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inviouswriting · 3 years

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Sinful Writings

Kind of specific but I need some things.

Simeon x fem!reader

Smut

Bonding with him over writing is something he looked forward to, Simeon overjoyed that another person shares that same passion for writing. Even more as a hobby, like his is. He invites you over often, you shared with him tame pieces you’ve written.

As your relationship had grown with the angel, you wondered if he would read your other stories. The ones you keep hidden away from other eyes. Under a special name.

Simeon notes how relaxed you are laying half on his legs with your upper half towards his feet. You had your device of choice in front of you, and he gets curious to see what you are working on. You are dressed down for the night in a shirt and underwear.

One of his hands pokes at your calf to get your attention. You save your progress and look over to him, you had been staring at the page. Your angel realizing you are stuck.

“May I see what you have?” The color in your face reddens, Simeon sees the rapid change as you look like you got caught doing something naughty in the presence of the angel. He catches on quick, and you see his smile widen at catching you.

“Oh? Is this something you can’t share with an angel?” He teases, and straightens up to collect you into his arms. You allow him to change the way you are laying to cuddle with him.

“Um... a little.” You answer him finally. Now he really wanted to see what it is that makes you blush.

“May I?” He asks for your permission, rubbing his face affectionately against yours. You soak his attention up, and find it hard to say no when he uses his eyes and affection to ask nicely.

You hand over the written work you were doing. He takes it and goes to the beginning to read it fully rather than the spot you had just finished writing. You are nervous as he reads it, shifting down to fit more into his side, resting your head to his chest.

One of his hands rests on top of your head; running through your hair, teasing around an ear. You didn’t chance a glance to his face right now, you know your face is still warm and colored pink from the fact he is reading it.

The piece you were doing was an internal fantasy you’ve had of the angel. You know he is figuring out that the pair is you and him when that hand that was tracing around an ear moves to the back of your neck. A spot you have written you enjoy when he touches it. His thumb dances over it, mirroring what he is reading.

You notice a raise in his heartbeat, and he shifts to uncross his legs Simeon was feeling his shorts a little tighter than he’ll admit to. You thrum your fingers along his stomach, teasing him a little with a few delicate pokes along his exposed sides. It isn’t until he sets your writing down on the nightstand that he had finished reading.

Simeon taps his fingers along your neck, wanting your attention on him now. He had removed his hands briefly but you noticed he isn’t wearing his gloves anymore. You two have been intimate before, having broken that ice on your own when you stayed the night with him.

You look up at him, and see a serene look to his eyes, but also mischief. A little bit of pink on his cheeks, but that look to his eyes is specific, you know that expression.

“I take you like it?” You chance, and he tugs you up to him to place a kiss to your lips.

“Love it, have you written alot of sinful little things like this and haven’t shown me?” You cast your eyes away, and Simeon has his answer.

“Hmm... you’ve been holding out on me. But what has you stuck where you can’t finish it?” He rubs your side as he shifts you to sit on his waist, on the bulge earning a soft groan out of him.

“I am stuck on what sort of things to include... I’m sorry for holding out, I didn’t know if you would want to read those stories...” You feel his hands at your waist guiding you to grind on his lap. You can feel him hard against your core, you bite your bottom lip a little at wanting to feel him. Simeon wants to tease, and you can tell from his stare.

“Because of my being an angel?” You nod a little, he lifts one hand up to your face and cups it.

“If it is about us, I want to read all of it. I’d love to know the thoughts you keep hidden away or are too shy to share with me verbally. I think I know how to help break that mini writer’s block if you’d like some ideas.” You feel the love radiate off him.

“What do you have in mind?” His hands move your hips a little harder on his lap. Simeon enjoying you like this, his hands smooth up to where your shirt just covers the front of your underwear and slips his hands over the front to your breasts. You press closer to his palms when they cup and squeeze them getting a moan out of you. You didn’t worry about volume with how late at night it is.

“I think you’ll enjoy my surprises. May I ask that you lay on my knees like earlier?” You look at him confused, and how you were with your head towards his feet. You feel his fingers squeeze your nipples gently. Tugging them till you squeeze your thighs on his waist grounding yourself to him. The bump of his cock providing the right feel as you try to ride him through both his shorts and your underwear. He follows your motions, wanting to get that first orgasm out of the way.

Simeon helps arrange you so you feel his cock through your folds as you reach your hands down to part your folds to feel him as close to your entrance as possible even centering him to almost push in. He feels the damp slick as it glides against his shaft. He almost wants to tug both aside to properly feel you, but he had alot in mind for playing with you.

You center yourself and bounce on him, your hands splay on his abdomen, you bite your lip desperately wanting him inside you, you feel the tip against the hole and push down. You feel even with the fabric separating you two, him barely inside, enough to get you off with. Simeon’s hands are on your waist holding it still as he thrusts up to meet you.

“I need you inside... please...” You plead him, and you see him lick his lips in agreement, the pleasure too addictive. You raise your hips enough for Simeon to tug his shorts down enough and you tug aside your panties. You sigh whenyou line him and slide down his shaft. He throbs nice and twitches wild inside. You see Simeon’s eyes close as you resume bouncing on his lap and he meets you with eager thrusts.

You both are wild, he wanted to do something else before he sank into you, but he thought of some other things to enjoy. Simeon hears you hold your voice low, into small whimpers of pleasure. His hands move to tug off your top throwing it off the bed.

The angel angles your hips forward and sees you toss your head back in bliss, your mouth parted as sighs escape. You clasp your hands over your mouth when you feel one hand down to slip under your panties to rub at your clit. His other hand tweaks at a nipple till your hips move shakily on his.

Simeon keeps it up, he watches your every move, and nuance you make waiting for that one expression. When he sees your eyes lower and you look down to meet his blue eyes. He sees the haughty stare, the one you make right before you cum for him.

“Feels good right? Go ahead, on my cock and hand.” His words enough to make you shudder and push down to feel every inch, the wide tip close to your cervix. You feel good, very good like heat and pleasure through your spine till it ends on his hand in a mild squirt. You cover your face when you manage it, but Simeon tugs your hands away to see you so lost in pleasure.

Simeon follows after, pushing his hips up and tugging yours down to feel right at your womb separated by that wall. You feel hot cum spill into you from him, you see his face entranced by yours that he had peaked just from how you squeeze so nice on him.

You feel an overwhelming shyness hit you at the way he is staring. Covering your face, only to have both hands seize yours tugging them away gently.

“That felt amazing... Would you be willing to try what I have in store now?” Simeon asks, wanting to know if you want to continue. He wanted you while you are sensitive.

“Yeah, kiss me first?” The angel leans up and kisses you deep. You feel his lips nibbling on yours as you shift yourself to have him pull out. He tugs the shorts he wears down more. Then breaks the kiss urging you to follow his earlier instructions.

You do, you were about to take off the soaked panties till his hands stop you.

“Leave them on. I can’t do it without them.” You are confused, but leave them in place as you lay over his knees. He props them up so your front is angled down his legs. Simeon reaches over to the nightstand, and tugs out a egg bullet vibrator that he had purchased for one of your wild nights together.

The angle Simeon has you in, you feel the vibrator on your ass as he has it on. You feel him trace circles along the flesh. He tugs the panties up more to expose more flesh to his eyes and ministrations. For a moment he rests the toy on his own abdomen. You feel his fingers as he tugs the soaked crotch of your panties aside and spreads your folds open as wide as he wanted to see.

You are glad you are facing away from Simeon, you would lose your nerve with him staring at your pussy like this, the hole exposed, and to his delight his seed leaking out. He would be adding to it anyway. You hear a happy hum behind you as he lifts the toy from his own abdomen and brings it up to your pussy. You soon feel the vibration against your clit, the end of it being rubbed in circles around the sensitive nub.

“Simeon!” You call out his name, feeling him hold the egg there with his palm rocking it against the full of your clit and folds. You feel him tug the panties up and hold the egg in place, even using his knees to keep your legs apart as you fidget and ground down to the toy.

You moan freely, your hands gripping his ankles while his hands moved away to hold your legs from trying to move the toy off where he has you.

“My lamb, you’re so soaked now.” He watches you as another smaller orgasm rocks your body from the vibrator. You ache for something inside you again, that you try shifting to get the egg closer, but Simeon holds you still to keep you from doing so.

“Hmmm, not yet my love. You can use my knee.” You feel his hands again, on your rear, tugging your underwear up so the egg sits right, and he moves his knee to hold it in place centering the vibrator right against your clit. You squirm and sigh in need of him.

Simeon enjoys the sight of you like this, your head down on your arms as you muffle your moans into his leg. The angel tugs your panties enough to see how your hole drips with slick, he presses two fingers inside and you squeeze them. You want to feel them deeper, but he tugs his fingers back to just play with the ring of the hole.

You felt like you were about to cum again, Simeon could tell from the way your walls grip his fingers when he pushes them inside. He licks his lips as he wants to bring you over that edge again and again.

You feel your thighs shake as you try hard to hold back, but Simeon curls his fingers towards your belly, and thrusts his fingers against a spot he knows, that has you undone and combined with the egg against your soaked folds you bury your face into your arms as you cum hard again. Simeon keeps his hand moving to feel the gush against his hand. He did not care about being soaked, he even chuckles at the way you try to hold your moans back.

“Let it all out for me. Keep cumming for me.” Simeon is addicted to making you like this, legs shaking with need that only he can relieve. That mindless bliss he sends you into that your head is fuzzy and you absolutely ache for him. So much you sigh in relief when his fingers tug out after you unclench them. He moves the egg from your clit when you squirm away from it when he teases the end at your clit again.

“My angel... I need you...” You look over your shoulder to him.

“I know you do. Patience for now, trust me. Let me have my fun and I’ll keep giving you one orgasm after the next.” He says it so sweet, and you nod to his request. The egg vibrator he has, he moves it to the entrance of your pussy and rolls it along your folds till he presses the narrow end inside. You jolt a little feeling it being pushed inside at his gentle urging.

“This is okay right?” He checks with you, and you nod, letting him push the device in. He uses his fingers to guide it in as deep he wanted it to be, he enjoys the view of your pussy stretched around the egg. With your position still, it gave the perfect angle to rest right against your g-spot.

Simeon begins to tug your panties off, he had his fun with them and now he wants them entirely off of you. He tosses them off along with his own shorts after arranging you off of him momentarily. Simeon arranges you towards the edge of the bed, and he kneels down to have your legs draped over his shoulders.

The angel wastes little time after you had two orgasms and kisses your folds. You jolt up when you feel his fingers push back inside bumping the vibrator against your spot, making sure to please you well. His other hand wraps around his own cock and pumps himself.

You are a mess of pleasure, from his mouth on you, to his fingers pushing that vibrator just right. Your hands go into Simeon’s hair and rubs through it earning happy moans. You realize he is pleasing himself, and you want to return the pleasure he has given you.

“Simeon... can I suck on you?” You ask him, you see a blue eye peek up, he looks cute as his tongue circles your clit. He thinks of how you can do it so he can continue to play with you like this.

“Yeah. Do you want me to be over you or under you?” He leaves the position up to you as he gives another loving kiss to your folds and disentangles himself. He wants your mouth too.

“Over me, my legs are a little sore from kneeling.” He nods and guides you to lay back on his bed, your head down towards the foot of the bed again. Simeon grabs his pillows and shoves off the blankets to one side to not soil them. Once you are situated, you moan out when you shift your hips up to how Simeon wants them, the egg pushing down towards the entrance. You do your best to keep it inside while Simeon crawls over you.

You relax with your angel over the top of you, and he guides his cock down to your lips. You feel the plush head against them and part your lips for him. You tease the tip with the end of your tongue sweeping it around to feel the flared swollen edge of his glands. He fit so well and had a perfect cock to suck on.

You bring your hands up finally to touch him, the skin of his shaft a bit darker than the rest of his body except the very tip was a faint pinkish red. From the moment your mouth engulfed his aching cock you felt it twitch as he gently thrusts into your mouth.

Simeon busies his mouth back down on your folds, devouring them like he is starved for you, listening to your pleas for more around his dick in your mouth. Pressure was building in your belly again, and you push up to his mouth, Simeon swirls his tongue over the hard nub of your clit dragging it back and forth to circles leaving no spot untouched or untasted by him.

One of his hands moves to push the egg that was peeking out of your hole back in, he feels mild resistance with you on verge of another orgasm, he feels your thighs move closer to him and he keeps them apart as he pleases you full.

You continue to suck on him, you relaxed your throat enough to allow him to thrust into your mouth freely without choking or gagging you. You have one hand just above your nose playing with his balls squeezing them and rolling them with your fingers earning timed moans when you squeeze at the base of his cock.

Simeon feels your tongue swirl around the tip, delving the very end against the slit there to coax more precum out tasting sweet yet salty. The angel repeats your ministration with your clit before moving his mouth down to run his tongue around the stretched ring of your pussy.

Your mind muddles with more pleasure feeling Simeon ease the egg almost out of you. He keeps it halfway in holding it with his palm as he focuses it there at an angle. You shudder and feel his mouth back on your clit rapidly licking at it till your legs shake again and the orgasm he had been building in you overtakes you.

Your angel is there placing his mouth to taste the fluid you let out. You moan and whine around his cock as he tugs himself free from your mouth. He grips his own base to prevent himself from cumming right there a loud groan out of him as he pumps himself to ease the sensation down, but grips his base. You see precum mixed with cum dribble out, and you edge him on by pressing your tongue to the tip to catch it.

This move makes him lose the control he had, and ropes of white cover your face. Simeon sighs and had let all he had pent up out, some of it catching into your waiting mouth, the rest either on your cheeks where you rub it against his cock or lips as you milk him of more. You place a kiss at the end of the tip before resting your head on the bed itself to breathe.

Simeon sits up and looks down at you covered in his seed, his face flushes pink at seeing you with it on your face. You move to sit up, but Simeon playfully pushes you back down. You question him with a stare until he moves to settle between your legs. He pulls off his own top he still had on.

You understand without words that he isn’t done yet, and he begins to tease your clit again, you wriggle from him assisting removing the egg out of you and turns it off. He didn’t need anymore help from the device to make you have one more orgasm he will give you. He does that well on his own.

Simeon’s mood changes from that playful demeanor he had earlier to much sweeter and loving. He is softer in his touch on your pussy rubbing gentle circles and coaxing your body to relax and be ready for him.

There is always a little anxiety when he lines himself to you, though he has been within you plenty of times, it never erased that one feeling as he pushes in. The stretch he does different than the egg ever did. Simeon is thicker all around, and long enough that even when you felt him earlier it didn’t change how it felt in this moment.

One of his hands seeks yours and holds it above your head lacing his fingers with yours. Simeon begins to move with you, and thrusts slow at first. Always slow at first despite all his teasing and playing with you, you could handle him rough right now but he didn’t want to be rough.

You feel a change in his affection to soft kisses on your face that makes a gasp leave you at how sweet he is being. When he angles his hips right he brushes that one spot, your hand tightens on his, telling him he found it along with your wide eyes pleading for him to move more.

“Simeon... please.” You plea for him to move, pushing your hips to meet his, and he gives into your whim thrusting a bit faster. Still at a teasing pace till your free hand runs through his hair and scratches light at the nape of his neck.

“My lamb, you know what that does to me.” Was your only cue, you could have him sweet and loving, or passionate and wild like earlier. You bite your lip, and he sees you do so knowing your answer is going to be one he loves too. You hook your hand again to the nape of his neck and drag down from it to the middle of his back earning a moan out of him. Specially when you touch along his shoulder blades.

Simeon leans over you and lifts your waist with him, he holds your waist as he begins to move harder and faster. How you want him to move, and see the look in his blue eyes as he searches your eyes. You keen out his name, your hands scramble up his back where you can reach leaving fine lines behind as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. The angle has him in deep that you even feel his balls hit as he pushes deeper trying to get as much into you that you accept.

You marvel at the flush on his face, and his wild eyes lock with yours. His dark skin shines under the faint light from sweat and he takes in the way you look glossy too. It isn’t until you feel that climbing pleasure race through your body again from your head to his thrusts into you. You moan out underneath him, your hands going to your mouth when he lets go to grip your waist better.

“Let me hear you. I love your voice.” You nod uncovering your mouth and let him hear every sigh and cry as you cum again. Simeon holds you close to him as he buries deep, following you afterwards pushing deep to fill you full of his cum. He is careful as he lays on top of you, panting for breath like you are. You kiss the side of his face and he seeks you out to kiss you deeply.

You feel satisfied from everything you two did, your limbs jelly except your hands combing through his hair. You lay together like that a little while longer till Simeon lifts his hips to pull out from you, having enjoyed you too much. He begins to collect you into his arms for a much needed bath.

“I’ll let you sit in the water first before I join you so I can put fresh sheets on.” He explains and you nod in agreement.

“I hope this helped you with inspiration for your story. I can’t wait to read it when it is done.” Simeon reminds you of your story, and you smile.

“I had a great muse.” You tease him, and he presses his forehead to yours lovingly. Soon enough after a bath with him and fresh sheets you cuddle up with him worn out from all his attention on you that you fall asleep listening to his heart.

He’d have to ask you to let him read more of your works. Maybe he’ll be able to act on them like what he had read. Maybe he’ll let you read his hidden away books he has of you two.

For now he enjoys the soft sound of you asleep in his arms.

