches, but I'm already lacing up my boots.

"You're going to miss breakfast like yesterday if you don't get up and do your chores," I say. That causes her to wake up. All staff were required to complete their basic morning chores if they wanted to be fed. Emily had overslept yesterday and hadn't seen food until lunch.

I leave Emily to it, not wanting to miss out on my own breakfast. Quickly, I take the old wooden stairs up the servants' way to the Wizard's apartments. They hadn't seen fit to replace those with green marble yet, so they remained creaking from their decades of use. Esmet had already set the first fire in the hearth nearby the door, and for that I hate him a little less. I grab mint sheets from a linen closet and head to the main bedroom.

The Wizard had already risen. This was a little-known fact, one that we in his service had been sworn to secrecy. Nobody was supposed to know that the Great Oracle has needs like any other ordinary man, but looking past the need for sheets and warm baths drawn, he is still as wonderful as the day he came to Oz. Esmet had explained it to me when I was finally trusted to be put into his personal service. It was a privilege to serve him in such close proximity, that those who were unworthy became sick from the good that seeped from him and infected everything that he touched. It was also for his protection that most did not know who he truly was.

I lower my eyes when I knock before entering his room. In the first few weeks in his service, I had been terrified that I would catch some hideous illness that would make me break out in a pox exposing my badness to the world, but it never came. Still, I did not chance it, trying to make sure that I never caught sight of him in case the effects took direct contact to show up.

His room smells sweet with incense and a hint of tobacco. I look up briefly before raising my eyes, making sure the coast is clear. Satisfied that he is not present, I set the clean sheets on the emerald velvet bench at the end of the bed and work at stripping yesterday's sheets off of it. They're much softer than ours, the cotton only the highest quality that can be imported from Munchkinland. I think about the rough sheets that I had left Emily sleeping in back in our cold room.

The door creaks open and I hear her voice. "I'm going downstairs for wood," she says. "We're all out up here. Esmet must have used it all."

I go back to stripping the pillowcases, throwing the old linens into a nearby hamper. At least she's up, I think. Once I have the entire bed bare, I turn back to grab the new sheets, only to be met with the sight of him.

Given my fear, I had never actually seen him in person, but I knew what he looked like. His portrait was hung up in various places around the apartment. One painting that I had quite fancied hung in the dining room. In it, he was sat rather crooked in a chair of gold with green upholstery, a man with gray hair coifed in sweeps and a mustache and goatee to match, his hand lazily resting on the head of a tiger that had been posed next to him. I had always admired his bravery, wondering if he was ever for a second scared when posing for the painting. Seeing him now, any bravery that I had immediately fled from me as I cast my eyes back to the floor, giving an apologetic curtsy.

"Your Wonderfulness," I say, moving off towards the laundry basket, out of his way.

"You haven't happened to see my cufflinks?" he asks. I watch as his green wingtips walk into the room right up to the nightstand next to me.

"No, Your Wonderfulness," I say, trying to still the frog that is hopping in my throat. Why is he talking to me!?

"Could you help me look then?" he says. "They're... well they're green with a little..." he searches for the word. "A little gold flower on them."

I immediately go to searching, looking on the dresser. If I were a pair of cufflinks, where would I be? There are so many fine things laid out on his dresser: a golden hairbrush and mirror set, a snuffbox decorated with emerald and gold beetles, a green satin ribbon. No cufflinks.

"I swear I had them this morning," he says. "Should've had him put them on... Any luck over there?"

I turn to face him, eyes still on the floor. "No, Your Wonderfulness," I say.

"Is there something wrong with my face?" he says. It felt like I had swallowed a peach pit of embarrassment, my cheeks pinkening even more than the cold had roughed them up. I can’t find the words to respond to him, biting my tongue in fear that it may also offend him

"Do me a favor and look me in the eye," he says. "It's weird talking to the top of someone's head, no matter how pretty her braids are."

The compliment makes me want to dive into the basket of dirty laundry, never to be seen again, but I raise my eyes to look at him. This is the first day I have ever spoken with him, and somehow in all of his wonderfulness, he finds it fitting to compliment me. He is just like his portraits, but maybe with a few extra wrinkles around the eyes, the pepper that had generously seasoned his hair reduced to a dash. It can't be helped as those paintings must have been several years old. He smiles and again I fight the urge to bury myself in the hamper.

"Such pretty eyes," he says, crossing the room towards me. My heart beats quickly against my breastbone. Somehow this feels wrong, like I'll get in trouble with Esmet if he walks into the room. I remember Emily, who had gone down to get firewood for the hearth in the bedroom and my lips quiver to form words.

"Do you think they might be in the dresser?" I ask. It's sinful, but I don't want her seeing me with the Wizard. She could be a cruel tease when she wanted to be. I had avoided it for the most part, but the poor Munchkin boy that she had bullied when we'd first come to the palace eventually had to be relocated to the kitchen staff with the way he wept at night in the shared bedroom. Who knows what kind of rumors she might spread if she thought I had looked too swooned by him.

"I suppose," he drawls, making a survey of the top of his gilded dresser, humming in thought. His fingers snatch the ribbon between the middle and index and snap it sharply before holding it up to the sunlight. Satisfied with the assessment, he takes it and wraps it around and ties it into a bow amongst the two braids that wrap the crown of my head. "It looks better on you. Got it as a gift from an ambassador and I hadn't a clue what to do with it."

I go to thank him, but he holds a finger up in the air as if remembering something. Pushing his hand into his pocket, he produces two cufflinks: green, just like he said, with little golden flowers on them.

"Would you mind helping me with them?" he asks. I hadn't put on someone's cufflinks since I was 10 – my father's before he had passed away – but I figure that it can't be much different. I remember Emily once more and quickly guide the metal through the starched cotton, trying not to think too much about how I had gone from never seeing the most powerful man in Oz to dressing him in a matter of minutes.

He gives the sleeves a shake, and satisfied with their solidity, squeezes my cheeks with a tsk of the tongue. "There's a good girl," he says.

As quick as he'd entered the room, he left, leaving me with more than a hundred butterflies in my stomach and sweating palms. I head back to the dirty laundry and wipe off my palms on the sheets. There is a rattling of wood on metal and I know that Emily is back with a bucket full of wood. I hurry to the sheets, realizing that they are still not on the bed, just as they had been when Emily had left.

She enters the room as I'm stretching the second corner of the fitted sheet."What a nightmare that was," she says. "Those idiots in receiving hadn't opened up the wood shipment from last night so I had to wait there for them to cut it open. Here's hoping I still get breakfast." She sets the pail down with a clank, quickly chucking rough-hewn blocks of wood and logs onto the metal grate. "What's taking you so long with that bed?"

I sweep over to the other side, my crinoline rustling under my skirt. "There was a hole in the sheet," I lie. She didn't need to know all about how the Wizard had asked me to help him look for his cufflinks and about me helping him to get dressed afterward. I close my eyes as I pull the last corner of the sheet over the mattress and I can still smell the warmth of his cologne from that moment. It reminds me of the rolls that we get for Lurlinemas, with their cloves poking out of the shiny egg-washed crusts.

"I didn't see you with that ribbon earlier this morning," Emily says, pulling a box of matches from the mantle. "It's pretty. Did you get it in town?"

My eyes go wide as I realize that I still have the ribbon fastened around my head. "Oh," I stutter. I wasn't used to making up so many lies this early in the morning. "It's just some old thing I picked up this summer at the markets."

Emily gets a good strike and soon the fire is crackling quickly into a roar. "Well it looks good," she says. "Maybe we could go into town later this week. I need to get some gifts for Lurlinemas."

I was a little surprised that she was considering gifts, considering the price of everything had been crazy lately. Our meals and housing were complimentary with working in the palace, but any kind of extra clothing or goods besides the uniform that was provided at the start of each year was strictly up to each servant. The last time I had been in the markets I'd gawked at the price of 79 pennies for new laces for my boots. I consider objecting to the potential spending spree but hold my tongue. She's been asking too many questions. "Maybe we could go on Saturday?" I say.

Emily agrees to that, and we pass the rest of our day finishing our chores at a leisurely pace to soak up as much warmth as possible, talking of things we want to go do and see in the markets, away from the cold of the palace.

[lionkingisthebestmovie]

Can somebody please write more fics with Jeff Golblum as The Wizard from the wicked movie please😅. There is nothing on Ao3

There is no way I gotta wait a year for Wonderful 😭

[isroji]

Why exactly there's no long Ian Malcolm fanfics? A better question, why there's almost no Ian Malcolm fanfics?

[run-clever-boy]

Stolen Glances Pt. 1 - Ian Malcolm

@toomanybandstocare - thank you for the wonderful prompt!! Totally taking you up on it [Prompt Here]

Professor!Ian Malcolm x Student of Professor!Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! (Wine?)

Summary: Your father invites his colleague over for dinner and he turns out very different than you expected.

“Dr. Y/L/N!” The man said, walking into the room confidently with a bottle of wine in his hand.

“Professor Malcolm! A grand entrance as always!” You hear your father say from across the hall. You put down your book and walk into the kitchen of your home where your father and- who you were assuming was- Dr. Malcolm pouring wine.