#simeon x reader #simeon angel #shall we date simeon #simeon smut #obey me simeon #simeon x fem!reader #invi's obey me smuts #simeon #om! simeon

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Birthday Headcanons W/ Lucifer

Request: hii!! its my birthday today so i was wondering if i could get a fluffy nsfw fic with lucifer celebrating the readers (or MC i guess) birthday?? thank you so much i love all your writing ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So this is totally on me for not having a rules page or anything so defs not on you, but for birthday related things I do prefer a bit of heads up for fics since it takes a while. Again, this isn’t you, I've been meaning to make a rule page but alas, I haven't. So because of the short notice, you get headcanons! I love you and happy birthday and I am so sorry!! Again, this is on me.

Lucifer is meticulous when planning, wanting everything under his name and eyes to be perfect, to have a solid grasp on it and allow no room for mistakes. He’s been aware of the date for a good month by now. He’s fretted over preparations, asked seemingly innocent questions and has called in a few favors with his brothers to figure out exactly what you would prefer on your birthday. The rational part of him is aware that you’ll be happy with anything, that you enjoy your time with them and that even a dinner with suffice for you but he doesn’t want something that will just “suffice”; he wants you to be happy, he wants you to lean against him and hold his hand and thank him. Perhaps it's a bit of his more selfish demeanor peeking through him, but he wants to know that he made you happy- that it was his doing and his plans that made your birthday unforgettable.

He takes great care in his planning, making sure your party is up to your standards and his- even though it isn’t his party, he still wants it to be perfect. The party is held at the House of Lamentation, music played and while it might not be entirely his taste, he does enjoy a small dance with you before you are whisked away. While he would have preferred to have you for the rest of the party, you seem to be enjoying yourself and he’ll let it slide. He’ll watch you dance as he leans against a wall, a glass of red in his hand while a smile graces the embodiment of pride. You’re happy with your party and at the end of every dance, you seek him out, eyes searching until they meet his eyes, and you’re so excited about it all. You reach your hand out at the end of one song, and he scoffs lightly under his breath, peeling away from the wall only to have the cake brought out. There is disappointment on both of your faces but you still run to him, the bottom of your shoes clicking against the floor.

Your hand twists into his as you lead him to the place where the cake is brought out. It is a lovely cake, one that looks far too beautiful to be cut and even you seem to have some hesitation when the candles are placed above. The candles are a bright flame, shadows against your face when the attendants sing a song for you, your face flushed and your eyes glued to the frosting, far too embarrassed to have people sing to you. You blow out the candles and the cake is cut by his hand over yours. Each slice is cut perfectly, handed out to the eager guests and he sits beside you. You comment on the frosting, telling him how it melts in your mouth and how you love the cake that was made. His hand is on your bare hand, and he smiles, a rush of pride between the both of you when you continue to eat the cake that he had chosen the flavor of.

When the party's over, he’ll call in a few more favors, the mess not being something that either of you has to worry about. Once inside the room, he’ll lock the door behind him, his back towards you momentarily as he raises a hand, a glyph in the air that seals the room to be only the two of you inside without interruptions. You chuckle at his carefulness, glad that he takes every precaution. He gives you a mere glance, a half smile on his features as he walks to you, his hands on your waist and his lips against yours. He tastes bitter, a hint of raspberry on his tongue as he leans into you. The sweet taste of frosting lingers on his tongue, filling your mouth with something that makes you grasp onto the front of his shirt.

You cling onto him, pulling him closer into you, the tips of his shoes nipping against yours. His apology is muted between your lips, your hands constantly against him, pulling him closer. Your movements are far too jittery, rushed and antsy, confidence shooting throughout your body and thick on your saliva that he can taste it. You’re bold on your birthday, eager to have him touch you. He’s being led to the bed, pulling away to have you lead him until you stop at the edge. You look up at him with a flushed face, your bravado faltering as your hands flutter to a button of his shirt. You look up at him with doe eyes, your tongue between your lips for a moment.

His smile is sharp, his hand clasping around your wrists. Your plans for action have been stopped for a moment. He teases lightly, his hand formed into a light fist under your chin as he nudges you to look up at him. His eyes glow in the room, playfulness heavy on him. His other hand trails to cup your sex, his grin wide when you whine under him. It may be your birthday, but humor him just for the moment, tell him what exactly it is that you want him to do. He’ll move to grab your hand, guiding it to his own sex, letting you feel the thickness that rests underneath the fabric. All you have to do is tell him exactly what you want him to do to you, his lips against your, breath hot and heavy, puffing against your lips and it’s intoxicating for him to be so close.

Once you voice your wish, he pushes you onto the bed, removing his own clothes as you undo yours. He lowers himself on his knees, his eyes peeking past your tummy and his hands holding you down on your thighs. His tongue is pressed against your leaking slit, your essence thick on his tongue as it slides down his throat. He swirls his tongue around your sex, suckling more of you until his cheeks hollow and the sounds of your sex being kissed echoes in the room. Tears fill your eyes, your body shaking under his tongue. He is unforgiving, nursing on your sex until he is full, feeling every tense of your muscles as a wave of pleasure runs through your body.

He rises above you, his member throbbing and leaking with pre. He presses against your hole, the tip of it pushing past the rim that is still wet with his spit. He’ll call you master but his expression is nothing submissive. He presses himself inside of you, feeling your tight walls close around him. Your rim clenches tightly around him, milking him and desperate for his seed to be inside of you, Your hands claw onto his shoulders, faint pink lines left its wake as he thrusts inside of you. He kisses away your tears, his name repeated like a mantra, your body curving into his. You beg for more, for him to continue and use you. You hold his face in your hands, your lips wet against his as you meet every thrust.

It isn’t long until he releases inside of you. His semen is thick, swelling against your belly and spilling past your puffy hole in heavy, creamy ropes. He pulls out for a moment, admiring his work. His hand presses against your sex, fingers reaching against your hole as his seed stains his fingers. He pulls it up, watching as it sticks to his fingers and slides down them with rich consistency. He squishes your face, your lips pursed into an oval shape, eyes still fresh with tears. His fingers rest on the tip of your tongue and you suck on them greedily.

A giving lover that prides himself on more things than just himself, Lucifer keeps you entertained until you call out the safe word. He gives you the power for the night, your hand at his throat, your pact mark glowing a deep blue hue. He fills you with his seed, every shudder of your walls aching him to go further and further, to fill you with his semen until you leak with just the slightest movement. He gives you the power for the night, pulling your body close to his and spreading your legs. His hand fondles with your chest, pulling and tugging on the nipples, his mouth latched onto a nipple feeling it harden under his tongue. He’ll make all your desires come true for the night, kissing at your lips and leaving his mark on your body. The power is shared, given to you and used on you, he enters your stretched hole, pressing himself deep into you until you are sobbing under him, his name the only thing that you can echo.

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bluebellefox · 3 years

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It is a Far, Far Better Thing

When he first begins to regain consciousness, he is aware only of the sense of darkness blanketing around him, allowing his body to float along the gentle waves of a softly rolling black sea. It is not oppressive darkness that surrounds him, but rather a soothing one, one that brings none of the weight that being alone in the dark has brought him these past few years. One that reminds him of summer nights under a tree shared by unassuming children ready to take on the world or rainy mornings spent with tea cooling in its chipped mug and dog-eared and creased worn pages. Or the gentle pressure of a wizened hand laying on his shoulder and the echo of a lilting laugh that shone brightly in emerald eyes and always seemed to staunch the deep ache in his very soul that has haunted him since he could remember. It is peaceful and for the first time in a long time, Severus feels calm.

He wakes slowly, for the first time in months, years, decades… There is no rushed sense of duty that usually accompanies him and spurs him to action the second he is aware of the waking world. There is only the feeling of a warm spring breeze lofting over his face, pulling playfully at his hair as it dances across, well wherever he is. Normally finding himself in an unknown place after being so deeply wrapped in the arms of Morpheus would alarm him, even send him into a whirlwind of abject panic but strangely enough, the familiar anxiety isn’t present. Instead, he allows himself to relish the sounds of leaves rhythmically swaying in the wind, the prickles of untrimmed ryegrass through the fabric of his robes, the pleasant warmth radiating from the traditionally more traitorous English sun. He hasn’t been allowed to just exist in this simple capacity since he was a small child before his life was so convoluted and controlled by the decisions of more powerful men before the weight of the fate of all wizard-kind across Britain fell upon his shoulders, bowing his back and making him more Atlas than man.

There was something pulling at the back of his conscience, he can feel it pulsing through the severe fog that's invaded his senses. Not unlike when he uses his occlumency to bury his emotions when they overwhelmed him, or when it was imperative the Dark Lord not see the thoughts that ravaged his mind during Death Eater meetings. However, unlike those occasions where occlumency was the only option to halt an oncoming nervous breakdown, he couldn't wave away the haze. The longer he laid there, poking around at this inexplicable barrier around the parts of his mind that had ruled supreme these past few years, the spymaster, the renegade, the ruthless Death Eater, the protector, they all fell away. Hidden behind walls, not of his own construction and remained unreachable through the thick shroud of hazy quiet. Until suddenly even that muted feeling of alarm was swept away in the breeze and floated gently in the wind along with the dandelion seeds. Far, far away from him, and he finds he doesn’t bemoan the loss.

Severus supposes he should care, waking up in a strange place and so far removed from his own mind and thoughts. He should care, but he doesn’t remember ever being this tired. His eyelids feel so heavy that even thinking about prying them open takes an insurmountable amount of energy that he does not possess. The grass and weeds feel good against his back, far more comforting and soft than even his bed at Hogwarts and certainly his moth-eaten and unbalanced one at Spinner’s End, somehow feeling like the glimmers of contentment and peace of his childhood. The breeze a nice change from the howling winds of the Scottish Highlands, he thinks as it settles across him like a warm blanket. He supposes it’s not a bad spot for a bit of a nap, and he is so very tired. There are much worse places to drift away in.

That thought breaks through the veil in his head, just for one moment but it’s enough to bring the muted pressure of rotting wood up against his spine, a sharp, coppery scent replacing the smell of wildflowers in his nose, a cold voice breaking the peace he’s found. Severus tenses, his fight against the haze in his mind redoubles and twice as savage as before, panic and desperation by his side once more. Until he catches sight of green eyes in the unpleasant memories flowing by him, solemn but bright enough to burn away the flashes of images of a familiar-seeming, dilapidated house. That green fills his mind, gently carrying him away from whatever horrors trying to claw and scratch their way back into his awareness, pulling him gently away from an office with numerous paintings lining the walls and a high-backed chair, from the darkness clinging to a sprawling manor even it’s elegance could not override, from a smoky and underground lecture room, from a cramped, angry house by a polluted river.

Severus is distantly aware that these places hold some great significance to him, he feels the subdued emotional ties to them but is unable to articulate what they are or explain where they came from. He can’t bring himself to care and gladly follows that green back to the peaceful weightlessness of before, because somewhere he knows with a bone-deep surety that those eyes are home.

“Hey, Sev.”

Despite his previous weariness and weight of his eyelids, Severus finds it extremely easy to open his eyes. He is greeted by the pale blue sky of a warm spring evening, streaks of white clouds held in place above him, and the swaying branches of an old oak tree. It feels familiar, like greeting an old friend after a time apart. He slowly pulls his arms from his stomach, and props himself up on his elbows, and looks in the direction of the voice. And sitting amidst the knots and gnarled roots of the oak, chin casually resting in the cradle of her hand, sits Lily.

Red hair floats down around her shoulders, a few strands following the breeze as it makes its way through the field again. Her freckles scattered along the bridge of her nose, curling around her cheekbones just as he remembers. An easy smile splits her lips, one that speaks of fond and long-held affection, the very same as the one that haunts him in his dreams. But here she sits before him, solid and real in a way her presence hasn't been to him in many years. And those green eyes that he sees every time he closes his eyes, are looking at him with a gentle sort of mirth and a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There are a thousand words he wants to say, hundreds of apologies laying at the tip of his tongue, but they stick in the back of his throat. There is something in the way she reaches her hand out to him and sweeps the hair out of his face that makes them unnecessary, a sense of causal affection that tells him that she requires no explanations. They would break this wonderful moment of reprieve, so he’s content to spend the remainder of forever in this comfortable silence.

A million memories spill forth from the dam in his mind, some fuzzy with a deep fondness and peace, others sharp with a deep-set pain and desperate loneliness. They swirl around him in branching streams and he runs his fingers through them. The sudden sound of a cracking branch, biting retorts flown in reckless abandon, a betrayal by a glass-green lake. They flit about the edges of his mind, too quick to hold fast to and they slip from his grasp and dissipate into the lovely spring air. A small hand clasped in his, a peal of musical laughter, and those green, green eyes are the only things left. Home, Severus thinks, this is home.

“Hey, Lily.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, and Severus thinks she is every bit as bright and lovely and magical as she has ever been. She cups her hand around his cheek, and he can’t help but lean into her touch, feeling every bit like the grumpy cat she always compared him to. She gives him an affectionate glance and turns her eyes back to the field in front of them. The sloping hill, the grasses and the weeds, the wildflowers, all much more numerous and beautiful than their spot in Cokeworth but it feels right, familiar all the same.

Lily slowly rises to her feet and takes a moment to brush off the dirt collected on her trousers. She holds her hand out to him with a look of patient expectancy. He looked at her hand and then back up at her face.

“You ready to go?”

Severus closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the quiet and the lovely weather a final time, and stands. When he reaches for her hand, she opens it readily and grips him with a comfortable tightness. Here they stand again, hand in hand, after everything that's happened and against all odds. Joy fills him in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was that nine-year-old boy, bathing in her warmth and secreting away what happiness he could afford.

“I think I am.”

When they take their first steps together, he can feel Lily swinging their joined hands between them. And for the first time in a long time, Severus smiles.

#hello again hellsite how I've missed you #wow it really has been a hot second since I posted #have this stream of consciousness mini-fic as an apology #the first few paragraphs sat on my computer for months and then the rest was written in like the past hour so apologies if it's a bit rough #listened to elizabeth by sammy copley on repeat while writing this it fits the vibe perfectly methinks #I just have a lot of feelings about how alone Snape must have felt at his death and how little comfort the man had in life #so I will endeavor to give him what canon never did #I honestly have very strong and complicated feelings about his relationship with Lily but at the end of the day #she was extremely important to him and I could think of no one better suited to bring him over so to speak #let me know what you guys think #I haven't shared anything I've written since my terrible terrible SPN fanfic days in middle school #mine #long post #pro snape #snapedom

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kl4us4 · 4 years

Text

GOOD BOY (Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader)

Summary: When seeing you shout at General Hux, Kylo can’t help but get turned on.

Masterlist

Warning: smut, sub!kylo ren, swearing, vulgar language and actions. kylo cums when you slap him in the face lmfao, this shits is degrading

Kylo’s cock was harder than it had ever been. He was sure of that. As he sat in the briefing room, all he could do was watch from beneath his helmet as you talked down to General Hux’s. You ridiculed him for lack of listening skills and loyalty to Kylo once Snoke had been killed. Truly, seeing you briefly shout at the man, seeing that anger flow through you before you closed your eyes, took a calming breath, and threatened him with a straight face, made Kylo’s black pants tighten up ever so slightly.

He couldn’t stop imagining that anger focused on himself, having you shout at him, degrade him, put him down, call him a brainless fucking idiot instead. Fuck, Kylo needs to get out of this meeting now. Like right now. Though you’re now seated, he can’t stop staring at you. He can’t stop staring at your hands, clenched, resting on the black table. They’re the same hands he wishes were around his throat right now. Or maybe around his throbbing -

“I believe that is all for now, Supreme Leader.” Comes General Hux’s weary voice, as he stands with hands clasped behind his back. The sudden outburst from you had his self-esteem crushed, and when Kylo nods, Hux is quick to exit the room.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed how Kylo tensed up at the sound of your loud voice during the meeting. The way he kept staring at you made you fully aware of the effect that the scene had on him. Silently, you and Kylo both walked to the same destination; his quarters. Once inside, he turns to you and watches you walk to him. You’re just staring up at him expectantly and Kylo takes this time to rest his eyes on your lips, your pretty neck, and your figure.

“Well?” You ask, watching him stand still and idle. Kylo stays silent, staring right back at you. “Are you going to take that stupid fucking thing off?”

He gulps, feeling his throat already become dry. At once, he removes the helmet from his face. You rip it from his hands, putting it down on the desk beside you with a big thump. “That’s better.” You comment, walking back up to him, slowly, sensually, and you press a hand against his scar, “Beautiful.”

The Supreme Leader blushes, looking down silently as you admire him. You lean forward, hovering your lips over his without touching them. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.” He breathes out quickly, his eyes watching your lips intently. Kylo’s waiting for them to touch his, to give him at least a little bit of relief, but you just smile at him.

“What did I say?”

“Beautiful.” He repeats, swallowing hard once again.

“What are you?” You ask him, your eyes glancing to his and staying there. Kylo pauses, eyes a little wider as his lips part. He almost frowns a little, knowing what he’s about to say feels foreign on his lips.

“I’m beautiful.” He answers slowly, a little unsure and a little bashful. His eyes remain on your lips. You smile.

“Good boy.” You press your lips to his, pushing your body against his as well. You hear Kylo let out a small moan mixed with a light gasp, and he furrows his eyebrows at the feeling of being so close to someone. When you pull back and your hands go to lift the bottom of your shirt, Kylo wastes no time in beginning to take his own clothes off and discarding them onto the floor. Soon he’s left with bare feet and navy blue boxers. His hungry eyes can’t stop staring at your tits, your waistline, your chest, your legs, everything about you is drawing him in. Smiling at him, you reach your hand out to take his in yours. You press a kiss to the back of his hand, whilst looking up at him through your lashes. Kylo’s hand goes down to his boxers and he can’t help but palm himself, ever so gently.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You ask him, watching him touch himself as he watches you, “Sit on the bed. Now.” He does as you order, thighs looking thick and wonderful as he sits with his legs slightly parted and his cock pressing against his boxers. The feeling of the fabric against his member is nice but not as satisfying as his warm hand, “Does it feel good to touch yourself?” Kylo just nods, too enthralled in your beauty to even think of speaking. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” He exclaims, snapping out of his dazed daydream to respond to you.