Dr. Malcolm was an interesting man for sure, however his appearance was not what you first noticed. He had a commanding presence, but not threatening. His confidence and charisma radiated off of him. He seemed to know your father well enough to throw out some simple work anecdotes, but nothing of any more substance.

Your father finally noticed your presence in the kitchen and gestured you into the room further.

“My goodness, excuse my manners Ian! This is my daughter, Y/n” Your father says cheerfully. “Y/n, this is Dr. Ian Malcolm, a colleague of mine!”

You reach out and shake his hand firmly and he gives you a small nod. “She happens to be in your particular field of study I believe, Ian!” Your father chimes in.

You turn toward him. “What field of study do you teach, Doctor?”

“I am a man of theoretical mathematics, more specifically… uh.. the amazing possibility of.. um.. chaos theory!” He smiles brightly “Do you happen to be a student of.. uh.. theoretical math Y/n?”

“I’m actually not very familiar with theoretical math, however I am interested in the theories surrounding it. Currently, I’m pursuing the study of general, or to you more practical, mathematics at the university” You reply. “So you study the work of Edward Lorenz?”

He looked stunned for a moment. He had barely known anyone interested in chaos theory in his lifetime, and an undergraduate student was talking about Edward Lorenz, the inventor of the theory he bases his life’s work on. He practically grinned from ear to ear as he looked you up and down to evaluate you.

“See Ian, I told you she was something special” Your father said, beaming with pride. You put on a faux innocent expression and simply said “What?”. Then you made eye contact with the professor.

Just then is when the weight of his appearance hit you. His eyes bored holes in yours, sparkling with curiosity. He was dressed all in black attire, a button down and slacks from work you were assuming, except the top few buttons on his shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. You could see the chain he was wearing around his neck under his shirt and the many rings he had. His dark framed glasses slid down on his nose so you were looking right at him, his dark curly hair hiding none of his face.

Your faux innocence faltered severely, causing a shy smile and a large blush to creep up on your cheeks as you broke eye contact and looked down at your shoes. You heard him chuckle slightly from in front of you and then finally raised your head back up to look at your father.

“So,” you said “what’s for dinner?”

“Steak dinner tonight Y/n, only the best when we have guests over!” He laughed heartily.

“Please, don’t go through trouble for me-“ Malcolm started

“Nonsense!” Your father interrupted. “We have to celebrate anyway, dear Y/n is starting her last year of classes before she is off to graduate school this week as well, it’s no trouble at all!”

“Congratulations!” Professor Malcolm said looking over at you again. “That’s a big achievement to make it this far.”

“Well thank you, Dr. Malcolm. I got my schedule today and I think you will be pleased to hear there may be a theoretical mathematics course on my roster. My father said he wanted to go over it with me anyways tonight.”

He looked you straight in the eyes again and your heart sped up. It was difficult to keep eye contact with him for a long time. He was a man that practically screamed intelligence and power, and for the first time in your life you couldn’t get enough of it. The magnetism alone took you completely by surprise.

“Well don’t just stand there! Dinner’s about ready, why don’t you go get your roster from your room and bring it down here for afterwards.” Your father suggested.

“Happy to, be right back.” You said and you swiftly exited the room.

You went to your room and grabbed the Manila envelope off of your bed. Y/N Y/L/N was printed in big bold letters on the front. You turned and exited your room to walk swiftly through the hallways back to the kitchen. You suddenly saw a shadow round the corner just before you bumped into it and jumped back, startled.

“I’m so sorry, truly, I.. uh.. apologize” You hear, realizing it’s only the professor you nearly walked into.

“No worries at all sir, I just got startled” You say with a breath of relief.

“No need to call me sir, Y/n. Dr. Malcolm is fine, but please just call me Ian, if you’re more uh comfortable with that.” He said with a smirk playing on his lips as he pushed his glasses up.

“Well Dr. Mal- sorry, Ian, thank you for coming.”

“Please is mine. Your father sent me to get wine glasses, do you uh know where those might be?” He asked, leaning against the wall he was next to.

“First cabinet down this hallway, there should be 3 perfectly clean glasses on the left.” You replied.

“Thank you, uh, very much”

You make your way to the kitchen and meet your father’s giddy smile.

“What do you think of him?” Your father says.

“He seems intelligent, good humor I suppose.” You put forward attempt a nonchalant tone. “He’s quite the personality”

“He may be your professor someday Y/n! Wouldn’t that be lovely!” You hear him giggle. Your father was always happy-go-lucky, but he always seemed especially happy when company came over.

“All good things I hope?” You hear from behind you.

You turn to face the voice that rattled you. You discover Ian leaning against the door frame with three glasses in his hands. His glasses slide down his nose and you look into his eyes through them, having to look up to be able to see his tall frame. He flashes you a wink when you linger on him a little too long and your face heats up wildly.

“Always” You hear your father say.

You take the glasses from him and set them on the counter next to the bottle of wine he brought over. You feel heat rise up from behind you as Ian reaches over you to grab the bottle of wine and uncork it. You have seriously never not been able to control your impulses and thoughts, but something about him breaks down every barrier.

~~~▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄~~~

You get through the delicious dinner with nothing more than slight glances over the table and his occasional smirk. You got to discuss some theory with him, which was a great experience. Discussions of the major influences of current mathematics, difference in theoretical vs. practical statistics, other things you had been learning and studying for your many years of university.

You finally got to discuss the schedule for your next year of classes with your father, but he insisted that Dr. Malcolm stay to give you advice for your last semester. It wasn’t a horrible idea in concept, actually you would’ve normally appreciated the opportunity, but the man in question was driving you crazy and you couldn’t understand why. While him leaving meant you would probably never see him again so you could focus, you really wanted him to stay. No one had ever made you blush like he did and you wanted to get to the bottom of why, Even if it involved getting a drink or two with him.

“Euclidean Geometry with a Dr. Hack, Probability in Statistics III with a Dr. Brown, and-“ Your father paused “Application of Chaos Theory with our very own Dr. Ian Malcolm! What a coincidence!” You father beamed out with joy, lightly tapping you on the arm.

“Well you will be one of my most interesting, uh, students, Y/n.” He said, looking you in the eye. “I’ll be seeing more of you then?” He added, leaning in.

“Let’s see where it goes, Dr. Malcolm” You say, bolder than you meant which immediately causes you to shrink back. He gives you an all knowing smile, looking right through you.

For once, you were excited for school to start again.

Tags from the comments of the prompt post: @melonpire @datrie @druigswh0ree

[missmotel6]

The Student Sweetheart

Pairings: Ian Malcolm x reader

Summary: Will something happen with that stupidly dreamy professor you’ve been crushing on, and- let’s be honest, also hating on? Maybe a night out with him outside of school is all it takes.

Warnings: Age gap. Dirty thoughts. Light touching. No smut in this chapter, however, in future parts there will be! 18+ still recommended!

The auditorium was dark. You had begun to drift off as soon as Dr. Ian Malcolm turned off the lights to start his lecture. He was going on and on again about the Chaos Theory before somehow ending up talking about his third divorce. A quiet yawn escapes you. Jesus, you’re exhausted. All because you decided to stay up to study for your literature exam you had earlier today. It probably wasn’t even worth it. The highest mark you’ve ever gotten on a test in that class was a high C. Now you’re dealing with the consequences of a late night by falling asleep during Professor Malcolm’s class. Truth be told, you only took this mathematics class because it’s not your typical math class (math has never been your strong suit), yet it still fulfills the math credits you need. Of course there was the other reason- you found Dr. Malcolm hot. At least you did.

Over the last few months you’ve grown to loathe him. At first it was exciting being in his class, you guys actually had a few flirty encounters. You still remember when he placed his hand on your desk, leaning down just to say you have the most beautiful handwriting out of all his students. Or that time when Malcolm said your eyes always shine, even when the lights are low. One time as you were turning in a paper directly to him, your hands brushed for a few seconds longer than necessary which sent a wave of shivers down your spine. The last interaction like that was weeks ago when he winked at you upon correctly answering a difficult question that two of your other classmates couldn’t get.

Malcolm was just annoying now. The way he constantly licks his lips. How he sticks his hands in his pockets. All of his slutty deep v-neck cut shirts. He is a professor after all, he should dress like it. Not to mention the fact that he’s pushing 45, and he still thinks he’s this hot, hip college kid. In reality he’s an old nerd who just happens to be mildly attractive. Mildly.

You suddenly hear a warm familiar voice, “Miss Chaology.” The voice gets a bit louder, “Miss Chaology.” Your eyes jolt open, and you jump a little bit. Staring right at you from just a few feet away is no other than Dr. Malcolm. Almost instantly you become fully alert, remembering where you are. You roll your eyes at his stupid nickname for you.

During the first day of his class, Malcolm was, to no one’s surprise, going on about the infamous Chaos Theory. He had hoped that his students would want to converse with him as if we were fellow teachers of Chaology. Just entering the class, almost all of us knew very little on the subject Professor Malcolm was so passionate about. When he asked for your thoughts on the matter, you weren't even paying attention. Malcolm's bouncy raven dark curls, his tight black pants, and silver dog tag dangling from his glistening chest were too distracting. All you could manage to get out was that you are a fan of Chaology. Fucking stupid. What does that even mean? A fan of a theory? The only person who would be a fan of a theory is Malcolm- surely not a young college student. Your annoyingly hot professor then coined the name of Miss Chaology for you. It was cute at first. It was something special between the two of you. But now it just gets under your skin. Something about the way he says it is just so frustrating. Miss Chaology.

The auditorium, if you could even call it that, he taught in was one of the smallest at your university. Over the years less and less students have been taking his class. There were only ten rows, but only about two were fully occupied during your hour. The only benefit Malcolm could see from having barely any students was that he knew everyone in his classes. Suddenly, you hear his grating voice again, "Miss Chaology? Are you listening to me?"

As soon as he speaks you get pulled back from your thoughts. Your head turns to glare at him with an unintentional cute pout, “Yes?”

He looks down at you. “Care to summarize this lesson for us all?”

“I don’t care for that actually.” You cover your mouth as you softly yawn, and lean back in your seat.

“Is that so?" Malcolm starts to fiddle with one of his silver rings. "Something more interesting than me huh?”

You scoff, trying your best to not roll your eyes once more at his comment. “I think sleep does qualify as something more important than you.”

Professor Malcolm scoffs with a slight smile, looking down at the ground as he does so. He tucks his left hand into the front of his pants’ pocket, and returns your gaze. “I just hoped you learned something today, Miss Chaology.”

“I don’t need to know anymore about your divorces, thanks.”

Dr. Malcolm chuckles and shakes his head. “At least it’s more interesting than me rambling on about the Chaos Theory for the millionth time.”

“At least you’re self aware.”

Malcom can’t help but to laugh again, turning around as he does so. He glances at the clock on the wall. His hand lifts out of his pocket to point towards the ticking clock. “It seems I’ve kept you all about, uh, five minutes longer than needed. You may go. Have a wonderful evening.” He smiles softly before starting to walk back towards his desk which pisses you off. Smiling all sweetly when he was just annoying the fuck out of you? That's Dr. Malcolm for you.

“Oh!” He snaps his fingers, turning back around while calling your name. You're grabbing your bag to leave, but you look up at him. Your name rolls off his tongue so much better than Miss Chaology ever will. “You weren’t in class Monday, and I handed back everyone's latest essays.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, and walk down the steps to Dr. Malcolm’s desk. “Is this the extinction essay that we turned in a month ago?”

Ian lets out a chortle, shaking his head as he begins to sort through his messy desk for your paper. “Yup, that’s the one.” He opens one of his drawers and pulls out a folder. “Hey, I’m old after all. You can’t, uh, expect me to get through hundreds of papers in a blink of an eye.”

As he goes through the essays he has stored in that folder, he occasionally licks his finger to help him go through the all the papers. You can't help but to stare at the motions. Why was something so simple as licking his finger so entrancing? Malcolm looks up at you, likely catching you staring. Your gaze moves to your feet as you awkwardly adjust your weight, now leaning on your left leg. “Yeah, but a month? I’d just say you’re lazy.”

“Maybe so, but can you blame me?” His fingers stop moving. A paper sticks through the folder about halfway. “Why weren’t you here Monday, sweetheart?" Malcolm finishes pulling out the paper. His giant hand covers nearly half of the page. "If there’s something more interesting than me I would want to know.”

A mix of a chuckle and a scoff escapes you. You hate that you love it when he calls you sweetheart. “Well, since this is an evening class, sometimes better opportunities come along. It was my friend’s birthday. We went out for a couple of drinks to celebrate.”

He continues looking at you through his dark glasses, still holding onto your paper. “How old are you anyways? One would hope you’re drinking legally.”

“It was my friend’s 21st which also happens to be my age.” You adjust your bag strap on your shoulder, and hold out your other hand. “Are you going to give me my paper, or are you going to make me beg for it?”

Your comment elicits a small laugh from Dr. Malcolm. “I suppose I’ve kept you waiting long enough.” He begins to hand over your paper. You grab your essay, although, he still has a firm grip on it. He leans in over his desk just a bit, his eyes meeting yours. “Although…” he licks his lips, “I wouldn’t mind if you begged.”

You try to fight back giggles. His words and appearance have a way of making you all flustered. A small smile creeps up on your lips. “Well, tough luck, Malcolm.”

Without breaking eye contact he lets go of your paper. You glance down and see that you received a 92%. A small smile appears on your face. Lately you've been getting a low B at best on your essays. As you look back up you see that he never stopped looking at you. "Thanks for the A."

"You deserved it." Malcolm’s lips are slightly parted with a small smirk. He takes a step back, retreating from you. “Well then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod and smile politely. Your eyes are locked onto his. Malcolm’s glasses don’t allow you to fully see his dark hazel eyes, but he can see into your deep chocolatey ones with no barrier. “Actually, I’m going out again tonight. Me and two of my close friends were planning on going to that new dive bar that just opened up a minute away from campus. If I’m not too hungover 24 hours later, then I’ll be here.”

Malcolm’s smirk grows wider. “I see you're gonna let your wild side out, huh, sweetheart?” Keeping his eyes on you, he walks around to the side of his desk. He leans on it, and crosses his arms. Even though you’re not standing right next to him, his tall frame is prominent, easily shadowing you. “You know I was planning on checking that out too.” He brings one of his hands to his chin, and starts to scratch it as if he was deep in thought. “I was planning on going alone though. My, uh, fellow old professor friends aren’t too keen on clubbing.”