“Hold your hand out to me,” you tell him, leaning over his palm before spitting onto it, “Touch yourself.” You order him, standing in front of him as he sits on the bed, “Start stroking that hard little cock of yours.”

A grin tugs on the corner of Kylo’s mouth at the word ‘little’. It’s almost laughable, how he loves being degraded like this yet the both of you know that his dick is nowhere near little. No doubts or questions about that. Kylo’s hand shakes a little as he pushes it inside of his boxers, looking down at his length as he grips a hand around himself. He watches your spit from his hand coat his cock and it makes him let out a small, breathy moan.

“Don’t look at your fucking cock, you dirty boy.” You take a hold of his chin, squatting down in front of him as you keep his face in place so he’s staring at you, “Look at me.”

“You look so good.” He breathes, quietly, his eyes screwing shut for just a moment before he quickly opens them again, looking at your fond expression, “Always so fucking hot.”

Kylo’s hand speeds up as he looks down at you, seeing your hands steady themselves on his muscular thighs before you bring one up to his mouth. “Open.” You order, seeing his plump lips part before you put three fingers inside his mouth at once. He lets out a grunt, stretching his mouth even more open to suck and coat your fingers. He knows what’s coming next. And he hopes that it’s not him. As he watches your hands travel from his mouth to your panties, Kylo slows down the movements of his own, letting his thumb rub over the top of his head. His toes curl. You pull your panties down, rubbing your wet fingers over your pussy and exhaling in satisfaction. “Fuck.” You whisper, closing your eyes and smiling. You know he’s watching you still, as you kneel before him, legs parted to fit your fingers between them.

You rub your clit for a little while, letting out moans that mix with Kylo’s ones. And he can’t help but want to release his seed all over your pretty face. But he knows that may not be how tonight goes. He’ll let you decide what you want to do with his precious cum, whether you want to taste it on your tongue, or have him come inside of your tight pussy. Kylo feels himself begin to sweat just thinking about either of those options.

Removing your hand, you forcefully grip Kylo’s balls and he instinctively tightens his hand around his dick, “Holy fuck!” He shouts, the sensitivity and suddenness of it all just too much for him, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He repeats, furrowing his eyebrows as his cock twitches, “I’m- I’m, baby, I’m going to come. Wait, wait, fuck!” He removes his hand quickly, raising it in the air as he tries to steady his breathing. You love doing this to him. Pushing him so close to the edge but knowing he doesn’t want to come yet, he always wants to savour it, to come at the same time as you. So whenever he’s close to cumming before you, Kylo gets frustrated and angry at himself, he feels ashamed and defeated. You fucking love it. You keep gripping his balls tightly, even massaging them a little as Kylo groans angrily. “No, no,” he whines, his voice up a pitch as he grits his teeth together, “I don’t want to come yet, I don’t want to come yet!”

“Don’t be a fucking brat!” You yell at him, pulling his head back by his hair. You see the sweat building above his lip and on his forehead, and the desperate look in his face as he tries to hold in his cum; a hard thing to do when your hand feels so good around his sensitive balls.

“Sorry.” He whispers, his Adam’s apple prominent from his head being held back at this angle, “Baby, sorry-”

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry.” He speaks, louder but... not quite enough.

“I said: Louder!”

“I’m sorry!” He shouts, his nose scrunching up slightly as you watch the vein in his neck pop out slightly, “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“I’m sorry for being a brat! I’m sorry,” he takes another breath, “for being a bad boy, it won’t happen again.” He promises, letting out a shaky sigh when you release your grip on his balls. His cock twitches, almost begging for the attention it’s being denied through not being allowed to cum.

“Good. I’m sure it won’t.” You answer harshly, letting your grip on his hair go. His head falls forward. Kylo watches you, his lips parted as he licks them. Given that you already were wet enough seeing him weak beneath you, you stand up to straddle his pale thigh. “Do you think you deserve to be inside of me?”

“No.” He whimpers, feeling your leg brush against the head of his dick, “Not at all.”

“Well,” you state, tenderly caressing his cheeks in both your hands; though you make sure not to rest those three fingers on his face, “I’m here to tell you that you do.” You whisper to him, seeing a look of shock cross his face. You break for just a second, for the first time you’re able to talk to him since he became the Supreme Leader; since he defeated his manipulative enemy.

“Y/N.” He whimpers, trying not to smile or let the tears overcome his eyes. Not only is his cock so fucking sensitive at this point, from being handled by his own hands, to almost touching your warmth.

“Shh,” you hush him, looking at him with a loving and fond expression, “I just want to pause and tell you how proud I am of you. I’m so proud of you.” You swallow the lump in the back of your throat, clenching your jaw and trying not to tear up too, “I want to make you feel beyond good tonight, my love. And we both know it’s going to get rough, so I just wanted you to know that before we begin.”

“Have we not begun?” Kylo smiles, his hands gently rubbing your thighs. You look down at his hands.

“Who said you could touch my thighs?” You ask him seriously, your tone dropping from giving him praise.

He removes his hands from you. Kylo smirks for a second before he wipes the amusement from his face completely, “No one.”

“That’s right, no one.” You repeat his words. You examine his face, “You may be Supreme Leader out there. But in these walls, right here, you are no one. You’re nothing.” Kylo lets out a moan from the back of his throat, loving how quickly you’re ready to please him just how he likes. “You’re good for nothing. You’re only good for a fuck, maybe.” You glare down at him, pressing your hands against his chest as you move your pussy against his thigh.

He watches you, feeling the wet warmth coming from your pussy and falling on him. It sends his heart into cardiac arrest. He does everything he can not to hold you, he even leans his weight back on both hands to steady himself. You grind against his thigh slowly, one hand coming to wrap around his thick neck and he mentally cheers. That’s exactly what he wanted. Kylo smiles blissfully, looking up at you as you squeeze his neck, “Use me.” He whimpers, almost laughing, “Fucking use me. I’m all yours, I’m your toy.”

“Yes, you are.” You agree, pressing down on his throat and kissing him at the same time, “You’re mine. My fucking toy, my property. You belong to me.”

Kylo nods, before looking down at his achingly hard member. Pushing him down by his chest, you now place either leg on both sides of his hips, positioning his cock at your entrance. When you lean down, making the tip of his cock touch your entrance, Kylo’s hips snap up into you. He curses, gripping the sheets beneath him as his cheeks turn red and sweaty. “Patience, you horny fuck.” You curse at him, lifting your hips to tease him, “Don’t be a greedy boy, Kylo, it’s not a good look on you.”

“I’m sorry. I want you so bad. I need you.” He whimpers, making your stomach flutter with anticipation. You love it when he begs.

“Keep begging, you fucking whore.” You whisper into his ear, biting his earlobe gently.

“Please,” he moans, his breath heavy and erratic, “I need to be inside you, I know I don’t deserve it-”

“You don’t!”

“I know... I don’t deserve to feel your warm walls around my dick. I don’t deserve to cum... or feel any pleasure.” Kylo whimpers, his eyebrows furrowed as he closes his eyes in anticipation, “But please, please let me. I need you, I need you so fucking badly. I want to feel good, you can make me feel good!”

Your fingers press against his cock, making him gasp as his eyes remain closed. Placing the head of his pink cock against your hole, you let out a moan of your own. Kylo looks at you, seeing your face light up with pleasure as you push his cock inside of you. “Oh, Kylo.” You pant, fingers gently rubbing his throat, “You feel so good inside of me. Oh!”

You begin grinding back and forth, not even trying to hold back your moans at his large dick pressing against your tight walls. Kylo moans too, the tightness around his neck sending shivers down his spine and flutters to his stomach. “I’m- I’m, fuck, I’m close!” He moans, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Already?” You scoff, looking down and seeing his red face and shut eyes.

“Don’t let me cum, please! I don’t deserve - oh fuck! Please! I don’t deserve to cum!” Quickly pulling off of him, you lean down and lick a strip up Kylo’s hard dick. Kylo shouts, his knees bending as he nearly reaches his orgasm at the feeling of your tongue on him. “Fuck! Fuck you. Fuck you.” He mutters, clenching his teeth. He hates/loves when you do this; when you edge him to the point where he’s about to come without you. Kylo’s religious about orgasming at the same time as you. The thought of finishing early makes him frustrated.

“You will,” you respond to his curses, slapping his cheek lightly as you stretch your leg over his hips. Kylo’s hand reaches to press his cock against your entrance and you sink down on it once again, loving how comfortable it feels now that you’re properly stretched out by his long member. After a few ups and downs, you feel the familiar feeling rising. “Kylo,” you lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, “I-I’m close.”

“Yes... yes.” He mumbles, reaching for your right hand. He puts it on his cheek, and you know what he wants you to do.

“Are you going to cum with me?” You ask him, your moans mixing with his as the sound of your skin slapping against his fills his quarters.

“Yes,” Kylo says through clenched teeth, his head tilted up at you, eager to feel the pain mixing with pleasure.

“Louder.” You smile at him, slapping his cheek again before you squeeze his throat tightly for a second.

“Yes!” He screams, his voice raspy and his eyes watering. You move up and down, your legs beginning to shake from exhaustion and you’re unable to control your breath.

“K-Kylo, I-” you cut yourself off in order to let out a moan filled with pleasure, and you feel yourself reaching your high as you order him, “Come with me, you dirty boy. Come!” Bringing your hand back, you strike the side of his cheek as you yell at him, “Come for me! Be a good fucking boy, Kylo, and come for me!” You slap his cheek once more.

Kylo lets out a long moan, his mouth wide open as he pants erratically. You feel his cock inside of you, twitching every few seconds and with every twitch comes a new stream of cum and a new guttural moan from the boy below you. His head swings back and his eyes are closed. Kylo’s hands dig into your hips, and he feels like his orgasm goes on forever. Your legs shake in time with Kylo’s and the room is filled with your exhausted but satisfied panting. His face is bright red, filled with sweat and a few tears in the corner of his eyes and a vein in his neck sticks out. His lips are dry and he licks them, before closing his eyes gently.

You press a few kisses to the side of his cheek that once met your fierce hand as you gently massage his neck as well. When you sit up and pull yourself off of Kylo, you both let out a moan at the same time. Meeting one another’s gaze, you both let out a small laugh too. You lay by Kylo’s side, head pressed against his shoulder as his strong arms hold you.

Gazing down at you, Kylo watches as you run a gentle hand up and down his sweaty chest. And he can’t help but smile lazily at you. “Beautiful.” He tells you.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x reader smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren imagines #kylo ren x reader oneshots #kylo ren x reader oneshot #kylo ren x reader imagine #sub!kylo ren #sub!kylo ren x reader #submissive!kylo ren #submissive!kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

Last Christmas

Words: 2900

Warnings: Here we see the smut chapter. Fluff and smut.

A/N: again thanks to my homies @joz-stankovich and @robertsheehanownsmyass for encouragement!! Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @bisexualnathanyoung

Chapter 3- White Christmas

Violet unlocked her door and dropped a handful of bags in the foyer. The mistletoe and pine still softly twinkling where Nathan left it made her flush at the memory of their kiss. She shook it off as she struggled to drag in a large heavy duffle bag she collected from the casino.

“Hey, Seamus Finnegan!” she gave a shout and smiled to herself. “Come help me with your shit! Also you've got eight hundred messages on your phone.” Violet finally faced her apartment and gasped. Nathan had decorated while she was out.

White lights trimmed the door to her balcony. The island where they ate earlier shared a similar style to the one above her front door: Pine and some bows and lights scattered throughout. There was a six foot pine tree in the corner by her television showered with white lights as well (in fact all the lights Nathan used were white. Some twinkled, some were stagnate). There were ornaments of every shade of purple, flowers and silver tinsel littered the tree, and again the pine around the wood of the table her tv sat on. Any bow used was a deep purple with silver trim.

“Oh, Nathan.”

That's all Violet could whisper as she ran her hands along the bough that lined the kitchen island. She knew in her heart he would open his mouth and ruin the feeling of contentment and she had right now. Something witty or obscene, so she kept quiet and allowed it all to soak in.

Making her way to the Christmas tree, Violet reached out to touch everything. It was real, solid. Nathan made all of these with his.. magic? She couldn't believe that’s what it was. Magic. He was magical.

His face certainly is magical, too she thought to herself. Cheeks hot as the sensation of his tongue in her mouth flooded her memory. It's been so long, Vi. What would it hurt?

Except it wasn't just about wanting to sleep with Nathan. He challenged her with his smart mouth. Always tacking on a statement that would get him the most attention. That he couldn't just say anything nice or complimentary without sexual or sarcastic wit sprinkled in. But he was vulnerable with Violet when he was still locked up and just last night as he lay dying in her arms. When Nathan trusted someone his walls came crashing down.

And he could be selfish, but so far he used his powers for others. The money he tried to steal to give Marnie and someone else’s baby a better life. Violet knew the young mother didn't steal the poker chip, Nathan gave it to her and told her to take off so she wouldn't get caught up in his mess. The decorations and breakfast this morning, carrying her to the couch instead of leaving her on the floor. That asshole’s tongue at the club. Even trying to comfort Violet as a knife stuck out of HIS chest.

And Violet assumed he drove everyone insane, himself included. Yet he survived. Or found a way. He survived being homeless and whatever went on in London after that storm that affected him and his friends (She googled it, would bring them up later). He even survived prison; for a guy like Nathan that was impressive.

Violet liked some of her clients. She even struck up friendships with the better of them. ACTUAL friendships where they called and hung out whenever her schedule allowed. But this was a tiny seed planted in her heart that started to grow and blossom like the flowers on her Christmas tree. They weren't supposed to see each other ever again, and Violet would be able to uproot her feelings for the flirtatious Irishman and throw them away.

Except he was in her apartment, occupying more than just physical space. With his stupid green eyes and even dumber way he laughed loudly at all of his own jokes before anyone else could. Let's not even start on his stupid, handsome face caught between boyish and a man like puberty couldn't make up it's mind during Nathan’s late teen years and just decided to linger into his twenties. Or his weird body with the baby Bambi spindly legs but muscular arms (with dumb scene kid tattoos) and that chest she touched. With all that death she figured he would be cold, but he was human. Hot blooded, warm-skinned human.

God dammit, Duval. You can't do this. He's probably just doing what he does best when it comes to you. Surviving until he gets home to London. Plus, he's like, way too young for you.

Her sisters were gonna have a field day with this tomorrow at dinner. Would Nathan even want to go with her? She was so lost in her thoughts, that she only just noticed the flowers decorating her tree were her namesake, violets.

Somewhere far behind, Nathan cleared his throat. Violet still jumped, plucking a flower off as she did. “Hope you don't mind I jazzed up the place. Rather boring for a bird like you,” he said with a devilish grin. “I wasn't sure what ye liked. I closed my eyes and t’ought of you and all this happened.” He swept his hand around the room.

“It's rather thoughtful for you.”

“Don't you mean thoughtful OF me?”

“No I definitely meant FOR you” Violet challenged.

For only the second time since they met, Nathan was rendered speechless.. Mouth agape, thick eyebrow furrowed in confusion as he grappled for a comeback and failed. It was only when Violet looked at him struggling that she understood what was going on with her guest as he casually lounged against the wall.

Nathan was wearing one of her sheets wrapped around his lithe body in a makeshift toga. A tinfoil halo laid crookedly on his shaggy head. Violet also took notice of the outline of his member under the sheet. She couldn't help but gawk knowing he was naked. He didn't bother with the wings, as if he was “angel” enough for what he thought he was doing.

Violet laughed out loud and covered her mouth to hide mirthful giggles. Tears sprang to her eyes, and at one point she felt out of breath. Nathan, meanwhile, had a crimson climb up over his face. His eyes betrayed that for once maybe there was some sort of embarrassment going on. He crossed his arms self-consciously and rolled his eyes.

“Are ye done having a laugh?!” just a smidge of hurt in his voice. “Last time turn myself inta a sexy angel!” Nathan jerked his hips and sneered.

“You look so cute! You halo did me in! Be honest,” Violet pursed her lips to express another giggle, “What are you doing?” She could feel the answer before he said it.

Nathan waltzed over to just a few feet from Violet. He ran a hand down the length of his body with mischief in his eyes, “Who me? I go on top, love.”

“Not if I have a say in it.”

Nathan’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “What if I get there first?”

“I've got way more experience than you do. And I always come out on top.”

There was electricity in the air.

“Key word being come,” Nathan’s voice came out sleepier than usual.

His eyes drifted from Violet’s down to her mouth then back up as he teeth bit his entire bottom lip. If that was meant to be seductive it worked.

Violet felt out of her body when she clung to the back of Nathan’s neck so she could bring his mouth down to hers. Their tongues doing battle as she got her fingers wrapped up in the back of his head. Nathan’s strong hands on the curve of her waist so that he could bring her lower half onto the bulge under the sheet. She moaned unintentionally into his mouth.

Nathan was a little aggressive the way he almost choked Violet with his tongue. She bit into it between playful and defensive causing him to back off. Only breaking the kiss to remove her shirt. Their bodies molded together again as they made out in the living room.,

His hands kept flitting over her body in quick succession like he couldn't decide between her shoulder blades or her ass. Making up his mind instead to start fumbling around with the clasp of her bra. To Violet’s delight and surprise he managed to unhook the thing and helped her slide it off.