You scoff, “Okay, it’s not a club first of all, and secondly, then make new friends. I mean, Malcolm, are you really trying to tell me that you’re too much of a nerdy loser that you can’t find friends?”

He looks up at the ceiling chuckling. He loves your bluntness. How you call him Malcolm. “I am not a loser, sweetheart. I’m a well established professor at an outstanding university.” You softly chuckle, loving that he doesn’t deny that he’s a nerd. “And I could make friends. You know, if I actually went out and tried. I’m cooped up here or at home working. Grading your work.”

“Uh huh, I’ve had enough of your excuses. I’m going to stop at my apartment to change, and then I’m heading to that bar. I better see you there too. Socializing. Having fun. Not with your face stuffed in someone's assignment on the butterfly effect, or some other shit you keep talking about.”

Dr. Malcolm shakes his head and laughs. He's surprised you were awake enough to hear his brief lecture on the butterfly effect. “You really care that much about my social life?”

As you reply, you keep your tone playful, “I care about the amount of complaints I’m getting from you about how big of a friendless loser you are.” You tuck your essay in your bag before turning around, starting to head out. After a few steps up to the exit, you turn back to face him once more, still walking. “Who knows, you might find Mrs. Malcolm number four.” You hear a stifled laugh from behind you as you leave your professor’s small auditorium with a warm smile on your face.

The cool night air feels nice compared to Dr. Malcolm’s stuffy auditorium, and to your apartment with the broken AC. God, you really need to move to a better place. Your rundown apartment is barely doing its job. There’s not that many people out tonight. I guess it’s what should be expected on a Thursday. You’re only going out tonight instead of tomorrow because your friend Maren has a late evening class every Friday. When you stopped by your shitty apartment to change, you threw on a mini black dress. It’s one of your favorite pieces in your closet. The neckline highlights your chest. There’s even a small baby pink bow in the center. Now you’re doubting your wardrobe choices. Is this too suggestive for my professor to see me in? As you keep making your way to the dive bar, you fiddle with your silver heart locker around your neck. You glance down at your black ballet flats. At least the shoes are a somewhat classy choice. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to show up for sure.

After a few more minutes of walking, you reach the bar. You glance up, and read the light up sign. The Striped Shot. Interesting name choice. There’s a bouncer at the entrance, so you hand him your driver’s license. He glanced down at your card and up at you a couple times, probably doubting your age. You’re a college student for fuck’s sake. If you wanted to get a drink you could go to any campus party. Why go through the trouble of faking an ID? After what feels like forever, the bouncer hands you your license back, and you head inside.

It’s fairly crowded, although you don’t seem to recognize anyone from school. The majority of people are young, likely in college or freshly graduated, but there are a few older men scattered about. It's unsurprising considering that it’s an old fashioned dive bar right next to a university. Your eyes scan the crowd until you spot your friend, Camila, over by the bar. She waves you over. “Oh my god, you look hot.”

You giggle and take a seat next to her. “Thanks, babes.” You notice she’s already halfway through a drink. “What did you order?”

She takes a sip before responding. “A mango margarita. You want one?”

“I’m not a huge mango girl, but it sounds good. Can I have a taste?”

“Of course, girl.” She scoots the drink to you. You take a small sip, not wanting to take too much of the drink she paid for. The cold, sweet yet salty, fruity flavor floods your mouth. Very refreshing.

You slide the drink back to her. “It’s really good.”

“Right! I could drink this all day, every day.” She takes another sip, this one bigger than her last. “Oh, by the way, Maren isn’t coming because she has this big philosophy paper due tomorrow that she procrastinated.” Camila finishes off the last of her mango margarita before turning to you. “You’re totally going to hate me, but Jesse has work off tonight so he’s coming. He’ll be here in a minute or so.”

“Aw, Camila, I thought this was supposed to be girls night?” You sigh, disappointed that Maren isn’t coming and now Camila will probably just be hanging out with her boyfriend. You sigh, but then smile at her reassuringly. “It’s totally okay, girl. I get it, go hang out with you man!” You tap her thigh encouragingly still smiling, trying to fake your disappointment. You really do get wanting to spend time with your partner especially when it’s hard to in the first place. With Camila in premed, and Jesse also being a student along with having a full time job, they don’t get as much time together as they should.

“Ugh, I love you. Thank you.” You smile at her and nod. “Let me buy you a drink okay?” Camila waves down the bartender, and orders a strawberry daiquiri for a you.

“Thanks, Cami.”

“Always!” Camila’s gaze moves past you. She holds up a hand, waving, and stands up, “Jesse!” Camila looks back at you. “Are you sure if I hang out with Jesse for a bit?”

“Not at all. Go! Have fun!”

“Okay, okay. Thanks, you’re the best.” Camila starts to walk away before abruptly stopping. She crouches down a bit to meet your ear. “That one hot professor is here. The one who you’ve been complaining about lately.”

“What?” You quickly glance back, and see him in the entrance of the bar gauging his surroundings. He glances in your direction. You turn back quick, hoping that he didn’t see you look. While you only saw him for a spilt second, he was wearing the same black jeans and white low cut dress shirt from class today. The only difference was now he had on a black leather jacket.

“Okay, bye, babes.” Camila pats your shoulder, and walks off towards her boyfriend.

You turn your attention back to the bar where you’re sitting. The bartender hands you your drink, and you take a drink. You close your eyes, savoring the flavor. It’s even more refreshing than Camila's drink was. As the alcohol travels down your throat, you can feel it working to soothe some of your nerves about seeing Malcolm outside of class, especially now that you’re all alone.

“Strawberry?”

You jolt your head to the left. Where Camila was sitting is now occupied by Dr. Malcolm. “Um, yeah. Strawberry’s my favorite.”

Malcolm motions for the bartender, and orders himself neat whiskey. Of course he does. Why is he so annoyingly predictable?

Malcolm watches as the bartender pours up his drink. “Surprised. Strawberry is very sweet.”

“Just like me.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and take another sip of your drink.

Dr. Malcolm chuckles, “I really haven’t seen the sweet side of you.”

“That’s because I don’t like you very much, Malcolm.” You lift your drink up to your lips. As the cool sweetly tart liquid travels from the glass to your mouth to your throat, you continue maintaining eye contact with him. His eyes are locked on you.

Malcolm smiles and shakes his head, amused by your response. “I suppose I’ll just have to do a better job at making me more likable, huh, sweetheart?” The bartender gives him his whiskey. He takes a gulp of it. Your eyes naturally watch him as he does so. The way his silver rings clink the glass as he picks it up. His big, veiny hands practically crushing the cup. You watch as his lips make contact with the glass. The malty whiskey pouring into his mouth and down his throat. He sets his drink back down, and you turn your attention to your own drink, hoping that he didn’t notice you staring intently at him. “Since we’re not in class you don’t need to call me Dr. Malcolm. Not that you ever really do. It's always 'Malcolm' with you. But you can call me Ian.”

You finish off your strawberry daiquiri, savoring the taste. You look at him again. “Okay, Ian.” It feels weird to say his first name, but also somehow fitting. “I can’t promise Malcolm might slip out every now and then. Especially if I’m annoyed with you.”

He laughs, “I’ll do my best to not annoy you, how’s that, sweetheart?” He takes another drink of his whiskey. Just like before, you find yourself watching him again. Admiring every small movement he makes. Jesus, this is getting ridiculous. He's just taking a drink.

“If you keep calling me sweetheart I might get annoyed again.” You raise your eyebrows challengingly at him. The truth is, you love it when he calls you that which is why it annoys you. It doesn’t make sense why a simple nickname that ordinarily wouldn’t turn you on does when it comes from his perfect lips.

“Why’s that, sweetheart? Should I just call you, honey?” He snaps his fingers as another idea comes to mind. “How about darling?”

You roll your eyes, frustrated by how you’re staring to get aroused all because your professor said one simple word. “Malcolm, you’re ridiculous.”

He shakes his head. “Ian. Not Malcolm. Ian.”

“Fine, Ian. And why do you insist on being called that?”

He sighs and takes another drink of his whiskey. “It’s simple really. School is Dr. Malcolm, but, uh, outside of school is Ian. It keeps the two separate. Plus, Ian is what I’m usually called. Only students and some other professors use my last name.”

“What does it matter keeping the two separate?”

“Hmm, well, there are certain things- certain rules if you will, within both worlds. This helps, uh, establish the two.”

By now you can definitely feel the alcohol kicking in, and while you’re far from drunk, you’re tipsy. “What rules are you referring to?” You playfully raise your eyebrows, laced with a hint of seductiveness.

Ian laughs and grips the glass in his hand a little harder. “A very big rule is fraternizing with students.” He takes another long drink. You watch as that lucky whiskey makes its way into his mouth. His Adam Apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “You should be with your friends that are nowhere in sight, and not talking to some old, friendless, nerdy loser professor.”

You can’t help but to giggle at his assessment of himself, loving how he included the way you described him earlier. “Maybe I’m just doing charity work.” You bat your eyelashes at him playfully for a few seconds before getting sassy again. “And just so you know, one of my friends has a paper due tomorrow and the other is hanging out with her boyfriend. They both have extremely packed schedules, so they barely have any time together.”

Ian scoffs, and licks his lips before speaking. “Some friends. Ditching you for other shit. Other people.”

“At least I have friends.”

“You got me there. I'm just sayin', sweetheart, I wouldn't do that. If we got plans, we're committed.”

"So you commit to fleeting plans, but not marriages?"

Ian almost chokes on his drink as a laugh vibrates through his chest. "You got me again, Miss Chaology." He finishes off the last of his whiskey, and then turns towards you on his stool so his body is facing you. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the night then? Just hanging around talking to some old yet handsome loser?”

Immediately you scoff, but you there’s a hint of blush creeping up on your cheeks. “You think very highly of yourself.” The stool below you screeches as you adjust yourself how Malcolm did, so your body is also turned towards him.

“Hey, I called myself an old loser.”

“Yeah, but you snuck handsome in there.”

Most people would speak up because of the loud music in the background, but Ian just leans closer to you. He speaks in his usual taunting manner, “Don’t you agree?”