In a whirlwind Nathan picked Violet up so that she could wrap her long legs around his thin body. Violet took note that he was stronger than he looked as they stumbled through the hall. Tongues at war again while Nathan crashed Violet into a wall where he devoured one of her breasts.

“Ow,” she winced but giggled into his mouth. Her nails deep into the skin of his shoulders and neck for balance.

“Not sorry,” Nathan mumbled.

He bit at a nipple harshly before sucking on it and repeated this back and forth. Growling into her chest with his face inside her cleavage. Violet laughed louder than she meant to at the absurdity.

“OI!” Nathan cried, but joined in the laughter this time.

Now they lumbered towards the bedroom, Violet tugged on his hair and cried out as his tongue flicked and devoured her nipples softer than before. Once inside, Nathan literally threw Violet back on to her bed towards the pillows.

“What the fuck?!” Her face hurt from smiling and laughter. Afraid of what might happen to her expensive Versace panties, she took them off before Nathan could tear into the fabric himself.

Violet bit her finger, her skin goose-pimpled in the cold air of her apartment. Her patience began to grow somewhat thin even as her sex started to pulsate at the sight of Nathan’s erection under the toga he fought with.

“Do you want help?” she offered.

Nathan waved her off and it fell to the floor. His cock surprised her with the still attached foreskin strained against the head. Then she remembered most European guys were still intact.

Violet's view was mostly a short one because Nathan crawled across the bed towards her. That Lord of Chaos shit eating grin from ear to ear as he palmed her knees. He spread them till they touched the sheets. He sucked on her collarbone and pumped a finger or two deep inside Violet. The palm of his hand meeting her sex causing her to buck unexpectedly while he repeated himself a few times. Her actions only encouraged him to keep going

“Where did you learn any of this foreplay? Porn? Trial and error? Juvenile girls with low standards?”

“D. All of the above.” He groaned into Violet’s neck. Fingers still gliding in and out of her.

“Have you ever been with an older woman?”

Nathan startled Violet by staring at her all of a sudden. “How old is older woman?”

Violet grimaced, “Nope. Nevermind.”

Before long, Nathan stopped using his hand and all too hastily started to lap at Violet. His tongue swift and sloppy over her sex not even bothering to find her clit. Rapidly he licked at her slit like she was an ice cream he tried to eat before it melted. It wasn't unpleasant but it wasn't exactly getting her off.

“Nathan?” she cried out the question. “NATHAN!” louder.

He raised his head, mouth glossed with her wetness. “Ahyep?” His eyes heavy with desire.

“This is oral sex, Lucky Charms. Not a fucking pie eating contest. Slow down and put your mouth here,” she brushed fingers over the top of her sex and spread it enough to show him her clit.

Nathan’s eyes widened and followed her finger to the bud of nerves she all but pointed at. “So that's what it looks like,” he marveled.

Violet glanced heavenwards but a part of her felt bad. “I'm being serious, has no woman EVER told you how to get her off?”

Nathan littered her thighs with kisses from the knee towards her pelvis. Making his way up the other to the opposite knee. He smiled at the way Violet’s body arched into the sensation. “Nah. Usually get a quick toss in then never see ‘em again. Marnie was my first missus.”

“Well then just use the tip of your tongue and make small circles.” Her breath caught when Nathan obeyed. “You can suck on.. Like. Fuck,” her hips writhed under his mouth “and just..” she mewled and lost concentration.

He caught on quickly. The rhythm of his tongue matched the way Violet rocked herself into mouth. More and more rapid he worked his tongue between circles and sucking. His actions and her wrapped up in a cycle of give and receiving

Violet vibrated. One hand clawed at Nathan’s neck. The other clutched the headboard as she felt electricity course through her. She bent forward at the power of her unexpected orgasm. The hood of her sex contracted around his tongue, liquified, she screamed his name.

Nathan pushed himself up and laid down on top of Violet before she could get her bearings. His tongue deep inside her mouth again as the head of his cock twitched and poked at her cunt.

“Na-Nathan, what are you doing?” she managed to catch her breath.

“Getting a toss in. Ye had yours, now it’s time t’give us a go. Right?” he teased her with the head slick already with his pre-cum.

“Not without a condom you don't.” Violet wedged her hands between her chest and Nathan’s to push him away. She searched around in her nightstand drawer, hyper-aware of the immaculate knife placed back inside. A flash of his dead body, but she held up a condom instead.

A kiss puckered on lips that fell. “A what?”

“You don't have condoms in Europe?” her eyebrow curved.

“Well sure but I've never used one.”

Nathan was so matter of fact it took Violet by surprise. Still, he took the package from her, hesitating to open it. He was rather tentative about what was inside.

“You've got to be fucking joking,” Violet took the rubber from him in haste and rolled her eyes. “I don't know where your dick has been.”

Nathan kneeled over her legs, his cock at perfect attention. “Aw COME ON!” he whined. “They're mostly clean council estate girls! Once there was one of those Thai ladyboys,” he stroked his chin, “but I didn't even realize my cock wasn't in a fanny”

“Fuck me.”

“I'M TRYING, SWEETHEART!! NO ONE’S EVER SHOWN ME HOW T’PUT ONE ON!”

Violet softened once more and sighed. She laid the condom on her chest and took Nathan by the waist to make him scoot towards her. For shits n giggles she raked her nails down his hips and he buckled with slight pain and pleasure. Violet smirked but took his cock in one hand while rolling the rubber over the shaft and down to the base expertly. She kissed his stomach, erection twitching as he came in proximity to get mouth.

Violet traced a fingertip over the stars he had tattooed down his pelvic bone. “What the hell possessed you?” She gazed up at him through her bangs.

Nathan caressed her cheek down to her lips where Violet sucked on his finger. She nipped playfully at it waiting for an answer. “It's shooting stars (stairs) all the way down t’ the milky fucking way”

Violet immediately regretted her decision to ask. Again. She had to remind herself he wasn't immature per se, more like stunted. Nathan had a good heart under the cushion of sarcasm and arrogance. A heart she placed the palm of her hand against to feel its steady beat.

“I'm only joking. Was a good place t’ hide it from mum. We can shag now right?”

Violet laid back on the pillows and opened up to him. Without hesitation, Nathan plowed into her. That pelvic bone collided with Violet’s as the breath escaped her lungs. Sweat gleamed along his chest and forehead mixed with the scent of her sex as his pace became almost ludicrous. There was pounding and diving into the hilt. As far inside of Violet as she allowed.

This is actually ok, she thought to herself as she attempted to match his speed and failed.

Violet laid under Nathan while he rutted like a wild animal. Breathless and panting as he attempted multitasking: Kissing her and fucking her. He failed at least one and opted to immerse himself in her hair as his body spasmed a release so violent and sudden all that escaped Nathan's throat was a strangled cry.

He collapsed on the pillows beside Violet and almost immediately passed out. She merely snorted, rolled away to check the time. It was then she felt soft, cold pinpoints on her bare arms and chest and hair. What was going on outside in the Nevada desert she registered as happening inside her bedroom.

Violet rolled over to face her lover. Snowflakes covered his bangs and long eyelashes. She held out her hands to catch giant fluffy flakes. Those same flakes fell inches high on her balcony but nowhere else. Violet snuggled into the chest of the man who slept beside her. Lost in his ecstasy, it appeared that he made it snow.

Nathan had given Violet her first white christmas.

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #nathan x violet #lord of chaos

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bunny-hoodlum · 4 years

Text

“Untitled” for NH2020 May “Jealousy”

No one prepares you for the first fall.

Nor the vice around one's heart, the kind that feels like you'll never be the same again if you don't remove it right away.

Naruto was twelve when he became vaguely aware of these concepts, that growing into himself -- whomever that was -- meant dealing with new aches of every severity, shape and sharpness, and removing them like the spiny seeds that clung to his sherbet-orange sweater.

Naruto stumbled out of the bushes, urgency bouncing inside his skull like pachinko balls.

Glancing down at his appearance, he wrapped his hands in his sleeves and swiped at the burrs, only to come away with palmfuls of them.

Throwing his head back, he growled in resignation.

He's been coming here after school for the past two years, ever since they moved from the prefecture north of Hi no Kuni's capital.

This particular sight, though familiar and ordinary, has evolved inside his mind. Once a green ocean to frolic across, the large sports field now resembles an emerald moat around a castle of a high school.

He sprinted across the grass, up the slope and onto the dirt path lining the perimeter. Bypassing the wash sink and the enormous gymnasium, he dashed into the outside corridor between buildings and entered the main school.

From there he made a beeline inside, his black Randoseru bouncing against his back with every step.

Here and there were older kids, boys in their black slacks and buttermilk yellow sweaters, girls in their black skirts, black socks and yellow sweaters. Some wore their red ribbons, others wore their loose or completely undone, or none at all.

Gone were their curious, mirth-filled gazes and amused whispers. Well, for the most part.

"Hey bud, you look like you'd been swimming in sea urchins." said one boy in passing, pointing his finger.

"Yeah, yeah! I know!" Naruto hurried along, his lips fluttering with an exaggerated sigh.

That aside, these teens they paid him no mind, as if he were one of their own.

Because they knew exactly where he was headed.

Naruto reached the Staff Room and pushed the slide door open. Instantly he attracted the eyes of the other teachers, their faces lighting up at his presence.

The first one to greet him was a woman with a brown bob parted from the center, with dark kind eyes and purple eyeshadow.

"Oh, Naruto-chan's here! My day is officially brightened!" said Nohara-sensei, one of the Home-Ecs teachers.

"Hey, what about me?!" interjected an Uchiha her age as he gaped at her in betrayal.

Nohara-sensei's smile remained unchanged.

Adjacent from Uchiha-sensei at the foot of the combined faculty desks, the silver-haired Hatake-sensei greeted him with a two-finger salute, his bored gaze glued to a thin book laid atop his stack of graded assignments.

Amongst these three were four other teachers, one of them being his dad.

"Naruto! You're early today!" His father said matter-of-factly as he spun halfway in his desk chair.

"Yeah! That's because--"

"Excuse me, Namikaze-sensei?" Her voice twinkled like the dreamy dulcet tones of the Kalimba, the air playfully plucked with each clear syllable.

Time slowed down, yet his heartbeat jumped and ran off, like a spooked horse after getting spanked in the buns.

The reason why he's early… The reason is...

His father's attention shifted a foot over his head, a cordial smile taking place. "Oh, Hyuuga-san! Those are the propositions for our Culture Day theme?"

"Yes, Sensei." The owner of that voice crossed the threshold, her gaze falling over him for a moment, and when she smiled at him the world grew quiet beneath the swishing of blood in his ears. And when she beheld him, her eyes curved as though her cheeks were swelled with love, and the only colors that existed were hers.

Hyuuga Hinata circled around the island of desks to hand in the stack of papers, and Naruto watched how his father interacted with one of his beloved students, and how she interacted with him.

Of course his father didn't act the way he does with his wife around his student, but somehow Naruto had to make sure.

And his father was a popular man no matter where he went, no matter where he worked. It never took very long until a new Namikaze-sensei Fanclub established itself, so Naruto had to see if she wasn't one of them.

They spoke and spoke but the topic never strayed and their eyes maintained the same friendly regard.

And yet, wordlessly, in the back of his mind he wondered.

If he stared hard enough, would she look his way again?

She excused herself with a small bow and with delicate precision, she strode towards the door, their business completed.

But as she left the Staff Room, she did not look at him again.

Naruto squeezed the straps of his Randoseru, the aches growing stronger around his chest.

"Naruto," His father called out to him. "I'm afraid I'm still going to be here awhile longer. What did you need?"

Naruto flattened his lips together then transformed his chagrin into a cheery beam.

"I just wanted to see you, Dad."

His father furrowed his brows and hummed questioningly, inciting Naruto to conjure a new excuse.

"Also... there's a new figurine I want." He rubbed the back of his head for extra credulity.

"A figurine? You haven't played Gashapon since you were ten." Even so, his father began to dig around for spare coins in his pants pocket. "What changed?"

Naruto wove around to approach his father. Minato furtively surveyed his son's appearance, the frown pretty much saying 'I've told before to stop going through the bushes', but it was faster for him, the walk to the front entrance taking him an extra ten minutes if he did.

Presenting his empty palm, Naruto accepted the coins and idly counted them to give himself more time.

It looked like just enough for a can of 200% Sweet Café Au Lait, rather than a vacuous plastic figurine.

His father was still waiting for an answer.

"Uhh," Naruto pocketed the coins into his back pants pocket. "I just found one that I really, really want, that's all."

Rin watched Naruto exit the Staff Room, her smile broader than before.

"Naruto-chan is getting cuter everyday." She mused.

"Hm? What is that supposed to mean?" said Obito, a trace of a whine still in his voice.

"Did you see his face when Hyuuga-san arrived?"

Minato lifted his head up from his paperwork, trepidation and intrigue washing over him like a chilly waterfall.

"I know exactly the meaning of that face," Rin continued, her gaze sliding over to Obito whose ears reddened knowingly. And Minato was beginning to connect the dots, though he didn't want to. "Naruto-chan is lovestruck."

_____________________________________

Later that night over dinner, Minato was quiet. Which wasn't particularly unusual when his beloved wife and son always had so much to say.

He loved their vivaciousness, how they seemed to boil over with attitude and excitement at even the smallest source of happiness, never dimming, never tiring. He loved listening to their stories.

"-- And the ball bounced off the goal and smacked Sasuke in the back of the head, and he face-planted the grass!"

"So that's what happened!" Kushina was in tears. "Mikoto called me asking if anything happened at school today."

"What did he say?"

"He told his mother he lost in a fight against three older kids!" Kushina clasped a hand over her mouth, he features scrunching up as though her laughter could escape from her eyes, and Naruto broke down into laughter with her.

Minato's gentle smile pulled up higher, and yet that familiar warmth in his face and thumping in his chest suddenly came with pangs.

But now Minato was looking at his son as though he were shining at a brightness never witnessed before.

Like a TZO hybrid star.

This love that he felt for Kushina hasn't changed since their middle school days.

And with great melancholy Minato imagined that these same feelings were growing inside his son.

_____________________________________

This was one of their rituals.

Minato washing the dishes while he handed them off to Kushina to dry.

It was an easy way to speak amongst themselves like two lovers.

"Is everything alright?" Kushina said as she wiped down a plate and added it to the drying rack beside her.

"Naruto likes someone."

"Huh?! No way! How could he not tell me?!"

"Shh!" Minato threw a glance out the kitchen entryway which lead into the living room. Naruto's blond head could be seen beyond the couch where he sat by the low table, transfixed by the prank show on tv. "He didn't tell me at all. Rin figured it out."

Kushina's shock quickly curled into a sly grin. "Did she now? Well, I wonder who it could be."

Minato grimaced. "She figured that out, too."

"What?! How?!"

Indeed, how? Rin had no business in any other school but theirs. Had Naruto being crushing on a fellow classmate instead, Rin's obtaining of knowledge would certainly be more interesting than the knowledge itself.

Minato propped his elbows against the sink and slumped forward, his hair nearly grazing the froth of dish suds.

Minato couldn't bring himself to say.

It wasn't so much respect of his son's privacy than it was his inability to accept the situation.

"He's growing up too fast."

A beat of silence hung between them before Kushina responded with loving circular strokes along his back.

Minato was the last person you would ever hear gripe nor whine, so this was rather serious.

Kushina then grasped her husband's shoulders and pressed herself against his back and held him.

He slowly angled his head towards her, temple kissing temple and they breathed in their mutual resignation that, yes, Naruto would soon no longer be a child.

No more childish fixations and hobbies, no more innocent observations that made him laugh, no more boundless curiosity where he had all the answers not the internet, no more theatrical 'labor strikes' in demand of an increase of allowance or a trip to the waterpark because Sasuke made it sound like a paradise.

None of that.

He could begin working as early as fifteen if he so desired.

He would afford his own fun, possibly sneak around when his sense of curiosity matured.

Rather than the reward of sharing and impressing his dear old dad, he'll be seduced by the appeal of secrecy and keep things to himself.

He won't desire his father's opinion on anything. At that age, teens believe they know what's best, so they trust themselves above everyone else.

Independence like that is inevitable.

And whoever in the future accepts his feelings, they'll have every part of his son that he’s lost, and Minato isn't ready for any of that.

Kushina chuckled lightly before giving him another supportive squeeze.

"Looks like someone's jealous."

#nh2020 #naruhina2020 #I've decided nothing is official until it's posted on AO3 #Here have more unedited stories from me lol #This is literally all that I've come up with and I am open to building upon it in the future #genre: modern au #age difference #genre: fluff #genre: romance #precocious crush #family feels #minakushi #naruhina #naruhina fic

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ladyloptr · 4 years

Text

•That Dimly Lit Dream•

Request: twt@DORKYLOKI/ @inananaii “how about the continuation of my dream the other day 😼😈. dark cave, bound in the dark, naked loki, him calling me pet, then lady loki. hehe.”

Fandom: Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Lady Loki x Reader.

Warnings: Smut, Bondage.

(I’ve written smut before, but this is the first time I’ve done a requested smut on Tumblr, so here we go.)

{————}

A thunderstorm.

Great.

It couldn’t have come at a worse possible time.

You and Loki were sent by Odin to quell a clan of thieves, whom had been terrorizing the villages outside of the City of Asgard.

When you both had embarked, the skies were blue and not a single cloud was in sight.

And now, you and Loki were stuck seeking refuge in a dark cave, waiting for the storm to pass by.