You could’ve moaned at his words right then and there, but you held it in. His smug smirk and his piercing eyes only fueled your need for him. The hunger in your eyes grew. Not wanting to appear weak, you scoff as an attempt to conceal your desire. “You’re average.”

Taking his time, and licking his lips as he does so, he looks you up and down like you were some painting he's going to critique. He meets your gaze again. “Am I? Even if I do… this?” He brushes his hand on your thigh. His touch is firm yet respectful. His big hand gently squeezing your thigh looks better than you could’ve ever imagined, and you definitely have. Not recently, of course. Your hatred streak has been going strong, but when you first started Malcolm’s class it was all you thought about. His lips on yours. His hands undressing you, and wandering all over your body. How he would feel against you. How he would feel inside of you.

You take a breath to pull yourself out of those thoughts. Your eyes shift from his hand on your thigh to his enchanting bronze eyes. Even masked behind his glasses, there's still this twinkle in his eyes you feel compelled to. Both of your eyes lock onto each other. “It helps doesn’t it?” Ian’s hand starts to creep higher up your thigh. His tender yet unwavering touch combined with the cold metal of his rings against your sensitive skin causes you to shiver.

“Do you think touching me is going to make me find you more attractive?” You try your best to hide the fact that you’re melting under his touch, but you call tell he’s not fully buying it.

“So you don’t think I’m good looking then?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. You just keep staring at him, trying not to break your unbothered facade. Fuck. You know you won’t last long if he keeps it up.

Ian’s hand slides up even further, starting to move under your dress. He stops his hand from going any further after reaching just past the hem. Instead he rubs his thumb on the inside of your thigh. You hold your breath, so you don’t let out a soft moan. “This dress is really pretty. You look really pretty, but I still want an answer, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Malcolm is going to make you lose all control. It shouldn’t be this hard to keep yourself in check. Why is this man driving you so insane? “Give me one good reason why I should answer that question.”

Ian snickers, “I can do that, honey.” He leans in even closer to you, your faces now just inches apart. “First off, I need to know that you’re, uh, comfortable with my hand here.”

You can feel a heat rise up from within you. You simply nod, clouded by unholy thoughts of the man before you, your fucking professor for God’s sakes.

“Okay, then.” His thumb continues rubbing the inside of your thigh, a bit firmer than before, but still tenderly. It’s taking everything in you to not grab his hand and push it up higher. “You should tell me if you think I’m handsome, hot, or whatever you want to call it because for one, I’m a middle aged man who would benefit from his ego being fed, but also because I’ll know if you, uh, I guess if we’re a good fit. Don’t you think it’s important for both parties to be attracted to each other?”

Finding it amusing how Ian worded that, your desire fueled haze is momentarily broken as you lean back and giggle. That strawberry daquiri you downed is not helping you keep a straight face. “So you’re saying you find me attractive?” You bite your cheeks so you don't burst out into laughter, but a few giggles still end up escaping.

Ian chuckles and shakes his head as you laugh. He leans forward once more, smiling slyly. “Yes, I, uh, do believe that’s what I’m saying.” Ian moves towards your right ear to speak directly into it. His breath is hot against you, “And is that feeling reciprocated?”

A soft groan escapes you, unable to hold back any longer. Ian’s hand is still gripping your thigh just barely under your dress with his thumb drawing circles around the inside of your delicate thigh. “Yeah, I-I guess it is.”

A little chuckle cascades throughout your ear. Ian pulls back, and looks at you with lustful eyes. “What are we going to do about that?”

“Um…” you shrug, “it’s really up to you.”

Ian slides his hand up just a little bit higher, continuing to trace his thumb against your soft skin. “Oh, come on. You don’t have any ideas in that big brain of yours?”

Feeling a more bold than usual because of the alcohol filtering through your system, you lean in even more, your faces just a couple inches apart. “Nothing that should be shared in public.” With almost no distance between his lips and yours, all you want to do is lean in and kiss him. You need to know what his lips feel like against yours. Against every part of you.

“Let’s get somewhere a little more private then, hm?” Ian retracts his hand from you. The absence of his touch drives you wild. You just want to move into his lap and kiss him while his hands explore every part of your body.

Ian pulls out a ragged wallet from his back pocket jeans. Damn, that wallet is probably as old as him. You watch as he pulls out a few bucks, and places it under his empty glass. After stuffing his wallet back in his pocket, Ian then digs into his jacket pocket, and pulls out car keys. He stands up, and offers his arm to you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

[denaliwrites]

f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare What My Heart Was Worth

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House Love Letters On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

s l o w h o r s e s Imposing Figure Inappropriate

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[wiznt-he-wonderful]

Is there any demand for a Wizard x reader fic that ultimately has a happy ending? I haven’t written+posted something in Ages but the silly magic man is rotting my brain and I have so many ideas

[lovelyfantasia]

Exceeded My Expectations Pt. 2

WARNINGS: 18+, oral receiving for both, sex, hair pulling, just absolute smut

WORD COUNT: 3,300+

A/N: All I have to say is: I hope y'all enjoy this one. Happy reading :)

===

Los Angeles at night isn’t half bad. It’s not New York, you knew that for sure, but you make the most of what this city has to offer you.

You sure as hell are making the most of this date. Jeff is clearly feeling the same way since his hand is caressing your exposed thigh in the back of Laura’s car. 

Top 40 music plays throughout the car on a low volume as Laura is asking how the lounge was while driving to Jeff’s place. No Ordinary Love by Sade sets the tone for the drive and you’re trying to focus on what Laura’s saying, but Jeff isn’t helping that. 

“Well you know me, I ended up ordering Manhattans the whole night!”

“Jesus, Y/N, I don’t know you can drink straight liquor like that!”

“Oh stop, you know full well how I was when I was in college at UCLA. Damn near straight A’s while having my free will in my free time.” Laura laughs and pulls up to a red light. Jeff’s hand goes from your upper thigh to around your shoulders. 

What a fucking tease. 

“Jeffrey, you’re awfully quiet back there. A rare sighting for you to not be saying something, literally anything.”

“Laura, may I just say…I am a drunk man right now sitting next to a rolled down window. I’m feeling kind of like a dog at the moment and I don’t mind the feeling.” Laura and you burst out laughing over not only what he said, but the delivery of it. 

You look up at Jeff and he already has his eyes set on you. A soft smile takes over his face, but you can see it in his eyes that he’s ready to rip your dress off of you. 

“We’re here!” Jeff snaps out of the trance that is your eyes and thanks Laura for the ride and gets out. Right before you’re about to exit, she stops you. “Oh, you’re going to need these,” and Laura hands you a box of a pack of 12 Trojan magnum condoms.

“12?! Why the hell do you think I need that much?!” you whisper yell at her.

“Listen, I’d rather you have more than what you need. Plus, you know, possibly six of them tonight, six of them tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’m leaving. Goodnight and thank you!” you shut the door and follow Jeff to his front door. 

He’s trying to get his key out to unlock the door in a hectic manner. The faster he gets you two inside, the faster he can have his lips on yours and keep them there for the night. Finally, Jeff inserts it, twists and now part two of the night is really about to begin. 

“My goodness, your place is nice.” 

You take off your heels, place them near the door, and explore into the living room. Large, plushy sage green couch with a red and beige persian rug covering his wood floors. His television is even quite large! It’s decorated really well for a bachelor pad, but he does seem like a man of style and his home reflects that. Photos of his family from throughout the years tell their stories on the walls, some of them featuring a very small and cute Jeff Goldblum. 

Of course this man owns a piano. To your surprise there’s half written music sheets scattered on the top of it. You write stories, he writes his music. How cute. 

“Welcome to my home. Make yourself comfortable, of course. Would you like any water?”

“Yes, please.”

Instead of sticking around in the living room you stroll into the kitchen. You lean against the door frame, observing the man before your eyes. He doesn’t even realize you’re near him, but he can feel someone’s stare on him. 

You just can’t fathom the moment you’re in. You’ve seen any movies of his that were available in theaters near you throughout the years, including the not so good ones like Vibes. Even his “bad” movies you saw because at least he was in them and man oh man, did you watch him.

Him in Earth Girls Are Easy was basically a wet dream for you. If you think he was at the peak of handsomeness in that, you don’t know if you’re going to survive watching Jurassic Park when it comes out.

“Earth to Y/N,” Jeff waves a hand in your face to bring you back down to earth from the space you were floating around inside of your head. “Here’s your water.”

You blush tremendously and look away as you grab the cup. “Thank you.”

At that rate, you chug the water hoping it’ll sober you up fast. That pit of embarrassment and anxiety is making its way back to your stomach. All you want is to not fuck this up and you can’t help it to put immense pressure on yourself when you have something you really want in your possession. 

And you really want Jeff. 

“Hey, you feeling okay?” he asks when he comes up behind you. You feel his hands make their way to the sides of your arms and rub them. Relaxation cascades over you, but also another sensation that’s ready to explode in the next hour. He doesn’t help with that particular feeling when presses his lips on your shoulder. 

He feels you loosen up within his touch and starts to pepper more kisses on your shoulder, then up your neck. 

“I’m feeling just fine, thanks for asking.” he chuckles a bit and removes himself from you. If that's what it feels like to have him hover over you and to have his touch, you don’t know what kind of money you would spend to have that every single day. 

You thought you were good to walk away until you felt him grab your arm. He spins you to make you face him and immediately pulls you in for a kiss.

This feeling, this explosion all the while melting, has become such a foreign feeling for you. No one has made you feel so intensely in such a long time. It was as if you could feel an addiction brewing to a feeling right then and there, the chemistry working its magic while he has his hand rests on the side of your face. 