It didn’t bother you too much at first. You and Loki were friends, going back as far as childhood, so it’s not like he made you uncomfortable or anything. However, as the storm dragged on, the darker it became outside, until it was soon nightfall.

It’s so dark that you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. Even if the storm suddenly stops now, it’s too dark for either of you to be venturing out. It’s safer to just go to sleep here, and then continue on with your journey in the morning.

Just as you begin to succumb to the pull of sleep, a noise from behind you startles you awake. You would’ve thrown a fit, had you not reminded yourself that Loki is also here in this cave with you.

You allow yourself to relax again, and rest your eyes.

Big mistake.

A hand clasps itself around your upper arm, dragging you up and away from the spot you had been sitting. You try to twist around and claw at your attacker, but there’s no use. You can’t see anything.

“Loki! Loki?!”

“Be silent, you silly girl!”

You cease your struggling. “Loki? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, merely lowering you to lean back against what feels like a large boulder, which worries you. You can hear him chuckle to himself before something cold and hard is clasped around both of your wrists, keeping them bound together, and magically rendering you unable to move them from above your head.

You start struggling again. “Loki, what’s happening? What are you doing? Say something.”

“Silence, pet.” A now female Loki, hisses. You are used to Loki’s genderfluidity, so you don’t react when she switches gender. “I am growing bored of our current situation, so I am entertaining myself.”

“Entertaining yourself by traumatizing me?” You frown to yourself, now confused. “Hold on, how can you see in the dark?”

“I just can.” She drones. You can hear her shuffling and you are unsure of what’s going on.

“Err... Loki?”

“Did I not just tell you to be silent? Do not make me gag you.”

If you weren’t incredibly confused and blinded by the dark, you might’ve been turned on by that statement. Being Bisexual has its perks, meaning you find both Lord and Lady Loki to be quite attractive, which right now, might end up being your downfall.

You start struggling when she starts undoing the laces on your clothing.

“Cease your squirming, pet. We both know you want this, and quite frankly, I do as well.” She says, successfully managing to remove the top part of your tunic, leaving your chest bare. You wonder how much detail she can see in the dark.

You gasp as rolls your nipple between her fingers gradually hardening it. She soon switches to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment.

“Are... are we truly about to do this in a cave?”

“I do what I want.”

She removes your boots, practically throwing them to the other side of the cave. The sturdy leggings you wear underneath your skirt is the next to go, leaving you only in your skirt and underwear.

Loki pulls your skirt down next, slowly and sensually. You shudder, and she chuckles darkly.

“Ah, pet, you look so delicious like this.”

You can feel her fingers running up your thighs, until they stop at your panties. She runs her fingers over the cloth and hums in delight.

“Soaked. You are quite the naughty thing, aren’t you?”

She removes the last remaining piece of cloth covering you. She does nothing for a few seconds, undoubtedly taking in your beauty for a moment.

“A-ahhh!” You suddenly feel her fingers inside of you, pumping at a steady pace. “Oh, fuuuck.” She curls them tightly against your g-spot, causing you to let out a mewl.

“My my my, you are much more responsive than I originally anticipated.” She says, withdrawing her fingers. You are surprised when she presses her nude body up against you.

Apparently she had already removed her clothes.

She grinds her pelvis against yours, moaning obscenely loud. Lewd sounds fill the cave as you grind back against her, your swollen clits feverishly rubbing together in an attempt to find release.

If this is a dream, it’s a pretty damn good one.

You just wish she’d undo the charmed metal forcefully holding your arms above your head. You want to touch the goddess, and run your hands all over her masterpiece of a body, even if you can’t see her.

The moaning mixing with the lewd wet noises only serve to push you closer to orgasm. Loki leans close to your ear and says “You’re so beautiful, pet. So wet and so slick for me. You are sin.”

Your back is slightly aching now from laying against a rough boulder, but being absolutely fucked by Lady Loki in a dark cave makes it totally worth it.

Loki bucks against you harder and more forcefully, her moans becoming more like angry growls, as if she were a wolf in heat.

You feel it coming, the familiar pooling of hot pleasure telling you that you are about to fall off the edge. “Oh my, oh my, oh my stars!” At this point you’re practically screaming. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-!”

Feeling as if a rope snapped inside of you, a wave of immense pleasure washes over you. You can vaguely hear Loki riding through her own orgasm. She leans down and kisses you, running her tongue through your mouth, thoroughly tasting you. You both swallow each other’s moans and cries, your fluids mixing together on each other’s thighs.

The cave becomes silent again, but only for a moment, before Loki shifts back into a male. He releases your bound wrists, allowing your arms free movement again.

Though, he doesn’t let you go quite yet.

Your legs are pulled up onto his shoulders and you feel his long and hard length press up against your cunt. You grip his hair (nearly poking his eye out because it’s dark) and moan loudly as he practically impales you on his cock. He rocks back and forth at an easy pace, allowing you to adjust to his size.

You can hear his balls slapping against your ass as he picks up the pace. He leans down, taking a nipple in his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

“Ohhhh. You’re so deep.” You sob.

You’re almost embarrassed at how quickly you are to your next climax, considering how recently you just came.

“I do apologize.” Loki grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck. He’s fast approaching his own release. “I usually... have much more control... over myself.”

“I-It’s alright.” You throw your head back and let out another mewl, as his head brushes against your g-spot. “I’ve always... wanted to fuck you anyways... both of you.”

“Well, I-I-“ Loki falters, cut off by his own orgasm. You let out a sharp cry of his name, as the intense throbbing of his cock and the feeling of his seed being pumped into you sends you toppling right after him.

You both cling to each other as he gradually pulls you both through the euphoria, slowly fucking you back down from Valhalla.

He lets out a shaky breath before telling you “Well, I’ve always wanted to fuck you too,(Y/N).”

He pulls his now softened length out of you. It’s still dark outside, so he gently lowers you to the ground to get some rest. You can feel him using seidr to heal your scraped up back.

“Loki... would it be alright if we did this again... but on an actual bed, perhaps?

You can hear him chuckle beside you.

“Anytime, pet.”

#loki smut #loki x female reader #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #loki odinsdottir #lady loki

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alice1290 · 4 years

Note

Hello! May I request a NSFW scenario with Mihawk and his female S/O about how he takes her in Marineford because she is an artist that gets called there and thats how they met? And they go together to his island after?

Hi! Thank you ever so much for your patience while you waited for me to get your request completed! To set a bit of a stage, I love having some sort of background and a bit of a build up before the NS.FW, but at the same time, this kind of turned into the first time for Mihawk and his s/o... so I really hope it’s to your liking!

ns.fw will be below the cut!

Mihawk and His Artist s/o Scenario

Months after the disastrous events of Marineford, Mihawk still wondered what possessed the Marines to hire and bring a civilian artist to the war, to the battlefield at that. In the end, he’d saved her from certain death during the war and then took her with him when he left. He had not however, originally intended to take her to his castle, but as it turned out, the Marines were the ones housing her, and well… after what she witnessed at the Summit War, she had no desire to return to them. Mihawk didn’t blame her.

The trip to his island was spent mostly in silence. She somehow managed to keep hold of her leather bag that contained her supplies: a thick notepad, a pouch of gray toned pencils, and a small set of water colors. He thought she sketched the sea and islands as they traveled back to his home. Once there he caught her several times by windows on out on a balcony, sketchbook and pencils in hand. It was the times she joined him by the fire, quiet but seeking company, that he wondered what she drew inside her notebook when there was no landscape to view.

When he stumbled upon her notebook in the library, he felt no shame flipping through the pages, curious to see her artwork. There were drawings and paintings of landscapes, as he thought there would be. There were many sketches of Marineford, but there were also some of the island. Some of flowers, others of birds or small animals not native to this island. The next page revealed sketches of him. His eyes, his profile, other features sketched as if in practice. The next page revealed his likeness staring back at him. Her attention to detail created a life-like piece of art.

“I hope you’re not offended. I didn’t ask permission to draw you,” her voice caught his attention and Mihawk turned to see her standing just a few feet away, her hands nervously clasped in front of her as she shifted her weight from one leg to another.

Mihawk closed the notebook with a soft snap. “You’re extremely talented. These look almost life-like.”

“So, you’re not mad at me?”

“Mad?” Mihawk asked, raising one brow. He wasn’t mad, but he was hesitant to admit he was slightly turned on. “No, I’m not mad at you. This is… flattering.”

A blush tinted her cheeks and she unclasped her hands. Mihawk watched the way she brushed a piece of hair away from her face. “You’re a good subject. I’d love to have you sit for a real portrait one day.”

Mihawk nodded and stepped forward, closing the distance between them and handing her the sketchbook. “I’d like that. Have you ever done a self-portrait?”

She shook her head, and Mihawk smirked. “You should, you’d make a striking subject.”

Her blush darkened and her eyes flicked away from his gaze to his lips before she looked up at him again. “Is that a…”

“Compliment? Yes. You’re beautiful,” Mihawk said gently.

Crossing over the flirtatious line they both had been toeing since arriving at the castle. He leaned closer, and when she didn’t pull away, he dipped his head to press his lips to hers. She emitted a soft squeak of surprise, but returned the kiss with fervor. Mihawk pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and suddenly they were both coming alive, their touches growing bolder, their kisses sloppier.

Mihawk wanted to move them to someone more romantic, like his bedroom, but when her hand brushed over his erect cock, he decided the floor in front of the lit fireplace was romantic enough for the moment. Mihawk lifted her into his arms, walking the few steps over to the carpet in front of the fireplace, and laid her down. He broke away from her sweet mouth to gaze down at her as he sat back on his haunches.

Her eyes met his, and she gave him a smile. “Well, don’t stop now,” she teased, a playful smile on her lips.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I want to see you naked,” she retorted, eyes sparkling in the firelight.

“You undress first, love,” Mihawk spoke, his voice low and sultry.

A beautiful blush bloomed on her skin, but she boldly disrobed before his eyes. Mihawk admired every inch of her naked body, her curves and smooth skin. He continued to gaze at her while he undressed. He stood to remove his boots and pants, and didn’t miss the way her eyes studied his chest, nor the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Mihawk couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his mouth when she let out a soft gasp at the sight of his cock.

He moved easily to kneel between her legs, as she sat up, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss while her hands slid up his arms. Deepening the kiss, Mihawk pressed one hand onto the carpet and the other pressed to the small of her back. He lowered them down so that she laid on her back and he slid his hand out from under her to lightly caress the swell of her breast. A low moan tore from his throat as her legs wrapped around his hips and her warm, wet center pressed against his groin. He shifted his hips, aligning his cock so that when he rocked his hips it slid through her folds. The action elicited a delicious moan from his beautiful artist.

Mihawk trailed his lips down the column of her throat, lavishing her skin in kisses while their hips rocked in a mocking imitation of what he really wanted to do to her.

She arched into him, her words echoing his thoughts, “Mihawk, please, I want to feel you inside me.”

Mihawk continued to pepper her skin with kisses, but shifted his hips, angling the tip of his cock to press against her core. It took a few awkward pokes before he slipped just inside her. She let out a cry of pleasure. Mihawk hummed against her skin as he pulled back before gliding slowly into her again. He pressed deeper with each thrust until he was fully seated inside her. He stilled, savoring the feel of her silky heat wrapped tightly around his entire length. Her hips rocked against his, searching for the friction she desperately craved, but Mihawk stayed still, continued to cover every inch of her skin with kisses.

“Mihawk,” she whined, punctuating her words with a roll of her hips. “Please fuck me.”

Raising his head, Mihawk smirked down at her. “Impatient tonight, love?”

She nipped his jaw, giving him a fiery grin. “Just move, Hawk-Eyes,” she purred.

Mihawk returned the playful bite, catching her earlobe between his teeth, before he rose up, hands sliding to grip her thighs. Mihawk pulled her closer, resting on his knees, before setting a hard pace. She tried to find purchase, nails scratching his thighs as he pounded into her. She cried out, arching off the floor as he touched a spot deep inside her. Mihawk thrust again, bumping the same sensitive spot inside her core, barely able to contain his smirk as she screamed his name. Mihawk usually preferred a less vocal lover, but there was something about her passionate cries and soft moans that urged him on and made his cock impossibly harder.

Mihawk released her legs from his hold, shifting to hover over her so that he could capture her lips in another heated kiss. His thrust was met by a roll of her hips. Deepening the kiss, Mihawk swallowed her moans as they moved together, driving each other closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Her fingers trailed up his arms, sliding over his shoulders to press into his back. Nails bit into his skin as they picked up the pace. She matched him easily, adjusting to his change in tempo and moaning loudly when he stroked that spot deep inside her again.

“Oh god, Mihawk, I’m going to –” her words were choked off as she let out a scream of pleasure.

Mihawk could feel the waves of her orgasm, and maybe if he was less experienced, the contractions would have pulled him into his own nirvana. Instead, Mihawk held out, riding out her high and enjoying the feel of her underneath him. It wasn’t long after she came down that he could feel his own release building. Mihawk pulled out of her, stroking his cock quickly several times as he hovered over her before he came with a soft groan. His cum splattered her stomach, a few spurts even reaching her breasts. Mihawk dropped a final kiss to her lips, deepening it for a moment to swipe his tongue across her before he pulled back.

He stood, only to pick up his shirt before he returned to her side, moving gracefully to lounge beside her. He used his shirt to clean her body of his seed, eyes following the path of his hand, making sure to leave her smooth skin spotless, although he did enjoy the sight of her painted with his seed. Tossing the shirt near his pants, Mihawk laid back and pulled her closer to his side, allowing her to curl her naked body against his.

“Hmm, that was amazing,” she whispered contently.

Mihawk hummed in agreement, but added, “I prefer longer sessions, more foreplay.”

She raised her head then, meeting his golden eyes. “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to do this again, won’t we?”

Mihawk smirked. “The night is still young, love.”

#one piece #one piece scenario #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk #dracule mihawk #ns.fw #lemons #smut

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kyloathing · 4 years

Note

Can I get some Sackler New Years smut? Thank you.

oh ofc you can anon!! i love my boy hehe

smut under the cut duh

warnings: spanking, regular old sackler dirty talk, and swearing naturally

It was 11:55 PM and both you and Adam were way too excited for the ball to drop. Being new to New York, you had asked Adam to take you to Times Square to see it in person, to which he responded “Are you fucking nuts? Do you wanna get pick pocketed and trampled over by thousands of dumb fucking tourists?” He had meant it nicer than it came out, but you understood.

Instead, you were in your little apartment surrounded by familiarity with just the two of you. Adam had insisted he didn’t mind if you brought in some wine for yourself, but being considerate of his sobriety, you insisted sparkling cider was just fine. So, there you were, in the kitchen pouring the bubbling liquid into two champagne flutes you had bought just for this occasion.

Today was particularly important to both you and Adam, considering it was an anniversary of sorts. You had first met him at a New Years Eve party for the cast of a production you had both taken part in. After three months of playing cat and mouse, you finally asked him out on a proper date. Of course, he obliged. Now, officially in a relationship for nine months, you were celebrating that very same holiday together.

“Babe, get in here, it’s almost time!” He called from the other room. You rushed into the living room, careful not to spill the drinks in your haste.

Adam pulled you into his lap on the couch in front of the television and took his glass from your hand. His free arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, as if he was fearful you would slip away.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four,” You both chanted in unison. Adam took your chin in his hands and rested his forehead against yours. He was completely caught up in the look in your eyes to even focus on the television behind him.

“Three, two — “ Your countdown was cut off by him slamming his lips against yours. The surprise had you spilling the cider against your blouse, only making him chuckle.

“Guess you’ll have to take that off now, huh?” The lust in his eyes had your thighs clenching together with want.

A smirk stretched across your lips. “I believe so.” You stood, making sure to bend over right in his view to set both your glasses on the coffee table. He groaned, and when you turned around it was obvious he was half hard in his jeans. Your white blouse was wet, making it cling to your skin and give a clear outline of your bra. With the mix of cheers and commentary from the television program as your soundtrack, you began to slowly undo every button of your blouse. Adam was practically on the edge of his seat watching you. Once the shirt was removed, he shook his head.

“Bra, too. We’ve gotta get those cleaned up.” You complied with his request and undid the clasp of your bra letting it drop to the floor and allowing your breasts to hang free. In a second, Adam was on you pulling you towards him so he could bury his face in your cleavage.

He peppered kisses along your chest, before hovering over your nipples hardened from both the cold air and desire. “You’ve got some perfect tits, you know that? Absolutely fucking perfect.” To punctuate his statement, he let his tongue swirl around the hardened bud before taking it entirely into his mouth. You gasped and grabbed the back of his head, fingers tugging at his hair. He was sure not to neglect your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

“Adam,” You whined and he looked up at you.

“What’s wrong little slut?” Was the first thing to come from his mouth. You knew he was in charge here, but you had no trouble asking for what you desired.

“Can you eat me out?” You sheepishly requested. Adam always devoured your pussy like it was his last supper and you were desperate to feel his tongue between your folds.

Adam smirked. “Does the little slut want her cunt ate? Want me to shove my tongue inside you and slurp up your cum?” You nodded. “Then lay down and let me do what I need to do.”

You readily complied, laying back against the arm of your couch, thighs spread slightly just for him. He was quick to slide your bottoms down your legs and toss them in some corner of the room. Adam looked a little silly crumpling in on himself to fit between your thighs on the couch, but he didn’t once complain. Instead, his tongue darted out to experimentally lathe along your swollen clit. You threw your head back and muffled and cry with the back of your hand.

“Don’t want your neighbors to hear you getting fucked by my tongue? That’s a shame.” He took both of your wrists in one of his and went back to work. His tongue stayed centered at your clit, while his index and middle fingers pushed into you. He began to rub his fingers along your walls and you have to force yourself not to squirm.

He curved his fingers just right, forcing a shout from your throat. The way you clenched around his fingers had him focusing in on that area much more forcefully. He pressed soothing kisses into your inner thigh to ground you, but soon you were spilling over with orgasm. He made sure to work you through it using his fingers and eventually sat up over you, holding his fingers in front of his face. He lapped at one digit, shivering at the taste. “Fuck, you taste so good.” He held his fingers out to you for you to suck on.

You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking lightly. You noticed he had begun to palm himself through his jeans, almost unbearably hard. In an instant, he was snatching his fingers from your mouth, and moving to pull his shirt and pants off his body. He was standing at full mast, nearly 9 and a half inches. In the very beginning of your sexual relations it was rather painful to take him all, but luckily you had gotten used to it. Like Adam always said, your cunt was made for him.

Precum beaded at the tip of his cock and he lazily stroked himself while looking down at you, like a predator stalking their prey. “You gonna take my cock like the good little slut you are?” His muscles tensed as he rubbed along the slit of himself. You knew well enough that this was your time to turn over onto all fours, so he could fuck you from behind. It was easier to fuck on the couch that way. “Gonna cum all over my cock?” He didn’t even give you time to answer before he was lining himself up at your entrance and thrusting into you.

A groan left his parted lips, which he smothered with the skin of your neck. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin, in spots he knew would make you shake with pleasure. His thrusts were languid and calculated for only a few moments before they sped up and became haphazard. Adam never really was one for slow, passionate love making. He much preferred rough fucking over anything.

You braced yourself on the arm of the couch, teeth biting into its fabric. The sound of his hips hitting your ass was absolutely filthy and it made your pussy clench around him. Adam smacked your ass with just enough force to sting, but not enough to make a lasting mark. “That’s my good little slut. Taking my cock like a champ.” One hand guided your hips in time with his thrusts, while the other wrapped around your throat. He was careful not to squeeze tight, or much at all quite frankly, just liking to know that he could.

Over time his thrusts became harder, and messier. A hand carding through his hair, he could feel his orgasm incoming. “Turn around,” he panted. “Let me cum on that pretty face.” You obliged and rolled over onto you back.

He jerked his cock whilst you rubbed circles into your clit, also chasing after relief. Amidst a slew of curses, groans, and growls Adam finally spilled his seed on your face. Spurts of the bitter white fluid hit your cheeks and ran down to your mouth, dripping over your chest. As if the stars had aligned, as soon as his final spurt of cum hit your skin, you were crying out with orgasm.

How about that for New Years fireworks?

#kyloathing writes #anon #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler imagines #adam sackler x you #adam sackler/reader #sin bin #that was fun hehe!!

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somekindofseizure · 5 years

Text

When the Ink Dries Part X

<Conclusion. Rated for adults. Thank you @icedteainthebag, @gazeatscully and all of you for your help and support over the years (wtf?!!) it took to finish this. Hope you enjoy.>

Chapter 26

Stella had been bracing herself to enter a courthouse with the two of them for three years, ever since Scully had delivered news of their engagement. Self-preparation for this had involved two phases. One: fuck all of London for about six weeks and two: settle into the rationalization that nothing would really change. Mulder and Scully were a couple before any sort of documentation, and they would be after. Stella had made peace with it, anticipating that they might spring the actual event on her any time, that every time she came to America, it might be the one. But that had not happened.Scully didn’t have a dress. No one spoke of dates and no one had given her the address to a courthouse...until today.

“Why don’t you sleep over,” Mulder stage-whispered, leaning in beside her. He smelled of whatever he’d been chewing on the car ride over - almonds? - no, seeds, those fucking confounded seeds. “You haven’t been to our new place. It has a guest bedroom.”

“Hotel is fine.”

He hesitated, hovered over her shoulder in a particular way that men generally did not have the temerity to do. Luckily she liked him more than other men, still liked him, even if he was poised to marry the only person for whom she’d ever considered unravelling the tightly wound spool of her existence. Thankfully, circumstances had not allowed her to make such a mistake. She reminded herself to be thankful often. Forcefully.

“Why?” he pressed. He was eager to keep her close, Stella knew. On her better days she believed it was because he cared for her, was her friend. It was also possible he only wanted to be forgiven for winning. Most days, when she was feeling her cheerfully doubtful self, it struck her as strategic. One distances one’s wife’s female friends at one’s own peril, particularly if said wife has had sex with said female friend.

“I’m not sleeping in your guest bedroom,” she declared in the hushed voice required of their environment.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not your great aunt,” Stella said, her eyes firmly rooted on the hulking shoulders of the man in front of her in the light grey prison uniform. Mulder righted himself beside her, took a sharp inhale. The air was stiff and stale in the room, tasted of chalk. This must be as frustrating for him as it was for her - watching Scully testify on Jerse’s behalf twenty some-odd years after she’d helped put him in jail. Only fair that Mulder was distracting himself with matters of guest bedrooms.

Ed was taller than Stella remembered. Also, less nimble, the kind of man who might lose his balance trying to kill a mosquito rather than someone who had escaped notice as he escorted human beings to their unwanted cremations. His tattoos had multiplied over the years behind bars - all the faces of girls, and each one turned out to be meaner than the last. Stella and Mulder had both taken turns judging Scully as she made phone calls over the years to keep him out of or remove him from solitary confinement. But even her (arguably inappropriate) kindness had not spared him. Time had passed for all of them, but it had passed hardest for Ed. A courtroom was a very good argument for the health benefits of freedom.

Funny that Stella had always assumed they’d get married in a court and not a church. Scully was Catholic, after all, but somehow she’d always pictured herself in a skirt-suit set and a plasticky smile watching an uncomfortable hour-plus of Mulder pawing gently at Scully as she stood steel-eyed and stiff-jawed before a government clerk, her favorite skeptic allowing an indulgence of incalculable faith. It was enough of a stretch without bringing God into it, maybe.

She had kept her negativity about marriage to herself, had made a concerted effort not to spoil things. It would be unseemly considering. But she had tried to talk Scully out of this, and Mulder had tried too. But Scully was adamant right up until last night’s spaghetti carbonara; there was an uncommon amount of swearing, flame-freckled seething, tossed crumpled napkins and waiters trying not to look.

They’d relented - what else could they do? He was her potential murderer, after all, not theirs, and one supposed she was entitled to a certain amount of possessiveness on that account. Many was the sleepless night that Stella had spent cursing the people who had interfered with her plans for Paul Spector.

The worst part of hearing about the engagement had not been the news itself but the manner in which it was delivered. Scully’s lowered volume, the gentle lovers’ cadence, lips pressed against the mouthpiece, two hands surely cupping the phone. The worry, the consideration, the sizzling quiet on the other end of the line as Stella rustled up a response she thought she might be able to live with forever. The grand poetry of it all, the drama and Scully’s quietly feverish attempts to mitigate it.

Scully, neatly trimmed in burgundy, hair just so, shifted at the small cafeteria-style table where she sat with the other testifiers. As someone else stood to speak, Stella saw Scully clasp her hands in loose prayer, gaze resting on her fingernails. She had not turned to look at them since it had begun. Perhaps she was thinking of the first time she met him, trying to reincarnate the moment when she knew him only as an innocent entity. A memory that had been discounted by such drastic measures lived on uncomfortably, vividly, a spider pinned alive and preserved under glass.

And what about the day Stella had met him? He’d impressed himself upon her almost by accident. It had been a lark, something to get her out of England and keep her busy, but had turned into something she would never forget, scenes in a movie that only later seemed significant. The heavy stench of fear-twinged anger, the impressive composure of the beautiful ginger-faced detective, the nearly imperceptible twitching of her fingers at the table, the lanky male counterpart’s eventual leap at the killer’s throat. Stella had felt safe and separate from them all, even the killer; she’d ridden the experience like a seasoned surfer, keeping an eye on the two young kids desperately paddling in the frothy tension beside her. That is how she used to do things before Paul Spector had gotten under her skin. Or maybe it was how she used to do things before Dana Scully had. Sometimes, Stella was unsure which had been the bigger danger.

Stella glanced down at the skin of her bare knees and thought maybe she had unravelled a bit over the years after all.

Jerse appeared to be watching the speaker, but with a slight tilt of the head, Stella could see that he was focused on Scully. The others were guards, cafeteria workers, psychologists - but Scully was something else, someone he’d had feelings for, someone who had known him as good before evil. Mulder must have caught the look in his eye as well, for beside Stella, he gave an angry swallow, widened his legs in macho (and pointless) provocation. Stella knew that Mulder’s concern about today was the physical threat of Ed - what he might do if he were out, how his fixation with Scully might manifest into an act of violence or possessiveness. But Scully could handle her own safety well enough. Stella worried instead about the subtler effects - the nightmares, the guilt she might experience wondering who he was luring in the dusty pick-up joints of Philadelphia. Things you could not fix with a lock and key or a sidearm.

But when Scully stood and spoke, it seemed she was not worried about any of these things. Her voice was steadfast and clinical, though it carried a heartfelt quality that unsettled Stella to her core. Stella had heard the rundown of events before - years ago, when she’d asked as a matter of professionally curiosity and Scully had answered as a matter of courtesy. But now Scully spoke of the invitation to dinner and the subsequent date with a matter-of-fact tenderness. The way he seemed before “the voices” had interfered, her belief in an underlying true nature beneath his mental illness. She had been sparing Mulder the nuances back then. Stella had been just an acquaintance. But inadvertently, she’d spared Stella too. For all these years, Stella had not had to look at the inky snake on Scully’s back and think: she liked him. She’d been spared the pain of identifying with how that must have felt. To have been so wrong about someone.

Scully finished without flourish, smoothed the wool skirt at the hips with two hands and sat - still not looking back at them, seemingly alone in her moment, and perhaps rightly so, for this was her unsupported decision. Stella felt vaguely hypocritical for even attending, but then not attending had seemed wronger.

Snippets of Ed’s report cards were read aloud, brief and modestly generous endorsements he’d received over the course of the years. Mistakes here and there, but a generally cooperative nature, etcetera - no compliment as persuasive as Scully’s sincerity. They were going to let him go - Stella could feel it the way she could sense a confession coming or intuited a multiple murderer’s next attack before he actually crept up someone’s back flight of steps.

Mulder’s hand startled her as it descended heavily atop her own and quieted her wriggling thumbs. The weight of him in the lap of her skirt made the mucous in her throat thicken - was he holding her hand or asking for his to be held? He tightened his sweaty fingers around hers. There was no reason to cry. This was not her moment. Not her murderer and not her fiancé. She was in the role she’d always found most comfortable - observer. Someone to put in the guest room.

When it was over, Scully stood, looked at the floor and moved toward them like a funeral attendant in the aftermath of an Irish wake - sad, but relieved - attending to the memory of something she’d long past buried.

“That tattoo hurt at all?” he asks with a dipped clefted chin and a gleam in his eye that reminds her of her little performance in the shop. Scully is not even sure why it happened – the booze or the slow burn of the needle or the way he looked at her. It makes her look away for a second now in shyness - the fact that he’s already seen that face she makes. But she did not call him up earlier to be shy. She did not sit in a dirty dive all night with a handsome stranger all night to be shy. She did not break skin, make permanent marks she might later regret to be shy. She is too quickly running out of time to be shy.

She steals glances at him standing there across the room with his flop of dark sailor’s hair and suggestive sailor’s tattoo and she stammers through something about feeling different. This is true but she doesn’t mean the heavy handed flashart on her lower back. She supposes she might feel strange the next time she’s at the beach with her mother. Supposes, the next time, really, anyone looks there, she’ll probably have to laugh. But nobody ever looks there. And that’s why she’s here. She’s responsible. She’s a woman of faith. But she’s human, she’s mortal, she knows that more now than ever, even before the doctor’s appointment, and tonight she wants to act like it. That is what feels different.

He looms over her as he lifts the back of her shirt to peek and she actually believes he just wants a peek. He’s enormous by comparison, a monument to masculine threat. He could crush her. He will try to crush her. But she doesn’t know that now. Has no way of knowing that now as he traces the outline of the snake with his finger and tells her it looks all right. It actually seems like too much of a cliché to fear someone who looks like him, like flinching when you walk down the street past a Doberman. Every cop knows the scrawny ones can be meaner.

She likes him, has liked him from the moment he spoke to her. She considers herself a good judge of character and she feels in her soul that he is good, but she’s not looking for a soul mate. She’s in the mood for someone who’ll look at her like she’s a problem, not their problem-solver. Someone who’s not just handing her instructions and checking in. He is not a slap in the face to Mulder. He’s just not Mulder.

He doesn’t leer and he doesn’t suggest. He offers to take couches and asks her if things hurt. He’s aware of his own strength even as he displays it. It may be that none of this counts at St. Peter’s gate, but it will count for something when she’s letting a man a full foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier fuck her standing up. It will count when he tries to kill her too, but she has no way of knowing that’s what fate – God? No, not God, that’s not the God she believes in – has in store.

If she were going to stop him, she would’ve stopped him by now. But instead, she’s telling him she’s a doctor and nothing turns her on like telling people she’s a doctor. Instead, he’s holding her wrist firmly in the dance partner position, looking down at her like he doesn’t care about his bleeding infected arm as long as he’s got her. She has wanted to be needed in this way, has been wanting someone who will trade in their other obsessions for five feet two inches and a few hours of her, and she’s been ashamed of that desire. Then such a person appeared, offered himself up and she’s accepting. She feels compelled on behalf of her mortality. Funny - it’s the very thing he’ll turn out to be after.

It’s a quick rundown of events, some of which she’ll be forced to mention later to law enforcement or doctors or both. She’ll glare and ask them what that has to do with anything as they jot down her perfunctory details. There are some she doesn’t give. That she reaches for the hem of her shirt two seconds into the kiss, feels his tongue touch her nose when she sloppily backs away to get it over her head. That he unbuttons her pants as she runs her hands over his chest and his stomach, makes shapes across it with her mouth. They look for cause and effect, these medical doctors and detectives - she knows because it’s how she normally thinks too. But the system is working in reverse. The moment his hands graze her ass over her underwear – simple briefs, work underwear, investigate-the-Russian-mobster-underwear – is when she realizes she’s wet. The moment she drops his pants and puts her hand over his erection is the moment she hopes she’s wet enough. Effect is what she notices first.

It’s been a very long time. This might hurt a bit, she tells herself, and gets wetter.

He takes out the condom of his own will but she insists on being the one to put it on him, stares, buying time, as she rolls it down his shaft. It could stop here, she thinks. She could still wake up tomorrow not feeling a bit of regret or the urge to confess, still go into work and not duck from Mulder’s gaze, but it doesn’t occur to her that she could still avoid waking up concussed in a hospital, and that ought to be a fair oversight.

She brushes the infected pinupped bicep by accident, but when she does so, an evil little smile appears on his lips. Blood as permanent as ink itself smears beneath her hand and there is something beautiful about it or something perverse, something she doesn’t take the time to put her finger on because he’s a very good kisser and he can span the entire width and length of her torso with two spread hands, and now he is lifting her with those hands, tossing her up like a lost princess, starting to carry her toward the bedroom. Just think - Dana Scully, a princess.

“No, here,” she says and so he backs her into the wall as she squeezes her thighs around his thick body. He shows her with various little touches that he’s willing to take this step by step, but if he does, she’ll lose the nerve, and if she loses the nerve, she knows how she’ll wake up feeling nothing tomorrow morning, because that is how she has woken up many mornings, and she doesn’t think at the time that it might even be worse than waking up in the hospital. “Fuck me here.”

And then he gets a look in his eye that makes her not care whether there is a tomorrow, not that she has reason to wonder (no cancer moves that fast, has that glib a sense of timing). It’s a look that says he’s going to ravish her, take her and at the same time sacrifice himself. It is the look that will haunt her when she’s bandaged and stitched, when she hears of him going to prison, when Mulder makes his stupid, insensitive quips about ass tattoos.

He fucks her with her bra clasp digging into the wall, her underwear pushed to the side, his upper body curled over her like a cobra as he tries to kiss her neck and stay inside her at once. She lodges her fingernails in the plates of his back lest he drop her, listens to the sound he makes as they penetrate his skin, feels his dick go so high inside her that she’s sure despite all knowledge of anatomy that he’s occluding the base of her throat.

For the moment, with his cock stiff and wholly inside her, she is the threat, the overpowerer. He’s awed by it, grateful for it, and - she’s sure - fearful of it.

“You can do whatever you want,” she orders, “I want you to.” She hears but barely feels her shoulder blades bruise the wall, any remaining sense she has left sliding out her ears onto the paint job. He holds her waist very still to the wall as he thrusts upward into her and she tilts her head toward the heavens to moan. Her eyes burn and her hips ache and she will laugh in a few minutes when he holds her sweetly and still offers to sleep on the couch after giving her a pounding like none she has experienced.

“Come for me, Dana,” he begs and she clutches at his hair, presses her open mouth to his jaw, uses her tongue to try to reach him when she’s not using it to swear, digs her heels into his backside for leverage, consistently pressing the full weight of his hips into her body and she lets herself slide into the deepest, slickest, hardest home plate she’s ever come across. Or at least that she can remember coming across. It has been a very long time. As of tomorrow morning, that won’t be true, but then a lot of things won’t be true anymore.

He’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that can save him but the reason she is doing it is to save herself.