“I know I have the bedroom upstairs, but would it be terrible of me to put you on this island and taste you?”

“God, please do,” and with a quick motion, you were lifted up and placed gently on the kitchen island. The cold marble shocks your skin and makes you arch your back as you lay down on it.

His hands work fast as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, then pushes up your dress. He couldn’t take his hands off of your skin, consistently staying on your thighs as his lips make their kisses on the inner parts of them. You’re getting wetter by the fucking second and trying to hold back from telling him to just fuck you right there on the counter. 

He was really edging you on with the kisses he started pressing to your core with your black lace panties still covering it. A moan finally escaped your lips when you felt him do one long good lick on it. You were ready to lose it. 

“Jeff, for the love of God, please just take them off already.”

“What? The panties or all of it?” he pulls on your arm to sit you up and his lips crashes into yours. He was enjoying getting a feel for your body, but he was missing those lips dearly. Though, he can’t wait to have a taste of the other ones too. 

The hell with some of his clothing, you thought to yourself. The glasses came off first, then your hands went to work on unbuttoning his black shirt with some of them already undone. Jeff tosses it off himself somewhere on the floor and goes straight to your neck. It was his turn to get to work and he did the first order of business to get your panties off. 

They ended up near his shirt and you were ready to have your dress there too. Your thoughts vanished once you felt his fingers feeling on your wet slit. He teases you with small rubs on your clit and almost pushing one of his fingers inside you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N, you’re wet as hell,” Jeff said breathlessly in your neck. 

“Don’t be shy, you can have a taste, baby.”

“Oh, but ladies first,” and he brings his soaked two fingers to your mouth for you to suck on. You did without any hesitation. “Good girl,” he said in almost a whisper. 

Without any help from him, you untie your dress from your neck and let it fall, revealing your breasts. Jeff just stares at you, looking at your body up and down, admiring the beauty before him. His pupils are blown out, his hair’s a mess, and he looks like his patience is running thin.

You have him right where you want him. 

“Fuck it,” and with one movement, you were back in his arms and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

He swiftly brings you two up the stairs and to his room. Next thing you knew the light turned on and he dropped you on his king size bed. He worked fast, but you work faster as you’re already sitting up and unbuckling his belt for him. You whip off his black leather belt, your eye catching that it was Versace. For a quick second, you applauded him in your head for owning a good wardrobe. 

The button comes undone, the zipper comes down, and you reveal what you’ve been waiting for ever since you got into Laura’s car at the lounge. 

Now you were really applauding for him in your head. 

You were trying to continue being sexy, but the alcohol was about to turn you into a comedian quickly. “Good God, how do you manage to keep that thing in your pants adequately?” 

It was as if you two could hear a record scratch in the funniest way possible. 

“Years of practice, baby.”

“I hope that has a double meaning.”

Now you’re back in full force when you wrapped your lips around his cock. Jeff leans his head back, eyes closed as you continue sucking him off. To escalate it, you run your hand on his shaft as your head bobs with the other hand feeling his balls.

"Fuck," is all he could say with moans following after.

As much as he’s enjoying this, he’s feeling rude about not doing what he said he was going to do to you on that marble counter. 

“Sweetheart, hold on,” you stop instantly, looking up at him with worry in your eyes over if you did anything wrong. Or worse: if he wants to stop completely. The opposite happened where your dress was taken off by him, leaving you completely naked. “Lay back down and up against the pillows.”

You make yourself comfy and he watches you sink into his bed as he’s completely undressing himself. He makes sure to take all his rings off for what he’s about to do to you. 

“If you don’t move any faster, I will end up falling asleep right here in this spot-”

“Alright. Jeez, impatience becomes you.”

“Well when you have your cock completely out and you’re butt naked, can you blame me for getting whiney about not having you on top of me?” Oh she’s good, Jeff thought to himself. For someone in her mid-20s he was surprised how well you were at flirting and overall, being confidently sexy. He doesn’t even see this kind of confidence in women his own age.

Jeff knew George was right: you were a rarity. 

The most gorgeous man to you is crawling towards your naked body on the bed, hands making their way to your thighs once again. You feel your body heat up all over again with every touch from him feeling like you’re on fire. Considering you’ve never had such an intense sexual interaction under the influence, it’s your body embracing everything for once instead of your mind. It’s one fire that you never want to burn out. 

Jeff leaves a trail of kisses on your inner right thigh, leaving a mark here and there. His hunger is growing as he inches closer to you. His mouth encapsulates you, his tongue getting to work. Like it was muscle memory, your fingers run through his wild curls and grip them from time to time. 

It’s all you’re focused on right now. The house could be on fire, but the only thing hypnotizing you is having Jeff’s mouth on your pussy and his arms wrapped around your thighs. He starts to really go at it on your clit and the moans start to spill louder from you. His expertise in such skills are being exposed to you. 

“Yes, right there,” you say as you grip his hair harder. He loves it. The more you grab at it the more reassurance he has that he’s doing a good job at satisfying you. That’s all he cares about right now. 

Abruptly, he stops.

“What- why did you-” but he quickly cuts you off by putting his wet lips on yours. The kiss is messy, passionate, and everything you wanted it to be. He makes sure you taste yourself by slipping his tongue in and you ramp it up by wrapping your arms around his neck. 

As much as you two were ready to fuck, this spontaneous make-out session felt much needed. Him on top of you, his hands brushing away the hair from your face, soft kisses continue to be shared, your hands holding his face. It was bliss. 

In between the hungry kisses, he trails his mouth down to your breast and gives them their needed attention. The way he kisses and licks them sends you over the edge. 

“Get the condom,” you whisper in between kisses. No hesitation for Jeff to reach into his nightstand drawer to retrieve one. You know you had the box Laura gave you downstairs, but there was no stopping the flow you two created. The universe was looking out for you when he pulled out the square gold foil that read “Trojan Magnum” on the front. 

As he proceeds to try to get it on himself while on his knees, your neediness for him shows through with the kisses you start leaving across his abdomen and hips. Light touches on his thighs have him shaking just a bit when rolling the condom on his shaft. 

“Is the grown man nervous? What’s with the shaky hands?”

“Keep talking like that and I can show you a good way to get rid of that attitude.” you were ready to pin him down on the bed and fuck him. Having a man talk to you in such a way was a turn off, but in this instance you knew you were fishing for him to have quite the reaction. He gave you exactly what you wanted. 

“Prove it, baby,” another kiss to his hip. That one left a good mark that no one will see but him for the next few days. 

He pushes you back into the pillows, his hands holding your wrists at the sides of your head and kisses you hard. His hand leaves your right wrist to position himself to go into you. Your heart rate starts to steadily rise once again with the events that are about to roll out. 

Jeff slowly pushes himself in and your eyes flutter shut and your jaw slacks open. The few guys you’ve had sex with within your time of experiencing sex had nothing on Jeff. Seeing his cock was one thing, but feeling it? It sent you to another realm. 

His pace starts to quicken and for him to stay deep inside you, you wrap your legs slightly around him. A groan from him escapes and it was sweet music to your ears. 

“Fuck yes, baby,” he moans in your ear, then starts kissing your neck and shoulders lazily.

“H-harder please,” and Jeff slips out of you, places you on your hands and knees, and gets behind you. 

“As you wish, princess,” and he does as he’s told. Your moans grow louder, more roughness in your throat as he shows no mercy to you. You can feel your hands starting to hurt from gripping onto his pillows for dear life. 

“Oh my God, yes Jeff, just like that!”

You can feel his hand make its way to your hair and you signal to him that he’s allowed to get rough with you. With a fistful of your hair in his hand, he pulls you back towards him while keeping a steady pace. He’s sweating to no end, but he could care less. All that matters to him right now is what’s in front of him. 

“Say my name again, baby,” he breathlessly says in your ear. 

“Jeff! Ah- fuck!” you scream. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Call me whatever the fuck you want- shit!” He’s relentless to your pussy and you’re astonished at how long he’s last at how fast he’s going. 

He releases you and you spring back down to the pillows, offering you a soft landing for your head. Your ass and hips are up with your head lying comfortably on the what you believe are feathered pillows. Just when you thought he was done, you feel the sting of his hand smacking your ass.

This man was going to be the death of you.

“Baby, I’m gonna-” you couldn’t even finish what you were going to say from your orgasm hitting you with a fury. The room gets filled with your loud moans, crying out his name like it was the prayer that was going to save your life. 

Shortly after yours ripping through your body, Jeff squeezed your hips hard as he felt his bubbling within him. 

“Fuck- Y/N-” a low groan rolls off his lips and his fingers tighten their position on you. He comes and you can feel his cock pulsating inside you. The whole scene leaves you with a victorious smirk on your face. 

He slowly pulls out and that feeling of emptiness comes to you. You collapse into the bed, absolutely spent after Jeff treated you like his personal fuck toy. To you, it was the best way to have sex. Kissy, soft missionary did nothing for you most of the time, but only could work with the right person. Jeff made that small, short list. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks after coming back from his bathroom with a small towel. 

“Oh I am feeling just fine, Mr. Goldblum,” he chuckles as he spreads your legs to gently clean you up. Your heart flutters from the aftercare, something you’ve never experienced before from anyone you’ve slept with. With finishing up, he continues to rub the back of your thigh and kisses you softly on your back. “How about you?”

“I haven’t been this satisfied in a long time. In more ways than what just occurred."

You turn around and prop yourself up on your elbows. That mouth of yours wants to say something clever, but your heart wants to do something else. Slowly, you lean up to him and he gets the message and leans in to kiss you. 

This wasn’t like the first kiss of the night. That was eagerness and wanting each other to the highest degree. But this was something entirely different. 

This felt like a first kiss. 

“I can’t keep going because I could keep doing this the whole night,” you say to him as your thumb strokes his cheek. 

“What’s stopping us?” Jeff leans back in to continue the kissing and lays you back down into the bed. Without detaching, he manages to get you two under the covers and lay on your sides. 

You pull away once again, but this time you just stare at him.

“What?” He asks in a whisper.

“Honestly…I’m not sure. I’m still trying to wrap all this around my head.”

“Me too. Instead of trying to fathom our impeccable impulsiveness, how about you get comfy,” and opens up his arms for you to make your way into. Jeff leans over to turn off the lamp and you settle down with your head on his chest. 

“So…second date?” you say sleepily with your hand rubbing his chest, feeling the hair beneath your fingertips.

“Most certainly,” and Jeff kisses your forehead goodnight.

[laudaddysmitten]

You had me at

"Crowley In a Lab Coat"

by LaudaddySmitten

(GOAD Writer's Guild presents!)

I continue my theme of writing Good Omens fanfiction - WITH SCIENCE! 🥼 ♥️ 🔬🧪 ♥️ 🥼

I teased the artwork on this baby a bit in the past while (hint, amazing photo from the BAFTA's), see below the AO3 info for more on that!

Summary

Aziraphale's eyes were immediately drawn to the triangle of bare skin at the base of Crowley's throat, and all queries died before reaching his tongue. Crowley's deliciously deep v-neck henleys, which he always made even more enticing by undoing more buttons, fit just out of sight under the lab coat's lapels, showing off the curve of his clavicles and the deep suprasternal notch between them. With a start, Aziraphale realized he’d been blatantly staring at Crowley's throat and upper chest for heaven knows how long. Mortified, he snapped his eyes to Crowley's, which, uncovered, only further fueled his lust for the enticing botanist. Aziraphale was surprised to see that Crowley was sporting a smirk that looked…pleased. “Enjoying the view?” He arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh my, I er…..” Aziraphale gulped and looked down at his wringing hands. “How rude of me. I'm…ah, terribly sorry…” “Angel. Don’t apologize. I was actually…hoping you would.” Hands instantly stilled, Aziraphale looked up quickly. Had he heard that right?

CW: Rated E for Explicit sexual content. Read the tags on AO3!

Continue Reading on AO3:

This photo was the artwork tease/ clue:

Now that you've seen the artwork you probably know why. But just in case...

David Tennant (Crowley, ofc) + Jeff Goldblum's most iconic movie pose (from Jurassic Park):

Equals: Crowley In a Lab Coat by @lexarturo (She killed it!)

My original post/ tease on the matter:

Thank you betas of awesomeness, especially @ladybracknellssherry !! Also thanks to you and @riverstyx125 for the very last-minute help!

And help ages ago from other awesome people: @unapologetic-apathy @gingerhaole (for reference/inspiration art) and a couple other betas whose usernames I will find and add b/c tumblr hates me rn! lol @ezomind-the-other-one

And of course thanks to the Writer's Guild of @goodomensafterdark !

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Bend To My Will

The Wizard x gender neutral reader (NSFW 18+ only oneshot)

Summary: Being the personal assistant to The Wizard of Oz isn't so bad, at least until you get in trouble... And even then, it comes with an unexpected perk.

Warnings: unprotected anal sex, age gap (older man/younger reader with height difference), power imbalance dynamic (unprofessional boss/employee), slight degradation, humiliation

Word Count: ~3,430

A/N: Because I can't get enough of Jeff Goldblum's Wizard, here's another shameless smut fic (you can read my other fic here, it's not related to this one and is fem!reader). I tried to make the reader here as gender neutral as possible and there's no use of Y/N in dialogue. This one also takes place before the main climatic events of part one of the movie and obviously is not entirely accurate to canon.

"Hey, is there a letter from Shiz in there somewhere?"

"Yes, sir, there is." You hurry up to the Wizard with this week's bundle of post, just delivered to the palace via flying monkey.

Sometimes a mechanical balloon he invented himself is used along with a monkey for delivery, and mail comes weekly, both in and out. It's the fastest method and his untidy loopy scrawl regularly trades with others' contrasting elegant scripts. Today one such letter is indeed from Madame Morrible, the headmistress of Crage Hall at Shiz University in Gillikin Country, complete with a large, stamped wax seal bearing the school's emblem. You can't help but notice he is always eager to receive her correspondence and then later he's often disappointed as if she never told him what he wanted to hear. If you didn't know any better, you'd presume he fancies the older woman. From your limited observed interactions, you're not sure if it's a reciprocated feeling. Her typical look is a glacial gaze and aloof presence, and often seems impatient with him, like he gets under her skin, but sometimes she merits him a seemingly true smile and he acts all giddy. It doesn't take much to please him.

"Did you make sure my last letter got out? I haven't heard back," the Wizard asks idly, distracting you from private speculation. He's seated down in his rich crimson tall-backed chair and hurriedly splitting open the ivory envelope with the sharp blade of a letter opener. He never opens his mail in front you or any staff for that matter, so it must be rather urgent. His eyes rake through the written contents hungrily and something sparks in there, as his mustache twitches with a spreading smile.

"Ah. Golly, that's good. Very good indeed," he mutters to himself before tucking the paper back in the envelope and stuffing it deep in the nearest drawer.

"Did you hear what I asked of you?" he asks a bit irritably, shuffling the other less important letters around in front of him into a neat stack and you quickly gather your bearings.

"Oh, yes, um, I..." You trail off embarrassingly, racking your brain for the memory of the last delivery.

It had been the prior Friday and all you remembered was it had been a very long day of errands back and forth around Emerald City (the Wizard never leaves his palace, so everything is brought to him) in addition to daily "housekeeping" duties. You suddenly recall your regrettable encounter with the mail carrier monkey.

"I-I'm afraid not, s-sir," you stammer in ashamed admittance.

"What?! How could you forget!" His voice pitches up two notches in panicked disapproval. It's not like you're known to make mistakes, after all.

"I'm very, terribly sorry your Ozness, it was an absolute mistake, I did pick it up and bring it to the monkey, but he was in a foul mood and we got into a tussle, so then I decided to just take it to the post office instead, but it must've dropped out of my satchel when I ran... The clasp gets loose sometimes and..." You give up explaining, watching his face cloud over in stormy disappointment and it's better to shut up before you're struck with a nasty bolt of verbal lightning.

He sighs heavily and flicks a finger out to play with a spinning model of the solar system, poking and prodding at the little gold planets.

"There's no excuse for this. Let's dearly hope that letter is only lost in a gutter or bin somewhere and not in the hands of enemies. Damn those animals and Animals, the lot aren't to be trusted, I'll have to have Chistery smack that troublemaker around or I'll have a stern word with him myself... And as for you..." He frowns deeply, dangerously, and without further words, you take this as a sign to retreat, backing away to the door with your head hung low. You wonder if your pay will be docked for this. Maybe you should knock off early today and go straight home and count what savings you have to prepare in case he decides to sack you. You'd been so fortunate to get this position after a rigorous interview process (and mostly due to your family's connections to wealthy socialites) and now you've blown it because of a dumb monkey and it's a stupid mistake that - if he's right in the worst assumption - could get people killed. You don't even know what was in the letter, if it was seriously political or not, but judging by his reaction, it wasn't casual correspondence.

"Get over here," the Wizard commands abruptly, loudly rapping the wood top of the grand desk with his knuckles in clear annoyance.

You scuffle closer, afraid of his possible wrath; he could yell at you or even use a type of magic? Dread wells up deep in your bowels and every step closer feels like impending doom.

He's intimidating to be in front of. Much too tall and far stronger than you even for an old man, and for a moment, you see clearly, etched in his features, the inspiration from where the threatening mechanical head display comes from. His long coat has been removed and drapes over the back of the chair, leaving him in his vest and high collared shirt, and you try not to focus like a magpie on all the shiny bits and bobbles and chains attached to the front. He's appropriately stylish yet eccentric and unpredictable enough to throw off an edge.

"Yes, sir?" you croak out as you stare up, now only two feet away. He reaches out and you instinctively flinch, but he means no physical harm.

His fingers surprisingly land tenderly upon your cheek and trace along your jawline, slowly, as if inspecting your bone structure and skin. Frozen in place, you stand numbly before him, staring at the neat trim of his mustache and goatee patch because you can't make contact with those intense brown eyes boring into your face. Your gaze wanders to stick on his lips and for a crazy second, you long to touch them, to feel the perfectly full soft shape. Somehow, he's even more handsome than you'd ever realized before. You catch a whiff of his heady cologne and just that does something to your brain, making you slightly woozy.

"You, uh, understand this 'mistake' is unacceptable, right? That I don't allow slip-ups often especially when it comes to business correspondence?" he asks in a low, nearly guttural voice that makes you quiver in... forbidden feelings.

He doesn't seem quite so cold and frightening up close like this, and you can see in his eyes he isn't a man to cower in fear from. There is some strange vulnerability to him, like you should be the one comforting him, but that doesn't make any sense.

"I understand. Please, I promise I'll be more diligent. Don't blame the monkey too much."

He grunts in approval, dropping his hand from your face and slipping it into the pocket of his patterned green pants. He wavers on his feet slightly, as if in indecision, and you start to open your mouth to speak when - with a single swift motion - he spins you around in a 180 and you fall straight forward onto the desktop. Something scatters and clatters to the ground. A gasp slips from your lips and the air heaves from your lungs as your head spins to reorient to this new position, stomach cringing from the coolness of the hard wood. The Wizard grips your waist hard from behind and you feel his hot breath in your ear as he speaks in a purring warning.

"You're good at pleasing me because your job requires it, right? Well, now here's a chance for me to please both of us. Of course, it's still a punishment for your silly error, so don't be smiling about it. And if you keep up this new habit of ineptness and getting into fights with my nonhuman staff, it is going to be your downfall and you'll find yourself groveling and licking my shoes in desperation to keep on living comfortably, understand?"