The decor was sleek and dripped in silver grey, an unslept-in bed at hip height. There was a photograph of a naked woman in a carnival mask on the wall opposite, the figure’s seductive pout leering over the edge of a dressing-room-style vanity mirror. The room looked like it belonged in another home - a distinct departure from the oaky, slightly inexplicably Asian-influenced-Americana couple-who-hikes aesthetic of the rest of the townhouse. Sleek and sexy and cool. Nobody’s great aunt would have slept there.

“Hope this is all right,” Scully said behind her, leaning against the doorjamb with pantyhosed feet piled one on top of the other.

“Fine, more than fine.”

“Thank you for staying.”

Mulder’s sports announcers prattled on in the master bedroom down the hall. The bedroom Scully should be in, would be in by the end of the night.

“I wanted you to be close tonight,” Scully said, punctuating the statement with the kind of breathy chuckle that stood for self-criticism. The days of their holing up in hotels with platonic devotion for a weekend were long gone. Now, Stella stayed in those places alone and Scully visited for dinner or shopping - a pair of regular friends. Scully no longer came to London - Stella’s request - and she did not generally make admissions, however innocently voiced, of wanting her close.

Stella spotted a bronze-brown silk robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

“Pour moi?”

Scully smiled, nodded and Stella grabbed it, turned her back to Scully as she exchanged her clothes for the robe with as much modesty as she could. There was a brass-edged glass bar cart in the corner, fully stocked with red wine and whiskey - the place was a veritable theme park in her honor. Stella resisted the urge to tease and instead took advantage, tweaked two glasses in one hand, opened a bottle of Macallan’s and poured. Anyway, there was no way to know if the room had been decorated for her because it was meant to court her visit or because there was no one else’s visit to court. They were solitary people, all three of them. It was part of the reason they had held onto each other the way they had.

Scully stepped fully into the room for the first time, rolling from heels to toes like a soft-footed doll in stockinged feet.

“Sentiment get to you?” Stella inquired as her drink pooled, syrupy, in the bottom of the lightly dust-coated glasses. She lightened her tone to a mild taunt in order to refract any impression of flirtation. “Whenever we visit Ed Jerse together we sleep under the same roof?”

“Something like that,” Scully murmured, untouched by the sarcasm. She had known Stella too long, had developed an immunity to it. Sometimes people could say they meant nothing by their sarcasm; with Stella, something was always meant and yet one had to be able to take it in stride. It was not one of her best tendencies but she had never been able to control it.

She handed Scully a glass sympathetically, gestured for her to sit on the bed. Stella sipped and Scully gulped...

“You all right?”

Scully’s eyes began to water. She looked at the ceiling, preemptively tightened the skin near her eyes with her fingers. Stella came and sat beside her.

“Do you think it’s wrong, what I did today?” Scully asked.

“You know I don’t see the world that way.”

“But do you feel like…”

“You’ve a good heart, that’s all.”

“I remember when you first told me I was good, do you?”

“Not really.”

She’d always thought it. It was rare for her. Usually she suspected people of things, even when she liked them. Scully stared at her, chewed her lip until it was practically blue.

It would pass. It would pass. It would pass. They had more practice letting it pass than anything else. But this time, it didn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Stella said finally and she meant it.

“You don’t really want me to marry him.”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you marry him.”

“You don’t care if it means you’ll lose me forever.”

“What do you want from me, Dana.”

She’d said it quickly, not meaning to, was immediately angry with herself for doing so. But Scully’s shoulders softened, some long-suffering secret released.

“You sent me back here for my own good, didn’t you? Because you knew about William. Not because you wanted me to go. I need to know.”

That was three years ago and in that time Stella had gotten the hang of her being gone. This was no time to undo that, not with an engagement pending.

“I sent you back because I couldn’t do it anymore,” she said methodically.

“You couldn’t do it every minute of every day-”

“No - not with anyone-”

“But you could do it sometimes.”

“What does that matter?” Stella said, her voice rising into the tight part of her throat like a trapped scream. Fighting with Scully was like fighting with a teenager sometimes - ridiculous and yet impossible to come out on top. Stella always had the urge to tell her not now, you’re tired, you’re emotional, and yet, there was always a devastating honesty to Scully’s behavior when she was being influenced by such feelings. “You want something constant, that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed. But it doesn’t mean I need everything to be constant.”

Stella’s head ached - she shook it, rubbing her temples, sipped her whiskey.

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” she said, sorry that she’d come here.

“I’ll stop,” Scully said. “It’s been a long day.”

Stella drank. Yes, a long day. Scully was tired, emotional, deserved a pass.

“Can I lie down?” Scully asked.

“It’s your house.”

“It’s your room,” Scully said and Stella couldn’t help but smile a little.

She let the Scotch burn the back of her throat a bit as Scully scooted back on the bed, dropped herself into the center of a stack of white linen pillows, put her buttoned-up wrists by her ears.

Stella lay on her back until the remainder of her anger dissipated into the plume of Scully’s perfume. Stella pictured Scully dressing, powdering this morning, pretending to herself it was like any other day. She turned onto her side, placed her hand carefully in the center of Scully’s sternum, carefully avoiding the structured brassiere swell on either side. A warm heartbeat patted at her palm.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable in these clothes?” she asked.

“Deeply.”

“Want to go change?”

Scully shook her head no.

“May I?” Stella asked as her hand drifted button by button down the front of Scully’s shirt. “I won’t touch you, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Scully said.

Stella half-smiled, flicked the front clasp of the bra, dragged the side zipper down Scully’s hip and finally rested her hand dutifully on the comforter next to Scully’s still wool-crepe skirted, nyloned thigh.

“I’m still deeply uncomfortable,” Scully said, face turning toward her, the malted, woodsy scent of alcohol drifting on the air between them. A forest, an orchestra pit full of string instruments, hollow and waxed and just removed from velvet cases. “I am actually more deeply uncomfortable than before.”

“Sorry.”

Stella held her breath, her nipples hardening against the silk of the borrowed robe as Scully licked her lips at her, breathed with her whole body so that her open blouse slipped from her chest to her sides.

“Want to kiss me?” Scully asked.

Goddamit.

“He’s down the hall.”

But she was salivating, tasting Scully, the memory of her. It had been years. Scully slithered out of her clothes, shedding them like snakeskin, looking new as she lay back down on the pillow.

“I dare you,” Scully whispered.

Stella brusquely threw a knee over Scully’s opposite hip, straddling her as the golden robe slipped its knot. She shook it down off her shoulders, let it fall to her thighs. Her chest rose, naked and weighted by her heart as she dipped forward toward Scully’s face.

Scully caged her ribs with two hands, traced the black and white tattoo on Stella’s body, draping a finger this way and that in the shape of the rose.

The door was open. He would hear them. It would be a betrayal greater than any Stella had ever committed. But she could feel her entire body sinking toward Scully, melting at the heat of her. Muscles trembled, spine withered like an end of summer plant, hips rolled, changes Stella assumed would be imperceptible but Scully’s body moved in response to each one.

She reached down, took Scully’s chin in her hand -

And in a flash of Scully’s eye contact, it all made sense.

“He knew you were going to do this,” Stella said, measuring her surprise.

Scully gulped. Nervous.

“You can live in London, come and go as you please...”

Stella tensed, probably would have moved away but in a burst of effort, Scully reached for Stella’s neck, pulled her close so that she could speak directly into her ear.

“I need you.”

Stella closed her eyes, trying to process the enormity of what was being asked of her but paralyzed by the scent of Scully’s skin and hair and mouth so close.

“I don’t know,” Stella said, her pores sucking up Scully’s skin like the air. She was drowning in her.

Scully’s heart beat faster, she’d begun to sweat, and rightly so. She was gambling with her future - all their futures. Stella wanted to be angry with her but it was impossible. Impossible not to lift her mouth to Scully’s, just briefly enough to leave some of her shimmery gloss on Scully’s lower lip. She paused long enough to settle, to let herself enjoy the certainty of a decision having been made. Sometimes she thought this was the best thing about sex - the rare moment of knowledge, of conviction, of committment. She could not agree to whatever Scully was asking of her, some sort of future promise, but she could agree to right now. The moment would come and go, and in a few minutes, when they were having sex, she would have other ideas about what the best thing about sex with Scully was. With other people, this was often not the case.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” she said. “I’m going to make you pant and swear and moan and we’ll see if your fiance will come down the hall.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I don’t know,” Stella said. “But either of you cries, I swear to God, I’ll never speak to you again.”

She covered Scully’s body from the palms of their hands to the tips of their feet, slipped her tongue into Scully’s mouth before either of them could ruin it by saying anything further.

Chapter 27

He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it until he saw it. He had agreed to it without reservation. It was even possible to interpret it as having been his suggestion. But still, he could not be absolutely sure how it would feel. And if he was going to live with it, he needed to see it with his own two eyes at least once. It had always been him or Stella, not both. He’d only shared her once - the first time - and the second time they’d tried had ended in disaster. They’d all kept things separate, Scully in her actions - he doubted she had ever been unfaithful to him when they’d been a couple - and he in his mind. He’d approached his memories of that night with the chastity of a priest, resisted even thinking about it until Scully had made this recent proposition. It was not an unpleasant memory to relive but still, it was a memory.

And now he had arrived at the reality. Stella’s mouth suckling Scully’s nipple in a room wreaking of Scotch and women, her arm’s well-hewn muscles spasming as they worked on Scully beneath the weight of her body, four rounded thighs swathed in a pond of flaxen silk. Scully’s skirt and nylons had been discarded near her ankles, and one of her hands was cupping Stella’s jaw, the other raking up her back. He had waited until he could hear Scully from down the hall, which meant that he had waited until things were very near the end, too near to undo - he could not have stopped them now if he begged. It was a scientific experiment, a matter of proving to himself he could handle what he’d feel.

What he felt when he stood in the doorway to the guest room was hard. Superman fucking hard.

He watched for as long as he could stand it, cleared his throat when he couldn’t stand it any longer. Stella pulled back and sat on her haunches with a well-well-well sort of expression on her face, hair whipping like a blonde gauntlet over her shoulder as she held Scully deep-breathing beneath her palm.

“Come here,” Stella said. He stepped up to the side of the bed, resisting the urge to look anywhere but her eyes. They turned bluer when she made love. Of course - he’d only seen her with Scully. He wondered if they did the same when she was just having sex. “I’m very impressed.”

“With my middle-aged hard-on or my open-mindedness?”

“Both. Have a drink, you might need it.”

She gestured at the friendly half empty glasses left gawking and scandalized on the nightstand. Scully took his hand, squeezed Stella’s thigh with the other. She was in no mood for banter.

“Finish me.”

“You talking to me, honey?” he asked with a slow smile. “Or your girlfriend?”

“Both of you.”

Mulder picked up the glass and sipped - just a bit because he was old enough to be negatively impacted by substances at such critical moments - and then he tipped the glass at Scully’s chest, poured it over her body from navel to neck. She gasped, body rolling like pavement over a growing root. He sat on the bed and leaned to kiss the tip of her drunken shoulder.

They settled in on either side of her, Stella’s breasts nestled beneath her armpit, his dick wedged against her opposite hip. His arm slid under Scully’s back, his hand pinned by Stella’s trembling belly as she arched it into the hollow of Scully’s waistline. Stella playfully hooked her foot over his leg in the space between Scully’s spread calves.

“So wet,” Scully murmured and he wasn’t sure if she was talking about herself or the stamp of Stella’s body on her hipbone, but either way it made him desperately want to fuck her. He settled for a kiss, first on the mouth and then the side of her neck the way she liked as she turned her mouth to Stella.

“Shall we make her come now?” Stella asked without looking at him. Scully’s little ovular fingertips dug into his skull.

“You want to come, honey?” he teased in her ear, and Stella said something similar in the other, each talking to her as if they had her to themselves, but revelling in the knowledge that they didn’t.

Scully gave a feverish nod yes to all the questions she was being asked, hot tears of simultaneous need and something else - relief? - dripping from her tightly shut eyes. This would not just be the conclusion of a steadily built orgasm, but the proof that her love could carry them all, that she could have the life she wanted but feared was too much to ask.

Their arms draped Scully’s body in the shape of a V, two pageant queen sashes - one ivory, one olive - as they reached inside her together. Stella’s finger was slender and deft against his, leading him sportingly as they found a rhythm they could both live with. Scully hooked her elbow around Stella’s neck, put her hand on Mulder’s cock.

“Dana,” Stella whispered.

The sound of her so-rarely-uttered first name made him ache like a dirty word. He writhed naked against her thigh, and across from him, Stella’s head hung loose toward Scully’s shoulder as though it might unhinge from her neck. Scully held the center with ease, the flexible crux of an unwieldy machine.

“You’re both so incredibly beautiful,” he said.

Stella thanked him in that a spare, sweet tone she sometimes used but which every time sounded like someone else, and Scully told him to shut up in a voice that sounded exactly like her. Everything slid, slithered - the hand he had wrapped around Scully’s waist bathed in their combined sweat, the whiskey sheen tanning Scully’s chest as she curled it this way and that between them, dipped her tailbone to grind against their hands.

“Good girl,” Stella purred, composed enough even as she gripped Scully’s hip tight between her thighs,. “Good -- girl.”

He lowered the hand up between Stella’s belly and Scully’s waist, bent his knuckles to be of use. Stella found them as she rolled her clitoris from Scully’s hip over his knuckles and back down, delivered a soft fuck from her lips.

Scully liked it too.

“We’re going to -- take such good -- care of you, Mulder,” she said.

It happened soon after that, the two of them in swift syncopation, Scully moaning and swearing liberally as Stella held her breath, her lips frozen open in the shape of an O. There was a rush of tension and release, sore, slick fingers, wet hair sticking to skin like a sacrament, baptizing a long night to come, and maybe, a new reality.

Chapter 29

The sequence of events was not identical but it was close. A questionable interaction with Ed Jerse that she stubbornly stood behind, come hell or highwater. Stella’s seduction (she had, admittedly, played more of a role in that this time), the precise feminine touch combined with the loving enthusiasm of Mulder’s involvement. And finally, waking up in a bed with him, snoring like a Golden Retriever beside on one side, while Stella’s side was a cool evening desert, bereft of the musky morning jasmine scent that should have been wafting over her shoulder.

Twenty years and somehow she had still not got it right. In some ways she felt they had all been through everything, moved the pieces around in every configuration that existed and she’d landed on a new one, one she knew she wanted best, one in which she knew she could make them both happy. But in other ways, she felt as though she’d been standing still ever since that night, learned nothing, come nowhere.

And more than anything, she was angry at Stella for letting her feel that way. The least she could have done was stayed, told her she hated the idea, rubbed her temples grouchily over a cup of inferior tea while Mulder flipped pancakes. Was that really too much to ask from someone she had known and loved so long?

And in place of that tiny bit of consideration, she’d left a little gift box.

“Sorry...xo” said Stella’s haughty half-script on a prismed, torn-off piece of paper she’d turned into a card.

A hasty unwrapping revealed a shiny little ivory-colored porcelain replica of Big Ben. A delicate and expensive version of something you’d get an an airport. Its base stood in the center of a small dish.

“What’s that?” Mulder grumbled, squinting one eye open. He’d lost some of his voice, left it in one or both of their bodies.

“Stella left us a wedding gift.”

“She left it? You mean she’s not here?”

Scully didn’t answer, so he took the object from her and looked closer.

“It’s a ring holder,” he said. “What does that mean?”

Scully slammed it on the nightstand hard enough to get some satisfaction but not hard enough to crack it. She knew that at a later date, she would cherish this object as the only connection to their union that Stella condoned. She had Mulder had not exchanged any rings - she was no more a jewelry person than she’d been when Mulder had first bought her that Elvis thing and then second-guessed himself. But maybe they should, maybe they would. Maybe she had clung to all the wrong ideas she could have about herself, let all the wrong things slip away into the unlived version of her life. She flexed her fingers over her forehead with a groan.

“She’ll come around,” Mulder said gently. “Let me get you some coffee.”

He was only gone a minute when she heard him calling her name from the kitchen. She joined him, expecting to be shown the spectacle of an ant problem or a pretty bird sitting outside the window or a strange neighbor out to get the mail in a funny outfit - he looked hard when he was aiming to cheer her up. Instead, the presentation involved a brown paper bag on the table, the oven-y smell of bagels hovering, and Stella... leaning against the counter in the rare odd wrinkled t-shirt, lips pursed, arms folded under her breasts. Scully clung to Mulder’s bare back for protection.

“She came around,” Mulder said.

“Isn’t that getting old?” Scully demanded of Stella, stepping forward, and Mulder sat down, pulled the bag of goodies over. He hesitated to open it in a sudden bout of manners, waited for Stella to answer her.

Stella dipped her head for a deep look at the ground, as though checking to see if she’d stepped on something. Her arms did not uncross.

“Yes,” she said finally with the bluntness Scully imagined she applied to a cold case re-opened and placed unwelcomed on her desk.

“It’s childish, Stella. I asked you a question, all you had to do was answer it,” Scully pressed.

“You asked me a question while I was taking your clothes off -”

“Because I thought if I combined it with sex, you’d be more likely to unders -”

“You thought I’d be more likely to say yes. Is there any behavior more childish than that?”

Scully opened her mouth, made a couple of sounds that didn’t turn into words.

“You’re right, Stell...” Mulder chimed, “Is what Scully is trying to say. She has trouble with that sometimes.”

Scully swallowed her pride, realizing only then that she could let go of both her disappointment and her anger. Stella was still there. They were both there.

“Sorry,” she said softly.

Stella nodded matter-of-factly, uncrossed her arms.

“Eat a bagel and re-ask the question clearly and while I have my wits about me.”