You can only barely nod in shocked disbelief, and he pauses for a second, still breathing on your earlobe.

"You like me a lot, don't you?"

"Yes, of course your Ozness. You are very admirable and wonderful."

He clucks his tongue, and a hand playfully smacks your ass. Lightly, but makes you jump, nonetheless.

"No, no, not that trifle crap that everyone says. You want me in the worst way, don't you? You always wonder what's really behind the curtain?"

Your cheeks burn hot as coals in guilt. Yes, you maybe had fostered a teeny tiny crush on him only weeks into the job and still really do actually, but it means nothing, right? He's everything and you're just another meager staff member drawn into his power and charisma, his caring (almost paternal?) presence.

"Well?" He sounds impatient and the increasing hold around your middle demands an answer.

"Y-Yes," you finally admit quietly, feeling as though the Unnamed God might as well strike you down now.

"Right, I thought so. You aren't quite like the other folks around here, I can tell. So, uh... Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

You're speechless as he proceeds to unzip and tug your pants down, and they pool around your ankles, fainting fabric.

"I've had to see you walk around in these tight fucking pants for two years straight and resist the urge to bend you over this very desk... Think my job's easy?"

You let out an embarrassingly strangled sort of noise that makes him chuckle dirtily as he continues undressing you, peeling off your underwear with his expert fingers, slipping it down to your ankles and you gape as your privates are exposed to the air of the room and more importantly to him... Oz the Great and Terrible!

This was completely indecent and unprofessional, and frankly disgustifying of you to allow. What if guards came in for no reason and caught this act? There would certainly be no encore.

As if he reads your mind, the Wizard speaks in assurance.

"Door's locked, darling. Nobody's gonna find us, but you better keep any profane noises down to an acceptable level. Those damn monkeys eavesdrop, I swear, and we don't want your vulgarity rubbing off on them, do we?"

You let an uncontrollable guffawing laugh loose and then a groan as he grabs you tighter, squeezing your bare skin in sure, secure hands. He murmurs into your hair at the crown of your head.

"Shh. Don't get hysterical now. We've barely started anything and already you're crumbling to pieces. You're kind of pathetic, aren't you?"

You nod meekly again because you're in no position to challenge him and let him continue.

He removes his vest and tosses it carelessly on the chair and then rolls up his starched white shirt sleeves to his elbows. You hear him fumbling around in a desk drawer and your face twists in confusion when you hear the popping lid of a bottle.

"This is, uh, just some lubricant to help. I could cure a drought with this stuff," he explains jokingly, and you hiss in discomfort when you feel a very slick gel-like cool substance being slathered on your skin and most intimate parts from behind. You wonder briefly why he keeps that in his desk in the first place. Shouldn't this be taking place in a bedroom, not his office?

When he's applied enough lube, you listen to him unzipping and stripping off his own pants which also fall to the floor, and then you feel a solid stiffness emulating from a particular region as the fabric of his green boxers rubs against your buttocks.

"Now hold still while I free this big puppy," he says, somehow with a straight face you presume by the tone of his voice, and soon enough, there isn't shielding fabric anymore.

You can feel his thick fleshy cock against your ass, already beaded in precum, and starting to push forward. His purring husky voice is in your ear again, echoing around in your very head.

"If you tell a single soul about any of this we're doing, I will fire you and have you exiled to the outermost sandstone desert. Understand, gumdrop?"

You gulp at the threat and raise your brows at the random sweet nickname.

"Yes, sir."

"That's what I expect to hear."

You yelp as he thrusts into your ass, and you scramble to grab the sides of the desk for support.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, no hollering, okay?" His words clumsily mean to comfort, but his body continues, and the motion shakes and rocks the entire desk. All his trinkets and paperweights rattle or roll or fall down to the floor noisily.

Your nerves are set on fire and gradually a wetness leaks from unmentionable areas, both yours and his. The office feels stifling in temperature, but maybe the heat is actually emulating from just you and him, friction banging together. He ruts against your body in an animalistic frenzy that must look not very romantic from the outside, but on the inside, you are feeling a soaring pleasure you didn't think was possible. It's true, then, what they say. The Wizard does please people - just not in a way you ever expected. You always have been one to try to keep your head down, don't draw much attention, just do your job and get through the day, but he makes you feel like you're suddenly on top of the fucking world.

You grunt and moan as he goes harder and faster, pushing in and out of your tight hole, and finally he growls out a very gentlemanly "Oh fuck!" as he spills outside.

You cum just before he does, and the mix of fluids splatter part of his desk and run down the side, just missing a tiny toppled figurine of the Wizard himself by inches. You almost laugh again at the shocking absurdity of this moment. You've seen a side of this man in power that you never thought possible before and now you're not sure if you should be entranced or horrified that he really is just a purely biological man.

The Wizard is panting and clutching you like his life depends on it, and you catch your own breath that has fled to the other side of the room, scaling the walls for escape. When you finally capture it and the air fills your lungs once more, he lets go and steps back. You wretch yourself off the desk, wincing in pain and aching from the intrusion and uncomfortable positioning, but sick pleasure is still throbbing through your veins rushing with pulsing blood.

His desk is, respectfully, an utter fucking mess: immediate papers that have been spared the cum are crumpled or fluttered to the floor. Quills, ink bottles, and accessories are scattered everywhere, and micro inventions will probably need a tune-up.

"Here, clean yourself up." He offers out a clean handkerchief to you for wiping as he does himself with another cloth from a drawer. You try not to stare at his swollen balls and sizable cock deflating from its peak.

"Not bad for the first time, huh? Maybe we'll see what else you can do later."

Your mouth gapes openly and closes like a fish out of water, and then you drop the handkerchief, and he rushes forward as you stumble, off balance. You get your underwear up as he awkwardly tries to put his arms around you, but you hobble away from him in shame, legs like jelly. You bend over to grab hold of the waistband of your pants to hitch them back up too, but you fumble fruitlessly while he quickly gets his boxers up and then puts his own pants back in their proper place at his waist.

"Do you need help with that?" he asks patronizingly, and your face crimsons.

"I can do it," you reply like some determined kindergartener tying their shoes for only the second time.

But you're trembling so much from nerves and the after effect of being bent over the desk and orgasming that you cannot do so very successfully. He sighs dramatically and you hear him cross over to bend down on one knee in front of you, hands snatching the pants and pulling up. He secures them around your waist and then pats the front of your crotch with his large warm hand, which makes you almost topple over. If someone had told you last week you'd be in this position with your boss, the ruler of Oz, you'd laugh in their face.

How did this happen? How did the line of professionalism get so completely blurred and smudged? What made you so lucky? Or unlucky if this went south?

"See, that's not too hard, is it?" He smirks in satisfaction, moving up to smooth down the entirety of your uniform. His hands linger for too long, and you feel on the point of wishing to collapse on the spot and melt through the floor, pretending like none of this ever happened.

"You're speechless. I have that effect, don't I? Everyone says that, but I just don't see it. People expect it but then they don't know how to react when they are. Okay, this might be a bad analogy, but tell me, if you go to a burlesque or, uh, club as they call them here? Well, you expect to see a striptease, right? And by that assumption, one would think they'd be prepared to deal with a lap dance or something, right? They wouldn't not know what to do or feel or..." he rambles on, and you mumble incoherently and step backward, nervously running a hand through your hair. He stops, inhales, and rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"Gosh, you're kinda cute, I never noticed before. You know that don't you?"

You have no answer to give, there are simply no words. The Wizard turns to his desk with a distracted frown before back to you.

"Can't have the maids seeing this mess you made. Guess you're gonna have to clean that up yourself," he says, and you don't mention his desk was pretty darn cluttered to begin with. His whole office is a constant work in progress, a place for all his ideas (and this isn't even his workshop), and the fact that he chose this place to do such an inappropriate act is laughable. Internally you almost want to punch his stupidly dashing, smug entitled face even though he's absolutely right about the maids. But this was all his idea, after all!

"Here, I'll get rags," he offers quickly, perhaps reading your disgruntled expression and he moves to the door, opening and shutting it fast behind him with a click.

You can't look at the indecency of the desk, so you move away to peruse his collections, many books and knickknacks lining the shelves wrapping around the office. There are countless scrolls of schematics and at your feet, wooden crates full of sample bricks for the Yellow Brick Road construction. You start to swipe your fingers across the rough painted surface of them.

"Hey, don't touch any of that now!" his gruff voices barks from behind, startling you.

The Wizard's holding clean rags, and you immediately move to him, taking them and gingerly begin to clean. His fingers ghost over yours as you wipe his desk free of inappropriate fluids, guiding every move and it feels just sensual enough you can barely focus on the task. He wants it spotless, and you spritz the desktop with a bottle of some kind of cleanser, making the space smell like bright citrus. You reorganize the objects and papers back into a fairly organized setup and when you're all done, he takes away the soiled rags to dispose of. You wait patiently until he comes back, and when he does, your heart automatically sputters as he strides back into the office, clapping his hands together briskly.

"Well, back to work, amirite? And this time you'll certainly deliver the new letter I write with no issues? I'd hate to, uh, have to do this again... Right, gumdrop?" he asks with a wink and that devilish generous grin tells you nothing is ever going to be the same again between you two.

You've been changed for good.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,899 of 5,084 Prev | Next

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The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Country, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.