Chapter 30

The neighborhood was full of cobblestone and good bones, svelte-faced buildings painted in aristocrat white, noses in the air as people swept past with briefcases, the damp winter wind whipping chilled hair in their faces. Scully hugged herself tighter in her long black coat and little white dress, swayed from side to side as she picked a wave of red from across her forehead. She looked too perfect for this stuffy old courthouse. She also looked nervous.

“She’ll be here,” Mulder said.

Scully smiled close-lipped, dusted the chest of his jacket, tightened his tie and lied to his face.

“I’m not worried.”

When she looked at him here on the courthouse steps, she saw him as he once was, young and bitter, eyes that looked perpetually impressed and a smooth-lipped mouth that looked forever disappointed. She saw their son, the short exchange Stella’s cleverness had allowed her to have with him that day in the park. She saw all the close-calls, the times they should have been parted from one another forever and yet somehow found their way back. They were, as a couple, simultaneously inevitable and a miracle. They were each other’s something old and time itself, their something borrowed.

And Stella - though she’d met her just a few years after Mulder - was still her something new - and that’s how Stella liked it. It was part of the allure of her and the problem of Stella Gibson. She liked to maintain the shiny, silvery lacquer of mystery, and Scully knew Stella worried today would tarnish it. She had considered Scully and Mulder’s offer very carefully, very sensibly, then delivered her answer as she tore bread from the inside of a bagel, a calm voice but a tear in her eye, an embarrassed smile, a mellow-limbed embrace - joy. But there had also been signs of anxiety that day and ever since. It didn’t upset Scully, it only worried her that it might upset Stella. Along the way, Stella had become something else besides the shiny new toy, she had been for some time.

She moved in closer to Mulder as they waited, let her nose rest against his Adam’s apple, a small concession to the robust unflappability she was determined to show off today. She did not want him to feel his presence meant less to her - it was just that, in this current incarnation of her life, she worried less about losing it. He was sturdier these days, took his medicine and jogged and read novels rather than nonfiction and conspiracy theory websites. He less apt to disappear on her or on himself.

“Maybe we should have stayed at her place last night,” she said. “Reviewed things.”

“All she has to do is show up, what’s to review?” he remarked casually but through it Scully could see he was more concerned than she was. “You tried her phone?”

“Three times.”

Him too.

“I could go to her place, make sure everything’s okay?” he offered.

“No,” Scully said, her face stoic but her fingers slipping up and down his tie. The gesture brought him back to the moment and he smiled. His eyes were greener than usual here in the English afternoon.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Mulder? There’s no part of you that would be relieved if we didn’t pull this off today?

He took her chin in hand.

“I’m sure, baby. We’ll do it another day if she can’t make it. Something must have come up.”

What he didn’t say was: we could do it without her. Because he wasn’t sure that he could. It was almost perfect, him and Scully alone. Almost, except that at the same time, always teetering on not-at-all. Stella’s involvement made it possible somehow, even when she was physically apart from them, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. They seemed to need her to survive each other. And as stubborn as he was about not needing people, he was also too old, too experienced not to admit when he did.

Suddenly, Scully smiled and he saw Stella getting out of a black cab in a wooly grey dress and the highest heels he’d ever seen. She turned to pay the driver through the window, at first glance betraying nothing but her usual charmed confidence, although upon closer inspection, he could see the way she was gripping her leather clutch with nerve-wrecked white fingertips.

“See? She’s here,” Mulder said and twirled a length of Scully’s hair between her shoulder blades.

She kissed him briefly on the lips and in a moment Stella approached, tapped their cheeks with her own, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

“Sorry I’m late. You look lovely. What are we doing afterward?”

“We’ll go get you a stiff drink,” Scully said dryly with a tweak to the neckline of Stella’s sweater dress, playing as she’d done moments ago with Mulder’s tie. An excuse for contact, a doctor’s emotional temperature-telling.

“Drink, yes, maybe several,” Stella said a little more gently, as though she too had merely been awaiting the doctor’s call to feel better. A malady that eased by benign diagnosis. You will not regret this, I will not let you regret it, Scully tried to communicate telepathically as she looked Stella over, but couldn’t quite rein in the eye contact necessary.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t have a flask on her,” Mulder said.

“Who says I haven’t,” and she handed Mulder her little bag. “Here, just a second.”

She smoothed her dress, checked the backs of her earrings. Perfume stabbed the air and committed Stella to memory with every flick of her wrist, every twist of the neck.

“I hate weddings,” she said. “You know that right?”

But Scully was not fooled by the mask of Stella’s comfortable complaints. She busy staring at Stella’s body, trying to place the odd feeling of deja vu and then -

“I remember this dress.”

And for the first time that day, Stella steadied, really looked at her, let her eyes rest there in the cradle of Scully’s gaze. Her cheeks colored pink a little and her eyes deepened, the greyness of them taking on the hue of brushed denim, the deep hint of indigo.

There it was, the something else Stella had become, her something blue.

It was one of Stella’s great weaknesses that being told she was loved made her want to cry and not in the so happy tears are falling sort of way, but rather in the way of someone falling to pieces. There was only one way she could handle it - in the passive elocution. There were people, mainly men, she’d known over the course of her life who’d somehow learned and observed the rule. One of them had probably taught it to her in the first place.

“You are loved,” her father used to say, or her favorite uncle, or her late-mentor at the academy. “You are missed,” Mulder would sometimes tell her on the phone. But Scully either couldn’t or wouldn’t get used to it. She was restrained in the frequency of her expressions of affection but not in the manner or delivery of them. She gave her love actively, when given.

So of course she remembered the dress, the thing Stella had been wearing that first time.

“Yes, I thought you might,” Stella said, allowing Scully to believe that she’d done it on purpose. She had not consciously thought of that day this morning when she reached for it. But admittedly, there could be no coincidence in such an action. She had dozens of outfits that would have been suitable, in fact two others she’d bought expressly with this day in mind.

“My, you do look lovely, darling,” she added, tingling with warmth as she looked Scully over. More ethereal and yet more solid all at once. “What is it about white that makes a woman look like a new person?”

Actually, all of it was new to Stella except Scully - she was the only thing familiar about this willingness she felt, the generosity of spirit. She was not pretending to be pissed off for having been asked to do this. But really she was self-conscious about not being pissed off. It would have been more comfortable to resent being here, would have felt more herself.

Inside, there would be waiting to do, the collective and similar but varied anxieties of twenty other strangers pledged to do this same thing this same day. She and Mulder would bicker amiably, tease about who was going to be fucking whose wife later. Scully would hold her head high, pretending to be above it all, threaten them with moving entire affair to a church, but secretly be glad she’d done it here, in the shadow of all the petty tragicomedies of bureaucracy. They all three were creatures of the system, and they were also its rebels. That included Scully. Sweet, silently subversive Dana Scully, who was sneaking her hand into Stella’s palm, the other already tucked deftly and permanently into Mulder’s elbow.

It had been Mulder’s idea to configure it this way. He’d said it made sense because then she and Scully would be able to visit one another longer. And it would make it easier for her to move to America if she ever wanted to join them there. She had marveled at the breadth of his spirit, his confidence and his love, had been glad she’d fucked him the previous night. But she’d also panicked. She had only just returned from possible escape minutes before.

Scully had hedged when she heard it and fidgeted, twiddled her fingers and smiled shyly as she admitted to approving of the plan. They each took turns making sure Mulder was in his right mind. And ultimately Stella agreed to it because she wasn’t sure any other way would feel binding enough, would serve to remind her that somewhere, someone expected something of her. And if she didn’t feel that, well then what was the point of being involved at all?

Courthouses could be jarring settings for ordinary people but they were familiar to her, and this one in particular. She’d come out of them over the course of her career in all manner of states - furious, indignant, satisfied, vengeful, victorious - all three of them had. When she came out of this one on this day, she would be no more and no less than... married. No one was changing their name. But hers would be a little different because it would be signed on a piece of paper beside Scully’s, with Mulder’s below as the “witness.”

He would get Scully with his morning coffee every morning. She would get her on vacations, on special weekends, and, somewhere she had never in a million years expected to either get or look forward to getting - on paper.

The law would be involved, black ink and clerks, a mess to undo if needing undone. And the fact of all this did, at moments, make her want to run. But what did Scully deserve if not that? Her momentary fancies of flight, her panic. That was worth more than her love, it was more than she had ever been willing to entrust to anyone else.

Overhead, a couple of birds scattered noisily from the ancient stony doorway. Mulder and Scully watched them in tandem, eyes arching from here to there with expressions of matching surprise and gratitude.

“Are those pigeons or--?” Mulder asked, and Scully tightened the lobster clasp of her fingers. “Doves,” she said. “Mourning doves.”

Stella squinted and smiled alongside them in the breeze. For once, for the moment, there was nothing for any of them to mourn.

The end

#wtid #myfic #stella and scully #xfiles fic #the fall fic #thank you all for being a part of this

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naromoreau · 5 years

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Snowed in

This one is for @seedsplease, you asked me for soft nsfw in front of the fire place at the Ranch. I hope you like how this turned up, because I don’t know where all the angst came from XD. Thank you! ________________________________________ Pairing: John Seed x Reader, John Seed x Deputy Raiting: NSFW You dragged the dead weight of the rifle slumping down your body, the muzzle carving a zigzag pattern on the fresh mud, and the strap digging a painful crease on the flesh of your shoulder. Maybe leaving everyone behind at Fall’s End wouldn’t be counted among your greatest decisions yet still you got what you wanted.

Striding under the heavy rain, your legs grumbled for the harsh treatment while the last rays of the winterly pale sun riddled through the foliage like through a sieve. The chill air seeped through your jacket, gnawing at your very bones, the freezing sensation magnified by your soaked clothes. If you could only find a fucking truck, before the drowsiness took over your brain, and even the voice in your head started to slur your panic.

The inclined path followed for a few yards carpeted by interspersed turfs. You lost your footing stepping into a divot, cursing between clicking teeth, until you spotted a wooden building greeting you in the distance. “Well, fuck me.” With no map and no GPS, you managed to land your ass at the front of Seed Ranch, the first place you wanted go, yet the last place it was good for you.

You hid a growl making your stealthy way around as much as your pained ankle allowed it, noticing that due to the unbearable cold all the guards had been removed. You dashed among crates and barrels while above you the now purple sky unleashed a cleansing fury, every drop of water drubbing in staccato over you, like under the direction of an overexcited conductor.

Your lungs fought to give you the air you needed, and well, perhaps it was time to actually rest for a bit. The flooded surface splashed under your boots as you sought an almost dry spot, and crouched in a secluded corner. Around you the rain turned into soft snow, delicate flakes carried by the wind, and you glanced at your nails. They were blue. It wasn’t that bad, you thought, as you forced your fingers to grip the flesh of your own arms and your teeth chattered uncontrollably, biting the tip of your tongue. The coppery flavor of your blood swamped in your mouth but the pain was almost nonexistent. The edges of your sight blurred into jagged black, before you catched faint, muffled footsteps approaching you. If you could only move your hand.

“My dear Deputy, what do I owe this honour?” John Seed ducked next to you before reaching a hand to touch your almost comatose body. “Shit, deputy, you’re freezing!” His voice tapped in your ear, the mocking tone completely gone and replaced by strained anguish as he got rid of his coat, putting it over you in a swift movement.

He lifted you from the ground, cradling you against his chest, protective hands grasping you hard. “It’s ok, my dear, everything is going to be alright,” he reassured you whispering into your ear, and the only thing you could do was shudder like a newborn pigeon.

Now he was almost running into the house, but his words still reached your words under a steady rhythm. “Hey, darling, hey!” he muttered as your conscience balanced at the edge of oblivion, “focus on my voice, don’t fall asleep Deputy, don’t!”

You tried, even if half your mind wanted to, just because it was him, and you’d go to great lengths to sour his life, but the desperation running on every word was a whiplash in your face. It must’ve been important.

“How do you get yourself in this kind of–” he trailed off, clutching you even tighter against him and you leaned into him. “It’s alright, sh, you’re safe now,” he said with a sense of finality.

You crossed the threshold of the house once you saw as an enemy fort, securely in his arms, and it irked you how good it felt. His spicy mint scent was one of the few things you were still able to recognize and it grounded you, every little wisp traveling to your haggard brain, reminding you who you were, who he was, even if you were still too weak to respond.

He placed you on the bearskin rug in front of the big fire at the center of the living room, tossing carelessly his soaked coat aside. Your entire body shuddered as he peeled the layers of sodden cloth out of your body.

“Listen to me, deputy, I’m not going to harm you,” he said taking off your boots and pulling down your jeans, “but you’ll die if I don’t get these off you, you hear me?”

You locked eyes with him, and it striked you the deep concern etched in his brow, blue eyes surveying your face almost with pain. You lied naked on the rug in no time and he dashed off your side just to comeback ten seconds later carrying two magnificent wool blankets he placed over you. He was as soaked as you, and you lifted a dainty finger to point at him.

“John,” you finally said with a gruesome effort, “your clothes– wet–cold.”

He chuckled, grasping your hand. “My dear, you’re at the verge of dying yet you still worry about me, even though I haven’t treated you in the most gracious way.”

His hands made short work of his vest, and his shirt, and kneeled as he was next to you, you reached your fingers to trace the skein of tattoos and scars. The numbing cold was dissipating slowly, but now all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around him, to live again the fleeting moment when you were able to hear his heartbeat.

“Come,” you said, blinking slowly, “please, I’m cold.”

He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe your words, and quickly shuck off his trousers, sliding next to you under the blankets. He was warmer than you and between the strong fire at your back and the maddening heat in front of you, you finally felt a bit more alive.

You closed your arms around his body, pressing every inch of you to every inch of him, and he rubbed your arms and back, trying to diminish the shivers and goosebumps that flared on your skin. You tilted your head up, catching the blush on his cheeks, as your feet bumped against his shins and your muscles relaxed.

“Are you feeling better?,” he asked you with a wavering voice, and it only took you a roll of your hips to know why.

“Yes,” you said with the faintest of whispers, “but– I don’t– why are you doing this?”

He heaved a hard sigh, that mingled with yours, his arm possessively tugged around your waist. “I– don’t know, I don’t know really, maybe you’re waiting for this groundbreaking reason, but the truth is I don’t know.” He shifted in your arms, holding you even tighter. “Maybe is a sin, and it clouds my mind, but when I saw you there, dying out of cold, I told myself I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Because of Joseph?” you offered.

“No, no, no,” he said placing his chin on the crown of your head, “no, little bird, because of me. What if I told you, you changed something,” he grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, “in here? You unburdened me, but I know I’m a sinner, and you’d never say–”

“Yes.” You gave your hips another roll and trapped his hard cock between your legs, his chest heaving with hitching breaths.

“Are- are you sure?” he gruffed, blue eyes delving deep into yours.

You kissed him as a whole answer, his tongue warring for dominance and you let him, your hips rocking with his rock hard cock rubbing between your folds. His mouth trailed down your neck, teeth nipping at your skin hard enough to bruise. He flipped you on your back and pinned down your wrists to the rug, your thighs clasping at his hard on.

“You really have no idea what you do to me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He whispered with a sliver of something wicked in his voice, and god in heaven, a gush of liquid trickled down the apex of your thighs.

A moaned escaped you, as he palmed one breast, diving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, his other hand stealing down your abdomen, his fingers trickling at your entrance and curling over your clit. “A little excited are we not?”

You wanted to respond, but your words were dulled by your whimpers, his voice soaking into your skin. He thrust forward, the friction of his dick against your clit, dragging small hums of pleasure out of your throat.

“Please, John,” you begged, your fingernails raking as he moved, pressing against you in all the right ways.

Your legs fell open, circling around his waist and now it was his time to gasp and groan as you closed your hand around his dick, to align him to your entrance just so. He devoured your lips as he slid slowly inside you, giving you time to adjust to every inch intruding in you. And you were certainly thankful for it, because he was by far the biggest you’d ever take. Your rough exhalations fanned against his neck and a growl tore from his throat unbidden the second he was fully inside you.

“My dear, you feel like heaven,” he grunted against your lips, now rocking his hips and you realized this was going to be a very short trip to the end line. Every ridge and vein in his cock stroked in all the right angles, his tip hitting against your sweet spot making you writhe and cry out with every thrust of his hips.

You were bracketed between his arms, his body arching against yours, and your legs closed tighter around him. You wanted him closer, wanted to trip over the line of your orgasm, grazing at it with every pump, with every assault of his cock to your cunt.

“Don’t fight it,” he mumbled, and it didn’t surprised you when your walls clenched around him, your back arching as the spark of white flared up behind your eyelids.

He kneeled between your thighs, hoisting your hips up and slammed every inch of that delicious dick inside you. “God, you feel good, so wet, so tight,” he breathed to the empty living room, “and just for me, my Deputy, my little bird.”

With a feral growl he came inside you, his body shaking apart until he finally collapsed on top of you.

He propped on one elbow, kissing every free spot in your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t save you for you to be bound to me by an obligation,” he said with a neutral tone but a possessive hand curled around you, fastening you to him, and you suspected that pushing him away would swiftly bring back the Inquisitor from deep within him. “You can leave if you want.”

It was really lucky that what you felt, was solid enough to keep yourself steady under those hypnotic blue eyes. “I want to stay, John, because of you, not because I’m bound to,” you said, reveling in the sensation of his come now dripping down your thighs. “I’m yours.”

He smiled giving you a sloppy kiss, all fervor and yearning, as through the window the flakes eddied down in the freezing wind.

#far cry 5 #john seed #deputy rook #john seed x reader #seedsplease #request #my writing #Naro writes

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